#this round of thinking is being brought on by the probable imminent break up between me + my gf 🙃👍

[arsenicflame]

well i think its finally time to open this box

[atsukashii]

❝crush culture❞ // e. kirishima

SYNOPSIS: ➛ Confessing to someone you’ve liked for a long time is scary stuff, even when the person you’re confessing to has a smile like the sun and radiates good energy.

» CHARACTER PAIRING: eijiro kirishima x reader

» WORD COUNT: 3.3K

» GENRE: normal?? U.A era, oneshot

» WARNINGS: fluff to the max, Kirishima fluff right here.

« masterlist || ao3 »

To say you had a crush on your best friend Eijiro Kirishima would be the understatement of the century. Everyone knew it about it; Bakugou made it his mission to give you non-stop crap about it, only making it worse when Kirishima was so oblivious to everything you did! You’d even asked him on a date for crying out loud! Though you stuttered and stumbled a bit getting there, he thought it was the both of you just going out as friends. What did a girl have to do to get his attention? Everything apparently...

Groaning, you walk into the common room and flop face first onto the couch, earning a laugh from your friends sprawled out across the room.

“Progress?” Mina’s voice breaks the giggles and you turn your head slightly to the right, looking at her amused smile.

“I’m going to go crazy.” your complaint only makes the girls laugh more. Trying to get the guy you like to notice your feelings for him shouldn’t be this hard...right?

“Maybe you can write him an anonymous letter or something,” Ochako suggests, tapping a finger on her chin in thought.

“But if it’s anonymous it would defeat the purpose of the confession,” 

“Then she can just add her name.” Shrugs your friend Kyoka, like that whole idea was the easiest thing.  

“Ohhh maybe buy him some candy or something and write a cute little note and sign your name at the bottom. That would be sooooo cute!” Toru squeals and you can’t help but sigh.

“For Kirishima, protein bars would probably be better.” adds Tsu, resulting in the group sounding in agreement. Yeah, they weren’t wrong there, but you knew the boy had a secret stash of chocolate next to his bed when he got midnight snack cravings. It was when you’d first become close friends, Kirishima had come down stairs and found you snacking on strawberry ice cream from the freezer at a quarter past two in the morning. Turns out, he’d had the same idea. So you spent the next hour sitting on the floor of the communal kitchen, eating ice cream and getting to really know each other. And then as you walked back to your room, your heart almost bursting inside your chest, you realised what you felt for Kiri that night wasn’t just friendship. 

“-maybe we need a different opinion…” Mina says, catching your attention. The pure mischief in her eyes screams trouble and as you hear the door to the dorms open, Mina perks up in a way that makes you want to puke from nerves.

“Bakugou!” Oh please anyone but him!

“What the hell do you want, Racoon Eyes?” His voice booms through the common area. God does this boy not have a quiet setting?

“What would be the best way to get Kirishima’s attention...Asking for a friend of course!” Mina asks, winking a so not subtle wink in your direction, making you blush bright red.

“You still haven’t told him yet idiot?” Bakugou’s attention is now directed to where you are sprawled sadly on the couch. 

“No…” Your pillow-muffled response makes the girls stifle their laughter out of pity, whilst Bakugou just huffs in annoyance - as if your very presence requires too much effort for him to deal with.

“Just man up and tell him, moron,” he snaps like it’s the simplest thing ever and not utterly terrifying.

“I’m going to try option two,” He rolls his eyes and leans over the back of the couch, glaring at you.

“You’re such a coward. He’s not going to hurt your precious little feelings y/n, just do it already. I’m sick of hearing about this shit.”

“Hearing about what?” Your heart gets caught in your throat as the spiky haired redhead in question walks into the room, a towel around his shoulders and looking like he walked out of a damn dream. You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but turn all shades of pink and gulp for air like a fish. Since when had you gone from being able to talk to your best friend about literally anything to this stuttering and jumbled up mess? You weren’t all that sure, but you were aware that you’re currently making a fool of yourself. You hadn’t realised that Bakugou had come back from the gym as well, and it made so much sense that Kirishima was with him, but god! Who the hell gave him permission to look that good? It should be illegal.  Kirishima’s red eyes meet yours from across the room, and he shoots you that signature smile that was so warm and you swore flowers actually sprouted wherever it was directed. Looking at him sometimes was like staring into the sun. 

“We’re just going around saying cute things that would get our attention,” Mina swoops in to the rescue making you instinctively rip your eyes from the red head and focus them on her.  What are you doing? You mouth tensely, your back to your crush so that he can’t see your crimson face. Mina only winks at you in response, so you look to your other friend Ochako, who is currently no better. Supplying you with a cheeky grin and wagging her eyebrows suggestively, you can’t help but want to groan in annoyance at their antics. 

“Well, I mean it is Valentines day coming up, so that makes sense.” All the girls turn to him grinning, and you instinctively fear what someone says next.

“What would someone have to do to get your attention Kiri?” Mina asks him teasingly, but also completely seriously. Oh my god… You couldn’t believe that she was actually asking him, but at the same time you are curious. You have done basically anything but yell at him in the face that you liked him and wanted to date him, so you were listening a little too closely to his response. Pink dusting his cheeks, Kirishima looks over the group and scratches the back of his head with a nervous arm.

“Well I guess it would have to depend on the person.”

“LAME! Come on Kiri, give us something more than that!” Mina whines, earning a chorus of agreements from the crowd of girls around you. It was so quick that you barely noticed it, but Kirisima glances at you before shifting on his feet nervously… He only looked at me because I'm his friend, and he finds these questions awkward. Yeah, that’s why.

“Well, I guess they’d probably just have to tell me. That's super manly.” You try not to sink in your chair as Bakugou gives you a knowing look. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know asshole, you try to scream at him through your eyes. “Anyways, i'm going to go wash up.” Kirishima leaves the room, shooting you one last smile and you instinctively let out a breath as if you'd been holding it since he came into the room. Your lungs sure felt like they had.

“Told you so, dumbass.” Bakugou calls as he walks out the room, and the temptation to throw one of the cushions at him is almost too much, but you don’t have the energy to focus on him right at that moment. Instead, you take a deep breath and turn to Mina with determination in your eyes.

“I’m going to tell him.” The noise they all release from their throats somehow didn’t shatter the glass, however it does earn an appearance from a very concerned Iida who barges into the common room in alarm. Never a boring day I guess, you think as you glance at the empty spot where Kirishima had just stood. Tomorrow, you let out a shaking breath. Tomorrow. 

❀ ❀ ❀

Today is the day. The sun is bright and high in the sky, it isn’t that cold for a February afternoon, and everything so far is going your way. It had to be today. 

You linger around the entrance to your classroom, waiting for Kirishima to make his usual appearance. You hear him laughing along with Kaminari before you can even see him. You feel his throaty, sunshine filled laugh echo through your bones and stir up the butterflies that had just begun to rest in your stomach. And when he rounds the corner and see’s you waiting there, he sends you the sweetest smile that makes your thundering heart drop through the floor. 

“Hey, y/n! Thanks for waiting.” he says happily. Kaminari’s eyes glance between the two of you quickly, before grinning far too ecstatically for your liking.

“It’s all good.”

“Where are you two off to?” Kaminari but’s in with a knowing smile. Kirishima looks at him as if only then suddenly remembering that he was there as well. 

“It's Friday afternoon and we’ve got an exam on Monday, dude. It’s crunch time.” Kirishima nods at you, bumping his fists together as if he’s readying for battle. You and Kirishima had begun to study together towards the end of your first year of school. He claimed that you were a better tutor than Bakugou, which you constantly brought up to the fiery blonde whenever he began to annoy you. You always ended up running away like your life depended on it as soon as the words left your mouth, but his pissed off look made the risk of imminent death so worth it. 

“Can I join you guys today?” You look over at your eccentric friend and can’t tell if he is being serious and wants to study, or if he just knows how important today is - because Mina can’t keep her mouth shut - and wants front seats to the show.

“Uh, I mean-” you are immediately cut off by a hand yanking Kaminari back by his collar and revealing a stoic faced Bakugou.

“Leave them alone sparky. You need to study and I’m only offering my services today, so take it or you’re on your own.” He doesn’t even give Kaminari a chance to breathe before begrudgingly pulling him down the hall away from you. 

“Well looks like it's just us y/n.” Kirishima says, taking a step down the hall. You can’t hide your smile, quickly moving to catch up to him. 

“I’m glad. You’re enough to handle, I'm not sure how I’d go adding Kaminari to the mix.” You tease your best friend. With a fake and very over-exaggerated gasp, Kirishima places a hand on his heart and stares at you in shock.

“That really hurt, y/n.” He cries out, stopping in his steps as you keep walking ahead. You try to hold in your laugh at his antics but fail miserably, letting out a loud laugh as you turn back to him.

“Your heart isn’t on your right side, Kiri,” You correct him, walking backwards for a few steps and only turning around when you see him run to catch up to you.

“I knew that. Just making sure you did.” He explains, falling into line next to you once again, making you look up at him and raise an eyebrow.

“Sure…” The two of you together walk out of the building in silence, just appreciating the peace that comes with being around each other. You and Kirishima didn’t have to even talk when you were together, just being in each other's presence is enough.

You feel your hands begin to sweat as you step outside. You were really going to do this, you were going to tell him… But what if he doesn’t feel the same? Risking a glance at him, your heart flutters and you know you have to do it. If you have to continue on like this for another day you are going to lose it. You love Kirishima’s friendship, but god you want something more. You want him to hold your hand on your daily trips to and from the dorms, you want to go and eat katsudon with him and not as friends. You want to be able to kiss him for no other reason than that you could. You are willing to risk one of the closest friendships you've ever had for it. 

“-day.” You blink and snap your head in Kirishima’s direction. He was talking and you didn’t catch a single word he said. A knowing smile cracks across Kirishima’s face as he takes in your startled expression.

“Was I that boring?” He jokes, pink beginning to dust his cheeks. Your heart lurches at the thought and you stop dead in your tracks.

“No! Not at all!” The words come out far too loudly which causes you to blush bright red and for Kirishima to frown at you. Oh god, what if he knew? You quickly try to change the topic whilst brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry, i’m just in my own world. You’re definitely not boring, Kiri.” You promise. 

“Y/n… Are you alright?” Letting out a groan, you wipe a hand down your face and sigh. Well this is it, I guess.

“Actually Kiri, there's something I need to tell you,” Suddenly you’re glad that you’re not walking, because the look on his face that you see by peeking through your fingers would have made you trip over absolutely nothing.

“What is it?” God bless him, he’s concerned. And he had every right to be, because it feels like you are about to pass out. Nervously, you begin to fidget with your hands before grasping them tightly in front of you. 

“There’s this guy,” It’s all you had to say before Kirishima’s smile slipped straight off his face. Ouch. He must see something in your face because not even a second later, his usual happy-go-lucky smile reappears. You however, can read Kirishima like a book, and when his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, you know he wasn’t feeling it. 

“So, there's a guy you like, huh?” He utters, adjusting the shoulder strap of his bag.

“Yeah, he’s super kind, brave and handsome too.” You reply, a smile climbing onto your face.

“Sounds like a real catch, y/n.” Is all he says, starting to walk away - obviously expecting you to walk with him. “You deserve it.” How cute, you thought. 

“Thanks, but really I’m the lucky one. We’ve been friends for so long too, and he treats me so well.” You boast, walking behind him, hoping for him to catch on. Kirishima stops so suddenly that you run into his back, what is he...

“I don’t…” He starts slowly, his back still turned to you. He moves as if he's about to turn around and face you, but lets out a dejected sigh instead. 

“Kiri…” he turns around at your voice, no smile or happiness found on his features. Just a look of pure devastation and concern.

“He’s a good guy?” You can’t help but want to smile at his question.

“Oh, the best.” Pursing his lips, Kirishima nods his head a few times before letting out a strangled groan that catches you off guard. 

“Is it Bakugou?” You choke on oxygen and splutter as he looks you in the eye, as if trying to tell if you are lying. 

“No. Never. Nope. Not happening,” you shudder at the image of that possibility. Like sure, you’re not blind and Bakugou is attractive, but personally, that loses its appeal as soon as he opens his mouth.

“Kaminari?” He counters, taking a step forward with his face fixed into a scowl that is so unlike him and so rare that it throws you for a loop.

“No, Kiri-”

“Sero? Midoriya? Iida? No… wait Ojiro? Shoji?” The names leave his mouth a mile a minute as you gape at him. He is now in his own little world of chaos that you’ve created, a hand over his mouth as he mumbles. “It’s Todoroki isn’t it?” Kirishima asks, whipping his head to you. Annoyance bleeds through his eyes as he says it. “It’s always Todoroki…” 

You suddenly can’t hold it in - the frustration of not being able to get a single word in, the nerves pounding through your bloodstream, and maybe just a little bit of courage has you blurting it out.

“Its you!” Crimson eyes meet your own and you suck in a nervous breath as he stills completely. “It’s you…I want to…” Your voice drifts off as a smile breaks out across his face slowly. 

“It’s me?” You don’t even have time to finish nodding before he practically leaps at you, picking you up around your middle and laughing so loudly that people walking past are staring. You can feel your heart pounding inside your head as you stare down at Kirishima... Wait, does that mean…

“Thank god,” he says as he begins to put you down, but doesn't move to let you go. “I swear if you had said someone else, I probably would have died.” You want to roll your eyes at his dramatics, but your brain can’t seem to catch up. He likes you! He likes you too! That’s what that means, idiot!

“Kiri…” you only manage to get your voice out as a whisper. 

“I really like you y/n, like stupidly so.” Now it's your turn to grin like an absolute maniac at him. Holy crap, you did not expect this. Best case scenario, of course, was this outcome, but it wasn’t your expectation. Ohmygod he likes me.

“Will you...quit smiling at me, I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that!” Kirishima complains, but there’s no annoyance in it as he’s grinning back at you.

“Look like what?” You argue. Reaching up to touch your cheeks which are now starting to hurt, Kirishima snatches your hand in his before you have the chance. 

“So pretty. Seriously, y/n, give me a chance to breathe.” He says squinting at you playfully. “It’s like looking at the damn sun.” You’re laughing, a proper heart-filled laugh that ends with a snort loud enough for you to slap your hand over your mouth. Kirishima stares at you dazed for a moment as his free hand wraps around your waist.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks out of the blue, his cheeks tainted the same colour as his hair and you’re sure you look the same. Your brain has officially stopped working. 

“You don’t have to ask me Kiri,” you point out.

“Consent is manly.” He grins before finally closing the distance between you. It both seems to last forever, but also for not even a second. Reaching up on your toes, you wrap your arms around Kirishima’s neck and pull yourself impossibly closer to him. When your lungs begin screaming at you and you realise you’re not breathing, you pull back from the blushing boy. You can’t stop your smile this time, even if you tried. This was the best idea you’d ever had.  “Want to go out with me for dinner tomorrow night?” He asks, pulling back just enough to look down in your eyes as his breath fans your face. Not in a million years had you thought that you would actually be standing here with Kirishima like this. But whatever luck you somehow gained overnight, you were so grateful for it. Just as you are about to respond with a massive yes, the impending doom of your incoming English exam on Monday emerges back into your train of thought.

“How about we do a study date for now? I wasn’t joking about the tutoring, you know.” You point out, making Kirishima fake a pout in annoyance.

“Fine,” he gently reaches down and envelops your small hand, linking your fingers between his. “I’ll just have to settle with that for now. But once we’re done, I’m taking you for katsudon because I know it’s your favourite.” Without a second of hesitation you reach up and kiss Kirishima lightly on the cheek, making that bright blush come back all over again.

“I can’t wait.”

©️ 2021 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

​

[timelordthirteen]

In All Things 27/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: Gold has a surprise for Belle.

Notes: Stupid Gold family fluff, basically. The next chapter is almost done!

[AO3]

More than a week passed, filled with heavy snows, bitterly cold winds, and too many hours indoors.

After eight days cooped up indoors, Belle was aching to breath fresh air. Fortunately, they had two days in a row of sunshine, so far, which allowed the main path through the garden to be cleared. Though it was still cold, the bright sun and the lack of wind made it more than tolerable. Bundled up in their cloaks, hoods, and gloves, she and Baeden had taken a turn through it after breakfast. Though she knew there would be at least two more months of winter, it was a welcome respite all the same to be within nature, and it reminded her that there would be much to see come the spring. She had arrived at Thornhill in the last weeks of autumn, when the majority of the garden and grounds had gone dormant, and the prospect of seeing her new home in full bloom was something she clung to when the wind howled outside her window.

Baeden kicked at a piece of loose ice with his shoe. It rolled like a misshapen rock and came to rest a few feet ahead of them, on Belle’s side of the path. She smiled to herself and when she came to it, kicked further down the way, making Bae laugh. They continued like that, back and forth, until it ricocheted off of a stone planter and shattered into many small pieces.

“Well, that was disappointing,” she said with a frown.

Beside her, Bae nodded, and then changed the subject. “Belle, if I had a horse would you want to go riding with me?”

She looked at him with a bemused smile. “Of course I would! Are you planning on getting a horse?”

“I’ll have to ask Papa,” he replied. Then he huffed a little and pulled his gloved hands from the pockets of his coat. “I’m eleven,” he continued, “I’m old enough to have a horse, and to learn to ride it properly. Don’t you think so?”

Belle bit her lip. His hands waved about as he spoke, emphasizing his words, and it was so like his father that it pulled at her heart. “I do. If you like, I can be with you when you speak to your Papa.”

Bae smiled as they rounded the path around the fountain and headed back towards the house. “Good! He’s more likely to say yes if you’re there.”

She was in agreement, partly because she loved riding so much, and was already entertaining the delightful idea of having someone to do that with her, but also because she’d had a horse since she was nine. Eleven was long passed time to have one in her mind. It occurred to her that there was no reason why she couldn’t have Philippe brought to Thornhill, though it would probably have to wait until the spring. Perhaps she could talk to Cameron about it while they were on the long carriage ride to the palace.

The palace and the New Year’s ball was something she had been trying very hard not to think about too much. Her nerves had already gotten the better of her on the subject once, and she was resolved not to let it happen again, and to keep her wits about her whilst they were there. At least she could look forward to seeing Lady Ella again, and perhaps Ariel and Eric would attend. It would be good to see familiar faces and old friends.

What might they think of her now, she wondered, married, titled, and seeped in royal politics. Well, that last part was a secret as far as she knew, and the less anyone was aware of it, the better. Still, she wondered how they all would regard her, both her friends and the royal court. Her broken engagement to Sir Gaston was widely known, as was, she presumed, her marriage to Cameron. It had been without the usual engagement period, and was a minimally attended affair, which she knew lent itself to all sorts of implications and rumors. Sadly, some of them were true.

Would they see the ruined woman they thought she was, or the one who was fighting for her place in the world, and to hold onto what was dear?

“Belle?”

Bae’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she realized they had walked the rest of the way back to the house in companionable silence.

“I think it’s time for tea,” he added.

She smiled at him. “Yes, Bae, I think it is.” Then she leaned down and whispered, “And I think Ms. Potts has made the chocolate tarts again.”

His eyes lit up, and they both broke into wide grins. She took hold of his hand, and they took off at a light jog the rest of the way to the patio doors, laughing the whole way.

Gold felt he had never been busier than this last week.

The weather had not only caused innumerable problems with the movement of goods around the northern part of the kingdom, but a number of issues had also cropped up around the estate. The roof of one of the old out buildings had partially collapsed under the weight of all the snow, and ice had formed in between several stones on the façade of the house itself, cracking them and making them break away from the structure. One such stone resulted in a window breaking at the east end of the first floor, which was mostly servants quarters, but a missing window had led to all sorts of minor issues with cold and damp.

In the midst of it all, he’d been struck by an idea. They had been relocating some of the items from the damaged building to an unused portion of the stables, when he realized that neither he nor Belle had broached the subject of bringing her horse to Thornhill. It seemed ridiculous that they hadn’t already done so, and once he’d thought of it, he determined that it should happen before they departed for the palace. The recent change in the weather seemed to provide the perfect opportunity.

He’d written to Desmond and Maurice on Monday, and, despite the snow, received a response within two days. They were in agreement as well, and promised to send someone with Philippe as soon as the snow abated. The trip would be two fold, in that Gold had also promised to send back a number of supplies including bags of grain and flour and other staples to hopefully alleviate the struggles in Avonlea. He knew things were likely far more dire than was stated in their letters, and while that issue was something for Belle to handle directly with Desmond, he was of a mind to assist them before it reached a state of desperation. He had known what it was like to not be able to provide in the middle of a harsh winter, and he flatly refused to allow it to happen to others when he was able to do something about it.

An express letter had been sent this morning from Avonlea stating that Philippe was on his way, and Gold could hardly focus on the contracts he needed to review. He wanted it to be a surprise, something to distract Belle from their upcoming trip and its potential impact, and that would give her something to look forward to upon their return. Now that it was imminent, it seemed to be all he could think about.

Sighing, he stood up and stretched and walked over to the window at the far end of his study to look out onto the snowy landscape of the garden. Two figures came running up towards the house, their coats and cloaks fanning out behind them. He leaned forward and then broke into a wide smile when he saw it was Bae and Belle. They seemed to be laughing as they ran, and the sight filled him with a joyful warmth.

Belle was not the type of woman who let her status or title dictate how she behaved. She didn’t stand on ceremony for the sake of it, or hold herself to a different standard than she expected of others. It was perhaps the thing he most appreciated about her.

A glance at the clock showed it was time for tea, and he decided work could wait while he spent some time with his wife and son.

Belle knew her husband was up to something.

Gold had been speaking with Jefferson when she and Bae came in from their walk, barreling through the doors of the patio, rosy cheeked and shaking with laughter. Jefferson lowered his voice to finish what he was saying, and then quickly left the room. Gold , meanwhile, seemed entirely too interested in what they were having with tea, which was unusual as he typically didn’t care for sweets until after dinner.

She let the matter go, but then Jefferson came back a few minutes later, and the look he exchanged with Gold could only be described as conspiratorial. She eyed them both, but they ignored it and struck up a benign conversation and the supplies that were being sent to Avonlea. Bae noticed nothing but the tray of cakes and biscuits.

Once they’d all had their fill of hot tea and sweets, they moved to sit in the adjacent sitting room. After a few minutes, Jefferson went to see about something or other, and Belle was about to interrogate her husband as to what was really going on, when Jefferson returned.

“I believe it’s time,” he said, ducking his head through the doorway, briefly, before retreating again.

Gold stood, smiling, and came over to where Belle was seated on the sofa with Bae. “Would you come outside with me for a moment?”

Belle frowned. “What is going on?”

Gold’s smile grew as he held out his hand for her to take. “I have a surprise for you.”

She looked over at Bae, who seemed to be as confused as she was, and then back to Gold. After eyeing him a moment, she put her hand in his and stood, letting him lead her out of the sitting room and into the main hallway. Astrid was waiting with a grin and another of her heavy winter cloaks.

“It seems everyone is in on this,” she muttered.

“I’m not!” chimed Bae. He appeared as excited about this surprise as he would if it was for him, and was already pulling on his coat and gloves, prepared to follow all of them out the front door.

Belle settled her cloak over her shoulders and fastened the clasps at the front just as Gold was coming to her side. He had put on his dark blue overcoat, trimmed with gold stitching, which she had to admit she found very appropriate and very fetching on him. He offered her his arm, and she gave him a narrow look as she accepted it. It must have amused him because he chuckled softly and patted her hand as he led her to the door.

The carriage was parked out front, along with one of the supply wagons, and she frowned. “Are we going somewhere?”

Gold shook his head. “No, but perhaps you might be.”

Jefferson was waiting next to the carriage, and as soon as everyone was outside, he gave the coachman a nod. The carriage went in one direction, the wagon in the opposite, and they parted to reveal a sizable chestnut colored horse standing between them. Belle blinked, and then a second later let out a delighted squeal as she bounded down the front steps.

“Philippe!” she exclaimed, hurrying to the horse’s side. Immediately, the beast seemed to recognize her presence, and nudged her with his nose as she took the reins from the man holding them. “Did you miss me?”

Philippe whinnied loudly and pushed at her free hand until she opened her palm. “I’m afraid I don’t have any treats for you. I didn’t know you were coming to visit me!”

“I’d hoped he was planning on staying,” Gold said, coming down the steps and over to where Belle stood with her horse. “We’ve made a spot for him in the stables.”

She looked over at her husband, her lips pressed together before she broke into a wide grin. Letting go of the reins, she threw her arms up and around his neck, pulling herself against him in a tight hug. He let out a light grunt, and after a brief moment, returned the gesture by putting his arms gently around her torso. She took longer than he anticipated to let go, and when she did she was beaming up at him, her eyes sparkling in the winter sun and so very blue. He’d never noticed what a striking color they were, and when she finally pulled away from him, he felt almost dazed by the realization.

“How did you know?” she asked.

Gold shook his head. “Know what?”

Her cheeks had started to hurt from smiling, but she couldn’t stop. It was as if Cameron had read her mind, when she’d only just decided to speak with him about bringing Philippe here. There was a fullness of affection in her chest that made her want to hug him again, but she was aware that they were not alone.

“I was going to ask you if I could bring Philippe here,” she explained. “But here he is.”

He laughed. “Well, great minds, as they say.”

She giggled and turned back to her horse, who had not stopped nudging and bumping against her arm for attention. “I wish it wasn’t so late in the afternoon, or we could go for a ride.”

Gold frowned. “There’s at least two hours of daylight left, and more before dinner.”

Belle looked over her shoulder at Gold. “You don’t mind.”

He shook his head and stepped closer. “I will never mind you doing what makes you happy.”

“Thank you.”

She took his hand, giving it a grateful squeeze, before handing the reins off and hurrying back into the house with Bae and Astrid trailing after her. Gold smiled at her back and then turned to Philippe, giving him a gentle rub on his neck.

“Well, I think you’ve made your mistress quite happy indeed.”

“And so have you,” Jefferson said quietly. He smirked at Gold as the horse was led away by one of the stable hands to be saddled.

Gold gave him a look, and then turned to head back inside. “I’m not sure I know what you mean by that statement.”

Jefferson fell into step beside him. “Just that the mistress of the house seems very pleased with your surprise.”

“Again, I’m not certain I know your meaning.”

Gold gave him another sideways look as they stepped into the house, and Jefferson laughed. “I mean exactly what I said, and if you think I’m implying something else, then you should perhaps ask yourself why that is.”

Gold stopped and spun on his heel to face Jefferson, his voice low as he spoke. “There is nothing to imply, and you know it.”

“Do I”?” he replied, eyebrows raised and a coy smile curving his mouth. “One might say you two have become quite...close.”

Gold sighed and rolled his eyes. “You know it’s not -”

At that moment, Belle came down the stairs, having changed into her riding dress. Her hair was pulled into a thick braid that lay over one shoulder, with a few loose locks falling free over her forehead and curling at the ends. She was still smiling, and came over to where Gold and Jefferson were talking as Astrid straightened her cloak once more.

“It’s not what?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Gold said. “Jefferson is just giving me grief.”

She nodded. “Well, he is very good at his job.”

“Indeed,” Gold grumbled, as Jefferson and Belle shared a laugh. Then he felt Belle pull at his arm, and the next thing he knew, she was hugging his arm, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. He looked down at her, her face slightly squashed as she grinned up at him. “And what’s this for?”

She let go and shrugged, then turned so Astrid could help her put on her cloak. “I’ll be back before dinner,” she said to all three of them. Then she breezed out the front door and over to the path that led to the stables.

Astrid waved after her, and then headed back upstairs, leaving Gold and Jefferson alone again.

Jefferson bumped his shoulder against Gold’s as he turned. “It’s not what?” he asked, grinning cheekily.

Gold shot a glare at him, and then shrugged off his overcoat, handing it off to one of the maids before making his way back upstairs to his study. He closed the door behind him and walked straight across the room to the windows that look out onto the front of the house. Belle was already on Philippe, walking him up to the main gate, and Gold watched as she led the horse through and to the right, no doubt having been given directions by one of the stable hands as to where the riding path was that led around the edge of the estate. He smiled as he saw her give her horse a light flick with the reins, urging Philippe into a quick trot, and followed her form until she disappeared around the trees and out of sight.

He knew Jefferson was only teasing, but he was uncertain if others might have the wrong impression of his relationship with Belle. While they were married and it was hardly a scandal if people assumed all that came with that, he wasn’t sure if Belle would feel the same way. But then he supposed it might make their appearance at the palace all the more troublesome if there were no such assumptions.

Gold frowned as he considered that his plan might backfire spectacularly.

[lynne-monstr]

fic (leverage, eliot/quinn)

title: (don’t think i can take anymore) wasted days and sleepless nights

summary: Sleeping together is easy. Quinn trusts Eliot with his body while he's awake and aware. He draws the line at actually falling asleep with Eliot.

contains: mentions of violence/torture, mild sex, banter

ao3 link

In the past thirty-six hours, Quinn had been shot at, stabbed, drugged, locked in the trunk of his own car, and nearly run over twice while making his escape. Every muscle in his body blazed like an inferno as he ran.

Running on empty, the coolly rational part of his brain chimed in. Quinn ignored it. He couldn’t stop; if he stopped, he was dead, and if he was going to die he’d do it on his feet. So he kept going, the soles of his uncomfortable dress shoes pounding along the pavement in the dead of night, every sense straining for the slightest rustle of an approaching attack.

When no one jumped him sliding down a fire escape to street level, he risked taking a quick breather. On silent feet, he ducked behind a dumpster in the narrow alley. His singed leg ached, and he made a note to add ‘near escape from a burning office’ as part of the litany of reasons he was never working for Hungarian arms dealers again. Unfortunately, that same burning building also meant the police were too busy investigating the arson downtown to notice the small war being waged in the otherwise silent streets. There’d be no interruptions or distractions that he could use to slip away.

He was quickly running out of options. And worse, ammunition.

When his lungs felt a little less like they were about to burn their way out of his chest, he took a last sweep of the darkened alley and got ready to move out. Unfolding from his crouch, he sprinted for the exit, keeping close to the wall as he rounded the corner.

And ran full speed into the man waiting for him on the other side.

There was no time to curse his bad luck as they hit the ground. Instead, he bit his lip to muffle the scream as his injured shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Not daring to stop and assess the damage, he rolled, coming up on top of his assailant, pinning him to the ground with his body weight as he brought his sidearm to bear one-handed. And froze.

Staring down the sights of his gun was the last person he expected. Long hair. Casual clothes. Keen eyes narrowed in an expression of imminent violence that would send a lesser man running for cover. Despite the job gone belly up, Quinn couldn’t help the pleasure unfurling in his gut. If he played his cards right, maybe he wasn’t completely fucked after all.

Quinn slowly withdrew his gun, careful to telegraph non-aggression as he put it back into the holster at his shoulder.

Eliot Spencer eyed him for a long moment. Until finally, with a twitch of lips, he pulled back the knife poised to strike Quinn in a very private and painful place. Quinn’s eyes widened when he saw the blade was his own, pulled from his ankle sheath without him feeling a damn thing. And here he thought Eliot Spencer was the type to fight fair. The man was just full of surprises. The warmth in Quinn’s gut flared and spread at the thought.

The hint of a smile curled around Eliot’s lips, and just like that the moment snapped, disappearing as quickly as it came. Quinn stood and offered a hand.

Eliot took it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. “Quinn,” he greeted.

“Eliot.”

“Bad day?”

“Getting better.”

The merriment faded as Eliot gave him a more thorough onceover. He twirled the knife once, offering it hilt first. “Looks like you need this more than me.”

Quinn tucked the weapon away, happy to have the familiar weight back where it belonged. His eyes scanned the tops of the nearby buildings for movement before refocusing on Eliot. He was running out of time. “I didn’t realize you were coming to my party.”

“My invitation must’ve got lost in the mail.” Eliot eyed the angry red slash at the shoulder of Quinn’s suit jacket. A misstep he was still paying for. “Your friends don’t seem very nice, though.”

Quinn’s response was cut off by the sound of heavy footfalls.

Between the both of them, it didn’t take long to clean house. Soon they were the only ones standing amidst a sea of unconscious hitmen. Quinn would have preferred them dead—dead men couldn’t get back up and come after you again, or report to their boss about your unexpected new ally—but Eliot had knocked his hand askew when he’d lined up the first headshot, growling something about no killing. Quinn fell into line. If that was the price to pay for Eliot Spencer’s assistance, so be it. What the two of them had done in forty-five minutes would’ve taken him all night to do alone, and he might not have finished before getting himself killed.

Besides, Quinn could always kill the hired guns later if they made the mistake of coming after him again.

It had been good, working with another professional. At times like this, Quinn could maybe see why Eliot settled down with a team. Not that he had any intention of doing so himself. It had been pretty clear on the Dubenich job that Eliot trusted his people unconditionally; Quinn didn’t have anyone like that in his life. It was better that way.

For now, he was happy to hole up in a dingy motel under one of his more obscure aliases. Whoever set him up was still out there, no doubt hiring more people at this very moment, and until Quinn’s contacts came back with more information, he was happy to wait it out in relative safety. His next move was going to depend on whether this was an independent hit or if his employer had double-crossed him. He suspected the latter.

After double checking the room’s only door and window, he shrugged out of his jacket, hissing through his teeth as the motion reopened the wound in his shoulder. He fumbled at his tie one-handed. His shirt followed shortly after, landing in a heap on the bed beside the rest. The slight chill in the room prickled at his skin, one more item on the list of discomforts he was ignoring.

“Still here, huh?” he asked the silent figure by the window.

Once all the hired guns were too busy napping to run amok in the city streets, he half-expected Eliot to bail. Instead, he’d stuck close, watching Quinn’s back as he picked up shell casings, rifled through his assailants’ pockets, and finally holed up for the night. He couldn’t quite decipher if the other hitter was being friendly, weirdly protective of Quinn’s injured state, or if he figured out that Quinn had half a mind to break into the local police station and make sure all the hired thugs they’d taken down reached a more permanent end.

Whatever the reason, Eliot was still here, peering steadily through a crack in the window curtains. Quinn wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed. Instead he asked, “You staying all night?”

Eliot spared Quinn a glance before going back to his vigil of the street. “Got nowhere else to be.”

Quinn rubbed at his bare arms and settled for mildly grateful but cautious. “Thought your team would be waiting for you or something.”

“We ain’t all joined at the hip, you know,” Eliot answered, a thread of affection buried under the gruffness. “I like to head on out every once in a while. Wasn’t expecting to run into a street war on my time off.”

“Looks like I owe you the favor, then.” Normally, Quinn resisted the idea of being in debt, but he couldn’t deny the flush of warmth at the thought of Eliot Spencer calling on him sometime down the line. Quinn had always been a little bit of an idiot for a pretty face.

He was halfway through a shrug before thinking better of it. His shoulder was a raw mass of pain now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Every breath felt like a red-hot lance through the wound.

“Want me to take a look at that?” Eliot asked, correctly reading the pinched lines of his face.

Quinn paused, already halfway to the tiny bathroom. It was barely more than a toilet and a shower, both of which had seen better days, but it had running water and that was enough. “I’ve got it.”

“Gonna be a bitch to stitch that up one handed.”

“Yet somehow I always manage.”

Eliot shrugged, not turning away from his post. “Suit yourself, man. Give a holler if you change your mind.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. Twenty minutes later, sitting hunched on the dirty toilet seat and trying to tie off a knot with one hand and his teeth, he was maybe beginning to regret not taking Eliot up on his offer. Pausing to catch his breath, he cursed the wound, this job, his (probably) turncoat of an employer, and everything in between. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heart, which almost stopped as a silhouette suddenly filled the tiny bathroom doorframe. His hand was at his hip for a gun he wasn’t carrying before he recognized it as Eliot.

Quinn frowned. “Who’s watching the street?”

“If they haven’t showed by now they aren't coming.”

“Or they’re waiting for us to get complacent.”

“Then stop screwing around and get out here. You can watch the street while I fix this mess you call stitches.”

“They’re functional,” Quinn protested. “Doesn’t have to win any knitting awards.”

“Functional, huh? If that’s what you’re calling that mess, I’m gonna have to seriously reevaluate what I think of your skillset.” Eliot huffed and shook his head, then swiped an errant strand of hair from his eyes. “I won’t even count how that’s so far from pretty, it makes ugly look good. Come on, Huckleberry, let me patch you up.”

Using the dumb nickname Quinn had thrown out in a moment of adrenaline-fueled weakness wasn’t playing fair. But he was too tired to keep arguing, and so he let Eliot lead him back to the pair of armchairs by the room’s only window, perfectly angled as to be out of sight from any outside observers.

He kept his eyes trained on the crack in the window while Eliot hovered over him and fixed up his stitches in the dim light filtering in from the street lamps. The scratchy fabric of the chair itched against his bare back, and he focused on that rather than the unpleasant pinch and pull of his shoulder being mended. Eliot’s hands were hot on his skin and despite the pain, Quinn found himself relaxing.

When it was done, Eliot cleaned the blood from Quinn’s shoulder with a scratchy hotel towel and went to wash his hands while Quinn redressed in his soiled shirt and jacket. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch,” he offered when he was done, settling back into the hideously ugly chair by the edge of the window.

Quinn laughed. “Real cute.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Eliot to guard them both. Hell, he had no problem with Eliot keeping guard while he’d been cleaning up in the bathroom. But there was a world of difference between letting someone have your back while you were all there, and trusting someone to watch over you while you were slow and heavy with sleep.

The only person Quinn trusted like that was himself. He didn’t need to say it out loud, though. The look in Eliot’s eyes said he understood just fine.

What was left of the night passed in mutual silence, both of them on guard against the world.

Their patience paid off. Right before sunup, they both jerked to attention, noticing the same movement in the orange rays of early morning light. If whoever was creeping towards their room was expecting them to be caught off guard, they were in for a nasty surprise.

Quinn grinned like a shark and reached for his gun.

When none of their assailants were left standing (shot in the knee, courtesy of Quinn, and handed over to the federal authorities, courtesy of Eliot over Quinn’s fervent objections) all that adrenaline building since the previous night only had one place to go.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure who made the first move, him or Eliot. But it ended up with them back at Eliot’s place, their hands in each other’s hair and their mouths crushed together as they fell into bed. Casual touches and play-fighting quickly turned into something more heated and deliberate. Soon enough, Quinn found himself without his clothes and his weapons, Eliot’s teeth grazing his throat and his rough hands pinching along his inner thighs. Blunt nails raked down his stomach and Quinn arched up into it for more. And how delightful to discover firsthand that Eliot’s gravel-rough voice got ever rougher when Quinn held him down and kept him writhing on the edge.

When it was all over, they were tangled together across the dark blue sheets of Eliot’s safe house, struggling to catch their breath. Quinn felt his eyes grow heavy as the past couple days finally caught up with him. And that’s where he drew the line. Sleeping with Eliot was one thing; actual sleeping was a line he wasn’t willing to cross.

Not with Eliot, not with anyone. He’d learned that one the hard way.

“You leaving?”

Quinn paused with one leg in his suit pants and bit down the sarcastic reply about Eliot’s keen observation skills. He was almost surprised to find that his smile was genuine. “Thanks for the good time.”

Eliot nodded and Quinn finished redressing. He headed for the door, but Eliot’s voice stopped him as he was about to walk out.

“I’m too wired to sleep. Thought I’d make some coffee. Maybe check on the tomatoes in the garden. You’re welcome to stay for a cup.” Not bothering to wait for answer, he rolled out of bed and grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the large wooden dresser in the corner. He didn’t bother with a shirt and Quinn allowed himself a moment to appreciate the view.

He could picture the scene as clear as day. Lounging on the couch in borrowed sweatpants that weren’t quite long enough to reach his ankles. Sipping coffee and watching Eliot work shirtless on the back patio, the late afternoon sun washing warm across the naked skin of his back and highlighting his hair with gold. Pulling Eliot down on top of him afterwards until they were both sweaty and sated all over again. Falling asleep in his bed.

He should go. That much was obvious. Working with Eliot on business, indulging in sex with Eliot—that was all standard fare. Practically a perk of the job. But this? An invitation to stay in each other’s company like they were anything other than sort-of colleagues and occasional allies.

Now that was dangerous.

For all the dark rumors of his past, Eliot was a bonafide good guy now. How long until he remembered that Quinn was still taking the kinds of jobs he’d long since washed his hands of. As much as he liked the guy and could rely on him to have his back on a job or against a mutual enemy, Quinn could never fully trust him. He would be an idiot to forget that.

So, he shook his head and locked away the sliver of regret that slipped past his defenses. “Maybe next time,” he lied, straightening his tie so he wouldn’t have to look Eliot in the eye.

(The next several times they fell into bed—a combination of planned meets and one uncomfortable instance when they’d both been trailing the same mark—Eliot never repeated his offer to stay afterwards.

Quinn was grateful for it.)

Quinn liked working the occasional job for Eliot and his strange team. There were several reasons, but it all boiled down to three main things.

The first being that it was a nice change not to worry about being double-crossed when it came time to collect his fee. Not that he couldn’t handle that kind of trouble when it happened (“The perils of being a freelancer,” he’d told the last person to try that on him, right before putting a bullet in his head), or that he didn’t still plan for it, but it was like a little vacation to be able to wrap up a job without any dramatics. Quinn liked clean and tiny.

Second was that Eliot never asked for more than Quinn was physically capable of delivering. He was good at what he did, but even he’d go down if someone threw enough armed men his way. It worried him sometimes just how well Eliot knew his strength and his limits, but he consoled himself with the fact that his knowledge of Eliot ran just as deep.

Last and most fun was what Quinn considered his personal bonus of a job well done. Namely, that Eliot was great in bed.

They were at the safe house Quinn had procured for the week, celebrating the successful completion of doing bad things for a good cause. Quinn, his bank account newly full and wearing nothing but a smile, dangled the cuffs Eliot had pretended to slap onto him earlier as part of the con they’d run. “Looks like it’s finally my turn to put these to good use.”

“Nice try,” Eliot said, grabbing the cuffs and casually dropping them over the side of the bed. “Not gonna happen.”

Quinn pouted. He didn’t think Eliot was going to go for it but it was worth a try. With a dirty smile, he shifted his hips where he straddled Eliot’s lap on the bed. The friction made them both groan, so Quinn did it again, watching the tension slide from Eliot’s face as pleasure took its place.

“I let you put them on me,” Quinn countered, hands sliding along the sweat-slick skin of Eliot’s chest.

Eliot caught his hands. “And I didn’t lock them tight enough to keep you from slipping free.” His fingers clamped down on Quinn’s wrists. Like the cuffs from earlier, they weren’t nearly tight enough to keep him contained if he chose otherwise.

He didn’t choose otherwise. He did, however, concede the point.

Eliot slid his hands up Quinn’s arms, lacing his fingers together behind Quinn’s neck to pull him down. It was easy to let himself be reeled in, to let Eliot flip their positions in a move that was telegraphed slowly enough that Quinn could have countered it any time he wanted.

(Again, he didn’t.)

There was a fine line between fantasy and accidentally triggering the defensive actions Quinn had spent the better part of his life honing. Eliot rode that line with the same skill he did everything else, pinning Quinn with enough force to be real but not enough to make him feel trapped. It was nice, the weight of Eliot pressing heavy on his limbs. There weren’t very many people capable of keeping him down if he didn’t want to be down but Eliot had more than a passing shot of making it happen. He’d done it before, back when they weren’t anything more than two hitters on opposite ends of a job.

A rush of heat raced down Quinn’s spine and he grabbed a fistful of Eliot’s loose hair, arching his hips up until they were pressed together from head to toe. Eliot slipped a leg between Quinn’s, fanning the spark of heat into a raging fire until it was all he could think about.

Six hours later, in a business class seat somewhere over the Pacific, Quinn set aside the last lingering thoughts of Eliot Spencer and got his head back in the game.

There was someone in his hotel room.

Quinn had a fair idea who it was (he practically sent an engraved invitation, after all) but that was no reason to be stupid. All hitters came to end in an some kind of ugly fashion and Quinn had made his peace with that, but when it happened to him it wasn’t going to be because he was stupid.

Silently, he pulled his backup gun from the small of his back. Taking a last look down the hall to ensure he was alone, he opened the door with the electronic keycard, ducked, and burst into the room gun first.

The precaution was unnecessary.

“No word from you in months and this is the greeting I get? I’m beginning to think you don’t like me anymore.” Eliot detached himself from where he was pressed up against the far corner, partially hidden by the faux cherry wood armoire holding the room’s entertainment center. He gestured towards Quinn and the gun, the muzzle now pointing at the floor.

“Worried I don’t like you anymore? Do I need to check a box for yes or no and pass the note back?”

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Were you always this juvenile or is it a recent development?”

“You bring out the best in me.”

Setting aside the handgun on the nearest bedside table, Quinn carefully shrugged out of his worn leather jacket. It felt a little strange to not be wearing the suit around Eliot, but he wasn’t here for a job so there was no need to dress the part. He winced as the movement pulled at his back, quickly hiding it behind a lazy grin.

Narrowed eyes appraised him from head to toe and Quinn stilled. It was instinctive. Never let anyone know where the weak spots were. Any known injury could be used against you in a fight. It was a dumb thing to stick to in front of a guy he planned on getting naked with pretty soon, but Quinn never claimed not to be a creature of habit.

Eliot straightened, gaze turning leering and playful as he shook his hair out of his face. “I like the new outfit. Not a bad look on you.”

It was a safe topic, and as a close to an outright declaration that Eliot wasn’t going to press for details.

The knot between Quinn’s shoulder blades eased and he let his arms relax at his sides. Pushing the dark thoughts from his mind, he started unbuttoning his shirt. “I didn’t come here for fashion tips.”

“Well then,” Eliot drawled, stepping into his space and brushing Quinn’s hands aside to finish the job himself. “That’s good ‘cause I didn’t come here to give them.”

He never could figure out how much of Eliot’s midwestern charm was affectation verses actual upbringing. But as those rough hands swept over his chest with each opened button, he decided that he didn’t much care either way. Taking full advantage of his hands being unoccupied, he quickly fumbled Eliot’s belt open, popping every damn button on his inconvenient button fly jeans on his way downward.

They moved to the bed by unspoken agreement, hands scrabbling to cast aside the last of their clothes, mouths hot on each other’s skin. Fuck, he’d missed this. Well, he’d missed a lot of things these past several months, but he’d really missed this.

He’d missed Eliot’s broad hands pressing into the dip of his hips to hold him down, and the taste of his skin when Quinn traced lines into the muscles of Eliot’s stomach with his tongue. He’d almost forgot how It felt to press Eliot’s legs apart and take him into his mouth, watching beneath his lashes as Eliot fisted one hand into the sheets and the other into Quinn’s ponytail. He missed coming apart under someone’s hands in a way that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with heat and desire.

Eliot didn’t say anything about the new marks on Quinn’s skin save for how he meticulously avoided digging his fingers into those particular spots. There was nothing to say; they both knew the risks of their occupation. Not every fight was a win.

Losing a fight was the last thing on Quinn’s mind as he finally pressed inside the heat of Eliot’s body. Beneath him, Eliot’s breath hitched and his legs wrapped tighter around Quinn’s waist, drawing him in further.

“Come on,” Eliot growled, pushing himself forward to bite at Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn licked his lips and obliged, happy to lose himself in this for the time being.

Once they’d cleaned up and got comfortable under the duvet, Quinn trailed a lazy hand down Eliot’s arm. “How’d you know I’d be passing through here?” Not that he needed to ask, but he wanted to hear the answer anyway.

Eliot laughed, a low amused rumble. “You practically left me a calling card, man. How could I turn down an invitation like that?”

Quinn smiled, something warm uncurling in his belly. There was no job, no enemy, no reason for Eliot to be here. Except that Quinn asked him to come.

Eliot’s gravely voice broke him out of his thoughts. “So, should I be worried about identity theft, here? First you grow your hair long after I kick your ass. Then you—”

“Hell of an ego you got there, pal,” Quinn cut in. “My hair has nothing to do with you.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Eliot shot back with a smile. “Anyway, you entered the freaking country under my favorite alias. Did you expect me not to notice?”

He’d counted on it.

Quinn rolled to his side and slung an arm across Eliot’s chest. “Thought all that hair might’ve finally rotted your brain,” he mumbled. “And anyway, it wasn’t your name.”

“Just ‘cause you rearranged the letters don’t mean it ain’t still mine.”

“It’s a real alias. And it got your attention didn’t it.”

Instead of answering, Eliot reached over to grab Quinn’s leg and hitch it over his hip to tangle with his own. “Damn, you’re heavy,” he teased as they resettled.

“I work out,” Quinn agreed with a lazy smile, letting himself be maneuvered.

It was pleasant to be sprawled across Eliot like this, to feel the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart. He’d debated for weeks about using that particular alias after the job in Jakarta. It felt too much like running to safety for his liking, and so when the thought had first crossed his mind, he hightailed it to the most dirty, corrupt corner of the world he could find instead. Took every job that came his way until they all blurred together.

When the dust settled and he’d still wanted to see Eliot, he let himself use the identity that would no doubt raise every red flag in the Leverage team’s playbook. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that leaving a trail for Eliot to follow was the right move, but the sex was great and the company wasn’t awful so he was calling it a win.

One of Eliot’s fingers stroked a steady back and forth along the patch of skin just under Quinn’s shoulder blade, skirting the edge of what had been one of the deeper wounds on his back. Serrated knife, he remembered. He’d screamed—he remembered that, too—screamed until his voice had gone hoarse.

He felt the intake of breath a split second before Eliot’s voice broke the silence.

“They dead?” The words were growled in a way Quinn had only ever heard in an empty airport hangar, when he was the one standing between Eliot and his team.

Raising his head from its place on Eliot’s chest, Quinn looked him in the eye. “Yes.” He paused, remembering how Eliot almost knocked the gun from his hand the last time he tried to kill someone. “If you have a problem with that, you can see yourself out.”

But Eliot didn’t leave. Or ask who they were or how long they had him or what they’d wanted. Hell, Eliot had gotten his hands dirty enough back before he’d turned white-hat that could fill in the details on his own.

After a moment, Eliot gave him a tight smile and nodded.

Quinn didn’t know what to do with that, so he just laid his head back on Eliot’s chest and closed his eyes. For the first time in a long time he wanted to throw out all his old rules and let himself drift off to sleep. Against all odds and good sense, Eliot had somehow wormed his way under his skin.

This is why he shouldn’t have used the alias.

Nothing between them had changed; Quinn was still a bad guy and Eliot wasn’t. There was no silencing the voice in the back of his head shouting how it was only a matter of time before Eliot remembered what kind of person Quinn really was. Maybe he’d decide Quinn was better off in jail, or thrown to rot in some deep dark government hole, rather than be allowed to roam free and do what he did. Lulled into complacency by sleep and trust, Quinn would be a pathetically easy target.

In the end, caution won out.

It didn’t escape his notice that although Eliot’s eyes were closed, he hadn’t let himself fall into sleep either.

Taking a job in Portland had the potential to go all kinds of wrong, but wasn't that half the fun? But the money was good, and he wasn’t one to turn down a sizable fee. Predictably, it got him tangled up in one of Eliot’s cons. Not so predictably, the whole thing went off relatively smoothly. Before he knew it, he was invited to a post-victory dinner with Eliot’s team and not long after that found the two of them tangled up in Eliot’s bedsheets.

Once they caught their breath, Eliot propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at him. “Would you tell me if you were gonna take a hit on me or my team?”

“If this is your idea of sweet nothings, it’s no wonder all those women you’re rumored to sleep with only do it once.”

“Hey, I never had any complaints.” Eliot flicked at Quinn’s nose, but his wrist was caught before it could connect. His other hand shot out and Quinn caught that too. Eliot didn’t resist as Quinn rolled them until he was looking at Eliot spread out beneath him.

The playful spark faded from Eliot’s pretty blue eyes. “I’m serious, Quinn. Would you tell me?”

Most people couldn’t pull off an intimidating scowl while naked and pinned by the wrists to their own bed. Then again, Eliot wasn’t most people.

Quinn considered. It was a fair question. The truth was, he wouldn’t accept a hit on Eliot, at any price. And anyone who came to him with one wouldn’t stay breathing much longer. He couldn’t say the same for Eliot’s team, however. He liked them, they were smart, deadly competent, and occasionally funny, but they weren’t Eliot. But they were important to Eliot and, when he stopped to think about it, that was apparently enough for Quinn.

“I’m not taking any hits on you or your people. Not now and not ever.”

All it earned him was a nod.

Quinn put the pieces together. “You already knew. So, why’d you ask?”

“Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it.” In one smooth motion, Eliot extricated his arms and rolled out from under Quinn. “That’s a long timeframe for that kind of promise."

“If I change my mind, I’ll be sure to give you fair warning.” In an echo of their first meeting as allies rather than adversaries, Quinn held out his hand. “Deal?”

Eliot grinned, clearly remembering the same dirty warehouse in Kiev. “Deal,” he said, and they shook.

Quinn braced for the inevitable sneak attack in retaliation for his earlier move, but Eliot seemed satisfied to let it lie. Resting back against the pillows, he resembled a large jungle cat, content and sated with the world. His hair was loose around his face, disheveled from their slight tussle.

Taking his cue, Quinn settled back against his pillows too, feeling like he’d accomplished something but not sure exactly what. He spun the thought around in his mind, poking at it over and over before giving it up as a lost cause. It would come eventually, it always did. Didn’t mean he liked waiting for it though.

It wasn’t until he heard the breathing beside him even out that he realized Eliot was asleep.

For a moment, he just froze in surprise. If Eliot was awake, he’d probably make some dumbass comment about catching flies. Or maybe a dirty joke about what else Quinn could do with his mouth. He did neither.

In his sleep, he was as restless and grouchy as he was while awake, forehead scrunching and nose twitching every once in a while. One hand was balled in a fist where it rested on top of the covers against Quinn’s leg. There was something comfortable in that, in knowing that Eliot didn’t turn into something drastically different just because he was asleep. Which brought Quinn to his current problem. If there was one thing he hated, it was a puzzle whose pieces didn’t fit. Aside from his fists and his guns, information was the other stock in trade that kept him alive and ahead of his enemies.

Was that all it took for Eliot to trust him? A promise that he wouldn’t go after Eliot or his team. Quinn had specified nothing about not going after him for any non-job-related reasons. Eliot was smart enough to know the distinction. The more he thought about it the more it didn’t make sense. Eliot knew exactly what kind of man Quinn was. Right now he could do anything, anything, to a sleeping Eliot and without that split second of reaction time consciousness gave him, he could inflict serious damage.

Before he knew what he was doing, he shook Eliot by the shoulder.

Eliot snapped awake in an instant, eyes scanning the room. That bright gaze fixed on Quinn when no threat popped out of the shadows, and the tension bled out of him. “The hell? What is it, Quinn?”

“I didn’t stop doing my job when I started sleeping with you.” It wasn’t what he meant to say but fuck if he knew what that was. He’d reacted and now he was running on instinct. And the jarring feeling of something poking at the inside of his chest, desperately clawing its way out into the open air.

Eliot blinked and squinted at Quinn. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Do you? Do you really? And you expect me to believe it’s not a problem for you?”

“Won’t say I like it. But until you do something that crosses my path, then I can live with it. Besides, I got it on good authority that most of the people you go after are scumbags in their own right.”

Most, but not all.

Quinn looked him in the eye. “And when they aren’t?” Because he needed to say it, to see Eliot’s reaction.

“What you said earlier. About fair warning.” Eliot put a hand on his leg. “It goes both ways, you know. If we have a problem, we’ll deal with it. I’m not coming after you in the middle of the night.”

Quinn tilted his head, studying Eliot. He had on his serious face, mouth set in a tight line and a little crease right between his eyebrows. He stared at Quinn like he half expected him to bolt and half expected him to fight.

Truth was, Quinn didn’t want to do either of those things. Eliot’s bed was comfortable and Quinn was tired. This was usually the part of the night where he put his clothes on and slipped back into his life. The pull of that was strong, but there was a part deep inside him that felt hollow at the thought of giving up whatever this thing with Eliot was.

In the end, he could either trust Eliot or he couldn’t.

It sent a cold chill racing down his spine. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to give that kind of trust anymore, against all the instincts that kept him alive. But he wanted. Wanted so badly he could taste it in the back of his throat. He glanced up at the ceiling as if the answers were somewhere in the expanse of dim white. As expected, they weren’t. Just a few streaks of plaster covering what must have been the remnants of old cracks. Quinn let his eyes trace over them, mind following not far behind, circling an answer he knew was inevitable but wasn’t sure he was ready to admit.

He sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist.

“You asked me a question, now it’s my turn.” Quinn didn’t bother to wait for Eliot’s nod. “Why’d you let me go?” He wasn’t exactly sure why he was asking, other than the fact that it had been burning a hole in his mind for years.

The corners of Eliot’s mouth pulled down. He propped himself up on his elbows, head cocked. “What’re you talking about?”

“When we met that first time. The hangar. You had me down. Why’d you let me go?”

Eliot snorted, like Quinn was asking an easy question, like he should have been able to work it out himself. He always was a bit of an asshole, which was part of why Quinn liked him. “Sterling wouldn’t have told you anything about his plans for us. He’s a pain in the ass but he’s a smart pain in the ass.” Eliot paused, his expression pinched. “Don’t you ever tell him I said that.”

Quinn nodded solemnly despite the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “On my word.”

Eliot smiled back before turning serious again. “Even if you had the information I needed, I was on a tight schedule. You’re too much of a pro to break easy and I didn’t have that kind of time to burn.”

Quinn nodded at the assessment but couldn’t help pressing. “I wasn’t just referring to information, you know.”

“You mean, why didn’t I torture you for getting the jump on me. For that payback you were so sure I was looking for in Kiev?”

Quinn trailed a finger along Eliot’s chest in an idle, invisible pattern. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Eliot looked up at him. “You know, your pillow talk really sucks, man.”

“Never had any complaints before. Then again, usually I just get up and leave.” He ran a hand down Eliot’s side to take the sting out of the words.

“Don’t I know it.”

For a moment Eliot just looked at him. Quinn stared back. They were both comfortable in silence, and Quinn wondered if they might spend the rest of the evening like this. There were worse ways to spend the night, he figured.

Finally, Eliot sighed, running a hand across his face. “I had more important things on my mind.”

“Ah yes, saving the team. They were family even back then, weren’t they?”

Eliot nodded once before settling on his back. After a moment, Quinn did the same, their shoulders brushing. They stared at the ceiling for a moment before Eliot spoke again. “It ain’t just them, you know. If some punk upstart hitter was between me and you, I’d drop him in a heartbeat..”

Quinn rolled, straddling Eliot’s hips in one swift motion. Leaning in, he placed his hands on the bed so they bracketed Eliot’s head. “A punk upstart hitter?”

He could feel Eliot’s chest vibrate with laughter, rich and low. “Quinn, man, your hair was gelled. And I’m pretty sure you had frosted tips like some boy band wannabe.”

“Since when are you the expert in boy bands? And what the hell are frosted tips? I don’t even know what that means.”

“I dated a hairdresser once.” Eliot gave a playful tug to the loose strands around Quinn’s face, down from their usual ponytail. “And it means I like it better long.”

With that, Eliot swept Quinn’s arms from under him. Quinn let him, not bothering to catch himself as he fell against Eliot’s bare chest.

To his surprise, settling back down at Eliot's side wasn’t nearly as difficult as expected this time around.

Eliot followed him, clicking the bedside lamp off and shifting to throw an arm over Quinn’s chest. “Now, we done here, or do you wanna keep talking all night? Maybe braid each other’s hair while we’re at it.” The words were barely audible, muttered into Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn rested his free hand against the dip of Eliot’s back and let his eyes fall closed.

[olliepig]

Centre Stage chapter 2

The next chapter is here! Massive thanks as always to the amazing @willow-salix for all her help, cheerleading and betaing prowess with this. 

As always, the whole thing is available on AO3 here

****************

“Thank you so much for this week, it’s been amazing,” Cat smiled, leaning back into Scott, her head comfortably nestled on his shoulder as she watched the stars, John and Selene’s voices fading to nothing behind them.

“Tell me about it,” Scott grinned, barely aware of anything but Cat, wanting to savour the feeling of contentment that had been ever present since they got together and the tranquillity it had brought to him that only nagging thoughts of their imminent separation could disturb. She was warm in his arms, her body pressed against him as he dropped a tender kiss on the top of her head, taking in the scent of her hair as it tickled his nose.

Cat nuzzled her head further into him but didn’t reply, lost in thought as she listened to the distant waves rolling onto the shore and the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the palm trees behind them.

Their final day together had been remarkably free from any rescues and they had spent it relaxing by the pool before everyone assembled on the beach for an impromptu family barbecue to bid her farewell.

Good food and company had led to the whole family sitting around, talking and laughing until late, and it had felt to Scott like a lifetime to wait before everyone finally went to bed, leaving them sitting alone on a blanket spread out on the sand for the second time that week.

Unlike the last time, Cat’s mind was calm and, like Scott, she was savouring their closeness and the peace that it brought over her. Spending the evening with the whole family had been wonderful but she hadn't been able to take her eyes off him all night and had been counting down the minutes until they could be alone together once more. Having finally started their relationship, it seemed so unfair that they had such a short amount of time together before they had to go back to their own lives on opposite sides of the planet.

“When do you think we’ll see each other again?” Scott asked, breaking the silence and finally voicing the question that had been plaguing them both for days.

Cat sighed, not wanting to face the reality of the conversation just yet but knowing that she must.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I’m going straight into rehearsals on Monday for that tour in Italy I told you about. That’s going to pretty much take up the next month or so, and then I’m back in rehearsals again for the next season. I’d say it’s going to be into September anyway before I have a free day to meet up, and that’s only if you can get to London.”

Cat’s heart clenched painfully as she spoke. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about it before, preferring to bury her head in the sand for as long as possible and enjoy their time together without the added pressure of knowing for definite that it could be months before they next were on the same continent.

Scott hugged her tighter at the news he’d been dreading. He’d known before he even asked that it was likely to be a number of weeks but having it confirmed that it was going to be more than a month was definitely not what he was hoping for.

“I’ll do my best, but by then we’re probably going to be getting close to having the T drive sorted, so I don’t know how much time I’ll have to come over,” he admitted, already feeling the ache in his chest as he imagined being without her again. “Isn’t there any way you can get some time off before then? Even just a day?”

“I really don’t think there is. Tour schedules are a nightmare and every day is already accounted for, and in the couple of days I have when I get back to London, I’m going to have to get organised for starting back with the company,” Cat explained, her heart sinking as she spoke, the thought of not seeing him making her feel strangely hollow.  

“We knew this might be the reality for us,” she continued softly, shifting herself round to look at him, hating how downcast he seemed, his eyes lowered and his whole demeanour screaming disappointment. “We’ve both got stuff we’ve arranged that can’t be changed, but it’s not forever. Once these existing commitments are over, then I can factor our relationship into anything new I get asked to take on, but until then I can’t do much I’m afraid. I can’t let people down who’ve already bought tickets.”

“I know that, and I’m not asking you to change anything. I’d just hoped we’d be able to see each other sooner. Not being able to really fucking sucks, that's all,” he finished, meeting her eyes, hoping that she understood what he was saying.  

“You’re not wrong there,” Cat smiled sadly, reaching out to gently stroke his cheek, feeling the faint roughness from his stubble prickle her hand as he leant into her touch. “But Scott, this is going to be the reality for us. Are you sure it’s what you want? I’m not going to be someone who can be available whenever you are. I’ve got my life and my career. However much I want to be with you, I’m not going to give that up.”

“Who said anything about that?” Scott exclaimed, horrified that she could even think that was how he was feeling. “If I’d wanted the kind of girlfriend who was at my beck and call whenever it suited me, I could have had that years ago but it holds no appeal whatsoever. I want a partner. I want to be able to support you in everything you do in the same way that I know you’ll do with me. I don’t expect you to be here all the time.”

He paused for a moment, reaching out and taking her hand in his own, needing the comfort of her touch as he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently before continuing.  

“Like you say, you’ve got your life and your career, and you have no idea how proud I am of you for everything you’ve done. I’m never going to try and take that away from you, I just want to fit in around it and complement it. I was just disappointed because we’ve only just got to this point and it feels like it’s ending far too soon,” he finished, hoping that he’d done enough to convince her that he wasn’t trying to turn her into something she wasn’t.

Cat held his gaze for a moment, pinned in place by the intensity she found there as he implored her to understand before closing the gap between them and brushing his lips with her own. She didn’t prolong the kiss, choosing instead to rest her forehead against his, allowing them to draw comfort from each other as she took in what he had just said.  

“Sorry,” she breathed, pulling back to look at him once more. “I didn’t mean to imply any of that. I’ve just dated one too many guys who didn’t like how much of my life my job took up. I know you’re not like that but it’s hard not to fall back into old habits sometimes.”

“I totally understand that. I’ve not managed to have a proper relationship since we moved here and started this,” Scott replied, turning and gesturing towards the villa and the craft held far below, before looking back to Cat.

“My life is so unpredictable that dates kept having to be reorganised at the last minute and, in my experience, that didn't usually go down very well, so I gave up after a while,” he continued with a shrug and a small smile that made Cat’s heart ache for him. “I don’t want to go into this worrying about what’s gone before, either with you or with others. It’s why I was so happy when you said what you did about talking to each other about stuff. If we can do that as soon as there’s even a hint of a problem, then there won’t be any misunderstandings and we’ll be fine.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Cat smiled, shivering slightly as the gentle breeze raised goose bumps on her arms, looking away as she tried to rub some warmth back into them.

It wasn’t cold on the beach by any stretch of the imagination but the temperature had definitely dropped since the sun had set and she found herself wishing that she’d brought another layer with her.

Sensing movement beside her, she looked up just in time to see Scott pulling off his hoodie, giving her a tantalising glimpse of toned stomach as his t-shirt rode up before he tugged it back down and covered himself again.

“Here, take this,” he offered, reaching around her to drape it over her shoulders, the action leaving them briefly cocooned in it, safe in their own little world.

Time seemed to slow for Cat as she watched him getting nearer; even though she knew it was allowed now, the thrill of being so close to him hadn’t left her and she could feel her heart starting to pound in her chest as she was drawn to him, unable to resist any longer.  

“Scott…” she almost whispered, snapping his attention to her from where it had been focussed on just getting her warm.

He froze in place, his eyes meeting hers, the tone of her voice sparking something in him. He was captured by the intensity and longing in her gaze, his heart rate skyrocketing as he lost himself in the moment, drawn towards her as his lips met hers in a soft, lingering kiss.

Cat moaned quietly, feeling her heart rate increasing further as she deepened their kisses, snaking her tongue along the seam of his lips and encouraging them to part, his lips warm and impossibly soft under her own.

His hoodie forgotten, Scott buried his hands in her hair, cradling her head as she slid her arms around his back, pulling herself into him and pressing their bodies together. There was an urgency to her kisses which excited him and his breathing quickened as they clung to one another, his blood starting to pool in his trousers, making him shift uncomfortably.

No longer feeling the cold thanks to the burning heat starting to build in her, Cat was desperate for more. Her whole body was crying out for his touch and, powerless to resist any longer, she shifted her position and lay back onto the blanket.

Scott’s eyes flew open in surprise as he felt himself being pulled onto her and he tucked himself alongside her, his need to feel the closeness of her body matching hers. Propping himself up on an elbow so as not to squash her, the sight that greeted him took his breath away and he hungrily took in her long hair spread out beneath her as she looked up at him, desire darkening her eyes and her lips slightly parted.

Dipping back down to kiss her once again, he felt her hands roaming across his back, clawing at him and sending all his remaining blood flooding south, leaving him slightly lightheaded. He had always loved this wild side to her, and knowing that behind the controlled public persona was someone who was able to completely let go was a massive turn on for him so he replied in kind, his hands tangling in her hair, pulling on it slightly as he kissed her again and again.

A thrill of recognition passed through Cat as she realised the last time Scott had kissed her like that had been at Penny’s, and her need for him now at least matched how she had felt that night. He had an irresistible draw on her, and his words of reassurance earlier had ensured that any lingering reservations about taking their relationship further before she left the island had been forgotten.

Frustrated that they still weren’t close enough, Cat slid her hands lower, grabbing his ass and pulling his hips into hers, feeling the unmistakable bulge in his jeans press into her.

Scott groaned loudly as the added pressure made him see stars, dropping his head onto her shoulder for a moment to try and regain some composure.

“I hate you so much right now,” he complained once he was able to speak again, a faint smile curling the edges of his lips.

“No, you don’t,” she grinned, kissing his neck, gently nipping the skin as she went.

Scott tilted his head, giving her better access as he considered his answer, his eyes closed, lost  in the sensations.

“You’re right, I don’t,” he conceded after a moment, crushing her lips under his once again as desire ripped through him.

This time, his free hand didn’t stay tangled in the long strands of her hair. It roamed up and down her body, making her writhe under his touch.

“Scott,” she mumbled into his mouth, feeling his hand slide up inside her top just as a memory from a decade before materialised in her head, making her pull back.

“Yeah?” his head shot up, concern that he had gone too far in his eyes.

“If we’re going to do this, maybe we should take it back up to the house? Cos I’m guessing we don’t want a repeat of what happened last time,” she grinned, quickly dissolving into laughter as their eyes met.

“Oh God, their faces!” Scott choked, unable to hold in his mirth as he collapsed over her, all desire evaporating as amusement took hold. Their escapade on a Virginia beach was something he hadn’t had cause to think about in years, but now that he’d been reminded, he couldn’t quite believe that they’d ever done it, although he had to admit that it had been very, very funny. “They looked so shocked.”

“As well they might. I’m guessing it wasn’t what they were expecting to come across on an evening stroll,” Cat giggled as Scott pushed himself up, wiping his eyes as he helped straighten her top back out.

“I don’t think I’ve ever moved that fast. They can’t have seen anything too incriminating though, can they?” Scott asked, still chuckling to himself as he helped Cat sit back up again.

“I doubt it, but I reckon they knew exactly what we were up to. It was pretty obvious,” Cat grinned, thoroughly enjoying the sound of Scott’s laughter as it flooded through her, filling her heart with joy.  

“I guess it was… oh God, the sand,” Scott cried, exploding with laughter once more as he remembered the worst part of the endeavour. “So much sand everywhere.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cat groaned. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a more uncomfortable drive home. Good shower to get it all off afterwards though, wasn’t it?”

“Now that’s a much better memory,” Scott replied, a rasp in his voice as his eyes glittered dangerously, darkened in desire again.

“Certainly is.” Cat leant in and caught his lips with hers in a lingering kiss that sent shivers down his spine. “So, um… you wanna call it a night down here?”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Scott readily agreed, standing and offering her a hand to get up.

Cat smiled as she took his hand and pulled herself up before tearing herself away from him, feeling the loss of his touch keenly as they worked together to fold the blanket and gather what little had been left for them by the others.

She couldn’t help but glance up to look at him and they paused as their eyes met, matching grins spreading across their faces before she wrenched her gaze away and went back to what she was doing. Packing up was slow progress, their eyes meeting often and always with a pause to take each other in with a smile but they eventually had everything ready and set out up the path.

Scott found that a surprising calm came over him as they wound their way back up to the villa, her hand tucked securely into his. Walking together, hand in hand like that felt so right, he thought, like that was how they were meant to be. Despite the promise of things to come that Cat had seemed to make on the beach and the fact that his whole body ached for her touch, he was perfectly happy to let the night run its course, knowing that whatever happened next would be perfect for them.

Beside him, Cat was still lost in the sensations of their embrace, feeling where the heat of his body had seared into her side and the comfort of having his arms around her. Her lips still tingled from his kisses as the memory of them played on a loop in her head, making her body long for more.

Scott had been a perfect gentleman right from the start, she realised, always letting her know what he wanted while also being completely respectful of her wishes. She had no idea what else she would have expected as that was just who he was, but it was reassuring nonetheless and their communication had allowed her to relax into their relationship much more quickly than she had expected.

Before they knew it, they were back up at the house and busied themselves tidying away the blanket and lights in the big cupboard in the kitchen, working together quietly and efficiently.

“We should probably head to bed. It’s getting late and I’ve got a long journey tomorrow,” Cat said, turning to face Scott as they finished up.

“I guess you do,” Scott sighed, his shoulders slumping at the reminder of her imminent departure before he caught the look in her eyes which left him in no doubt of what she was thinking.

Reaching out, he brushed her cheek gently with his fingers, carefully tracing the pad of his thumb over the soft skin beneath her eye as she sighed, her eyes closing and a small smile appearing on her full lips before she nuzzled into his touch and placed a gentle kiss on the palm of his hand. Fire spread through him once more and he closed the gap between them, his hand sliding into her hair and grabbing a handful, pulling her head back as he hungrily met her lips with his own.

Breaking the kiss as suddenly as it had started, he let his hand slide down her arm and took her hand, turning and wordlessly leading her towards his room.

*****

“Well, this is a bit of a first,” Cat commented, looking around in interest as Scott closed his bedroom door quietly behind them.

“In what way?” Scott asked, turning quickly to look at her in confusion, his brain busy thinking about something which was most definitely not a first for them.

“I’ve never been in your bedroom before,” she smiled, knowing exactly where his mind was. Hers was still there too and was unlikely to be waylaid for long, but she was more than prepared to delay things slightly in order to satisfy her curiosity.

Unsurprisingly, she saw that the bed took up most of the space but a small sofa and an armchair sat in a corner with a low table between them and there was a desk in the corner next to the door that she assumed led to an en suite. It was neat, effortlessly stylish and altogether exactly what she would have expected his bedroom to look like.

“God, you’re right. You weren’t allowed on the base were you?” Scott recalled.

“Nope. Every time we’ve seen each other, you’ve always been at mine so this is the first time I get to see Scott Tracy’s bedroom.”

“Please don’t start referring to me in the third person again,” Scott pleaded with a smile, knowing that this argument had been going on for over a decade and that he was unlikely to win now.  

Cat grinned at him and stuck her tongue out instead of answering as she wandered over to the desk, and Scott contented himself with good naturedly rolling his eyes in response. It was something she did to everyone and, as such, it actually wasn’t something that bothered him, but he loved that it always made her smile so it was one of the first things he had picked back up again after they had met at Penny’s party.

“I love the family photos,” Cat commented, bending down to look at them as Scott came up behind her to see which ones she was looking at. “That’s a lovely one of you all. Is that where you grew up?”

Having a guest in his room, looking at his pictures was a new experience for Scott and the fact that Cat was already making herself quite at home made his heart swell in happiness, reminding him of the time he had been the one investigating the pictures on display in her dressing room while she got ready after a performance of Swan Lake a few months before. Watching her, he found he was thinking ahead, looking forward to the day there would be pictures of the two of them together, nestled in amongst his treasured family photos.

“Yeah, that’s the farm in Kansas. Grandma took that photo and it’s the only one I have with all of us together with Mom and Dad too. Look at Alan, he’s so tiny,” Scott pointed to the blond toddler, barely being restrained by a tall, red haired boy who could only have been John.  

“He’s very cute,” Cat confirmed, as she moved on to look at the next picture. “Is that Gordon with the gold medal?”

Scott looked at the picture of his brothers, arrayed around Gordon, whose smile beamed brighter than the medal around his neck. “Sure is. That was taken right after the ceremony, before he had to go off and do all the official interviews and the big party afterwards.”

“You look so proud of him,” Cat smiled, taking in the enormous grin on Scott’s face in the picture.

“I still am,” Scott admitted. “He put a hell of a lot of work into it, in less than ideal circumstances.”

“God, yeah! It must have been really tough.” Sensing a sudden wave of emotion rolling off Scott, Cat looked up at him, taking in the set of his jaw and his almost indecipherable expression as he kept his gaze trained on the picture. “For all of you.”

“We got through,” Scott deflected with a tone of forced joviality, glancing at her with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, shutting down any further conversation on the subject.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Cat said quietly. She hadn’t meant to stray onto something that was clearly still a difficult subject for Scott and the sudden change in his mood unsettled her. He had never given any hint that Gordon’s Olympic win was anything other than a positive event but his reaction now told her there was more to it than she was unaware of.

“It’s OK. I’m not upset, it was just a tough period, that’s all,” Scott soothed, reaching for her and wrapping her in his arms, lowering his head so their foreheads leant together for the second time that night, the solid warmth of her body calming him and taking him away from memories of a time he’d rather forget. “I’ll tell you about it another time, I promise. I just don’t want to spend our last night together for a while going through it all.”

“Whenever you want to, I’ll be here,” Cat murmured, holding Scott tightly around his waist, feeling the slight tremor in his breathing settle as they stood, drawing strength from each other.

“I know you will,” Scott replied at length, pulling away and meeting Cat’s gaze, the heat in it making him feel giddy once again, unpleasant memories forgotten as the magnetism of the woman in front of him took over once more.

Something shiny caught the corner of her eye, and Cat pulled her gaze away, turning back to the desk, a smile appearing on her face when she realised what it was.

“Are those your wings from the air force?”

“Sure are,” Scott grinned. “I’ve still got the uniform too, packed away in storage somewhere.”

“Oh, do you now?” Cat cocked an eyebrow, images and sensations flooding back to her that she was keen to repeat. “I have very fond memories of you in that uniform.”

“I have some very fond memories of you taking me out of it,” Scott grinned, moving behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, nuzzling into her neck and kissing it gently.

Cat leant back into him, reaching up and caressing the back of his head with her hand, running her fingers through his soft hair as he worked his way up her neck and along her jaw before spinning around and meeting his lips with her own.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, pulling back to meet her eyes again.

“I really do,” Cat breathed, held by his gaze as her lips still tingled from his kisses and her body cried out for more.

“You absolutely sure it’s not too quick for you? I don’t want you feeling you have to cos we’re not going to see each other for a while,” he persisted, wanting to make absolutely sure that he was doing the right thing before going any further.

“Absolutely sure,” she confirmed with a smile. “It’s maybe quicker than I thought but it feels right. Now shut up and kiss me again.”

Not needing told twice, Scott captured her lips with his once more, keeping their kisses slow and sensual. He could feel a burning heat starting to build that, if left unchecked, could easily consume them but, unlike when they were at Penny’s, there was no sudden dam ready to burst tonight; they had all the time in the world and Scott for one had every intention of using it.

He pulled back, meeting her eyes briefly before bending to trail kisses along her jaw and down her throat, the scent of her skin filling his nose as he inhaled deeply, feeling the faint tickle of her hair on his face as he did so.  

Lost in the sensation of his soft lips working down the sensitive skin of her neck, Cat dropped her arms and slid her hands up inside his t-shirt, feeling the silky-smooth skin of his back as he shivered at her touch. Keen to feel more, she started to pull his top up further as Scott broke contact for a moment, taking the garment, lifting it over his head and dropping it on the floor as her eyes raked hungrily over his bare chest.

Despite knowing that it was allowed, she felt something akin to apprehension as she reached out, tracing down the hard plains of his chest and onto his stomach, feeling the soft dusting of hair tickling her fingertips as she went.

Scott simply watched as she took him in, feeling a strange mix of desire and protectiveness. Her gentle touch set him on fire but she looked so unsure of herself that his first urge was to look after her. Reaching for her, he brushed her hair over her shoulder before bending down to kiss her again, gently but firmly, feeling her hands slide around his waist, pulling herself into him as she returned the kiss.

Standing up on her tiptoes, it was Cat’s turn to bury her face in Scott’s neck, any apprehension melting away as she nipped the skin playfully, making him groan in pleasure as he pushed his hands up under her top, leaving her stomach exposed and sending shivers through her that were from more than the cool night air coming in from the open window.

Pressed together, their bare skin met, sending a jolt through him and causing even more of his blood to head southwards. Needing to feel more, Scott lifted her top off, discarding it on the floor as she reached behind her to unhook her bra, tossing it out of the way before she pressed back into him, kissing his chest and neck as he ran his hands up her muscular back.

Cat pulled away, smiling at the small whimper that came out of him at the loss of her kisses. Taking his hand, she led him toward the bed, pushing him back onto it and quickly climbing up beside him, desperate to feel the warmth of his body against hers once again.

[arahul-abyssia]

Flight

Nintember Story #4! ( @starprincesshlc , @jklantern ). There are many more stories in a world than the grandiose ones we are usually privy to, many of which may not even cross paths with the heroes or villains. Sometimes, viewing a comparatively mundane tale in a fantastical world is a nice change of pace.

(Also, update on the situation with these stories: This one’s going up late because my life has been rather chaotic recently, and I’ve decided that the next story will be the final one, encompassing the last ten prompts, rather than two more with five each, as I’ve been doing.)

~~ Flight, Fear, Jungle, Brotherhood, Song ~~

“So you’re up here again, huh? Still dreading tomorrow?”

“Oh, was it that obvious?”

Of course he was up on the hill. Why wouldn’t he be up on the hill? It’s not like that was where his life was going to end tomorrow, where he’d have to stare the void in the face and somehow not only not break contact, but venture through it. Why shouldn’t he be at that point of no return, attempting to fill himself with as much bravery for the next day as he possibly could?

“Hey… flying can’t be that bad, right? It’s what your body was built for.”

“Yeah, but not my mind.”

“Really? Have none of Master Teba’s lessons helped?”

“If they have, I haven’t noticed. And it’s not like I can practice, because I need to ‘conserve my strength for the big day.’ ...Look, Tevara, I appreciate your attempts to help, honestly, but I think I need to be left alone for now.”

“If you say so, Rynn. Just know that I believe in you; you’re stronger than you know. ...Sav’orq!”

And she walked down the slope, toward the stable where they were staying, her face and gait as bright as ever.

Rynn spent most of the afternoon and evening in a quiet dread, having to force himself to eat something and struggling to fall asleep that night, which was already hard enough with the roughness of whatever they used to make the hammocks. A part of him wished the morning would never come, but come it did, and just after the sun had fully risen above the horizon, he was there on Whistling Hill alongside his friend, their parents, and the so-called trial director that he had met only once before.

“Alright, Rynn. You know the route: once you’re sent into the sky, fly southeast to Faron Jungle, then head directly eastward; just beyond its eastern edge is Tuft Mountain, past which is Lurelin Village, your destination. Land in the designated location to complete your Trial of Flight. When you are prepared, give your word and assume the starting position.”

Rynn took one final look at the three that has come to see him off: his dearest friend smiling with as much confidence as ever, her mother’s face embodying a kindness only time can bring, and his own father’s eyes filled with encouragement, even if the rest of his face didn’t show it. Nothing could ever truly eliminate the fear he was feeling, nor bring him the courage he lacked, but perhaps their expressions, and unending support over the past years, would be enough to get him through the imminent ordeal.

He took a deep breath, then spread his wings out and loosened his talons. “I… am ready.”

The director brought out a small piece of Sheikah technology, shaped something like an angular banana, which Rynn assumed was the device he had been told would be used to launch him into the air. The imposing Rito aimed it at the ground below Rynn for a few seconds, then brought it into the air.

“On my mark. Three… Two… One… Fly.”

On the final word, he activated the device, creating a large pop-like sound and an enormous updraft centered around Rynn. He barely had time to register what was happening before the wind caught his wings and he was sent into the sky. Every instinct in his body screamed to close his eyes and return to the ground, but he fought it, determined to do what he had to do.

Near the top of the updraft, he felt another wind blowing eastward and so adjusted his wings to catch it. In the distance, Rynn could just barely see the lush and unique greenery of the Faron Jungle. He noted its direction, then quickly turned his head to the sky before him. As frightening as the empty open air was, far more so was the distance between him and the ground, and he wished to avoid looking at any part of it as much as possible while in flight.

The wind was powerful but not at all turbulent, so all Rynn had to do to maintain his course was flap his wings occasionally and keep the rest of his body in the ideal flight position, making small corrections as necessary. His stomach was still churning, as though it were full of butterflies that had just drunk nectar from swift violets, but he was making sure progress. Within a short time, he was beginning to pass over the jungle, noting his approach on one of his sporadic and short glances downward. The fear within him slightly alleviated as he thought, Perhaps this won’t be so bad.

And then, as if on ironic cue, the winds suddenly picked up. Rynn had certainly practiced in more unstable air, but he was nowhere close to accustomed to it, and thus what had just been a breeze (in multiple senses of the term) was now much more turbulent. All the fear that had slowly left him was now returning in full force, stronger than ever. His vision began to blur and he started flapping his wings frantically, the directed reason and focus in his mind being rapidly replaced by panic. He felt his lower body being constantly blown out of position by the wind, his feet and tail feathers shifting about wildly in the gale. He had just enough time to notice the sudden grey in the sky and a round object hurtling towards him before a searing pain shot through his left wing, and he was falling, waving his other limb about in a desperate attempt to slow his descent.

He wasn’t sure when he lost consciousness, but he found himself waking up on a muddy shore of a pond, his lower half still submerged. After blinking a few times, he attempted to push himself to his feet, but another bolt of pain struck his left wing when he tried to put weight on it. Instead, in a haphazard manner he rolled himself onto his back, then sat up, trying to gain a sense of where he was as the haze cleared from his vision.

From the look of the vegetation, he had no doubts that he had fallen directly into Faron Jungle, likely having had his fall broken by the tree cover before falling into the pond, then drifting to its shore. There was a large cliff to his right, but in every other direction was only more foliage. The only sounds besides his breathing were the noises of the local wildlife, the occasional crash of thunder, and the fall of rather heavy rain.

In his surveying, Rynn once again put too much weight on his left wing and nearly cried out in pain. Bringing the limb up, he found that most of its feathers were damaged or missing, and the front end of it was twisted and bent at an odd angle. He didn’t know if it was broken, but it was certainly injured enough that he wouldn’t be able to use it.

He took another moment to sit and wait while his head properly cleared, then pulled his legs out of the water and brought himself to his feet. His clothes felt utterly soaked and his feathers felt wholly waterlogged, despite both being designed to wick away water. Though he knew it wouldn’t help much, he tried to shake off some of the wet and wipe away the grime that covered much of one side of his body and clothes.

From what he had been told about the jungle, he knew there was a travel path that ran through it, crossing its main river (“Floria”, I think?) a few times and connecting the rest of Hyrule to the mountain and village on its southeasternmost shore. With the cliff nearby, he figured he would have the best luck in finding the path if he traveled directly away from it, and so, clutching his left arm close to his body to keep it steady, he set off.

As he walked, his mind wandered again to the events that had knocked him from the sky. He had no clue what the round object was, but he did think it odd that the winds had picked up so quickly and a storm had so suddenly appeared. Rynn had been told that they specifically had picked this day for his Trial of Flight because his route would consist of clear skies and relatively agreeable winds. Had they been mistaken? Had an error occurred somewhere in the process? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have the energy or focus to think about it either.

The canopy of leaves above did well to block the brunt of the rain, but many droplets still got through and hit him, doing nothing to fix the problem of how drenched he was. Strangely, though he was certainly unnerved by his current situation, he did not feel much at all of either fear or panic, and he was not sure why.

It’s… probably just because I’m too tired to feel anything…

Eventually, he came upon a thicker patch of vegetation where some mid-sized animals were rooting around for food. Based on their tusks and round furred bodies, Rynn guessed that they were some sort of boar. He changed his path to go around them, hoping that they would not even notice him. However, this was not to be, for one of his talons broke a branch on the ground beneath him only moments after he turned.

Rynn was met with small glittering eyes, each pair staring at him unflinchingly. He didn’t know if they were sizing him up as a threat, nor did he want to know. He began running in his new course, panic welling up within him once more as his vision started blurring once again. He began to feel light in the head, as though he were quickly running out of energy. Bursting from the foliage, he stumbled and fell onto much brighter earth, everything fading to black as two forms approached, one distinctly horse-shaped and the other some large and rotund biped.

His next experiences blurred together as he faded in and out of consciousness. Most of it was dominated by the sounds of hoofbeats, rain, and a rushing river. Besides that, he heard the occasional concerned murmur in a woman’s voice and urgent back-and-forth shouts at least once; he never could make out what they were saying. Eventually, he felt the air change, the humidity of the jungle being replaced by a clearer and saltier breeze, and he faded into a deeper sleep.

The next time consciousness returned to him, everything was far clearer. Rynn found himself in a round room of various brown tones with a curved and sloped roof, the telltale orange light of dusk streaming through the windows. He tilted his head to the side, seeing two Hylians talking quietly. They seemed to notice his shifting and turned to look at him. The darker of the two smiled and said, “Ah, so you’ve woken up. Welcome to Lurelin Village!”

“...What… what happened to me?” Rynn whispered, too tired to make his voice any louder.

The other woman, dressed in adventurer’s clothes and with supplies and weapons to match, answered. “I figured you wouldn’t remember. You stumbled onto the path through Faron Jungle just in front of my friend and I, then collapsed. When we tried to talk to you, you were completely unconscious, so we put you on my horse and rushed to the Lakeside Stable. They didn’t have the proper supplies to give you medical attention, so we were sent here instead.”

“You’re in our Medicine House right now. Your wing was fractured, but I’ve set it and bound it, as you can see, and once you’ve rested enough, I’ll have you drink this”--she held out a vial full of some sort of blood red liquid--“which should expedite the regrowth and repair of the wing, and you’ll be good to go by midday tomorrow.”

Rynn turned his head to face the ceiling again, slowly blinking as his thoughts swirled. “I… I see…”

“Ordinarily, I’d ask you what you were doing wandering around Faron Jungle with no adventuring gear to speak of, but I imagine that’s not what you were originally doing. You’re Rynn, right? The Rito whose flight exam was supposed to end here today?”

He nodded silently.

“Thought so. After we contacted the stable near the starting point (thank the goddesses that Sheikah communication box thing worked), we overheard something about the situation, and not too long after, two other Rito men arrived, insisting that they must see you. Their, uh, ‘attitudes’ and ‘levels of energy’, I guess, were a bit… too high, and you needed to rest in quiet, so Phenea had Gudek block the doorway. Last I checked, at least one of them was pacing back and forth outside.”

There was a noticeable lack of light coming in through the slits in the door, as they were blocked off by the rocky back of a Goron, which Rynn deduced was both this ‘Gudek’ and the rotund figure he had seen back on the jungle path. Phenea, then, must have been on the horse’s back at the time.

“I see… then, let them in, please.”

The doctor seemed to want to protest, but clearly decided not to, as Phenea got up and knocked on the door, telling Gudek that the Rito could now be let in. The Goron shifted out of the way and opened the door, and Rynn’s father and the flight director swiftly walked in. They stared at him for a moment, then the former seemed to try to rush in to hug him before thinking better of it.

“Rynn… I’m so glad you’re safe. When we got word of what happened, I… well, I began to imagine the worst. We flew over as quickly as possible…!”

“Yes, I must say, that experimental flight-enhancing Sheikah-tech worked particularly well, even in spite of all its… little issues. ...Would you happen to know or remember what damaged your wing? Was it the fall?”

Rynn had to push his mind a bit, but he remembered the event clearly enough, to the point that it would likely be etched in his mind for a long while. “Some sort of… large round object came flying at me as the storm was beginning… it might have had those Sheikah-tech markings?”

At this, the doctor spoke up. “I’ve heard of recent experiments with technology that can create weather. I’ll contact the Hateno Tech Lab about it tomorrow, assuming that communication cube thingy still works. I’d do it tonight, but it’s getting a bit late.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” said the flight director. Rynn and his father followed suit.

“Oh, speaking of the time: tonight we’re having a massive bonfire party, it’s part of an old tradition. No one really knows what it’s for anymore, but it’s a lot of fun, so we continue to have it every two months or so. You guys should come and watch! It’s when some of our best dancing and singing is shown off.” Throughout the invitation, the doctor gained a level of excitement and wonder that Rynn did not think doctors were capable of.

The other two Rito thought for a second, then shrugged. “I mean, I suppose since we can’t go home until tomorrow, we might as well have some fun.”

“Hmph. It’s not really my thing, but… well, I wanted to head back, but I think I want to be there for that message to the Lab: if there are going to sudden weather changes from here on, I think I, as a manager of flight, deserve to know what the hell is going on in all of that.” The director’s voice was slowly getting louder; he clearly cared quite a lot about his work, even if he didn’t show it.

“That settles it then! In the meantime, though, I’d like all of you to leave: Rynn still has resting to do, and an overstuffed Medicine House won’t help with that.”

It looked as though everyone else wanted to protest, but they quickly turned and left one-by-one. As their footsteps faded away, Rynn heard something about Phenea and Gudek telling them about the dances and songs, because they had “been to a lot over their travels,” and the flight director rapidly excusing himself to use the communicator to update the stable at Whistling Hill, specifically Tevara and her mother, on the whole ordeal.

“You rest up now, Rynn. When you’re ready, your clothes are on the table right over there--we washed and dried them right after we cleaned you (I hope you don’t mind)--and the rest of the stuff that was on you is just next to it. Take this healing potion right before you go to bed for the night. You got all that?”

Rynn nodded softly; he could already feel sleep trying to take him once more.

“Good.” The doctor set the bottle on the table, then exited the house, as Rynn’s senses faded away, in a manner far more peaceful than the previous two times.

When he next awoke, the sun had fully disappeared, but a bright firelight was illuminating the room. Rynn pushed himself up, careful not to put any weight on his fractured limb, then put on his clothes and exited the house. Down near the shore was the largest fire he had ever seen, with a pile of burning wood at least twice as high as any person. A ring of individuals was engaged in what seemed to be a very intricate dance, while a wider audience sang along joyously. Near the back of the audience circle he could see Phenea and Gudek talking non-stop to his father and flight director, seemingly to their slight annoyance, if their postures were anything to go by.

Rynn smiled and began walking towards the bonfire. For once in quite a long while, he realized, he felt quite content and, amazingly, entirely devoid of fear.

[ft-dads-au]

We Are Unbreakable

Rare Pairs Week 2020 Prompt: Opposites Pairing: Silver x Gildarts

A Collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​

AO3 | FF.Net  Takes place after You’re My Fantasy

Summary: When Silver and Gildarts set out to tell their parents of their plan to move in together they experience two very surprising yet opposite reactions.

May 29, 1988

“For God’s sakes Silver, breathe,” Gildarts squeezed his hand quickly, letting go before anyone could see, “It’s gonna be fine. I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.”

“That doesn’t really make me feel any better,” Silver muttered under his breath.

“I heard that,” Gildarts stopped on the sidewalk, “I can still stay home if you think that would be better.”

“No!” Silver protested, “I’m sorry, I’m just nervous. My dad is... not going to take this well.”

“I’m not gonna pretend to know the first thing about dads, but I mean he’ll either accept us or he won’t.” Gildarts pointed out, “Is that going to change how you feel about me?”

“Of course not!”

“Then what does it matter? We’ll go in and get it over with. Whatever happens, at least we won’t be lying to them anymore. Then we’ll go see my mom, be home early enough to go a few rounds. I’ll get my roommate out of my room somehow,” Gildarts grinned confidently, and it made shivers run up Silver’s spine.

It always felt like his boyfriend never worried about anything, and yet somehow, things usually worked out the way he wanted. Silver worried about everything. What people thought of him, his grades, his performance on his hockey team, his future. All in a bid to please a man who was at best distant. The same man they were going to see today.

It had taken him months to get up the courage to ask Gildarts to move in with him, going against every single belief he’d ever been taught. In that time, he’d brought up all his grades, gotten a job as a research assistant at one of the labs on campus, and applied to the same graduate school as Gildarts. All in preparation for this moment.

Silver had taken his future into his own hands so that he could tell his father that he didn’t need his approval or his financial support to be with the man he loved. He could stand on his own. But now that the moment was finally here, he was terrified.

Silver desperately wanted his family to like Gildarts. To see how kind, fun-loving and intelligent he was, and how absolutely perfect they were for each other. How much he needed him.

The best way he could explain it was like this. His whole life he’d felt like he’d been waiting for something, never really being able to pinpoint what it was. When he’d seen Gildarts at that bar the first time, surrounded by women but looking bored behind his smile, it had intrigued him. He could only imagine that was how he often looked as well.

It hadn’t helped that he was incredibly attractive. Enough for Silver to break his own rule of approaching other men on campus, well aware it was dangerous. But he couldn’t help himself. He’d been drawn to the other, much like a magnet is attracted to its opposite pole.

And he hadn’t been disappointed. From that first night, Silver had been smitten, and the moment he’d sensed that Gildarts had been interested, he’d pursued him shamelessly. Even going to the extent of learning his schedule so he could bump into him on campus.

Little by little, his efforts paid off, and that first time that Gildarts held his hand, it was like he’d released a breath he never knew he’d been holding. It had been the most liberating experience of his life, and it had only gotten better as their relationship deepened. He couldn’t give that up.

No, he wouldn’t give that up, no matter what obstacles his father tried to put in his way. He could feel Gildarts watching him, and when he looked up, he saw the concern reflected in his dark green eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” Silver reassured him, giving him the biggest smile he could muster. “Are you ready? We’re almost there.”

“Yeah, although I think I should have brought something stronger,” Gildarts looked down at the bottle of scotch he’d brought as a present for Silver’s father.

Silver snorted, “It’s not for you, moron.”

“You never know,” Gildarts mumbled, showing his nerves for the first time since they had left the college campus.

Silver took a quick look around, and when he didn’t see anyone, he whispered I love you and gave Gildarts a quick peck on the cheek.

“That’s it right there,” Silver pointed to the house he’d grown up in. It didn’t surprise him that everything still looked pristine. The garden was in perfect condition, and the layer of paint on both the house’s slats and the classic white picket fence looked brand new, as always.

They approached it slowly, enjoying their last few minutes together before they faced their first hurdle of the day. Silver gazed at Gildarts one last time, hooking their pinkies together briefly before opening the door.

“Ma, I’m home,” Silver yelled out, closing the door behind them.

“Hey Loser!” Ur, his twin sister, ran down the stairs and threw herself at him.

“Who’re you calling loser?” Silver teased after giving her a big hug, “I believe MU kicked Lamia’s ass all season.”

“Whatever,” Ur scoffed, stepping back to appraise Gildarts. “Who’s your friend? He’s gorgeous.”

“This is Gildarts,” Silver began, but he should have known better. Some things were just too ingrained in his boyfriend.

“Not half as gorgeous as you,” Gildarts practically beamed at Ur, “Damn Silver, you didn’t tell me your sister was so beautiful.”

“You are incorrigible,” Silver elbowed his boyfriend good-naturedly as Gildarts chuckled, winking at him to let him know he didn’t mean anything by it. “This is my twin sister Ur.”

Ur looked from one to the other, and Silver could pinpoint the moment she realized this was the guy he’d been telling her about. Her eyes darted to their father’s study and then settled on him. She raised her eyebrow at him, and he nodded, letting her know that was indeed what he was planning. They knew each other so well that half the time, they didn’t need words to communicate.

Before anything else could be said, his mother came out of the kitchen wearing one of her flowery aprons. “Silver, you’re home!”

“Hey mom, “Silver hugged her tightly. Ever since he’d started dating Gildarts, he’d been coming home less often, wanting to spend most of his free time with him, especially now that he was also working.

“I made all your favorites. Is this your friend?”

“Gildarts Clive, nice to meet you. These are for you,” Gildarts handed her the large bouquet they’d bought the previous day at Rose of Yüen, a flower shop in town. “It was kind of you to invite me, Mrs. Fullbuster.”

“Call me Elise, it’s so exciting to meet one of Silver’s friends, he rarely brings any home,” she admired the flowers, “These are beautiful, thank you so much! Argent, get out here, Silver’s home.”

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to put these in some water,” Elise announced before disappearing into the kitchen.

Silver felt the muscles of his stomach tense up as soon as he heard the sound of his father’s chair scraping the floor, signaling his imminent arrival. He stared at the door of his father’s study with trepidation, preparing himself for what was to come. He felt a hand grip his and squeeze it tightly. He was touched to see his sister giving him an encouraging smile.

It wasn’t enough.

The door opened, revealing Argent Fullbuster, a tall, broad-shouldered man with short dark hair that was starting to gray. He flashed Silver a smile, “Silver, my boy!”

Argent walked past Gildarts, for the moment giving him only the most cursory of glances as he beelined towards his son, enveloping him in a bear hug before examining him intently.

“You look good. We barely see you anymore,” Argent complained before grinning at him with a knowing expression, “What’s her name?”

Silver chuckled nervously, “No girlfriend, I got a job, actually. I’m working as a research assistant at one of the labs on campus.”

“Wonderful, it’s good to see you stepping up,” Argent patted him on the shoulder, “Did you apply to graduate school like we’d discussed?”

“Yes, sir, I -,”

“Stop interrogating him, Argent,” Elise scolded, returning from the kitchen with a large vase that she placed on the dinner table as a centerpiece. “This is Silver’s friend from school, Gildarts.”

Argent turned his attention to Gildarts, holding out his hand in greeting, “Nice to meet you, I’m Argent Fullbuster.”

Silver watched Gildarts shake his father’s hand, grateful that he didn’t do anything over the top. He really was on his best behavior.

His mother interrupted his observation, “Dinner’s ready, Ur and Silver, please set the table?”

Elise grabbed Gildarts by the arm as Ur and Silver headed to the kitchen. Silver looked back to see his boyfriend looking lost between his parents.

Ur grabbed plates and cutlery, making as much noise as she could manage so they could talk. “Are you sure about this?” she whispered.

“We’re moving in together,” Silver confessed, “We found an apartment last week, we’re moving in on June 1.”

“Holy shit, Sil, that’s huge!” She grinned, giving him a hug, “I’m so happy for you! And he’s so hot, why can’t I get a guy like that?”

Silver smirked, “I have to imagine most guys at Lamia are terrified of you.”

“Only the boring ones,” Ur retorted, “Sadly the remaining ones are no good for me.”

Silver snickered, knowing she was probably right. He was starting to relax when he heard his mother giggling in a way he’d never heard before, followed by his father’s loud guffaws. Gildarts must be working his charm. For one moment, he dared to believe everything would be alright.

“That guy of yours sure is something, huh? Didn’t know Mom could laugh like that.”

“Tell me the truth, how do you think they’re going to take it?”

Ur shrugged her shoulders helplessly, and Silver appreciated her honesty, but it did only made him even more nervous.

“I’ll back you up,” Ur assured him as she grabbed the utensils, letting Silver grab the heavier plates.

“Thanks.”

They entered the dining room to find Argent had already opened the Scotch bottle and was sharing a drink with Gildarts while Elise filled everyone’s water glasses. Silver and Ur set the table, and as the food was already laid out, they all sat down to eat.

Ur sat next to him, while Gildarts ended up on the other side of the table. His parents sat at the ends.

“So tell me, Gildarts, do you play hockey like Silver?” Elise asked, serving slices of the beef roast onto a plate.

“No, I don’t really do team sports. I train in a few different martial arts.”

“Is that the kicking thing from Alakitasia?” Argent asked, frowning.

“I believe a lot of them started in Alakitasia, yes,” Gildarts acknowledged, “I was bullied a lot as a kid, so my mother thought I should learn to defend myself.”

“Didn’t your father teach you?” Argent grilled.

“Dad!” Silver protested before his father could continue on what he knew was a touchy subject.

“It’s fine, Silver.” Gildarts gave him a terse smile, before answering his father. “I’ve never met my father, Sir. He abandoned my mother before I was born.”

“Oh, Silver,” Elise changed the subject, “Mika was over here yesterday to see Ur. Have you talked to her lately? You two used to be so cute together. If you’re not seeing anyone, maybe you should give her a call.”

Silver could feel Gildarts eyes on him, urging him to just get it out, and he knew there likely wouldn’t be a better chance than the one his mother had unknowingly given him.

“I, uhm, didn’t say I wasn’t seeing anyone, just that I didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Playing the field is all well and good son, but you’re not a kid anymore. You should really start thinking about finding a nice girl and settling down,” his dad commented as he was cutting his meat, his eyes not leaving the plate in front of him.

“That’s not what I said,” Silver cleared his throat, “I am seeing someone.”

“Well, which is it?” Argent looked up with the same face he’d had every time Silver had done something he wasn’t supposed to do as a kid, “Do you have a girlfriend or don’t you?”

He could feel Gildarts’ foot press against his, the only comfort he was able to offer from his current position.

“I d-don’t,” Silver did his best to meet his father’s irritated glare head-on. “I have a boyfriend.”

His declaration was met with silence, but he knew that wouldn’t last long. He could hear his heart beating in his head, and as he watched his father’s face, he saw the struggle.

And then Argent started to laugh, “A boyfriend, huh? That’s a good one! You looked so serious, I almost believed you. Next thing you’re gonna tell me it’s Gildarts.”

Argent peered at Gildarts, expecting to see him sharing his laughter.

Silver had no idea what his face looked like, but Ur had grabbed his hand under the table and was squeezing it as hard as she was able, and that was the only thing keeping him grounded as his panic grew.

“That would be correct, Sir,” Gildarts finally replied, his expression unreadable even to Silver, who knew him so well.

“Now see here, boys, I like a good joke just as much as the next guy but this has gone far enough.”

“Silver?” Elise called out, her voice fluctuating between a question and a plea, “Is this true?”

“Yeah,” Silver managed to look at her, recoiling when he saw the disappointment in her eyes. Any hope he might have had of her support dashed. “Gildarts and I have been together for over a year. We’re getting an apartment together.”

“Like hell, you are!” Argent snapped, slamming his hand on the table so hard all the drinks spilled.

“Argent, calm down, not in front of our guest!” Elise pleaded, rushing to get some paper towels to sop up the water and scotch that was dripping everywhere.

“That is not a guest, and he needs to go. NOW!”

“There’s nothing wrong with them being together,” Ur stood up for them, “There are some gay couples at Lamia, no one even blinks an eye.”

Argent pretended not to hear her. Silver appreciated the gesture, but he couldn’t seem to say anything. He was frozen, terrified of the anger he could see on his father’s face. All the words he’d practiced, everything he’d done to prepare himself for this moment completely escaping him.

“Silver, I’d like a word with you,” Argent seethed, getting up from the table and glaring at Gildarts, “As for you, I would like you gone by the time we come out. You are not welcome in this house.”

To his credit, Gildarts didn’t say anything, merely watched Argent walk into his study and slam the door. As soon as the door was closed, he rushed to Silver’s side, “Are you okay?”

Silver could only nod, already filled with dread at what surely awaited him.

“Do you want me to go in there with you? Cause I will.”

“It will only make things worse,” Silver stood up and hugged him tightly, knowing Gildarts wouldn’t do it out of respect for his parents, but he needed to feel him, to remember why he was doing all this.

“I’ll be okay,” he assured him.

“Of course you will, you’re one of the strongest people I know,” Gildarts hugged him back.

“Tell me you love me?”

“You know I do,” Gildarts kissed his cheek, “I’ve never loved anyone else.”

And although he knew he shouldn’t keep his father waiting too long, he couldn’t seem to let go of the warm embrace.

“I’ll be waiting right outside for you, okay?” Gildarts patted him on the back, letting go slowly and leaning in to give him the chastest of kisses. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Silver smiled up at his boyfriend. They gazed into each other’s eyes, engaging in a silent conversation, ignoring the fact that both his mother and sister were watching them.

“Sil, you shouldn’t keep him waiting long,” Ur reminded him, “It’s only going to make him angrier.”

“Thank you again for the invitation, Mrs. Fullbuster, I apologize for the unpleasantness,” Gildarts offered her a smile, “Ur, it was nice to finally meet you.”

Gildarts mouthed Right outside at Silver before showing himself out.

God, he loved him. He walked towards his father’s study, and just as he was about to turn the knob, he heard his mother ask, “Do you really love him?”

Silver could only nod as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

0-0

Gildarts sat on the front steps of the house, waiting for Silver to come out. He quickly stood up when he heard the door open. He could hear Argent screaming, and it took every bit of his self-control to stay where he was and let Silver handle it on his own.

“I’m so sorry you had to listen to all that,” Ur came outside, and Gildarts hurried to close the door for her when he noticed her hands were full. She had brought out a tray with two plates and two beers.

“We didn’t really expect it to go well,” Gildarts shrugged, accepting the beer but shaking his head at the food. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry.”

“Right,” Ur put the tray down on the steps, “Me either.”

“You didn’t seem surprised,” Gildarts commented, “Did you already know?”

“I mean, I’ve always known he was bi. Up until we went to different colleges, we did pretty much everything together. He didn’t tell me you were dating, but he mentioned you a lot, so I suspected. I figured out the rest when I saw you together.”

Gildarts nodded, “I’d hoped that it would go better.”

“I’m sorry,” Ur patted his shoulder, “My dad isn’t a bad man, but he has some very definite ideas about relationships. Silver knew that. It’s why he never told them. He figured he was gonna end up marrying a girl anyway, so what was the point.”

“I never felt like this about anyone,” he didn’t know why he felt the need to explain himself, but it was important to him that Ur knew he wasn’t playing with Silver. “I sort of thought I’d just always be alone, you know? But then he came into my life and just blew everything I thought I knew away. I don’t even know what I am, I just know that he makes me happy.”

Ur offered him a smile, “That’s beautiful. I wish I could tell you it will blow over, but I don’t know. The men in this family are super stubborn, it’s probably gonna get worse before it gets any better.”

Gildarts chuckled, “Yeah, Silver’s pretty stubborn too.”

“Does your mother know already?”

“Nah, we’re going there next, figured we might as well get it over with all at once.”

Ur offered him her beer, “Here, you’re probably gonna need this more than me.”

Gildarts thought about it for a moment and, with a jolt, realized she was right. “Thanks.”

“Take care of him, okay? Dad has always been tough on him, and Silver has done everything he can to impress him. Even if he tries not to show it, this is going to be hard on him.”

“I will,” Gildarts promised, already changing their plans for the evening.

“I better get back inside, it was really nice to meet you, Gildarts,” she squeezed his hand.

“Yeah, same.”

She opened the door, and screams that had been muffled rang perfectly clear now that the study door had been opened.

“I DON’T CARE IF YOU CUT ME OFF, I CAN DO IT ON MY OWN!”

Silver’s voice came through loud and clear, and Ur and Gildarts stared at each other in shock, watching him leave the room.

“GET BACK HERE, I’M NOT DONE TALKING TO YOU!”

“Silver, Argent, please!” Elise begged as Argent flew out of the room in a rage, chasing after Silver. He grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him to face him.

Silver immediately shoved him hard, pushing him into the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.

“How dare you?” Argent stood livid for one moment, enraged by the defiance as well as the destruction of his home, and then he lost all control. He grabbed Silver by the front of his shirt and threw him into the china cabinet as hard as he could.

The glass doors shattered as Silver’s body slammed through them like a rag doll, his momentum pushing him through until he hit the back of the large piece of furniture, obliterating it. Shards of glass shelves and pieces of broken china were transformed into sharp projectiles that rained atop Silver’s body.

“Argent! It’s just stuff, it’s okay,” Elise begged, placing herself in front of Silver with her hands held up in surrender.

“Elise, get out of the way,” Argent demanded, his fists clenching at his sides.

“N-no, you’re too angry, you’re going to hurt him, and I won’t let you.”

“He’s bleeding!” Ur screamed, having gone to check on her brother while her parents argued.

That was all Gildarts needed to hear to rush into the house, manners be damned.

“Get away from him, faggot! “Argent yelled, turning his anger on Gildarts.

It shocked him, the hatred he heard in that word, one that had never been used to describe him before, but he shoved it aside. He was more concerned with the large number of cuts on Silver’s arms, all of which were bleeding. Not to mention the shards of glass that were still lodged in him and would have to be carefully pulled out.

“My boyfriend is hurt, so unless you have something useful to say, shut the fuck up and get out of my way,” he snarled.

He could tell that Argent was not used to being spoken to in that manner, and he gave exactly zero fucks about his feelings. He checked Silver’s breathing and checked his eyes.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, not liking how out of it Silver seemed.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just let me-”

“Don’t move,” Gildarts commanded, running his fingers through Silver’s hair, grimacing at the glass that was in there and the blood he could see on his fingers. “Shit, you’re covered in glass. This is gonna be a bitch.”

“Ur,” he called out, not wanting to take his eyes off his boyfriend.

“Yeah, I’m right behind you.”

Gildarts took his wallet out of his pocket and grabbed a card that was tucked inside it, “Call my mother, she’s a doctor,” he instructed, giving her the card. “Don’t give her a chance to rant, just tell her what happened and that I’m bringing Silver to her place.”

“Okay,” Ur ran off, and he could hear her talking, she sounded relatively calm. Good, his mom didn’t do well with panicked people. Completely lost her shit on them.

Argent started to move toward them, and Gildarts had no idea what his intentions were, but he’d be damned if he let him anywhere near Silver while he was hurt.

“You’re not taking him anywhere,” Argent roared, “this is all your fault, anyway!”

“Argent, Silver’s hurt,” Elise tried to reason with her husband, cautiously placing a hand on his arm to hold him back, “Please…”

Gildarts was about to respond when he noticed the sadness in Silver’s expression, and he managed to bite his tongue before he said any of the things that he knew the man deserved to hear.

“I honestly don’t care whether you like me or not, but you are Silver’s father, so I am going to warn you this once,” Gildarts growled, “you don’t want to mess with me when someone I love is hurt.”

Ur ran back into the room, “She said some things I can’t repeat, but she’ll be ready for you.”

Gildarts chuckled. “That’s my mom, alright.”

“Can you call us a cab? I don’t want to make him walk,” Gildarts asked as he lifted Silver carefully from within the remains of the china cabinet, being wary of the glass that continued to fall with every move of Silver’s body.

“I’m sorry, I made a mess of things,” Silver mumbled, looking embarrassed.

“You did no such thing,” Gildarts soothed, checking for the source of the blood now that Silver was up and paling at what he saw.

In addition to the head wound, Silver had many cuts on the back of his arms. Gildarts could also see there was a large bloodstain forming on his shirt, just under one of his shoulder blades.

“I’ll drive you,” Ur declared, “Just let me get my keys.” She rushed up the stairs, reappearing less than a minute later.

“Silver, if you leave with him now, I will cut you off,” Argent stated calmly. “You will be responsible for yourself.”

Tears welled in the corners of Silver’s eyes when he said, “I love him,” and it almost broke Gildarts heart. How could anyone mistreat someone they cared about this badly? It was not something he could understand.

“We don’t need you,” Gildarts spat. He draped Silver’s arm around his neck, placing his arm around the man’s waist, trying to bear as much of his weight as he could. Although he knew there was nothing he could do to really help the pain that Silver must be feeling with those injuries.

Ur did the same on Silver’s other side, and between the two of them, they managed to get him outside and into the car, ignoring Elise’s sobs as she saw the condition Silver was in and the group of neighbors that had been lured out by the yelling.

Gildarts sat in the backseat with Silver, carefully stretching him out and being careful not to jostle him too much.

“Is it bad?” Silver asked, “My back feels funny.”

“You’ll be fine, my mom’s a great doctor, although I apologize in advance.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll see,” Ur and Gildarts replied at the same time, but they were both too worried to laugh.

Gildarts gave Ur directions to his mother’s house, and they remained silent for the rest of the short ride.

0-0

“You idiot! What do you think I am, the town ER?!”

Gildarts’ mother was already waiting by the front door when they arrived and carried Silver through the door of her treatment room, where she’d prepared all the things she’d expected to need.

“Well, we were supposed to be coming here anyway,” Gildarts retorted, flashing his mother his most charming smile and managing to look completely unrepentant, “At least we called first?”

“Save it.”

Carefully, they helped Silver sit down on the treatment table, ignoring all the complaints Gildarts’ mother was muttering beneath her breath as she washed her hands and put on a pair of sterile gloves.

“Mom, this is Silver,” Gildarts introduced quickly, “Silver, this is my mother, Porlyusica Clive.”

“Nice to meet you,” Silver offered his hand in greeting, grimacing when he saw how shaky it was, “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this.”

“Everything’s gonna be fine, my mom’s gonna fix you right up,” Gildarts squeezed Silver’s thigh, not wanting to touch near his injuries, “She might not look like much, but she’s really good at what she does.”

“God, I still can’t believe that happened,” Ur fumed as she was finally able to look at her brother’s injuries.

“Okay, that’s it! You two-” she gestured towards Gildarts and Ur, “out. I don’t need any busybodies while I’m working. Go buy food. I am not cooking after this, and if I’m not done when you return, go sit outside or something, the weather’s nice.”

“But-” Gildarts wanted to argue, but one look at his mother’s face was enough for him to think better of it. “Okay, okay, we’re leaving.”

“As for you,” she spoke with a stern voice, observing the stains of blood that were seeping through his clothes. “Say goodbye to your shirt.”

Without further warning, she grabbed a pair of scissors and started cutting his shirt into pieces, removing them one by one so she had better access to the wounds that had been underneath.

Silver was suddenly left alone with Gildarts’ mother, who somehow seemed to be more terrifying than his own father.

“Who did this to you?” Porlyusica growled, observing the bruises that were forming below his shoulder blades on top of the glass and what looked to be a head injury.

“It was an accident, I-I shouldn’t have shoved him,” Silver hurried to explain.

“Gildarts did this to you?” Poylusica’s eyes widened in angry shock, right before she glanced at the door through which Gildarts and Ur just left.

“No, he’d never,” Silver reassured, “My- my dad.”

“Looks like you’re in luck, it isn’t half as bad as it looks.” Porlyusica mused, rinsing his hair with saline solution to get a better view of his head wound.

“So you told them first.”

“W-what?”

“I’m not stupid, son,” Porlyusica chuckled, “Gildarts has never once in his life asked to bring someone home. The fact that he did so is pretty telling.”

She put some skin glue onto the cut in Silver’s scalp and pressed the edges of the cut together. Then, she moved on to the wounds in his arms, grabbing a pair of tweezers and starting to pick pieces of glass out of Silver’s skin, placing them all into a kidney-shaped metal dish.

“Some of these are going to need stitches. Do you want me to give you some local anesthetics, or do you think you can do without?”

“No, it’s fine, just get it over with.”

Silver hissed and clenched his jaw as Porlyusica cleaned the nasty cuts on his arms and sutured the deepest ones. The wound below his shoulder hurt the most, the flesh around the cut was sore and bruised from where he’d crashed into the cabinet’s metal doorknob. Thankfully, she was amazingly skilled at her job, and it was over before he knew it, leaving only a few shallow cuts and scrapes to be bandaged.

“So you’re not, uhm, disgusted?” Silver frowned in confusion, “About us?” he added, wanting to make sure she didn’t think he was referring to the injuries or the way he got them.

“A little surprised, maybe, but why would I care who he loves? As long as he’s happy, that’s good enough for me.”

“But you sent him away,” Silver continued, he didn’t know what to make of this woman.

“Yeah, he was only going to get in the way. The girl, is she the one who called me?”

Silver nodded, “That’s my sister.”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders, most people panic at first sight of blood.” Porlyusica continued to apply bandages as she talked.

“Gildarts, is he, is he doing okay?” she asked, and Silver had to smile at the concern in her voice. “He doesn’t talk about school much, and I know he used to have a hard time.”

“He’s been doing good. Since he hasn’t been chasing after every skirt on campus, he’s been studying a lot more.”

Porlyusica snorted, “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“He’s smarter than he lets on,” Silver remarked, knowing how much Gildarts enjoyed it when people underestimated him.

“You don’t have to tell me that, idiot, I’m his mother,” Porlyusica snapped, “but I’m glad you realize it. How long have you been together?”

“Don’t you want to wait for Gildarts to talk about this?”

“I get the feeling I’ll get more from you. Besides, it will help keep your mind off the things I still have to do. Relax your arm, I need to give you a tetanus shot, your sister said you haven’t had one in a while.”

Silver tried to relax, thinking about what he wanted to share with her as he felt the slight pinch of the needle piercing his skin.

“Owww! Uhm, we’ve been together over a year now, we’re moving into an apartment in a few days.”

“Is that what you were coming to tell me today?”

Silver nodded, “Gildarts wanted to be honest with all of you before we moved in together.”

Porlyusica smiled, proud of her son’s actions, “Gildarts never had much growing up. No father, no money. He was picked on constantly, and he had me for a mother. I have no idea how he turned out as well as he did.”

“I wish my parents had taken it as well as you,” Silver sighed, looking down at his arms.

“In my experience, humans are self-centered, ignorant beings. That’s why I hate them,” Porlyusica declared with flashing red eyes, and Silver couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but her expression soon softened. “This path you’ve both chosen, it won’t be easy. You might come to regret it in time.”

“I know it won’t be easy, but it’s the right one.”

“I won’t ask you if you love him, I doubt you’d put yourself through all this if you didn’t. But if you ever change your mind, please be honest with him. Gildarts has already been hurt enough by people who should have loved him.”

“I’d never purposely hurt him.”

“See that you don’t.” Porlyusica patted his hand gently, signaling that she was done, and he stood up from the treatment table, suddenly remembering his shirt had been cut away.

“Gildarts room is through that door, you can find some shirts in there, maybe try to take a nap or something. They should be back soon.”

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He wanted to say more. How much her approval meant to him, how thankful he was that Gildarts wouldn’t have to deal with any of the things that were probably in his future, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” Porlyusica warned. She handed him two bottles of pills, painkillers and antibiotics, along with a cup of water. “Take one of each, 4 times a day, starting now,” she instructed, waiting for him to swallow the pills, and then proceeded to ignore him as she went about cleaning up her treatment room.

Silver wanted to check out Gildarts’ bedroom, but he was too tired, so instead, he collapsed on the bed and tried to find a comfortable position.

0-0

Silver woke to find it was already dark outside. The room was illuminated by a dim night light, and though he could feel Gildarts next to him, Silver couldn’t tell whether he was asleep or awake until he spoke to him.

“How are you feeling?”

“I hurt pretty much everywhere,” Silver admitted, “How long was I out?”

“You missed dinner, are you hungry? I got some of your favorite pizza.”

“Not right now,” he hissed as he sought for a more comfortable position and felt sore all over.

“Did my mom treat you okay? She can be a bit much,” Gildarts fretted, his hands moving towards Silver but holding back at the last minute.

“She’s not at all what I expected, but I like her. And, you know, she didn’t break any furniture with me, so...” Silver shrugged, trying to make light of the situation, but deciding it hadn’t been worth it when Gildarts didn’t laugh. All he’d managed was to reawaken the pain in his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, Sil,” Gildarts said softly, “When I said we should be honest with our parents, I never thought it would lead to this. I didn’t realize-, this is all my fault.”

“It was mine, I shouldn’t have shoved him, I just angered him even more.”

“Are you mad? You didn’t do anything to deserve that!” Gildarts protested.

“Can we not talk about this now?”

He could feel Gildarts fume next to him and tried to defuse him, “You’re so cute when you’re overprotective.” he chuckled. “I don’t think anyone’s ever talked to Argent like that before. It was kinda hot.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not heartbroken over this, I saw your face. This isn’t going to go away.”

“I know, but just for tonight, can we not? I need time to process what happened, it hasn’t really sunk in yet. Did Ur go home?”

“Yeah, she sat with you for a little while, then went to tell your mom you’re okay,” Gildarts recounted, “I don’t think she was planning on staying at yours, though.”

“So your mother, my sister. It’s not much, but it’s a start.” Suddenly remembering Porlyusica’s appearance, Silver tried to picture what Gildarts would’ve looked like if he’d inherited her pink hair and dissolved into painful giggles.

Gildarts peered at him with concern, and Silver could only imagine he must be thinking he’d finally lost it, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and it made Silver want to kiss him desperately.

“What’s that about?” Gildarts asked.

“I was just thinking that you could have been my little sakura,” Silver giggled some more, feeling some of the tension leave him.

“How many times am I going to have to remind you there’s nothing little about me?” Gildarts teased, making Silver laugh even more.

“As many times as you want,” Silver grinned, moving slowly until he had managed to straddle his boyfriend, still desperate for that kiss.

He sat there without moving, wanting a moment to take in everything that was Gildarts. The concern in his eyes, the playful smile that promised mischief if he were up to it. The love that just radiated from his being. All for him.

They’d done it, they’d come clean to their parents, and despite their rather opposite reactions to the news, it changed nothing between them. They belonged to each other, Silver was sure of that, and he’d do everything in his power to not let his parents’ disapproval come between them. He’d just have to work harder to be able to pay for things. He could do that.

Silver finally leaned down, barely brushing his lips on Gildarts’, smirking when he grumbled and gently pulled Silver down until their lips met and their tongues danced. As always happened between them, things escalated quickly. Gildarts was beginning to strip his clothes when they were both doused with a bucket of cold water.

“What the fuck, Mom?!” Gildarts yelled.

“Keep it down!” Porlyusica shrieked, “Some of us are trying to sleep! And you-” she glared at Silver, “This is not what I meant by bed rest, keep your goddamn dick in your pants!”

“Yes, ma’am!” they chorused, mortified at having been caught.

“Stupid humans,” Porlyusica muttered on her way out, her solo rant sounding through the hallway until she’d retreated to her own bedroom and slammed the door.

After she left, they burst into giggles, and Silver got off Gildarts, laying back down on the bed. Gildarts got up and grabbed some towels from his bathroom and sheets from the linen closet. He helped Silver off the bed and dried him off, finding him some clothes to replace his sodden ones. Once everything was back in place, Gildarts waited until Silver snuggled into him before pulling up the sheets around them.

He kissed his head lovingly, “Three more days.”

“Hmm?”

“In three more days, we’ll get to do this forever, without interruptions,” Gildarts reminded him, a dreamy smile softening his features, “I can’t wait.”

Silver’s heart fluttered in response, head full of his own dreams for them. “Me either.”

[losingmymindtonight]

Trope: Losing Powers

Peter had been gone for 28 days, 17 hours, 43 minutes, and 27 seconds when F.R.I.D.A.Y. finally got a hit on his location.

Tony knew that because he’d had the counter running across every free screen for weeks.

There was no time wasted when the notification came in, not a second for gathering or regrouping or slowing to breathe. Just Tony, pushing the team forward with one-minded desperation. Steve scrambled to keep up, shouting terse orders and jogging just behind Tony as he stalked towards the Quinjet.

It took 3 hours and 16 minutes to get to the kid’s location. 4 minutes for everyone to organize. 7 minutes to advance on the heavily guarded research facility. 19 minutes to take out the guards, break into the winding hallways illuminated by fluorescent lights. 2 minutes for Tony to smell the blood.

It was all over the kid’s cell. The walls, the floor, the exposed pipe in the corner. Fresh and old, small smears and massive puddles. It was everywhere he looked. Blood, blood, blood.

Peter was in the center, strapped down to a medical table by fucking zip-ties. He’d been stripped down to a stained pair of boxers, hair longer than Tony remembered it being, eyes duller than he’d remembered them being. The kid let out a deep, guttural whine when the door opened, face twisting in a flinch, like he was expected a blow.

“Peter,” he breathed, staggering towards him, disengaging his gauntlets in his rush to touch, skin-to-skin, to offer the comfort he’d been deprived of for way too fucking long, “Peter.”

Glazed, brown eyes stared back at him. His pupils were blown. Drugs? Fear? The kid squinted like he was struggling to see him. Drugs, then. Maybe. Probably. “Mister Stark?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me. It’s me, buddy.”

Peter’s head dropped back, lungs deflating. A delirious smile curled across his face, words lazy with relief. “You’re... a little short for a Stormtrooper.”

He blinked, brain still preoccupied with the metallic scent of blood aching in his nose and the incisions littering every visible inch of the kid’s skin and the fact that he could map every single one of his ribs and how sick he looked, how delicate and fragile and very not like the Peter he knew.

Then, he forced out a chuckle. Act normal, act cool. He had to hold it together for Peter. That was his only job. “Of course you’d make a Star Wars reference.”

“‘S my best quality.” The words must have sparked the kid’s memory, because some of the exhaustion on his face faded, and a thrum of panic took its place. He jerked against his restraints, chest heaving. “Mister Stark, I have to tell you something. I-”

“Shh,” he created a small knife with the suit’s nanites and started sawing through the zip-ties, carefully not to nick Peter’s already raw skin, “we can go through all that later, okay?”

“No, you don’t-”

He set a restraining hand against the kid’s collarbone. “Does this information put us in imminent peril?”

“No-”

“Then hush.” He finished with the zip-ties around his wrists and ducked to his ankles. “How bad are you hurt?”

“I dunno.” Peter’s voice was faint, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Stopping feeling it weeks ago.”

Oh, Peter.

“Okay,” he choked out, wishing he was strong enough to hide the way that statement cut through his bones, “that’s okay. We’re gonna get you to the Quinjet, get you pumped full of the good stuff, and Helen’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t know if she can,” Peter whispered, voice broken.

“Hey,” he returned to the kid’s face, cupped his cheek, “none of that. Whatever she can’t fix, we’ll fix. Together. Okay?”

For a few beats, Peter just stared at him, wavering between his fear and the intrinsic trust he had in Tony.

The trust won. It always did.

“Okay.”

“Good boy.” He finished with the zip-ties, reengaged the gauntlets, but kept his helmet lowered. One of his arms slipped under the kid’s knees, wary of the dark bruising flaring across the left one, while the other went to support his back. Before fully scooping him up, he paused. “Ready to blow this joint?”

Peter rested his head against the suit’s metal shoulder, voice a tired murmur. “So ready.”

“Good.” The kid was light. Way lighter than he remembered him being. He tried to make a joke of it as he walked to the door, his precious cargo cradled closely to his chestplate. “We’ll have to get a burger in you ASAP, squirt.”

For some reason, the comment made Peter choke on a sob. “Y-Yeah. I guess.”

Despite how much the sound of the kid crying hurt, he consigned the reaction to the hysteria of being freed rather than anything more serious. He could still remember the plane flight back from Afghanistan, sitting against the wall, feeling something tickle his face and reaching up to realize that they were tears. Rhodey kneeling in front of him, concern written all over his expression. Are you okay, Tones? He’d shrugged. I don’t know.

He’d locked himself away in the bathroom for the breakdown, waited out the episode before stumbling back to his seat and staunchly ignoring Rhodey’s stares. Peter, on the other hand, just turned his face into Tony’s shoulder and quivered, teeth digging into his lip as he cried.

“It’s alright.” Tony soothed, moving silently through the smoky halls. Which side had set off the smoke bombs? He couldn’t remember. “You’re safe now.”

Peter nodded, short and sharp, hiccuped on a sob, then coughed.

At first, Tony thought he’d just worked himself up enough that his lungs were rebelling. He’d done it before. Or it could’ve been the smoke, although it had dispersed enough that it wasn’t bothering him, even without the helmet.

“Easy,” he muttered, catching a glimpse of the exit in front of them, “we’ll be out of here soon. A little sunshine’ll do you good, I think.”

He’d expected the kid’s coughing to abate once they got into fresh air. Except... it didn’t. If anything, it was getting worse. He jogged up the ramp to the jet, ignoring the team’s questioning looks, and made a bee-line for Cho.

She met him halfway, eyes already cataloging Peter’s visible injuries. “When did the coughing start?” She asked, guiding them over to a medical bunk.

Tony deposited Peter carefully, letting the suit leak away and pressed his bare palm against the kid’s shoulder, a silent reassurance. “Two minutes ago, maybe?”

“It was probably the smoke. His body’s struggling to adjust.” She shoved an oxygen mask into his hands. “Here. I need to check out these incisions.”

He knelt by Peter’s arm, lightly setting the oxygen mask over his face and brushing a few curls out of his eyes in the process. “There, buddy. Just try to relax.”

Peter groaned, another agonizing cough cutting the sound off short. His expression was twisted up in discomfort. Tony glanced over at Helen as he scrambled to keep the mask pressed firmly over the kid’s face, feeling strangely frantic. “He’s in pain. Can we fix that, please?”

She nodded, stepping back. “I brought his pain meds. Let me just-”

“No,” Peter rasped, shaking his head violently enough that it spurred him into another round of coughing, “no, don’t.”

“You don’t have to be brave about this, Pete, it’s alright to need-”

“Can’t.” A wheeze. Peter winced. “You’ll... You’ll overdose me.”

Cho scoffed. “Peter, I’ve been treating your metabolism for long enough to-”

“They took my powers,” Peter rasped, cutting Tony off. “They-”

The end of the sentence got lost in another round of wheezes and gags, but it had been enough to get the point across.

Tony’s frantic eyes met Cho’s surprised ones.

He shook his head, desperate not to believe it. “That... it can’t be...”

“It makes sense, Tony,” she murmured, shock melting into thoughtful understanding, “his muscle mass is severely depleted, and his healing factor hasn’t been working properly. Some of these wounds are days old, and they’ve only just started to heal.”

No. No. “Could just be malnutrition.”

“Maybe. But we should trust him.” Cho glanced over Peter with concern as his breaths got shorter. “It’s better to assume the worst so we can prepare for it. If he’s really lost his powers, that means that any medical issues he had before would be back. Is there anything-”

Tony’s eyes widened, symptoms clicking into place. God, he was so fucking stupid. “Shit, Cho. He had asthma. Has asthma. He... He has asthma. Really bad, I think.”

Understanding fell across Cho’s face. Her eyes darted to Peter’s heaving chest, then up to the ceiling. Her voice was terse. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., do we have any albuterol on board?”

“Yes. It is located in Medical Locker 12A.”

Cho was moving all at once, grabbing tubing, a mask, a dark black box that Tony assumed must be something important, and a handful of other things. She put them together with the kind of familiarity he imagined didn’t come only with being in the medical field, she’d done this before, often enough that each action had become muscle memory, but he didn’t comment on it.

“This is a nebulizer. It’ll get the albuterol into his lungs more effectively than a rescue inhaler at this point,” she explained. Her voice softened as she finished assembling everything, eyes landing on Tony’s. “He has to sit up.”

“On it,” he replied, slipping behind Peter and settling his back against his chest, shushing him gently as he tried to gag in another breath.

Cho handed him the nebulizer’s mask without another word, and he tossed the oxygen aside in favor of the new setup. 

“Just do your best to breathe, Peter.” Cho flicked on the machine, and it hissed. There was a surprising amount of sympathy on her face. “I assume you probably know the drill.”

The kid nodded, then dropped his head had against Tony’s shoulder, staring up at him like he was an anchor, something to tether him to Earth.

“Hey,” he whispered, desperate to fulfill the role Peter was so obviously imploring him to take, “you heard Cho. Just breathe. The meds’ll help soon.”

They did, too. Five minutes later, and Peter was slumped against him, breaths deep and borderline greedy, eyes shut with exhaustion, Cho was prepping an IV of plain-old morphine, supplies laid out to clean the dozens of wounds scattered across the kid’s body, and Tony was still holding the kid, one arm braced around his chest and the other holding the mask to his face.

The nebulizer stuttered, and Cho gently slipped it out of his hands. “We’ll do another treatment in 20 minutes or so, just to be safe. Are you feeling better now, Peter?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyelids fluttering open. He stared at Tony, expression full of guilt, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Scaring the shit out of me? Yeah, you should be.”

Peter let out a wet laugh. “You’re gonna be doing this a lot now.”

“Doing what?”

The kid gestured at himself. “This. My body’s stupid. Can’t even breathe right. I step wrong and I sprain my ankle.” He glanced away, cheeks red. “‘M useless.”

“First of all, you’re not useless.” He used his free hand for force Peter’s gaze back to his face. “And second of all, you’re talking like I’m not gonna fix this. Which I am, by the way. You’ll be back to Spider-Manning and scaring the shit out of me in increasingly inventive ways before you know it.”

“What if you can’t?”

“Do you doubt me?”

“No, of course not.” There was something needy in Peter’s eyes. “But what if you can’t?”

He studied him silently, picking each word with caution. “Then I guess I’ll add a rescue inhaler to the list of things I keep in my pockets at all time. No biggie.”

That seemed to relieve whatever fear had been lurking under the kid’s skin, because he sank back into his chest and didn’t even flinch when Cho placed his IV. “Thank you, Mister Stark.”

He smiled, warm and fond. “I am gonna fix it, though. Just saying.”

The kid’s eyes fell shut again, mouth quirking up in amusement. “Of course you will.”

[iphoenixrising]

you know, I really love how badass and capable Tim is but I’m weak for the trope where a character gets in a bad sitch (maybe held captive) and their love interests go nuts trying to get them back and they’re furious seeing he’s hurt and restrained (baddie tied + gagged them too tight?)when they do rescue him maybe Jay and Dick are so tender and caring oof what are your thoughts?

WELL BABE. I mean with characters like Tim Drake and Tony Stark, overprotective (boy)friends tearing through bad guy installations with feral intent to get Tim/Tony back just waters my crops and clears my skin. It’s fucking beautiful.

I mean, let’s just say

Once and a while, every vigilante has a bad fucking night.

It just happen to be Red Robin’s turn.

The residual owfuck isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. That is, once he gets himself out of this before terrible bad guys with an apparent fetish for brass knuckles and knives come back to finish the job. After a lucky shot took his zip line out mid-leap, the night had gone from generally shitty to progressively worse. Catching a hard fire escape knocked him mostly out on the way down. He’d initially come to when the fist to his solar plexus is just about agonizing.

Whatever hits he’d taken on the way down to the street damaged the suit’s security, which is the only reason it didn’t shock the shit out of anyone when they grabbed him by the arms, held him there for the first round of blows.

It’s an occasional thing, for one of them to get balls deep in imminent fucking peril. There’s nights when sleep dep and stress, the day job and night job colliding, too many bads and not enough goods, nights when a one wrong step, one bad contingency, one hesitation, is enough for them to get the drop.

Which leads them to this disgustingly dingy, blood-splattered warehouse down on the East Side, where Red is dangling from a chain in the ceiling like a side of raw beef for the slaughter.

And while blood is sluggishly running down the side of his face and his jaw feels like it’s on fire, while his gauntlets are useless and the manacles are on fucking point, when his chest fucking hurts and the fire in his side makes his eyes water because really, just a concussion can’t be enough.

(R – Robert, heh.)

When he’s giving himself a few minutes to just breathe it out, take a second to let the pain settle, half in meditation to try getting mentally past this for an epic kind of escape he’s about to pull off.

Any minute now.

But really, he just had a rough night, and the fact these ass hats left the damn door open is really just a testament on how easy this is going to be once he feels up to taking down a few thugs or twenty.

(And just why did he have to walk into an impromptu gun fight between two rival gangs that decided to work together instead – against him. What’s taken the groups out of the room is arguments on who was going to get the glory and what bosses to call and inform. He’s pretty sure he’s got about at least ten minutes or so before everyone comes back for another few rounds of kick the shit out of the vigilante.)

So, he’s good. Totally got this.

It’s in the bag.

Ten minutes.

His forearms get tight, wrists immobile when he starts pulling his weight up to get some slack on the connecting chain, going to need to have room to pick the locks–

when the abrupt tremble and loud sounds of shit just breaking comes through the open door, jarring him too much for his warped brain pan to handle, and he drops back down a few inches, grunting with the jerking motions on his upper body.

Gunfire explodes and people are absolutely screaming. Things get a little more real because at this juncture, it could be anything from more fighting between themselves or another rival group walking in on an obvious base of operations.

It’s apparent he’s out of time when several come running back in, guns out, panicked and talking over one another.

Dammit. His brain hurts.

But even if his fingers are numb still in his glove, he’s slowly working the lock pick set out of his useless gauntlets, looking forward to getting free fast enough to take out the room before even thinking of taking on the fuckery happening behind that door.

What he expects is to get more roughed up before the night is over. What he doesn’t expect is for a body to slam into the room, blood arching in the same angle as the nice landing right at Red Robin’s bound feet dangling a few inches off the ground. The second body immediately following fell close enough for Red’s whiteouts to narrow down at the face beaten to hamburger, a thoughtful noise muffled through the gag shoved in his mouth.

He has a moment to register, that looks familiar, before the impressive silhouettes fill the door, and the calvary has apparently arrived.

To say he is literally boned is probably an understatement because he can see the tension all over them. Tight fists and forearms, shoulders squared, thighs tense, and game faces right the hell on.

It’s the terrifying vigilantes Nightwing and the Red Hood, towers of kicking ass and taking names –

and the thugs in the room gape at the picture those two make, blood sprays all over their suits, smoking barrels and sparking escrima sticks, lips curled up off N’s teeth to snarl, Hood to lower his chin enough that those whiteouts are fixed.

He catches a breath through his mouth since he’s pretty sure his nose is broken or dislocated, beaten body tensing for one of the thugs to get smart, turn, and fire at him.

But, it doesn’t happen because the Red Hood and Nightwing strike like an avenging wave of brutally beautiful justice. They move together like water, the fight never stopping until the bodies are piled high, a job well done. And as much as Red Robin would like to say he feels something crazily like relief, the all together different noise he makes through the gag is telling on what else watching them fight (for him) does to him.

“Aww, Big Wing, lookit what those fuckers did,” is slightly distorted through the synths, and he must have blinked a little too long because suddenly both of his vigilante boyfriends are right there, bracketing him in, being absurdly careful when they run gloved hands over him to find injuries. Hood goes for the gag tied so harshly, N hurriedly helping from behind him.

“Hey Baby, you with us?” is soft and gentle, the contrast to the savage beat-down N just had a hand in a few minutes ago.

Once the cloth is out of his dry mouth, gloved fingers rub the indents, and the helmet is tilted up at him.

“H-how did–”

“Shh, shh. Gonna getcha down, yeah? S’good, Sweets, we gotchu.” Already stretching up on his toes to work the manacles fast while N sweeps up his bound legs from behind, holding him up to take the weight off his wrists.

“There we go,” and a nuzzle against his face, sweet relief when his wrist and hands pop free, and he tries to work the feeling back in his fingers, laying against Nightwing’s chest for just a moment to be dizzy and relieved.

“Thanks for the save,” Red Robin woozily banters, “bad guys can be such ass hats.”

“Don’t I know it,” Hood gives a solid kick to one of the bodies twitching on the floor before coming around to gently fit a gloved hand on Red’s bruised jaw, thumb the mask so the whiteouts slide up and they can see how dazed his eyes are. He n’ N exchange a worried glance while Red pats the hand on his jaw and maneuvers himself out of the octopus hold, a little wobbly but still on point.

“All right, I’m on clean-up since I was the metaphorical damsel this time–” is cut off with a whoosh of breath when he leans over enough to brace a hand on the wall when owfuck gets a little more serious than he expects.

“Nothin’ doin’.” Is Hood nipping that little sitch in the bud, already a towering presence at his side, a heavy arm sliding around his back, “me n’ N done already gave the coppers a heads-up, you feel me, Sweets?”

“We’ve already tied up most the rivals in the building,” Nightwing soothes the one to step up into his space and tilt his face up this time, “and you are going right back to the Manor to be patched up. You’ve got a concussion and who knows what else.”

“Hey, it’s okay, really–” because missing a spleen anyone? He’s been through worse, worked through worse, and still brought out his inner bad ass. These two? Need to take a pill.

“Nu-uh. Ya try ta ged outta it, then we’re callin’ in the big guns. You feel me here?”

And oh no. No, no, no.

“Too late,” is growled somewhere in the vicinity of shadows over their shoulders.

When Red Robin spins on his heel and almost falls, Hood and Nightwing move fast to catch him by the arms so he doesn’t fall in front of the very stern-looking Robin suddenly steps from the shadows, both hands out to steady him by the hips.

Looming over him like Hood and N, Robin’s forehead is wrinkled in that special way when he’s scowling behind the domino. Red Robin manages to gasp before all six-foot-two of concerned vigilante is all over his everything.

Everyone is well-aware Robin doesn’t take any of his shit and is extremely efficient. What few, select people only know–

–he can also be extraordinary gentle.

This time, when Red Robin is swept up against another chest, another symbol, he doesn’t fight it, not when the youngest leans down and says something softly against his ear.

“Let us care for you, Beloved.”

He sighs a little and lists closer, throwing an around around those shoulders and idly fiddles with the cape.

“Better,” Hood uses a gloved thumb to run over his busted nose.

“I want a hot shower and bed,” Red admits wearily, “I can be a stubborn ass about it some other time.”

N chuckles sadly, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of his head. “That’s a good choice, Timmy. We’re going to find a second to eat between that, okay?”

He hums a little, trying to lay his face down on his arm somewhere that wouldn’t hurt. “I guess. Hot shower first, please.”

The bang of grapples echo against the sirens screaming in the night, and the Bats take off, flying over the rooftops to transportation not far off. Hood and N take driver and shotty so Robin can continue to cradle their bird on the ride back.

He might bitch good-naturedly about Hood driving the Red Bird like a literal bat out of hell, but it gets all kinds of shut down when Robin tenderly presses his mouth to the bruises on Red’s jaw and rubs soothing circles on the back of his neck.

Nightwing is the one that hops out and takes him from Robin to carry up to the Perch, talking low against his ear about the pick-up from the GCPD so he honestly feels better about where the night has taken him.

But it’s Jason Todd that runs a bath instead of the shower and strips down, runs gentle hands over the bruises and contusions, soaps him up to wash away the night. The two of them wrapped in towels while Jay sets his nose fast enough that it’s really not as bad as it could have been.

Dick towels his hair dry while he sits at the kitchen table, shivering, and Dami kneels by him to check out each injury with the first-aid tackle box in easy reach. Coffee is off the menu (a crime against humanity!) but the hot chocolate has been left to cool enough not to sting his sore mouth.

The eventual clothes are a combination from the communal drawer so he’s swimming in Dami’s shirt and Jay’s cut-off sweats, several ice packs bandaged over them on the worst of the swelling.

Grilled paninis and soup are utter heaven because A) Jay and Dami can cook, B) everything is easy to eat with a bruised face and cuts on the inside of his mouth, but also C) cute boyfriends keep giving him gentle kisses and touches whenever they come within a literal foot of him.

And they’re so good about it, taking care of him without being too smothering (at least no one has threatened to call his team – yet) through getting patched up and fed.

No, no, they wait for it.

Once he’s wrangled into bed, the three of them surrounding him in warmth and comforting touches, he’s pretty much trapped until morning.

Honestly, it’s probably the best part of the night.

[elaianna]

Nautical Sayings and Phrase

At a loose end –  unoccupied.  Nautically, loose ends are unattached ones which are not doing their job. “Tying up loose ends” is used to mean finalising details of a matter as a sailor makes fast the loose ends to ensure the boat is shipshape.

Batten down the hatches – prepare for trouble. Battening down of walkways and hatches was done when bad weather was imminent. Ships hatches were often open or covered with a wooden grating. When bad weather was expected the hatches were covered with tarpaulins and edged with thin wooden battens to stop them from blowing off.

Between the devil and the deep blue sea – faced with two dangerous alternatives. The derivation seems obscure, but try this one. The “devil” is the seam between the deck planking and the top plank of the ship’s side. It would have to be watertight and would need filling or caulking regularly, which would require a sailor to stand on the very edge of the deck or even be suspended over the side. A dangerous place to be.

Chock a block – crammed tightly together to prevent movement.  Chocks are wedges used to secure moving objects and a block and tackle is a pulley system used on sailing ships to hoist the sails. A possible derivation is that when two blocks of rigging tackle were so close together they couldn’t be tightened further, it was said they were “chock-a-block”.

Cut and run– run away. It is possible that it derives from ships making a hasty departure by cutting the anchor rope and running with the wind.

Full to the gunwales – full to the brim or packed tight. Pronounced “gunnels”, it is the upper edge of a ship’s side in large vessels and the piece of timber extending round the top side of the hull in smaller craft. It probably first referred to heavily loaded ships.

Get underway – begin a journey. The “under” is likely to have meant “on the” and the “way” is the forward progress of the ship through the water so it actually means “on their way”.

Give a wide berth – a good distance. Originally a berth was a place where there was sea room to moor a boat. The meaning of “berth” was probably “bearing off”. Sailors were warned to keep a wide bearing off something they needed to keep away from. It could also refer to anchoring a boat far enough away from another so that they did not hit each other when swinging with the wind or the tide.

Hard and fast – rigidly adhered to – without doubt. A ship that was “hard and fast” was beached firmly on land. Land was known as “The hard” as in Buckler’s Hard.

Hand over fist – quickly and continuously. It describes the action of hauling on a rope using alternate hands, so it is probably nautical. In the 18th century though, it had a different meaning –“making steady progress”.

In the doldrums – in low spirits or feeling drowsy or dull.  In 19th century the word “doldrum” meant a “dullard or dull fellow” so “the doldrums” was a general state of low spirits. In the middle of the century the word was used to denote the state of ships experiencing becalming in the area just north of the equator, between the Trade Winds. The name was then used geographically to refer to the area itself rather than the state of the ships.

Keel over – to fall over - also a sailor’s term for dying. When the boat’s keel comes out of the water it is very likely to capsize. To be on an even keel – calm and steady. The boat would float upright without listing.

In the offing -  imminent or likely to happen soon. “Offing” is that area of sea that can be seen from land, so when a ship was seen to be “in the offing” it would be expected to dock before the next tide. The adjective “off” in a sailing context means “away from”.

Knowing the ropes – understanding the principles. In square rigged ships there were miles of ropes in the rigging and the only way of keeping track of their functions was to memorise where each of them went. It took and experienced sailor to “know the ropes”.

Log book – an official record book.  An early way to measure a boat’s progress through the sea was to throw overboard a wooden board or “log” with a string attached. The rate at which the string was paid out as the ship moved away from the log was measured by counting knots in the string. These measurements were recorded in a book, the “log book” and from here we also get “knot”- the unit of speed at sea.

On your beam ends – hard up or in a bad situation. The beams were the horizontal timbers of a boat. If the end of these beams were touching the water you were in imminent danger of capsizing.

Ship-shape and Bristol fashion – in first class order. The derivation could be that Bristol has one of the most variable tide flows anywhere in the world and the water level can vary by more than 30 feet between tides. Before the harbour was built boats moored here were beached at low tide so they had to be of sturdy construction and their cargoes well stowed. On the other hand it could refer to Bristol’s high standards of equipment and service, when it was the major British west-coast trading port, before the growth of Liverpool.

Sling your hook – to leave or clear off. Those who believe it has a nautical origin think it refers to the sailors pulling up the anchor before leaving.

Pipe down -  a request for silence. The boatswain’s pipe was used to give signals to the crew of sailing ships. “Piping down the hammocks” was the last signal of the day, to go below decks and retire for the night. Also when an officer was “piped down” he was dismissed.

Three sheets to the wind – very drunk. In sailors’ language, a sheet is a rope. If three sheets are not attached to the sails as they ought to be, the sail will flap and the boat will lurch around in a drunken fashion. Sailors had a sliding scale of drunkenness. Tipsy was “one sheet”, whereas falling over was “three sheets”.

All at sea – in a state of confusion.  In the days of sail before navigational aids, boats out of sight of land, or having lost their bearings, were in an unknown position and in danger.

By and large – on the whole, or generally speaking. In the days of sail “large” was a term describing the wind when it was blowing from a point behind the ship’s direction of travel. When this favourable “large” wind was blowing the “largest” sails could be set and the boat could travel downwind. “By” is a nautical term meaning “in the direction of”….eg “by the wind” means to face more or less into the wind. It could be that to sail “by and large” meant the ability to sail not only with the wind but also against it. However, another theory is that to steer a course “by and large” was to keep slightly off the wind, so there was less need for constant adjustment in steering direction.

Dead in the water – not going anywhere or brought to a halt. A ship that was “dead in the water” had no wind in its sails to make it come alive and was therefore not able to move forward.

Fathom out – to deduce something from the facts. A fathom is a unit of measurement – the distance from finger tip to fingertip with arms outstretched. In 14th century, “fathoming” meant embracing someone, so to “fathom out” may have just been a way of measuring with outstretched arms.

Foot loose – free to do as one pleases (maybe romantically unattached). The lower edge of the mainsail is called the “foot”. If this is not attached it will hang or fly free and be much more difficult to control.

Go by the board – finished with (thrown or lost overboard). The “board” is the side or the decking of the ship. The phrase could refer to things that went over the side or that merely fell on the deck.

Grog or Groggy – a ration of alcohol or the state of drinking too much. In 1740 Vice Admiral Sir Edward Vernon issued a decree that the sailors’ daily ration of half a pint of rum should be diluted with an equal amount of water. The sailors referred to the Vice Admiral as “Old Groggy” because of the impressive Grogram cloak which he wore on deck. Hence the disdainful nickname of “grog” was given to their watered down drink. Sailors who drank too much were referred to as “groggy”.

Let the cat out of the bag – disclose a secret. This refers to the cat o’ nine tails, a whip made of rope with nine unbraided strands at the end, used to flog sailors. The “cat” refers to the scratches and wounds the sailors would incur from the flogging. The “cat” was kept in a bag and when it was brought out there was obviously going to be trouble ahead.

No room to swing a cat – a very confined space.  When a sailor was punished by flogging with the “cat o’ nine tails”, the whole ship’s company was required to witness it. The deck became very crowded and there was sometimes “no room to swing a cat”.

Over a barrel – to be in a situation where one cannot change one’s mind. The most common form of punishment for sailors was flogging. The culprit was tied either to a grating, the mast, or over a barrel. “Kissing the gunners daughter” was being tied to the barrel of a deck cannon while it was fired.

Push the boat out – to spend generously. Boats are often too large to be handled by one individual, especially when they are beached and need to be pushed back into the water. It was an act of generosity to help someone to push their boat out into the water. It later became used to mean buying a round of drinks or standing someone a treat.

Shake a leg ( or show a leg) – rouse yourself and get out of bed. “Show a leg” seems to have been the Royal Navy command for putting a foot out of your hammock and getting up. Another meaning could derive from the 19th century when women were sometimes allowed on board when the boat was in port. Legs were hung over the side of a hammock so that the hairy men’s legs could be distinguished from the more shapely and smooth women’s legs.

Shiver my timbers – an oath expressing annoyance or surprise. It is not certain whether this was a genuine sailor’s oath or just a literary invention, but by the 14th century the meaning of “shiver” was to “break into pieces”. So in a nautical context it would mean “if so and so happens let my boat break to pieces!”

Slush Fund – money put aside to bribe or influence. In 18th century “slush” or “slosh” was the fat or grease skimmed off by the cook when boiling up salted beef. This “slush” was a perk for the ship’s cook who sold it when the ship reached port. The money derived in this way was known as the “slush fund”.

Square meal – a substantial, nourishing meal. Many people believe the phrase to refer to the square plates used by sailors. But as far back as the 16th century the word “square” was used to mean “proper”, “honest” or “straightforward”. This is more likely to be the derivation of the phrase.

Take the wind out of his sails – to take away someone’s initiative, disconcert or frustrate them. This could derive from the art of sailing so that you “steal” the wind from another boat. A boat under sail can be slowed down if another boat sails between it and the wind, preventing their sails from filling.

Touch and go – in a precarious situation. This refers to the situation a vessel would be in, in shallow water, when it touched the bottom but did not become grounded and was able to move off again.

Whistle for the wind – hope for the impossible. This possibly derives from the nautical superstition that the wind could be summoned to help a becalmed vessel by whistling for it. Possibly it was thought that the wind would blow in sympathy with the sailors’ blowing. Conversely they should refrain from whistling during a gale. Some sailors believe that whistling raises not a fair wind but a storm.

Taken from TheYachtMarket’s website here

[takingcourage]

Additions: Part 5

Pairing: Jaime x MC

Word Count: 3,600

Summary: The adoption is finalized and everything seems to be settling into place, but what surprises wait in the new year?

February, 2028

The studio feels quiet.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, Arden knew today wasn’t any different from the usual. 

There was the ordinary hubbub as their team of writers chatted through overnight developments and new stories that had broken since their broadcast the day before. In the distance, Ellen was delivering a stern warning to one of the interns -- probably another reminder not to turn in work without proofreading. Errors had been running rampant over the past two weeks.

Arden sat up just a bit straighter in her chair as the coffeemaker beeped from the next room over. Her on-air coffee never tasted anywhere near as good as the first cup of the day, but she craved it all the same.  

Feeling Maggie’s brush strokes slow, she questioned when it was that the bustling studio had started to feel so calm. Probably around June of last year, she considered, allowing herself to relax back into the seat.

After the unpredictability of their household, work had become comparatively tame. At home, there were always footsteps rushing up and down the staircase or the strains of Sophia’s flute drifting through the house at odd intervals. Then there were Will’s uninhibited concerts in the shower, Opie’s claws tapping across the hardwood floors as he tried to keep up with all of the action, the quiet, unsteady rhythm of Alex sketching pictures on every scrap of paper he could find...

It was a special brand of mayhem that only families with three children could understand: families like theirs.

“Good day yesterday?”

Arden opened both eyes to see Maggie’s knowing smile. Noting the tiny brush in the other woman’s hand, she pressed them shut just as quickly. “It was wonderful. When you’re done, I’ll show you some pictures.”

Maggie started on her eyeliner. “I’d love to see them! That Will is such a cutie. I think we really hit it off when you brought him into the studio last week...You all must be so excited.”

“We are,” she confirmed, holding off her instinctive smile so the muscles of her face could remain as stable as possible.

When her makeup was finished, Arden swiped through the images on her phone before settling on the one lucky shot where no one had blinked or forgotten to smile. She and Jaime stood on the steps of the courthouse, Sophia and Alex leaning in from either side. Will was situated between them on the step below, back almost arched in his attempt to stand tall.

Even a day later, Arden had to check her emotions to keep Maggie’s work intact. It was incredible that she still had any tears left to cry after the waterworks that had taken place at the hearing, but she still felt the unmistakable prickle in the corners of both eyes. 

“It’s the first official Lewis Family photo!”

Maggie was right. Anyone who looked at the picture would know immediately that they were a family, even with the obvious differences in appearance. Their smiles, the way that Jaime’s arm was wrapped around Alex’s waist, the confidence in Sophia’s bearing -- all spoke of the connections that had been formed over the course of the past eight months.  

It was one of the most beautiful photos she’d ever seen. 

Still, if she’d gone a single picture to the left, the other woman would have seen another image -- one that was equally precious in Arden’s mind.

Sometime between putting on their pajamas and brushing teeth the night before, a folded page from Alex’s sketch pad had appeared under the door to the bedroom she and Jaime shared.

The outside of the paper read simply:

To: Jaime and Arden

From: Alex

Curious, they’d unfolded the thick paper, eyes welling again at the inner contents. There had been so few times in her adult life that Arden had truly been surprised, but this discovery caught both of them off guard. 

Beneath the short inscription, Thanks for taking care of us, they found a carefully arranged portrait. 

People weren’t Alex’s specialty -- he’d had much more experience with drawing dragons and other supernatural beings than he had with human features. Still, it had been obvious to both of them that the five figures he’d committed to paper represented the five members of their family.

Practiced or not, it had been enough to start another round of crying. Their son’s sketch was more than just a picture of a family -- it was their family. And it was starting to feel like something close to perfect.

Fate, of course, had other plans.

_____

June, 2028

The first sign Arden noticed was an acute tenderness in her breasts. It’s nothing, she reasoned, just a sign that my period is on its way.

When a full week passed and her cycle still hadn’t arrived, she began to be concerned. Looking back, she couldn’t say with certainty that it had come the month before either. May had been busy – going to Sophia’s band concert and Alex’s fifth-grade graduation, starting Will in a summer soccer league, covering all of school-related news items that always cropped up at that time of the year...

Until now, a forgotten period had hardly merited a second thought.

She nibbled the side of her thumb and stared at the plastic stick resting on the edge of the bathroom counter. Unsure as she was about the reliability of pregnancy tests, every instinct she had told her that the little plus sign staring back at her was accurate.

It wasn’t that she and Jaime had never thought about having a baby. They’d talked about it plenty during their first years of marriage. But they hadn’t talked about it lately. Since they’d started the adoption process, the whole subject had sort of fallen off their radar. 

Arden lowered her hand and pinched the test between her fingers. Holding it to the light, she fought another swell of trepidation when the intersecting lines remained unchanged. 

After the intentional, very deliberate way that the other three had come into their lives, an accidental pregnancy was blindsiding. And with a soon-to-be eighth grader, sixth grader, and fourth grader, it was just about the last thing she’d expected. 

A fourth child certainly hadn’t factored into the renovations they’d completed on the house little more than a year before. Or her career plans. Or the trip they’d just booked for Disney World over next year’s Spring Break.

With a mounting sense of panic, Arden wondered if a baby could really fit into their lives at all. They were a family of five.

A cold sweat broke over her forehead as she set the stick back down on the bathroom sink. Catching sight of her disheveled appearance in the mirror, she  raised a shaky hand to scrape the dampening hair from her brow.

She left the room, walking halls her feet had memorized years before. As she walked, she counted every room and every door -- desperate for some forgotten space that could be repurposed as a nursery. There was none, of course. 

Building projects took forever. Furnishing a nursery, sorting out things like maternity leave and childcare, getting used to the idea of starting over from scratch with a new baby -- each required the luxury of time. 

A luxury they didn’t really have. 

Her pulse spiked at the thought of the baby’s imminent arrival. She didn’t even know how long she’d been pregnant, but they had seven months, at most, before their world was turned upside down.

Half of her was determined to march into her office and begin shopping for baby furniture. Thankfully, the other side of her was more reasonable. 

I’ve got to tell Jaime. 

Last she’d known, her husband was collecting materials in the garage, hard at work on the summer project he and Alex had started the week before. In a true feat of creative genius, Jaime had turned the boy’s rough sketch into plans for an actual treehouse in their backyard. They’d been working on it almost every morning since. 

As Arden passed through the lower level of the house, she heard Opie pawing at the front door. Finding the garage empty, she made her way across the yard to her husband’s workshop. The whining tablesaw confirmed their presence long before the cloud of dust that assaulted her as she stepped inside. 

Neither occupant looked up at her entry, but that didn’t come as much surprise. The saw drowned out all other sound. Giving them several feet of clearance, she stood on the blank floor before them.

Jaime’s gaze flickered and he motioned for Alex to pause before handing him the next board. He finished with the piece of wood that was already on the saw, laying it aside as he allowed the noise to fade to a dull hum.

“Alex,” Arden began, speaking a few decibels louder than usual. The saw whirred to a halt. “Would you please take the dog out for me? I need to talk with your dad for a minute.”

She didn’t need her powers to know that he was counting to five and considering the consequences of refusal.

“Yeah.”

Arden wasn’t crazy about the edge in her son’s tone, but at least he hadn’t pushed the issue.

“Is everything okay?” Jaime stepped back from the machine, flipping up his safety glasses to reveal a furrowed brow. 

Arden nodded, bringing the pad of her thumb to her lips and biting down on the skin slowly. She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, afraid that the fear in her own would transfer.

This isn’t like you, Arden. Tell me what’s wrong.

She looked up from the concrete floor with resolve, but still couldn’t bring herself to go any higher than his chest. “I'm freaking out and I needed to come talk to you before it got any worse.”

“Babe,” he interrupted. He took her by the shoulders, uncertainty swiftly turning to concern as he saw the tears in her eyes. “What’s going on?”

Finally meeting his gaze, she shared the worry that was foremost in her mind. “We’re gonna have to add onto the house again.”

Jaime stared at her, aghast. For a moment, he struggled with the strange expression, fumbling for meaning beneath her vagaries. Finally, he landed on the only necessary change he could imagine. “Did something happen with the boys? I thought they wanted to keep sharing a room...”

“Not for the boys,” she corrected, breath stuttering as she worked up the courage for her next words. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Deep brown eyes grew wide before dropping to her stomach. “Are you serious?” His hands clenched her shoulders a little too tightly, but she was grateful for the reality of his firm grasp. Her mind still swimming with fears and questions, it was a relief to have something stable to hold onto. 

"Uh-huh,” she confirmed with a sullen nod.

“You’re pregnant?”

Another nod. “The test says so, and I was pretty sure even before I took it -- but still. I don’t know what happened -- a mix-up with my birth control or something? I mean, it was an accident. We haven’t talked about babies or-”

Before she could finish the statement, Jaime’s lips were pressed to her forehead, his hands gently cradling her face. Tears flooded Arden’s eyes again at the tender promises in his touch, and her whole body was light with reassurance. Secrets between them had always been a burden.

“Arden,” he started slowly, swallowing against the onslaught of his own emotions. “If it’s an accident, then it’s the happiest accident of my life.”

“You’re sure?” Even in her momentary peace, it was impossible not to think of how much this accident – happy or not – was going to change everything.

He pulled back to see her, but still supported her face with both hands. “I’m positive. Try me. My mind’s an open book.” His eyes were still poring over her with the most intense look of adoration she’d ever known. But as he continued watching, that love turned to concern. “You’re not happy?”

“I’m too shocked right now to feel anything else. The past couple of years, I really hadn’t even thought about the possibility. I sure didn’t expect for it to happen without us planning for it first.”

“But it did.”

“Yeah,” she told him weakly, voice wavering as he combed the sweaty hair from her eyes. 

“Sweetheart, just because we haven’t talked about this baby doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. Sure, life’s going to be a little more complicated, but how could I not want to have a baby with you?”

Catching her lower lip with her teeth to keep from crying, Arden ventured  to ask, “We’ll make it work?”

His certainty told her that the question didn’t even bear asking. “You know we will. It’ll be just like it was with the other three – we won’t know how we ever lived without this one.”

She laughed in spite of the tears that still ran down both cheeks. “You’re probably right.”

Jaime gathered her into his arms again, long fingers weaving into her hair. “I know I am. I don’t even care if it means adding onto the house again.” 

“I love you,” she mumbled into his shoulder, holding tightly to the man who seemed to anchor her in any storm. 

“I love you too.” 

Several seconds later, she pushed away with a thought. “I should probably go. Alex will be back any minute and I don’t want them finding out like this.” 

“Good thinking.” Jaime pulled her back for a quick kiss. “But one more thing before you leave.”

She paused, looking to him expectantly. 

“I know I’ve always said it didn’t matter how we got our kids -- I’d love them whether they were ours from the start or not. That’s still true, but Arden? Having a baby with you is going to be pretty damn amazing.”

“It is,” she answered, finally holding back the tears as she attempted a smile. With a nod, she left him alone in the workshop, her hand resting against her stomach as she made her way back to the house. You’ll fit, little one. I promise. I don’t know how, but we’re going to make this work.

_____

Father’s Day, 2028

Melinda Gale had always loved babies. For as long as Arden could remember, her mother would coo at them in grocery store aisles, offer to hold them for family friends or relatives, and spend ages staring at them every time they attended a baby shower.

Arden had never had any such compulsions.

She enjoyed them, sure. They were cute and sweet, and she understood the desire to care for them. Holding them was fun, on occasion, though she’d always found it easy to look away when they were in the room.

But on this afternoon, keeping her eyes from straying to the small face in the infant carrier was impossible. They’d encountered the couple with the baby twice during their hike -- once at the bottom of the trail where they’d stopped for lunch, and now crossing paths again as they rambled upward through the hills. Both times, the pull had been magnetic, uncovering a desire that she hadn’t known existed. 

With a quick check of her husband’s face, she knew that he was met with equal difficulty. Though he was several steps ahead, he tossed a wink over his shoulder once the small family was out of sight. 

I can’t believe we get to have one of those.

Arden glowed at the excitement in Jaime’s thought. He’d been taking everything in stride, his positivity keeping her spirits up even on the days when all she could think of were the ways that having a baby was going to interfere with their plans. Despite her worries, his happiness was contagious.

For now, the new baby was still a secret between the two of them. They’d been hoping to wait for just a little bit longer -- at least until Family Day had passed. They’d agreed without much deliberation that it was best for this news not to overshadow the anniversary of the kids’ arrival.

Earlier in the week, they’d walked out of her first ultrasound appointment with a grainy picture and a projected due date for the middle of January. The car ride home had alternated between thoughtful silences and fits of giggles -- each of them still trying to wrap their minds around the fact that they would soon be a family of six. 

Smile growing as she matched Alex’s pace, Arden remembered the conversation that had followed. 

While Jaime put their lunch leftovers in the fridge, she gathered up the load of clean clothes that had finished in the dryer several hours before. She’d barely started folding before she sensed his familiar presence behind her. 

“You can’t feel anything yet,” Arden reminded as his hand settled low on her belly. 

“Neither can you, but that hasn’t stopped you from touching your stomach every time you think no one’s looking.” 

“Touché,” she relented, shying away from the tickle of his lips at her throat. “Although I’m fairly certain that I’ll be the first one to feel something. And I’ll let you in on it as soon as it happens.” 

“Still, if there’s any chance she can feel it, then...”

“Jaime...” Arden turned toward him, brushing her thumb over the stubble on his cheek. Though his lips were still curved into a smile, his eyes had turned serious. 

“This baby is never ever going wonder whether she’s loved.”

“No, she’s not,” she agreed as she tucked a wisp of hair behind his ear. “There’s absolutely no danger of that happening. But we don’t know that it’s a she. We could be having a boy...”

Arden turned back to the laundry, snagging a pair of boxers for emphasis. He grinned fully and joined her in folding. 

“I can’t help it. I keep imagining it’s a mini-you inside of there. A tiny little girl with your hair and your nose. Your narrow little feet...”  

“It doesn’t always work that way.”

“It did with you and your mom.”

They shared a look, hesitant to delve any deeper into that line of thought. The day had been too full of joy for them to sully it with reminders of sorrow.

“Even if it is a girl,” she continued, “I hope she gets your eyebrows and your smile -- probably your height too.”

Jaime grew silent, slowing in his efforts to shake one of Will’s socks the right side out. Both of his eyes narrowed to slits.

“It’s not selfish,” she assured in answer to his unspoken thought. “You’re not selfish to want someone else in the world who shares your DNA. It’s an instinct you share with most of humanity.”

“Yeah, but it’s been years since any of that mattered. I don’t know why I care again all of a sudden.”

Her own motions ceased. “Because we’re talking about an actual baby now. It’s not a hypothetical,” she suggested, trying to keep her tone light. “And it’s a baby who's going to have things in common with you.”

“I hope she only gets the good parts.”

“All of your parts are good, Jaime. Honestly, I almost wonder if this baby is some divine way of showing that the world needs more of you.”

With a snicker, he shook his head at her assessment. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You've known that for a while now.”

“I married you anyway.”

She raised her lips for the kiss that always followed such conversations, and they quickly found themselves getting carried away with something other than the laundry on the couch.

“Mom! There’s a rock in my shoe!”

The announcement startled Arden from her reminiscing, the flush of heat at the base of her neck the only sign of her wandering mind. 

Will was several yards ahead, continuing to limp along despite his obvious discomfort. Grateful that the brim of her hat cast a shadow over her rolling eyes, Arden lengthened her stride and caught up to her youngest son. “Let’s find a seat, buddy.”

“I can get it myself,” he insisted, still pressing forward.

“Then why’d you call for me?”

He shrugged, plopping onto a rock and yanking off one tennis shoe. Will offered no further explanation as she continued watching, too distracted with his inspection of the small piece of gravel that came from shoe’s heel.

Arden glanced up to see that the other three had stopped to wait for them. Alex had wandered a few steps ahead and was walking across a fallen log with his arms outstretched for balance. Jaime and Sophia were still talking animatedly about something, but Arden had lost the thread of their conversation long ago. As she watched, her husband nodded as if to encourage them to take their time. 

“Can I double knot it?” Will’s fingers were already poised to loop the laces a second time.

“As long as you do it loosely.” 

Will let out a disgruntled sigh before pulling the ties into a second knot. Finished, he hopped up and ran ahead with a sudden burst of energy. Arden hung behind a moment longer, considering the sight in front of her. 

Just days from now, they’d pass the first anniversary of bringing these kids into their home. Life ever since had been full of give and take. Challenging, but fulfilling. Busy, but fun. Heartbreaking, but rewarding.

These kids had turned their lives upside down in all the best ways, and Jaime was right: it was impossible to imagine where they’d be without them. 

Surely they could make it with one more.

[writingwitchly]

Together

I would love something about a hufflepuff and slytherin friendship. Maybe it's like a quick flashback to things that happened in the book and what everyone else was doing to help? I just love the slutherpuff vibe so anything about that is cool. Thanks so much! ~ @lillianhappy / for @fanficnet

Word count: 3,1k

Warning: war / light injuries / light swearing

A/N: Wow. My first non-pairing fic, and it felt so good to write. I sticked to the Slytherpuff vibe, but had to make it a lil more dramatic. I shamelessly cried at the end, silly me. Please enjoy and don’t hesitate in sending some feedback!

***

Prologue:

The night was dark.

Harry Potter had just warned the school of the imminent attack. People were worried. And scared.

Some of them were aware of what was happening, others hadn’t been reached by the news yet.

Some wanted to leave, others needed to stay.

Some faked to be brave, others couldn’t hold back tears.

Some were injured, others were fighting with themselves.

Amidst the confused crowd, some were Slytherins, others were Hufflepuffs.

***

“Does Mr. Will desire something else?”

The elf’s croaky voice was barely audible in the tumult of pots and pans, but Will shook his head in denial. He’d got more than he needed.

“No, thank you very much,” he sleepily said, eyeing with an expert’s eyes the fruits and chocolate cake he would bring to his sick friend. “That’ll be enough.”

The creature bowing was a blurry figure through the narrow space that the first year’s eyelids left him to see. This late trip to the kitchen was not a good idea, especially because of the night patrols that frightened him so much, but he’d do anything to help his fellow Hufflepuffs. He made his way back to the exit, trying to not trip over his own feet in the way.

As he emerged into the hallway, a thunder of steps coming from the end of the corridor forced him to an unsteady halt. It was not long before he found himself engulfed in a sea of black hats and green ties, shoved left and right and not even glanced at.

Several dark robes and night outfits bolted in front of his eyes, now wide with shock and surprise, before somebody finally stopped in front of him, sheltering him from more harm. He had to incline his head a great deal of degrees backward to spot a face with dark freckles looking down at him.

“What are you doing here?” a voice snapped. Then, when its owner’s gaze fell on the plate Will succeeded to sustain only by miracle, the voice replied to its own question, “Of course, Hufflepuffs and their bottomless stomach.”

Will’s brain lasted a few seconds to process the girl’s words, while her housemates kept running away.

“It’s not for me,” he retorted, though not as sharply as he wished. “My friend is sick and this is for he-”

The Slytherin rolled her eyes. The corridor was now silent with the kind of heavy atmosphere that precedes a storm.

“I don’t care, anyway,” she blurted. Slughorn’s panicked words still trotted in the back of her mind, and the Headmaster’s absence couldn’t mean anything good. She had to get out of here, as fast as she could, but she couldn’t leave the kid wandering alone. She was a Prefect after all. “Come with me.”

To these words, the little boy stumbled back, refusing to follow her.

“You need to come with me,” she hissed.

“No!” he shouted, retreating a bit more, until he hit the cold surface of a niche in the wall.

What was I thinking? She bit her tongue, ready to catch up on the rest of her group. I can’t play the hero like that, that’s for stupid, gutsy Gryffindors.

But something held her back. The Hufflepuff’s round face resembled so much that of her ten-years-old brother, with chubby cheeks and a confused look, and so did his expression of fear.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, chanted a voice in the back of her mind.

Besides, what would this boy find behind his Common Room door? Just empty space to look at. Professor Slughorn stated that all houses were to head to the Great Hall.

Internally swearing, she brusquely swung round and grabbed his arm in an impulse, trying to get him out of the alcove where he was half-hiding, which only resulted in the plate hitting the ground with a loud shattering noise as Will freed himself.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, her question coming out as a frustrated shout.

Whatever was happening may be getting to them right then, and she shivered at the thought of another creature such as the Basilisk haunting the castle.

“You’re mean,” Will answered, his eyes sparkling with tears.

“What?” Her face was now dilated in a genuine mask of surprise.

“The fifth years,” he sniffed, “They told me not to trust Slytherins.”

For an instant, she stood there, gaping at the child, while he rubbed the point of his nose.

“I thought that only stupid Gryffindors joked about this,” she whispered.

Her heart made a strange bump, the same it made when her favorite dessert failed to show up on the tables, or when somebody mocked her for her size. Without wanting it, she realized that she cared, she was a bit deceived by the Hufflepuffs’ behavior.

A loud clattering, like of a thousand of spades hitting the ground, made them both jump, and Will let out a squeak of horror.

Suppressing her own fear, the teenager crouched, so her eyes were on the same level as the kid’s.

“What’s your name?” she asked in the friendliest tone that her building pressure allowed her to use.

“Will,” he sobbed.

A metallic bang coming from the floor above theirs announced the closing of the Great Hall’s door. Cold sweat was running down the neck of the Slytherin.

“Listen, Will. I’m Emilie. I bet you everything you want that things are getting pretty ugly up there, and we better find some other people to tell us what to do.” She let that sink in, then added, “I promise I won’t hurt you. I just want you to get out of here safe and sound. Do you trust me?”

Her last words were followed by her hand reaching out.

Will first winced. But then, his watery eyes narrowed as he looked down at this huge, brown palm, twice as big as his. Finally, his fingers found their way around it.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Emilie straightened.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here, come on.”

***

“Amanda!”

What that abyssal idiot of Pansy Parkinson was thinking back in the Great Hall when she opened that big mouth of hers, Jason didn’t care anymore. But still, if only she had shut her trap, Slytherins wouldn’t have been the first to get to the passage.

“Amanda! Where are you?”

His cry was only one more in the confused mess of people waiting by the door of the Room of Requirements, so no wonder nobody seemed to react to it more than to the others.

With nervous fingers, he got his tie off his neck. It didn’t matter to him if the yellow piece of fabric ended up forgotten in the dust, trampled by the multitude of present people. He didn’t need to feel more suffocated.

“Amanda!”

A blond head jerked in his direction, but its corresponding face was far from being Amanda’s.

“Stop shouting, Jason, she probably doesn’t want to hear about you anymore.”

Blue eyes defied green ones.

“Shut up, Zacharias. I just want to make sure she gets through that goddamn passage before they close it.”

Green eyes were now almost out of their orbit. “They’re going to close it?”

Jason tsked. “No, you idiot, it’ll stay open so the Death Eaters won’t even have to break the wa-”

But Zacharias was already elbowing away anybody who dared to stand between him and the door, far from the reach of Jason’s voice.

“Coward,” the remaining Hufflepuff muttered, but his voice raised as he spotted a well-known mane of blonde hair, “Amanda!”

This time, it’s the correct glance that finds his, and the two teenagers collide in a hug.

“I was so worried,” said the young man, a hand caressing the girl’s hair.

“For yourself, I hope,” she smiled, pulling away.

He weakly grinned back. Slytherins have such a many to stay proud beyond possibilities, he sometimes laughed about it.

“Stay in the file,” he urged her.

For the first time in her life, Amanda obeyed him.

“But stay with me,” she murmured, intertwining their fingers. “We’ll leave together.”

Her eyes tore from his, and instead stared unseeingly at the front of the line of students. This meant the conversation was over.

A knot tied Jason’s throat. How would he tell her?

She was only fifteen, but he was already overage. He wasn’t going to leave without raising his wand in honor of Cedric’s memory.

While the boy fought with his own thoughts, another blow quaked the castle, making small columns of dust fall, like dull fairy powder, from the roof. Without thinking about it, he attracted the girl closer to him.

Soon, too soon, it was time to cross the exit.

“Listen, I-”

Amanda squeezed his hand tightly. “Take care, please. And don’t forget to properly raise your wand.”

There was a smile on her lips that didn’t reach her eyes, which she blinked furiously.

“How’d you-”

“Mom sometimes says I should’ve been sorted into Ravenclaw. But I’m fine being a Slytherin.” She shrugged. “And you’re a Hufflepuff, loyal until and after death.”

She exaggeratedly grimaced, but Jason knew it was her way to cope with the separation.

Her fingers parted from his, and she brought them under her messy hair.

“Here,” she said, as she handed him her necklace, “To keep your clumsy ass from getting into more trouble.”

He took her gift, feeling his heart swell. “Love you, lil sis.”

“See you soon, big bro.”

Jason was afraid, but he’d fight for a better world. For her.

He would not forget, for the rest of his life, her look as she stepped into the darkness leading to safety.

***

Professor McGonagall had said not to get back for their properties, but for her it was easy to say. She hadn’t left her ring, the only heirloom she owned from her deceased mother, in her dormitory.

Salma was running up the steps two by two now, the little metallic circle safely stuck around her finger, hoping to remember where the Prefects had said they would take everybody.

She was covered in dirt, and had already been forced twice to turn back on her steps, by explosions that missed her for scarce, lucky inches. Her ears were filled with tearing cries, stamping footsteps, and echoing crashes, and the pounding of blood rushing to her head melted with that of her bare feet on the uneven ground.

The world was crumbling around her.

The corridor that she believed was the right one finally came into sight, but in her excitement she tripped over the last stair, and landed on the carpeted ground with a muffled thump.

She tried to raise but, to the slightest movement, a snake of fire and ice ran up the inside of her right leg, coiling itself around her bone from under her calf up to the knee.

Crap, she thought, beads of helplessness cascading from her eyes, she must have twisted her ankle.

Again, a tremendous blast caused the ground to shake, and she could hear victorious yelling coming from the outside, vibrating in her head as if the invasion happened between her temples.

She started calling for help, but who would come to rescue her in the dark hole where she had landed herself? She crossed her forearms, to have a place where to let her forehead rest and cry.

However, as desperation was taking over her, a thread of hope came from far to the left. It was someone, she believed, calling back.

Salma ordered her heart to stop beating so furiously, so she could listen harder and decide whether she was making herself illusions.

But no.

“Is anyone here?”

“Hey! We’re here to help!”

Never, in her thirteen-years-old life, had anything sounded so beautiful to her as these voices did.

“Here!” she yelled, adrenaline giving her the power to do so.

Soon, feet were scurrying toward her, and her body was lifted from its uncomfortable position.

“Are you okay?” asked one of her saviors.

Passed the few seconds of relief, Salma’s nerves activated themselves to remind her that the pain was still there, searing through her lower body. All she could do was hum a no in response, taking in the familiar features of the Hufflepuff twin girls she had several times insulted, smirking with her friends, for being Mudbloods.

She had been so mean to them, how come they were helping her now?

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, “So, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she heard before drifting into unconsciousness.

“We’ll take you to a safe place.”

***

“There, Longbottom!”

Professor Sprout had always been a pacific woman.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

But when it came to defend her school, her students, and what she believed in, she reasoned like her Gryffindor colleague: she dueled to kill.

“Where is Habbot?”

The blonde girl tapped her shoulder, making her start. She was mouthing silent words.

“I don’t hear you!” shouted the teacher. In fact, she didn’t hear anything at all. Had the Battle stopped? Impossible, shots of light were fired haphazardly from the ground to the castle and back. “Confringo!”

Her attention came back to Hannah’s worried features and waving hands. She had always thought of the girl as of a delicate begonia, but she was now fighting harder than a Devil’s Snare, just like the Longbottom kid. She was very proud of these two.

“What are y-” But she finally understood the girl’s gesturing, and with a firm hand removed the protective cask from her ears.

The loud chaos hit her.

“Neville and I are going back for more Mandrakes, Professor!” shouted her student, her voice hoarse.

A cavernous grunt resonated higher than the now habitual discord.

“Take the others with you, there is not much more they can do here!”

“What about you?”

Professor Sprout turned her back on Hannah without answering, afraid that her response would come out quivering. After a short while, and despite the explosions and roars, she heard a dozen of shoes hammering the ground toward the opposite direction.

“Oppugno! Incarcerous!” Her voice was high and determined. If she had to die, she would do it fighting at her best.

“Protego!”

A dazzling blue light came from behind her back, diverting the course of a red attack. She turned around and her eyes met a panting mass.

“Horace! What are you doing up here?”

The man had slumped to the floor, exhausted.

Professor Sprout scanned him suspiciously for a split-second: if he thought he would find a secure space to rest on the tower, he was very much mistaken.

“C- Came across- Your students,” he puffed. “Said you were- alone.”

He was already raising when a blast on the walls sent him back to the floor. The woman hurried to help him to his feet.

“You can’t stay alone, Pomona. Come back inside.”

Slughorn’s gaze was hidden behind a veil of worry, his pupils stretched in fear.

“No.”

Her answer was rotund. This was the place they had assigned her to defend, her part of the castle to protect. It was under her responsibility. If she had chivied the children away, it was because she knew it was too dangerous for them to stay now.

Slughorn swallowed painfully.

“Then I shall stay with you, my friend.”

In a common, silent accord, both professors turned to face the courtyard, wands raised.

***

“You can’t stay here!”

“Don’t tell me what I can d-”

The wall behind the two quarreling teenagers exploded, sending them flying through the air, and spraying them with pieces of glass and concrete.

The girl reacted first, covering her head with both arms, and the boy followed her actions. They were several feet apart, their sallow and tan skin now white with dirt, coughing like crazy to free their respiratory system, but still arguing,

“Did you see this? It’s dangerous, Elke! You can’t stay!”

Elke opened her mouth to retort, pushing her body up with her elbows, but was forced to lay down again, a new choking crisis getting to her lungs. “You’re an idiot, Nat! If it’s dangerous for me, it is for you too!”

Another shot ripped the night above their heads, a lugubrious firework followed by cries of shock.

Elke and Nat raised hurriedly, hiding themselves behind a corner to have the time to evaluate and mend their injuries.

“It’s not the same thing,” rasped her friend, while examining the cuts on her forehead.

“You’re so stubborn,” she replied bitterly, ripping a sleeve from her robes to wrap it around Nat’s new wound. “No wonder you were sorted into Slytherin.”

The boy spluttered.

She was still resentful, after seven years, that they had been sorted into different Houses? It was not his fault!

“Hey.” He pushed her chin upward with his index. “But we managed to stay best friends, didn’t we?”

Yeah, they did.

“That’s why I need to battle too. To cover your back.”

Nat didn’t know if this was more fidelity or obstinacy.

“I told you, you can’t stay! You’re-”

“I am what?” she yelled. “A girl? A Hufflepuff? That’s why I can’t fight?”

The young man bit his lip. How far from the truth she was.

You’re my best friend, he wanted to shout back. I can’t manage to lose you!

But instead, his mouth articulated, “Yes, you’re a bloody Hufflepuff, and all your loyalty is going to do is get you into troubl-”

“Can you stop and observe the world for a minute?” The girl’s hands grasped her friend’s collar. “Don’t you see that everybody is being brave? Loyal? Resourceful? Witty? It’s not about houses anymore, here. We’re all in the same boat!”

The time seemed to slow down. None of them produced a sound as they listened hard to their surroundings.

Slytherins, that had come back with Nat, were encouraging Gryffindors, dueling with them instead of against them. They also followed Hufflepuffs, who had found their way through a passageway that had conducted them to the side of the enemy’s army, which was now retreating a bit under the surprise attack. Ravenclaws and students from the red House helped injured combatant getting to safety, where girls with green ties would pop flasks of potion open. There weren’t even much ties left, Nat observed, around the neck of their owners. They were decorating the walls, the courtyard, the hallways, thrown pell mell like forgotten confetti. All the students, he realized, now harbored their injuries like proud flags.

Hogwarts was being defended not by Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors, but by people who wore the same colors: the colors of determination and caring. The colors of justice and freedom.

His eyes came back to face Elke.

“You’ll cover my back?”

“Until my last breath.”

“Then let’s do this. Together?”

Grabbing hands, they stepped out under the starry night.

“Together.”

[j-philly-b]

OUaT - Thoughts on Proposals & Weddings

All hiatus long I’ve been thinking about the Captain Swan proposal spoiler. When I first started thinking about a CS proposal and wedding, I was wondering if anything could be extrapolated from the Snowing and Rumbelle proposal scenes to give a clue as to how a CS proposal might go down. It seemed a natural progression to also look at the Snowing and Rumbelle wedding scenes to see if anything could be taken from those scenes as well to predict what could happen in a Captain Swan wedding.  Now that we have a hint that that a CS wedding could happen this season as well, I decided to put everything down in one post and get it out there before it’s too late.

Two caveats before I start rambling on – First, Emma is A&E’s original princess, OUaT is her origin story and her journey to finding her happy ending by finding her family, her home, and her TL.  Because of that, I think it would make sense for Emma’s engagement and wedding to break the mold, if there is one, and have each of those occasions be something completely unique to her and Killian instead of a mirror or parallel the one that have come before. [Not that I’m letting that stop me from making this post!]  

Second, I’m using Snowing’s first wedding for the basis of this comparison/analysis because it is the one we were able to view in its entirety, and the more spiritual union versus the second, interrupted wedding, which seemed likely to have been performed more for the public.

Ok, now on with, well, with whatever this is…

 Summary of Analysis Applied to Emma & Killian:

The location of the proposal, whether the proposal itself is spontaneous or planned, should be some place that is symbolic of Emma and Killian’s power as a couple.  

The “ring” (i.e., the item exchanged at the moment of the proposal), I think, will be something that holds meaning to Killian, and something Emma already knows about and how much it means to him.  

The location of the wedding, again, whether the event is spontaneous or planned, should be somewhere that is symbolic of hope and restoration to both Emma and Killian.  

Finally, the person performing the ceremony should be someone whose persona represents the core value of Emma and Killian as a couple.

I.             The Proposal:

          a.    The Setting – Light versus Dark

Snowing – On the shore within sight of King George’s Castle

David brought Snow to that spot on the shore with the intention of proposing, it was a planned moment, done in a wide open/exposed location in daylight with nothing to hide behind even though they were each under threat of danger from King George and Regina.  Perhaps an act of defiance on both their parts, to demonstrate the fact that they are stronger together, especially where the proposal was immediately followed by Snow’s suggestion that they continue fighting against Regina and King George together.

Rumbelle – In Gold’s Pawn Shop

Gold was in his shop alone, having just hidden his dagger in his safe, with most of the lights off when Belle entered to return his (fake) dagger to him.  Regardless of the fact that it was the fake dagger, Gold was still clearly overwhelmed by her gesture of love and trust in him.  The gesture by Belle resulted in a spontaneous proposal with Gold (pretending/symbolically) surrendering his power to her.  The atmosphere created by the dark shop was almost claustrophobic and overshadowed by Gold hiding the true nature of the dagger from Belle.

The proposals side by side:

Analysis

In each instance the setting for the proposal was related to the seat of the couple’s kingdom – King George’s castle, which was eventually taken over by Snowing to continue the ongoing battle between Snowing and Regina; and Gold’s shop where he keeps all the powerful magical objects in his possession as well as all the non-magical items he is able to use to exert power over the citizens of SB.

*edited to correct the location of Snowing’s proposal; thanks to @daxx04  

           b.    The Ring – True versus False

Snowing –True Love’s Ring

It’s established very early on in 1x06 that the ring Ruth passes on to David is followed by True Love. And, as we all know, David’s refusal to give up that ring is the reason he and Snow met and went on their first adventure together.  There is no doubt that Snow is well aware of David’s connection to the ring, and the meaning behind it.  Finally, just before he proposes, when Snow asks David how he found her, he tells her that the ring led him to her and that he never wants the ring off her finger, perhaps meant as a physical reminder that he will always find her.

Rumbelle – The False Dagger

It is also established very early on that the DO dagger is a dark and powerful object, and that power is something Gold has a very hard time relinquishing.  Belle is more than aware of Gold’s struggle with power, although in S3 her belief in him to ultimately do the right thing was still strong leading her to return the dagger to him, not realizing, of course, that he already had his DO dagger safely locked away.  However, as mentioned above, it was her gesture and trust in him that cause Gold to propose on the spot by handing over the fake dagger and (falsely) placing his fate in her hands.

Analysis

Certainly, in each instance the “ring” is directly tied to the male half of the couple (honestly, the DO dagger is probably the best anti-TL ring the show could have come up with). However, the subterfuge in Gold using the fake dagger to propose while offering a heartfelt speech about trust undercut the sincerity of the moment; whereas David’s belief that the TL ring literally allowed him to find his other half represented a true connection.

   II.             The Wedding:

          a.    The Setting – Light versus Dark, Part 2

Snowing – Lake Nostos

Very similar to the setting of the proposal, despite the conspicuous lack of water, in that they were once again out in the open, nothing physically hanging over Snowing heads (seriously, pretty sure that arbor was over Lancelot’s head (and when the hell did they get the time to make that)), despite the fact that they were actively on the run from King George’s men and Ruth was on her death bed.  Most notably, the spontaneous wedding culminated in Ruth’s sacrifice to ensure that Snow would drink the last few drops of water from Lake Nostos to break King George’s curse.  

Rumbelle – The SB Wishing Well

While the planned, but apparently not publicized, Rumbelle wedding was held outside, it was done so at night in the SB forest next to the wishing well.  Although the towering trees in the background leant a cathedral-like feel to the setting, holding it in the forest at night also gave it the feeling of something being done undercover, hidden from others.

The weddings side by side:

Analysis:  

Here, what stood out to me was that in each instance the setting of the wedding was a place where something that had been thought lost had been returned to the couple.  For Snowing, Ruth’s sacrifice allowed Snow to drink the last of the water from Lake Nostos, breaking King George’s curse, restoring Snow’s ability to have children, and clearing the way for Emma’s birth. For Rumbelle, the well is where they were first reunited after the curse initially broke and where Gold brought magic to SB, restoring his own DO abilities.

            b.    The Attendants – Mother versus Father

Snowing - Mother’s Sacrifice

Ruth, David’s mother, the source of the TL ring, and whose willingness to sacrifice her life ensured that Snow would get the last of the waters of Lake Nostos and that Emma would be born. It was her imminent death that instigated the impromptu ceremony.

Rumbelle - Father’s Approval

Moe, Belle’s father, who made the initial deal with Rumple that lead to Belle offering herself as the price, and who gave his approval for their wedding in SB. He had nothing to say in the scene and only functioned to lead Belle through the woods and into the clearing.

Analysis:

In one instance, a mother, who previously said she had TL with her son, sacrificed her chance to cure the poison from the arrow so that her son and his TL could have a child and get their happy ending.  In the other, a father who in two separate worlds literally and symbolically handed his daughter over to the DO.

            c.     The Officiants – Love versus Conscience

Snowing – The Leviathan

Lancelot a/k/a the Leviathan, the son of the Lady of the Lake, a knight of the Round Table living in exile, a general for King George who gave Snow the cursed/poisoned water, and one half of one of the greatest romantic tragedies of all time.

Rumbelle – The Conscience

Archie Hopper a/k/a Jiminy Cricket, the conscience of the EF, and the (worst and only) SB psychiatrist.

Analysis:

Again, in each instance the officiant was more of a symbol related to the couple than actually important as an individual character. For Snowing, a symbol of a man who will do anything for love, even sacrifice a kingdom; and for Rumbelle, a symbol one’s conscience who is tellingly silent during the ceremony.

           d.    The Vows – Action versus Words

Snowing - Silence is golden

None, Lancelot did all the talking and it was about the Grail. [Yeah, let’s not go there in retrospect.]

Rumbelle - The lady doth protest too much

They each had a lot to say, but most of it had to do with Gold confessing to being an enemy of love and in awe of Belle being able to see the man behind the monster; and Belle realizing she hasn’t lost Gold over and over, but found him time and again believing the monster to be gone.

Analysis: 

I’ll be perfectly frank, I am not a fan of tv/movie/literary wedding vows, they never sound sincere to my ear, and that’s solely on me, not a quality of the writing at all.  So, in my mind, Rumbelle doth protest too much, in other words the abundance of vows on their part makes me doubt the credibility; contrasted by the complete lack of vows of Snowing, proving their intent by action and not words.

[fractal-grid]

a Naphtali is made in Daggerfall (running DOS through Boxer on Macbook) and this is used to bestow a sense of scale and history to Naphtali who clearly lives in a different time.  He is able to perceive the world around him in Skyrim differently because he has projected himself into the past, which represented a more functional and vast economy, world, etc...  

So it’s at this point that my interactions with Hermaeus Mora begin to occur in Skyrim and during the reading of the Black Books I began to simultaneously play Morrowind, which I’d only ever put about 20 hours into.  Solstheim is a major part of Morrowind following the explosion of Red Mountain and it was here that I felt the barriers break down and the experiences had with Herma Mora and Neloth provided an excellent back drop to experience TES III in a lore friendly way.   I created Naphtali again, born under the Atronach, natively living in Vvardenfell, in Vivec, of powerful mind but limited potential.  It was through a Breton named Hank Hill that he is able to project himself as an outsider and experience the world from the safety of Vivec.  Keep in mind, this is all a RP of Skyrim’s Naphtali honing his magical power in Solstheim.  Hank Hill formed the colony of Raven Rock, and gave a greater sense of purpose and understanding to OG Naphtali.  Bouncing between the games gave it the aspect of a revelation, or a vision.   Naphtali does not exist in Cyrodiil at the time of the Oblivion Crisis, presumably because he’s still living in Vivec.  While these are projections, there is also the possibility that these are lost memories of an older being.  Maybe he lost his memory in the Red Year and was stumbling lost around Cyrodiil and Skyrim when he was arrested, and he was brought back to a sense of purpose when Alduin attacked Helgen.  Maybe he’d been a vampire before, maybe as far back as Daggerfall, or possibly Arena, although that has not yet played out for me.  Regardless, the memories of a Khajiit named Charlie, who steals, dupes, glitches, and abuses potions to a great extent.  His body, depleted of stamina, once flew across a section of the map and was woken up by the NPC that starts the quest at Kvatch, signaling the real beginning of the Crisis.  Charlie and his actions are just as much of a crisis as oblivion, and seeing as he is a non-Dunmer working for the Daedra during the Crisis, it’s clear that while he may ultimately be moving the quest with the Blades forward, he is also causing much damage.  It’s a true crisis and the extent of which Naphtali is only now learning, probably due to the fact that he was reacting to the consequences in his homeland.   Naphtali gets married to Brelyna Maryon and they live in Hjerim in Windhelm, which is ironic, due to the Gray Quarter and the fact that he killed Ulfric just next door.  He has adopted Sofie and Francois Beaufort.  Mostly his travels take him from Winterhold to Riften, while making trips for a few days to Solstheim to continue research.  Just yesterday Neloth named Naphtali a member of House Telvanni and this may give renewed interest in Morrowind, to explore the House before it’s demise.  Master Neloth claims we may return in a few decades, which could be in the right timeline for the next game and while I do see why the Illiac Bay is suspected of being the next setting, and it makes sense given the proximity to Summerset and the Thalmor threat, I do think from the trailer that there’s a slight possibility of the shot being heading North along the coast by Mournhold in a post-erruption mainland Morrowind, and perhaps we would get to explore the mainland and Vaardenfell from the perspective of The Last Dragonborn, but I know that’s a longshot.   This really all begs the question of Who’s Story Is It Anyway?  Is there a distinct bias or favor towards any faction or race, intentionally placed by Bethesda?  Is this the story of the Dunmer, formerly the Chimer, who wielded the power of Gods? Did the Dwemer free themselves?  Should we hold allegiance to the Empire?  Does it serve the people?  How do we protect Tamriel from invasion? This seems imminent and if it was just glossed over what would be the point?  If invasion happens, can we affect it and work for either side?  Would we care about protecting an empire or a franchise of entertainment that would deny us the ability to make these choices, would I care about the struggles of a land in which the player is forgotten and actions have no meaning?   So far, I’m allowed to create my own stories and mesh them together in a way which makes sense to me, and someone who has been playing since 1994 might have such a different perspective than I do, simply because they didn’t experience them all simultaneously.