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warnersister · 4 months

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How the Peaky boys react when you tell them you don’t want children (and they do) -> headcannon📽️🎞️

Tommy🪖

🪖He almost thought he hadn’t heard you. He was driving you both back from a family event in which his nieces and nephews had attended, momentarily leaving you throughout the evening to bond with the young children and get you accustomed to the toddler-side of motherhood, subconsciously assuming that you winked be pregnant with your first by the beginning of autumn this year.

🪖“So, did you enjoy spending time with the children this evening?” He asked, flicking the dead bluntness of his cigarette out of the window, satisfied with the nicotine intake he had received. “Yes they’re lovely, parents must have their hands full.” You say, agreeing with his comments on their admirability.

🪖He put his hand quite far up your thigh and smirked, taking his eyes away from the dirt road momentarily. “When would y’ like to start trying for one of us own?” He asked, expecting excitable gasps but all he could hear was a deafeningly tense silence as you almost wordlessly rejected his question.

🪖“Well?” He creased his brows. You looked away and out of the passenger reader “I hadn’t put much thought into it.” You speak small and quiet, presumably nervous to hear his response. “Well we can start trying as soon as we get home, how’s that sound?” He suggested, lightly tapping your thigh to which you squirmed in the leather seat uncomfortably. “Tommy I don’t think I want children.” The car was suddenly lurched sideways and you were grateful the road was private so your husband was unable to cause a crash. “You what?” He asked, car now stationary and his body turned towards you; understandably dominating the situation.

🪖“I don’t want to be a mother.” You say again, voice a bit more quiet this time but still trying to maintain your confidence in your decision. Tommy examined your face to try find some humour, that you were joking with him. “What do you mean you don’t want to be a mother?” “Well Ada gave me her child and I just didn’t want to hold it” “her” he corrects. “Her. I don’t have any maternal instincts I felt nothing, no admiration, no desire, no want. All I wanted was for Ada to take her baby away.” You tell him, spinning the wedding ring on your finger and biting your lips nervously. “No one knows what to do, no one knows how to handle children” he says, assuming you’re just scared “it’s normal to be scared or apprehensive. Heard that’s just a part of parenthood” he restarted the engine.

🪖“Thomas-” “we’re trying for our child when we get home and that’s final.”

Alfie🧸

🧸You owned a bakery; where you and Alfie had met - he’d walked in off the street one day and surprisingly, you must’ve been the only person in Camden not to recognise him. You’d simply greeted him with a large grin, excited to get a customer while he chatted with you and admired the adrenaline fuelled step as you dashed around your little shop - enjoying the appearance of your youth, definitely him being notable few years your senior. He’d ordered some treats, you even had some treats to offer Cyril who you’d asked wait outside for hygiene reasons. “This, yeah, this thing love, it’s bloody lovely it is… hands of an angel you have” he’d charmed, praising your baking abilities as he enjoyed your bakes. Admiring the blush on your cheeks as he serenaded you with words.

🧸He’d left that day leaving you with a sum heftier than the goods had actually been valued at and promised to return. And return he did, every day without fail at 10 in the morning to treat himself and his pup, offering reiteratively to teach you to make some Jewish deserts as the religious population in London was growing. Until the day you’d agreed, both in the back while you were simultaneously running out to greet customers and back to Alfie. You were kneading dough when you heard the bell chime “you’ve really gotta get your fingers in love, yeah, I’ll show you yeah” and he’d towered over you from behind you guide your hands through the mixture. Then a baby’s cry. “I’ll be back.” You say, hurrying out to greet your guest.

🧸A woman stood with a newborn in pram, looking over your selection. The baby wailed. “Can I help you lovely?” You asked with a gentle smile, not noticing Alfie leant against the doorway behind you, sleeves rolled up and caked in flour as he watched you engage with the customer. “Yes, I’d like-” the baby cried louder “erm” she was evidently frantic, opting to pick the baby up and try to sooth him.

🧸“Oh im sorry i cant think straight.” She apologised, cringing at the noise from the baby. You inhaled, not believing what you were about to do. “How about you pick something, and eat it in and I’ll hold him for you to give you a rest.” You suggested and he nodded almost too quickly. Choosing a dessert and you swapped the sweet treat for money and the babe.

🧸You bounced the young child on your hip as he cooed, enamoured by the new face and was now too distracted to cry. The mother relaxed into a chair in front of the counter and savoured the moment of peace, eventually taking the sleeping boy back and leaving incredibly grateful, Alfie almost unable to contain his love protruding from his chest as you turned back around to continue baking. “Back to work” you joked, walking past him to continue on the dough.

🧸“You’d be a great mummy, y’know sweetness?” He muttered, suggestively. You huffed slightly. “Perhaps” your lips pursed and he stopped you kneading. “What’s ’perhaps’ mean, poppet?” He asked you. “Well I just don’t think I want to be a mum.” The man laughed, assuming you were joking. “What do you mean you don’t want to be a mum? I’m getting old now treacle, I’ve not much time left to have little ones and I’d want them to be yours.” He said, holding your hands in his as you refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Maybe. Not yet.” You mumble, trying to return to work.

Arthur🍺

🍺Arthur had Finn on his shoulders, drunk off his head as he happily paraded his young brother around the Garrison as the party of success roared, Arthur having one too many to drink and now easily excitable.

🍺Finn was happily playing along, bouncing on his brother’s shoulders and clapping to the music drowning out in the background, enjoying the attention he was receiving from the majority of the pub’s inhabitants. Arthur saw you watching the ordeal, bounding over to you to plant a smiley kiss on your lips and you reach up to ruffle Finn’s hair, hidden under your husband’s cap.

🍺“Could have one just like this, what d’ya say love?” He asks, grinning ear to ear but expression faltering when he saw the distaste written all over your own face. He gently took Finn off his shoulders who ran over to John, who processed to spin the body around - scolded by his own wife for nearly pulling the undeveloped youth’s arms off his body.

🍺“Our own little one?” Arthur suggests. You shake your head, small smile. “Not when you keep coming home in a state like this.” You say and his face drops entirely now, sobering up enough to understand the ultimatum you were offering him.

🍺“I will not have children when you come home every day too drunk to think. I will not let our child see his mother carry his father up the stairs because he forgot how to use his own two legs.” You say, pecking your husband’s cheek and offering a disappointed smile before you wondered off to find Polly.

🍺Arthur pondered your words for a moment, before pulling you and grabbing you back towards him, falling to his knees as he promised for stay sober, to get off the drink, he just wanted you to bear him a child.

John🥃

🥃You and John had just gotten married, a marriage you were both unaware of until you were knelt at the alter but still - the two of you had just gotten married and the wedding bells were playing. Neither of you could say you were annoyed with the outcome of this arrangement, neither finding the other unattractive and prepared to attempt to progress in this diversion of your lives.

🥃The reception was a grand festivity, dancing, drinking, celebrating and toasting to the pact and ceasefire between two rivalling families with conflicts decades old. You and John had your dance, him whispering sweet nothings into your ears as if he’d known you all him life and you’d just giggled and blushed and required his advanced with a giddy look upon your faces - like two teenagers in love.

🥃As the evening died down and you’d been escorted to your shared accommodation to last you the night, you finally had a moment of peace and clarity to be able to come to terms with the events of the day, after all, a mere 24 hours ago you were a single maiden merely dreaming of your eventual wedding to a man you’d become enamoured with someday, not a gangster peace pact, but there you stood; having assistance unzipping your dress from your husband John Shelby.

🥃He kissed along your shoulders, to your neck, spinning you around to eventually kiss your lips and continue to consummate your marriage. “How many kids you thinkin’ the ? Five? Ten?” He asked as you lay naked in his arms, a hand drawing gentle cyphers into your skin. “None.” You whisper and his drawings halt and he pulls away from you slightly to be able to look right at you. “That’s not gonna work w’me love. Wanna be dad.” He said, studying the expression on your face. “It’s not that I don’t want to be a mum,” you say - averting his gaze but he caught your chin and drew you back to be unable to look anywhere but him. “But,” he encouraged you to continue. “But my grandmother died in childbirth, as did my own mother. And my sister is coming to the end of her pregnancy and it isn’t looking positive for her either. I don’t want to leave my children without their mummy and my husband without a wife.” You almost whisper, voice cracking as tears gathered in your eyes. John drew you in to offer you a tight and reassuring embrace. “Is it hereditary?” He asked after a while and felt your head shake against his bare torso. “I don’t know. Either genetic or just bad treatment.” You stay in silence for a moment.

🥃“But I’d be willing to try if being a dad means that much to you.” You say, peering up to your new husband whose eyes soften at the admittance. “Well I’ll tell you what, if it was bad treatment no woman of mine would lift a finger while pregnant. You’d stay in bed and I’d cater to your every need, carry you to wherever you need to go. Pay for the best doctor and the best hospital to make sure my woman and my child both leave the hospital alive and well.” He leant his forehead against yours. “I’ll take good care of you if you let me.”

Bonnie🥊

🥊Bonnie always wanted to be a father. Be a dad. Raise his children the true gypsy way with his wife by his side - let them in the audience when they’re old enough to appreciate his fights, falsely tussle with them and let them win as he begged them for mercy and heard their victorious giggled. Oh he couldn’t wait for the day you’d bear his umpteenth child. That day couldn’t come soon enough.

🥊And when he joined the Blinders, he’d fallen head over heels for the young florist who worked tirelessly across the road from the Garrison, carrying Arthur home as Harry locked up shop and he’d still see you working on a bouquet you’d needed for a client the following day. He admired your work ethic and the old fashioned part of him couldn’t help but imagine you working as furiously in a kitchen while you tickled your children for interrupting your cleaning. You’d make a fine wife in his eyes.

🥊And against no wish of his own, one day Isaiah had forced the young lad into the shop with a laugh and you’d peered up at him form over the counted, cutting the final stem off of the roses you were working on before asking how you could be of assistance and you’d be lying if your breath hadn’t caught in your own throat, also - seeing him to-ing and fro-ing from the Garrison with the rest of those Blinder lads and finding his look rather endearing.

🥊“How can I help you?” You asked with a stressed but gentle expression on your face. “How much do you make an hour?” He asked. “I beg your pardon?” You retort, eyebrows creasing at the nerve of the man and you began to question whether your initial judgement was correct.

🥊“Sorry, no, I meant how much would it cost me to steal you for a few hours for a date without you loosing profit?”

🥊And the rest was history.

🥊He’d taken you to his fights, to restaurants, to his home with the travellers, even to a couple of family meetings as you’d already been acquainted with the Shelby men buying apology flowers for their spouses for coming home battered and bruised with no contact for a few days.

🥊It was a Tuesday, business was slow but you still had a few orders to finish and being not-bust himself, Bonnie was there to offer a helping hand to his lady. The door chimed but you couldn’t see anyone, confused; you leant over the counter to see a young boy, no older than seven stood there. “Please may I have a flower for my mummy? She’s very sad.” The boy pouted. You hummed. “What flower would you like to give your mummy?” The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out two coins, a button and some lint “whatever flower this may get me, if you please miss.” You nod and hand the boy a small bouquet of daisies with a bow to hold them together. The lad grinned and thanked you, offering you his pocket change and you shook your head. “All you owe me is your mummy a smile.” You say and he promises, running back out of the shop.

🥊Bonnie came up and hugged you from behind, leaving a long kiss on your cheek. “You’re awfully good with children, darling girl” he compliments and you scoff. “Yeah sure.” You roll your eyes and go back to your previous activity. And Bonnie’s dream world came crashing down around him as he realised your intentions.

🥊“What? Don’t want little ones?” He asked, keying as to why you’d be unable to offer him an heir. “No because I can’t deal with sick, I can’t deal with whining, I can’t deal with crying and I can’t even take care of myself for crying out pigs. How do I take care of a child?” You shake you head, as if the man was daft.

🥊“But with our child, it would be different.” He says and you look up at him noting the sincerity and desperation in his look. “Maybe when we’re married or something.” You disregard. He shakes his head. “Why not now?” “I have a flourishing business and I’m not just leaving it all to be a wife and mother and traveller.” You say, inhaling sharply and he frowns. You will come around eventually. He bargains with himself mentally.

Isaiah♟️

♟️You and Isaiah were upstairs in the Shelby household, getting a few moments of blissfulness together before the rest of your family returned. Especially your twin Finn, who was still unknowing about the blossoming relationship between you and Isaiah.

♟️Isaiah was kissing all up your body, a starved man delving hungrily at his first meal in weeks, leaving piercing bite-sized bruises in places for his eyes only. Places he’d see when he’d draw you a bath after you’d finished doing the Devil’s bidding in your frequenting sinful tango.

♟️The boy thrust into you at a desperate pace, eager to fuck you out in a matter of minutes and prove just how desperate you could be for him, just how quickly he could make you cum under the pressure from his cock and his thumb rubbing quick circles around your clit, mouth silenced by his own as he kissed you passionately.

♟️He pulled back, clawing his fingers into your hips as though you were trying to get away from him - but if anything you were trying to get closer, go reach that release you so desperately craved. “Going to fuck my baby into you. Fill you full with my child.” He promised, thrusting deep and skilfully. You shook your head. “No Isaiah.” His pace didn’t falter but he looked up at you, grabbing your jaw and squeezing your cheeks as if fucking you dumb. “No?” “No.” You say between smushed cheeks. “Don’t want no kids.”he chuckled. “Too late.” And he continued working on his promise, and you were too high on pleasure to argue any further but when he came inside you it seemed all to real, his hand over your mouth to stifle your cries as you came all over him and him inside you.

♟️“Isaiah I don’t want children.” You say in tears, trying to catch your breath but his weight on top of you was too much and he was still buried too deep, desperate not to waste a drop.

♟️“You’ll bare my children whether you like it or not, doll.” He says, stroking your cheek. “Then they’ll have to let me marry you, won’t they?”

Michael🎱

🎱Michael loved parading his fiancée. He’d proposed in a place so public, so romantic, so endearing… how could you ever say no to your charming Michael?” The rock on your finger was substantial despite the promise you’d made him make to not waste his money on some piece of jewellery, but he’d argued that piece of jewellery showed what was his so he’d have to make his as obvious as possible.

🎱And one afternoon he’d found himself free from any Blinder work, able to take you out and dined you at the finest afternoon tea he could find, drinking as his hand lay comfortably on your thighs as you engaged in wholesome chatter about your future together. Discussing a home in the country, him leaving the family business or at least doing the work needed to be done in the green hills of the Peak District.

🎱“-and you’ll make a lovely mother-” he continued but you stopped him “wait, mother?” You cut him off and he nods, nearly confused. “Well yes. Once we get married you’ll leave your job and I’ll lay for that pretty little house you want and you’ll cook and clean and you’ll bare my children.” He instructed, as if reeling off some old fashioned fairytale his adoptive mother had told him of as a child.

🎱“Michael I don’t want to be a mother.” You say, nearly afraid of him. “Well we can start small. Have one and then we can decide how many more we want from there.” “And if I don’t want more” “then we’ll settle with a son. Raise him.” “And what if it’s a daughter?” You ask. “See.” He grits his teeth. “Already thinkjng about gender. You obviously care. You’re just scared.” “Michael-” “you are my woman. You will bare my children and do your duty as a lady. End of discussion.”

Finn🎞️

🎞️Finn was head over heels in love with you since you’d started working at the Garrison that one evening in late June. Harry had hired you after you’d lied about your age, and at this point you’d guessed he’d figured it out by now: he was a smart man, but you’d ran away from home and this job was the only form of income or stability you had supporting you and this crumbing life you were trying to withhold. Well, that and Finn’s arm constantly around your waist - ignoring your numerous rejections until eventually managing a date with you.

🎞️The young Shelby smirked at you from across the room, enjoying the sight of you limping around the bar - sore from last night antics. You were staying with the Shelby family, in Finn’s room, where he was determined to take your virginity and bed you in some dark, twisted fantasy. Pump you with his heir so you couldn’t deny him once more, plus the thought of you plump with a child was mouthwatering and he couldn’t wait to see it.

🎞️You’d started the evening quickly, desperate to rip each other’s garments of and clothes pray after you’d sinned to the devil, advocating for his anti-christian tango as Finn fucked you fast into the sheets. You’d done it iteratively, falling asleep only to be woken up by the boy kissing down your back only to lazily thrust into you again with tired eyes. He’d done it three or four times, until the morning when you’d woken up, his cock still buried deep in your velvety walls, a mixture of both of yours productions pooling onto his bed as he tried to act as a cork to not waste a drop of his productivities.

🎞️So he thoroughly enjoyed the sight, and the falsely-annoyed side glances you’d shoot his way when you were presented with the opportunity.

🎞️It wasn’t out of the ordinary to see new faces in the garrison, well they came every day; whether they be travellers passing through Birmingham or illegal businessmen there to drink and tussle before being thrown out. It was a nightly occurrence. And you expected nothing less this evening.

🎞️It was eight o’clock in the evening on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffling in other than the Shelby family who had already been seated an hour prior. “What’re you drinking?” An unidentifiable voice asked and you spun go see a man you didn’t recognise, age substantially your senior as he grinned rotted teeth at you.

🎞️“I’m not drinking. I’m serving, however may I offer you Shelby Gin?” You offer, trying to be polite. “I’ll take whatever you’d recommend. I’ll have you if you’re on the menu.” You grimace and poor him a glass, attempting to move on with your shift, unbeknownst to your dance partner seething with rage at the conversation and seeing red fury at a man trying to converse with a Shelby reserved girl.

🎞️He’d asked for a refill, and when you were topping up his drink, he’d reached across the bar to grab your bosom. And before you’d managed to fathom the situation, Finn had lurched across the room and tackled the man, who was laying on the floor clutching his bloodied, broken nose adjacent to Finn who’s knuckles were bruised and dirtied. “How dare you fucking touch her? Touch my pregnant missus? I’ll fuckin’ kill you, y’piece of shit.” And after a few more rough punches and kicks the man was kicked out into the blistering cold of a harsh Birmingham winter, Finn rounding the bar to hug you and calm down slightly.

🎞️Soon everyone was congratulating your pregnancy and asking when the wedding was and after a while you’d managed to pull Finn to the side and question these praises “why did you say I was pregnant? I’m not. And even if I was you know my views, I’m not keeping it.” “I had Polly read your leaves when you had tea this morning. Fucked ya again and again to make sure of it. You ain’t leaving me when you’re pregnant and you certainly ain’t killing my child.” He said, kneeling to kiss your stomach with an evil glint in his eye.

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bradshawssugarbaby · 3 months

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looking from a window above, it's like a story of love, can you hear me? came back only yesterday, i'm moving further away, want you near me

oneshots

Can’t Get Enough of You Baby ✿ -> You're trying to get ready for a night out with your friends, but Bradley gets distracted easily once he sees you. Same Time Tomorrow? ✿ -> Bradley comes home after training, only to find that you're both in need of a shower. Uptown Girl -> Bradley is in love with the admiral's daughter. He needs to win her heart the best way he knows how - serenading her with the help of his friends. Merry Christmas, Dad -> Bradley's step-daughter doesn't know what to get him for Christmas, until she comes up with the perfect idea. Don't Be a Tease ✿ -> It's a hot summer day in San Diego, and you and Bradley are struggling to stay cool. Things only heat up further when Bradley sees your solution to beating the heat. Neon Moon -> You're drowning your sorrows after calling off your engagement on Valentine's Day in a Mexican restaurant in San Diego. Alongside you, Bradley Bradshaw sits at the bar, going through a similar situation. Can’t Help Falling In Love -> When your newborn daughter can't sleep one night, Bradley knows just what to do. Remind Me ✿ -> Bradley Bradshaw is one hell of an aviator. He's one of the best at what he does. You only wish the same could be said of his performance as your husband. The Coronado Story -> Your marriage to Bradley was fraught with issues -- you married far too young to a man who was far too immature. Several years have passed, and now, you're engaged to the perfect gentleman. Everything is going wonderfully in the days leading up to your wedding - until Bradley reappears into your life. All-American Girl -> Bradley's every part the doting dad to your daughter Tatum, but after talking to some of the other wives on base in your mom's group, you're worried he may be hiding his true feelings about fatherhood. Easy Like Sunday Morning ✿ -> Lazy Sunday mornings are few and far between for you and Bradley. When they do happen, you make the best of them. Hurricane -> Bradley's regretted breaking off his relationship with you for months, but when he sees you walking into the country club after his round of golf, he knows he has to fix things.

Welcome Home, Rooster Bradshaw -> It's been a long six months away from home for Bradley, and you're going to give him the welcome you both deserve.

series

Angels Don't Always Have Wings ✿ - ongoing -> Bradley Bradshaw is a struggling first-baseman in the major leagues. He's had bad season after bad season, until he met you, his angel.

Making the Grade ✿ - ongoing -> Bradley returns to civilian life and starts his new mission - teaching second grade.

minors dni. | anything ✿ contains smut/sexual themes.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader

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chriscdcase95 · 5 months

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Wednesday Addams doesn’t cuddle. Doesn’t snuggle. And doesn’t like to be serenaded. Not in public at least.

It’s something she saves for special occasions, but it’s a promise that she made Enid. And Enid intends to hold her to that…

Or because AO3 doesn’t allow full lyric song fics.

Authors Note: The main song here "Could I Be Your Girl ?" by Jane Arden - lyrics reworked for a Sapphic context.

— — — —

In their dorm, Wednesday is at her typewriter, finishing up a segment in her latest chapter.

Her story features a vampire protagonist who was born on December 24th, and she has spent over half the day researching how Christmas was celebrated in the 17th and 18th centuries.

Behind her, the door opens and Enid steps in looking proud of herself.

“I did it!” Enid exclaims, tossing her bag on the bed.

“Killed your mother ?” Wednesday doesn't even look away from the type-writer, a ghost of a smile on her face “Well, I'm proud of you, but announcing it so brazenly-”

“No silly,” Enid walks up behind Wednesday, wrapping her arms around her from behind, resting a chin on her shoulder “I not only passed the history exam, I beat it!”

Wednesday tries to remain sober, she really does, but her snarky declaration of being proud becomes a lot more genuine.

The past week, Enid had to do a history exam regarding the Civil war and accounts of how confederate raiders in Evermore.

For her assignment Enid was trying to prove the often disputed accounts of the “Red Bath” siege - something Evermore's historians usually don't seriously consider. Notably, the accounts of Addams' ancestors at the time, Ezekial "Tanhide" Addams and his sister Morrigan, holding Evermore's fort during these raids.

Anyways, Wednesday's tutoring of Enid helped her prove the authenticity of these accounts, and further debunked the claims of “reformed” confederate Captain Normanmeyer, whose atrocities were similarly downplayed or dismissed by Evermore historians.

Bottom line, Enid not only passed with flying colors, but drove the history teacher and even local historians into an existential crisis. And for that, Wednesday was extremely proud.

So much so...that before the exam, she promised Enid she would let her-

“Soooo,” Enid says, a sly grin washing over her face, as a look of realization washes over Wednesday's “About my reward...”

A little flustered, Wednesday has a rare uncertain expression on her face, when she looks at an expectant Enid.

“Can-can this wait, you know, until tonight ?”

“Oh, but Honey Badger,” Enid takes one of Wednesday's hair braids, and twirls it around her finger “I've been waiting all week..”

Wednesday exhales deeply through her nose.

She did promise Enid. And Enid has been patient.

“Very well,” Wednesday says, getting up and away from her chair and Enid, making her way towards their window, preparing to close the blinds.

“No.” Enid says.

“No ?”

“I want them open.”

“Enid!” Wednesday didn’t mean to raise her voice, nor could she help the flustered blush that washed over her.

But Enid’s request and how brazen she was being caught Wednesday off guard. She honestly didn’t know what came over her.

“I want the window open too...” Enid grins.

“But-”

“Please Wends ?” Enid gives a sad puppy dog look, pushing out her lower lip.

Wednesday takes a deep breath.

Were they really gonna do this ? Was she really going to let Enid cuddle and snuggle her, to serenade her for the world to see and hear ?

Sweet Morrigan, Enid was going to be the death of her! And Wednesday found herself loving Enid more for it.

And if that annoying voice in the back of her head was any indication…she wasn’t opposed to letting anyone hear Enid’s sing to her.

Wednesday let Enid cuddle her like this three times before; she let Enid sing to her three times before. No self respecting Addams would admit to it, but it did things to her.

But this time, letting others know that Enid snuggles her and sings to her…it meant something far more intimate. It let the world know she belonged to her.

Composing herself, Wednesday tries to remain sober as she opens the window.

“If that’s what you want,” she says “It is your reward.”

Blushing with excitement, Enid takes her place on the bed, waiting for Wednesday, who takes her time making her way to their bed.

“Although…” Wednesday says, trying to delay the inevitable “I had other ideas-”

Wednesday makes a noise like a yelp, as Enid takes her by the wrist and pulls her into the bed. In what was about ten and eight seconds in real time, felt like forever as Wednesday was pulled onto Enid's lap, and she felt herself freeze.

Enid giggles as she feels Wednesday tense and shiver. To relax her, she gingerly moves her hands up and down Wednesday’s shoulders and arms.

“Ready ?”

Wednesday closes her eyes, taking a shaky breath.

“Just…just do it.”

With a small smile, Enid wrapped her arms around Wednesday’s stomach and gently pulled her in, snuggling her from behind. Wednesday takes several deep breaths, before she feels Enid gently rocking her from side to side.

Enid is humming a tune, which gets her to relax a little.

After a moment, Enid rests her chin on Wednesday’s shoulders, putting lyrics to the tune in a soft singing voice.

“Hide your heart under the bed/And lock your secret drawer/Wash the angels from your head/Won't need them anymore,” Enid begins to sing “Love is a demon and you're the one she's coming fooor/Ooooh my Lord...”

Wednesday is flushed, she opens her eyes to look out the window. She can hear students outside. Which meant they could hear Enid.

But if she keeps her voice at this soft volume–

Wednesday’s hopes and silent prayers were shot down, as Enid raises her singing voice to a greater tempo.

“She's bringing sweet salvation/Let temptation take you in/She's every fear and every hope/And every single sin/She is the universe, the love you've been imaginiiiing/Ooooh myyyy Lord/Oh my, my/Oh myyyyy Looooord/Oh myyyyy, my Lord...”

Wednesday opens her mouth, about to verbally object that they could be heard. But Enid’s singing voice had an effect on her that humbled her. Divina is clearly some sort of influence on Enid, but she doesn’t know if that is a good or bad thing.

“And I am ashes/I am Gaia/I am precious/Could I be your girl ?/Could I be your giiiirl?” Enid hits the chorus.

Wednesday opens one eye to the window. The voices outside have stopped. Either they’ve all gone indoors…or they could hear it.

They could hear Enid, and they would know…some might want to investigate — confirm their suspicions — and they would know for sure. They would know that Wednesday Friday Addams, daughter of Gomez and Morticia…allowed her significant other to cuddle and serenade her for the world to hear.

“Put a chair against the door/And turn the lights down low/Write a letter to yourself/No one will ever know/Tell them all about the girl who just refused to fall/Ooooh my Lord-”

At the start of the school years, Wednesday would get so mortified at the very thought or idea, that she would sooner go a week in all pink. And yet…Wednesday find herself liking it.

“She is the very breath you feel inside your lungs at night/She is the bitter wind who's drying up your appetite/She is the darkness that seeps into your fading liiight,” Enid continues, affectionately nuzzling her nose into Wednesdays hair “Ooooh myyy Lord/Oh my, my, oh myyyyy Looooord...”

Outside the dorm, several students are listening, with mixed expressions of disbelief, and embarrassment.

Everyone’s eyes are towards the dorm, and the open window. Vampires are paying attention. Gorgons are paying attention. Werewolves and Sirens are ESPECIALLY paying attention. Bianca is looking away, covering her mouth with a flustered expression.

“And I am ashes, I am Gaia/I am precious/Could I be your giiiirl?/Could I be your giiiiirl?/ Ooooh.” Enid continues to sing.

Across the courtyard, Yoko and Divina are coming back to the school grounds. The latter with two ice cream cones in hand. Between them is four year old Pubert Addams, who Yoko and Divina have taken to get ice cream when Wednesday dropped babysitting duties on them.

A mortified Yoko crouches down, protectively covering Pubert’s innocent ears, while Divina nods towards the dorm with an approving expression.

“And I am worthless sounds compared to all your perfect words/Could I be your giiiirl?/Could I be your giiiiiirl?”

As Enid hums the instrumental, Wednesday tries to formulate any lucid thought, her fluttering eyes still to the window. Her breathing is heavy through her nose. She bites her lower lip, and couldn’t stop her blush if she tried.

And she did. She really did.

It’s only when she thinks she can breathe, that is when Enid hits the final chorus.

“Wash the angels from your head/Won't need them anymore/Hide your heart under the bed/And lock your secret drawer/Love is a demon, and you're the one she's coming for/Ooooh myyy Lord!”

“Oh my lord…” slips past a flustered Wednesday’s lips, and she really hopes she is mouthing. But she can feel Enid smirking against her neck, and had the sinking feeling that she heard it. And the others heard it from outside.

Wednesday thought she could die…and yet. It made her feel alive!

She can certainly understand why her parents are so cuddle/serenade happy when they think she, Pugsley or Pubert couldn’t hear them. Morticia’s “talk” with her was right. It did feel natural. And with that, Enid brought the final verses to a close.

“Oh my, my lord/Oh my Lord/Could I be your girl ?/Oh my Lord)/Could I/Could I be your girl…”

Enid brings her voice lower and softer, a gentle hush and she feels Wednesday squirm a little.

“Oh, sorry!” Endid releases Wednesday, and gives her some space.

Wednesday, still catching her breath, doesn’t even care if her face is red. She adjusts her hair and waves her hand to fan off her face, before placing it on her forehead. For a moment she doesn’t say anything, as she tries to compose herself.

“I’m sorry I–” Enid tries to stay, but stops when Wednesday holds a finger up to silence her.

Wednesday takes another moment, before looking at Enid.

“Could…?” Wednesday tries to say, before her face turns a mild pink.

She bites her lip and takes a deep breath, and it dawns on Enid what she is trying to say.

“Could…I…try that…with you ?” Wednesday winces, not believing she was actually saying this.

“Yes!” Enid says excitedly, before trying to calm herself, and okay it cool “I mean- I mean sure.”

Hesitantly, Wednesday inches her way towards “Just gonna…”

She reaches forward with shaky arms, wrapping them around Enid’s waist and pulling her in close. It’s a little off, but it was more or less the same position Enid held her moments ago.

Wednesday wasn’t used to being the big spoon and it shows.

“Are you sur-?”

“Yeah. Just- just don’t patronize me, okay ?” Wednesday says, still a little flushed as she flickers her eyes at the open window.

Going through the motions, Wednesday begins rocking side by side. It’s awkward, stilted and clearly out of her comfort zone, but Enid’s relaxed exhale tells Wednesday she’s doing something right.

Already, Wednesday was humming a tune, and she didn’t even realize it until she realized she had to put words to it now. She opens her eyes, looking at Enid and that bright encouraging smile. With a friendly pat on the head, Enid silently tells her to go for it.

Licking her lips, and taking a deep, shuddering breath…Wednesday puts lyrics to her tune.

“Sometimes the snow comes down in June/Sometimes the sun goes round the moon,” Wednesday begins “I see the passion in your eyes/Sometimes it’s all a big surprise…”

Enid wants to say something to the effect of “Atta girl”, but doesn’t want to break her stride.

“Cause there was a time when all I did was wish/You'd tell me this was love,” Wednesday continues, her eyes briefly flickering at the window “It's not the way I hoped/Or how I planned/But somehow it's enough…”

#wednesday netflix #wenclair #wendesday addams #enid sinclair #wednesday x enid #incorrect wenclair #song fic

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coeluvr · 8 months

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Farah hummed a sweet melody as her slender fingers danced across the ivory keys of the grand piano. Each note she played seemed to carry a piece of her soul, infusing the room with a sense of enchantment.

Farah’s long, flowing hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the soft, warm glow of the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the open window.

As the music continued to flow, Farah felt herself becoming one with the tune, she closed her eyes briefly, allowing the music to carry her away to a place where only her soul could venture.

A gentle knock on the open door disrupted the tranquil atmosphere. Farah’s fingers paused for a moment, and she slowly opened one of her eyes to see her husband standing in the doorway.

His presence brought a tender smile to her lips.

“Aren’t kings supposed to be occupied?” she teased, her eyes twinkling with affection as she looked at him.

Luceris stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and crossed the polished marble floor to approach her.

With a shrug and a mischievous grin, he responded, “I have learned that sometimes, it’s best to let those who work for me figure things out. It gives them a sense of purpose.” His eyes held a twinkle of amusement, and he joined her by the piano, content to bask in both the beauty of her music and the warmth of her company.

Farah’ smile widened at Luceris’ response, she shifted slightly on the piano bench, creating a space for him to sit beside her.

“Well, then, I suppose you’ve found your sense of purpose in this room,” she remarked playfully, her fingers lightly grazing the piano keys, producing a soft, melodic sound. “We can play together.”

Luceris took the offered seat, his presence adding a regal air to the room. He cast an appreciative glance at the grand piano, his fingers grazing the keys as if testing their readiness. “I fear my skills might pale in comparison to yours.”

Farah laughed at Luceris’ humility and self-awareness. She leaned in slightly closer, her eyes locking with his, “Well,” she teased, “if you’re afraid of comparisons, then perhaps you should serenade me with a solo performance.”

Luceris raised an eyebrow, enjoying the exchange. He leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto hers, and his voice lowered to a seductive murmur. “Perhaps I can serenade you in other ways?”

Despite feeling the heat of his presence, Farah lightly pushed his face away from hers with a gentle hand, a playful smile on her lips. “Not today,” she replied, her voice laced with a mix of amusement and restraint.

Luceris grabbed the hand that was pushing his face away and placed a light kiss on her palm, “As you wish.”

Farah’s heart quickened at the touch of Luceris’ lips on her palm, a gesture that sent a rush of warmth through her. She withdrew her hand, now tingling with sensation, and stood up from her seat.

Her movements were as fluid as the music she had just been playing. She leaned against the polished grand piano, her gaze locked onto Luceris, a playful glint in her eyes.

She ran her fingers through her flowing hair, the strands catching the dappled sunlight like threads of spun gold. “Play something for me.”

He hesitated for a moment, his fingers moving awkwardly as he positioned them over the piano keys. The grand instrument seemed to hold a certain magic under Farah’s influence, and he didn’t want to disappoint her.

With a deep breath, he began to play, the notes initially faltering. It was clear that his skills on the piano were nowhere near as polished as Farah’s, and yet, there was an undeniable charm in the sincerity of his efforts. The music that filled the room was simple but heartfelt.

As Luceris played, Farah’s gaze never wavered from him.

The genuine effort he put into the music was incredibly endearing.

Her eyes shimmered with affection as she watched him, her heart bursting with adoration. Despite the weight of his crown and the responsibilities that came with it, he had taken this precious moment to be with her, to make her smile.

He had always chosen her.

As Luceris played on, Farah couldn’t contain her overflowing affection any longer. With a heart full of love, she walked quietly over to him, her footsteps almost synchronized with the delicate notes of the piano.

Farah leaned down and wrapped her arms gently around Luceris from behind. Her figure, bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, enveloped him in a tender embrace.

Luceris, surprised but delighted by her unexpected gesture, paused in his playing.

The melody lingered in the air, echoing the love that enveloped them.

#coaaf if: drabbles #coaaf if: farah and luceris #crown of ashes and flames #coaaf if

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dinneronvenus · 9 months

Text

Follow The Leader

⟡ kishibe ༝ fem reader (private sector devil hunter)

⟡ inspired by the song “follow the leader” by magdalena bay and companion missions in silent hill

⟡ tags: fluff, angst, age gap (20’s reader + 50’s kishibe), gentle kishibe, blood, violence, near-death experience, kishibe has worked with her once before, stubborn reader, reader gets mean to hide that she’s scared

⟡ synopsis: kishibe is dispatched to take out a devil that’s been terrorizing a town in a smaller district, a simple assignment that gets complicated when he finds another hunter shares his target

⟡ note: I have no idea if there’s a hot spring in chuo city…. I made that up

“Wolf devil, huh? Only in the sticks.”

Kishibe spoke to the trees as he started into the forest that surrounded the village. Trudging in the direction the locals had pointed him to as the last sighting of his quarry, he lit a cigarette and let the sound of sticks breaking under his boots serenade him. After what seemed like a long stretch, he started to hear howling from the east and took off in that direction.

The stench of rotting meat hit him hard, the air was thick with the history of carnage. The smoke of the extra strong cigarettes wasn’t enough to make a difference. He walked for another ten minutes through the bloody miasma before coming upon a large, sprawling, dilapidated house—source of the assault on his senses.

Time for the big bad wolf to meet an old mad dog, he thought as he crept through long grass alongside the back of the structure. It was built strangely: facing away from the small town and towards the mountains as if meant to emphasize the exiled location. With two floors to the main home and multiple sections, it offered him a challenging game of hide and seek under the full moon.

Air made humid by a mixture of rotting wood and human remains pressed down on him as he hoisted himself inside through a window. He steadied himself, let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and listened hard for any sign of the devil. Bug song and leaves rustling gave background noise to the silence; a faint whimper cut through it like a razor.

Kishibe explored the home in search of whatever made that sound, caution putting a slow and steady pace into his every move. He was more concerned about falling through the floorboards or stepping in a pile of something than he was about running into the wolf devil. Stopping every so often to listen for the sound, it began to get louder as he walked up the stairs.

The scene of carnage before him when he arrived at the top of the stairs was its own picture of Hell. Walls coated in viscera to the point of scabbing, a complex anatomy puzzle created by the remains of victims strewn across nearly every surface, and that ominous whimpering noise had turned into a low drone of death throes from those not lucky enough to have been torn apart properly.

Following the sound, he rounded a corner of the long hallway and started to check the rooms lining it. Finding more scenes from Hell or broken locks on each door until he came to a one he could hear grunting through. Tired of the broken locks, he decided to kick this one open.

The sudden crack and crash pulled you back to consciousness. You looked up meekly at him standing there with his weapon drawn, looking far too clean. You extended your arm to push yourself up which caught his attention. He walked up to you, weapon still ready and crouched closer to get a better look at your face. You were already a beautiful corpse to him, until you coughed and asked if he had something to drink. All the cold fierceness in his eyes melted away when he realized you were still alive.

“This is going to burn,” He pulled his flask out of his pocket, unscrewed it and held it to your mouth. “But it’ll help keep you calm so you don’t go into shock.” You let the liquor work itself into your mouth as he tilted the flask against your lips.

“Doesnt burn as bad,” you coughed and tried to prop yourself up again, succeeding this time. “As bad as the scratches from the wolf devil.”

“I didn’t take you as a small town girl, shame about your neighbors.” He was reaching to investigate your wounds and a minute went by when it clicked what he meant by that.

“Can’t take me for something I’m not, old man. I came here to kill it.”

“And how’d that go?”

You kissed your teeth at the insult he was attempting to add to your injuries. The liquor was working in full swing now, dulling your pain and making it easier to breathe. He was closing the deepest wounds on you with a vial of liquid stitches, starting at a gash on your collarbone and a trio of them on your side where the devil had gotten a good connection.

“Not great… but I didn’t fail.”

“It almost took you with it.”

“Keyword: almost. I shouldn’t even,” you grunted in pain as he held the last deep wound closed to give the liquid stitches time to seal it up. “…Be here right now… must’ve been passed out when the extraction party came to collect its body.” You flinched at his touch as he continued to hold your skin together.

A sour look painted your face and you turned your head away from him, thinking about how pathetic you must’ve looked to have been left for dead and how much hassle wrangling payment would be if your employer thought you died.

“Be still, or these are going to pop open again.”

A grumbling “hmph” escaped your lips as you resigned to letting this jaded old man patch you up. It suddenly dawned on you how weird it is that he was here at all.

“Hey, what are you doing out here anyway?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I was sent to kill the wolf devil, alas some punk beat me to it. Second time that’s happened.”

He was referring to the first time you two had met. Both of you sent to handle a pack of insect devils, this time purposely, making bets on who would kill what first. He would be lying if he said you didn’t impress him that night. Your moves were all power, speed, and brutality that was so hard to come by in someone your age, let alone a woman. By the time the night was over, you’d handled most of the pack yourself and he owed you a few thousand yen and dinner. Recounting the memory made the right side of his mouth twitch into a small smirk. He was pulled from the fond memory by the sound of a distant howl.

“I thought you said you killed that thing.” His entire demeanor shifted. Realizing he’d have to protect you and kill your quarry.

“I-I did,” fear stuck your voice to your throat. “I don’t know what the fuck that noise could’ve been.”

The howling doubled up, then tripled, and it was getting closer. When it dawned on kishibe that the wolf devil had given birth to cubs, he scooped you into his arms without saying anything and started downstairs, hoping the threat wouldn’t be able to smell your fresh blood through all the old blood, part of him knew better so he picked up the pace. You clutched him, realizing in that moment just how strong he was as you felt his well-built back and chest.

“Pretty strong for a senior citizen…” you made the comment under your breath, thinking he’d not be able to hear you.

“If you keep calling me old, I’m going to use you as bait,” he said it jokingly at first but then he realized his best bet at killing the cubs would be to do just that. He started making his way through the house, retracing his steps to a storage room he’d found on his way inside that had a great choke point for him to exploit.

“Actually, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. It’s the best way to make sure these things don’t get the jump on us,” He said as he sat you in the farthest corner of the room, using its small maze-like shelves to force a route for the devils to follow that would lead them right to him, and you.

“You’re fucking insane! You think I’d let you do this?” As if you had enough blood in your body to stop him. Defying your reality was normal though, and you started to get up and move towards the door. Gravity seemed to turn itself up though, and you swayed hard with no control over your legs. Strong arms caught you and a rough hand softly pulled your chin up, where you met kishibe’s black eyes with your own. Wordlessly, he asked you to trust him.

“Okay, I’ll do it. You’re the only chance I’ve got.”

You let him put you back in the corner, grateful for the softness of the rolled up cloth tarps stored there. The cacophony from the pack’s approach grew louder and louder. As they breached the room for the promise of a meal, they were met with the unbridled violence of Kishibe’s assault.

“Young animals always take the bait,” he said his comment on their nature more to himself than you. “I love it. So predictable.”

He tore them to shreds in such a manner that made you almost think he was showing off for you. The thought amused you, but not for long. You were getting sleepy, body heavy from the longest night of your life. You began to drift off, head resting on your shoulder. The sounds of horror fading away.

Tapping on your face slowly brought you back to consciousness. Opening your eyes just a little, you saw his concerned face inches from yours. Flecks of blood littered his face like freckles. Relief came over him as you blinked.

“I thought you went and died on me,” his voice was soft as he picked you up again, this time with more care. The two of you finally got out of that hell hole and into the open field of tall grass that surrounded it. The moonlight shone on your face, and despite everything, he remembered how pretty you are and how he had to push that thought out of his mind when you’d met. Now he was able to let it linger.

“Now, will you try to stay awake?”

“Yeah, I’ll try.” You said weakly, one arm draped around his neck and the other resting on your stomach. “Can’t m-make any promises though.”

He realized he needed to keep you talking to keep you alive.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Steak… or shrimp pasta…”

He wanted to laugh at your answer’s simplicity. He smiled freely since he knew you couldn’t see him do it, didn’t want you to know he enjoyed this.

“Do you drink?”

“Yeah… not, not the way you do,”

“Hey…” he sounded almost hurt. “Drink of choice?”

“Sweet red wine,” your voice perked up a bit. A sign that relaxed him somewhat. He’d be able to make it back to the village with you alive.

“When I take you out to dinner, where do you want to go?”

Silence. You weren’t sure if you heard the words right. Maybe you were dying for sure. Darkness edged your vision, so you closed your eyes. Sleep sounded so good.

“Hey, answer me.” The pace of his footsteps quickening as much as possible without him moving fast enough to jostle you too much. “And look at me when you do.”

“What?” You snapped weakly, pain and exhaustion putting a knife’s edge on your voice. You looked up at him as he looked down at you, the moon big and shiny behind him, stars littering the sky. You realized he was attractive, and not just for an old man. His ashy blond hair was bleached by the moonlight and his cheekbones caught the light piercing the darkness of the trees every so often. Despite him not necessarily liking that tone, he was relieved to hear it. If you have the energy to be upset with him, you have the energy to make it the last mile back. Plus looking into your eyes as they reflected the moon, with you against his chest sent a feeling through him that felt so natural and warm. A feeling he’d not had in years, and wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.

“When I take you out to dinner, where do you want to go?” He spoke more evenly and even put some sweetness into his gruff voice.

You sighed, closing your eyes for a pause before resuming looking at him.

“Gyuan Ginza,” your answer was so matter-of-fact.

“That a steakhouse?”

“Mhm, best in Tokyo. Plus there’s a great hot spring spa in Chuo City too.”

Unbeknownst to you, the two of you had arrived at the back gate of the town’s small hospital. Your eyes closed again and this time, he didn’t make a fuss. He just held you a little tighter.

“I’ll take you there, too.”

#kishibe #kishibe x you #kishibe csm #csm #kishibe x reader #chainsaw man #fanfiction #csm fanfic #csm fluff

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kendsleyauthor · 7 months

Text

📸 Linger + Dusk + Serenade 📸

Promptober 2023

Print / Trinket Universe (Micah and Everly)

~1300 words

Warning: Mentions of dehumanization

Micah and Everly have to keep their marriage a secret. It's a simple fact. What's not so simple is the consequences of being seen together under questionable circumstances 😭

@marydublinauthor 🌸

“You need to get out there,” Everly said. She sat by the window, knees hugged to her chest. Her heart was still pounding from the close call in the hallway.

There had been reporters and photographers waiting on the band’s floor of the hotel room. The snapping flash of lights had taken Micah completely off-guard, but Everly had been huddled close enough to his chest to stay out of sight as he hurried to his room.

Micah was still pacing back and forth across the suite’s lavish bedroom, scrolling through his phone like it might calm him down.

“You’re still freaked,” he said, coming to a stop by the window. “I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

“I’m fine.” She tried to smile, but it must have looked like a grimace. “Get out of here, party boy. It’ll look weird if you stay holed up in here all night. Like you have something to hide.”

Nothing to hide. Just a wife.

“The sun’s barely down,” Micah assured. “Plenty of time for me to head down for the night.” A couple of years ago, she knew he would have invited her—would have begged her to come bar-hopping, claiming that she didn’t know what she was missing. He knew better now. A fingertip brushed down her spine, warm and practiced. “Ev? Are you sure you’re okay?”

His phone buzzed, blessedly interrupting her self-appointed duty to lie to him again. Of course I’m okay. I’m always okay. He peeked at his phone, a frown creasing his face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Xander, he… sent an article.” Micah’s frown vanished, replaced with something akin to terror. “Fuck. Fuck!” He was on his feet instantly, his steps shaking all the way through Everly’s perch on the window sill as he stormed off into another round of pacing.

She stood in alarm. “Micah? Micah, what is it?”

Pale, he looked from her to the phone. Then he slowly approached, turning the screen to face her. She didn’t bother looking at the words. All she could focus on was the image plastered to the top of the article: a good enough angle of her huddling against Micah’s chest as he carried her into the hotel room.

Those vultures had gotten a glimpse of her.

It wasn’t the first time their picture had been snapped together. There were already vague rumors going around that he was taking advantage of his little lights engineer. She was such a nobody, the attention never stayed on her for long. After all, it wasn’t as if Micah Tate could ever be in a relationship with someone like her. A rockstar having a little fun backstage was nothing to write home about.

A rockstar sneaking a print into his bedroom, alone, was cause for more attention, though.

Zombie-like, she reached out to swipe through the article. It was brief—hastily, excitedly written no less than fifteen minutes after the picture was snapped. Her attention went to the comments on the bottom. Already, there were sickening posts from Micah’s fans about what a lucky little slut she was. She caught a glimpse of “can someone give me a list of crimes i can commit to be a print??” before he yanked the phone away.

When she met his gaze, she could see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” she said, and she meant it. “This… this almost works, doesn’t it? It fits the image you’re trying to put out. It’ll be okay, Micah.”

The image. Micah Tate—the sweetest heartthrob to his fans, but a menace to trinkets.

It wasn’t the end of the world if prints were lumped in with the trinkets. If anything, this would make it even easier to cover up his involvement with the Rebellion. No one could suspect him of being sympathetic toward the smaller members of society.

Micah stared blankly at her, then shook his head slowly. “I can’t even share a room with my wife without it being a scandal.” A humorless laugh shook through him, deepening the crack in her heart. “We should’ve stayed on the bus. None of this would be happening if I didn’t insist on a fucking hotel room. Fuck!”

“Hey!” Everly leaned so far off the window that he had no choice but to reach out and steady her. She welcomed his hand around her, guiding his fingers to close around her midsection. “You should get out there. Maybe you can spin this. Mention to someone that you needed me to program something in the room—something like that!”

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you here alone. If they see me without you, what if they come looking for you here?”

“You have to go! Leave security at the door. I’ll be fine.”

“No.” His hand tightened around her waist, breath hitching. “No! What if they…” He trailed off, horror swimming in his eyes.

“Then… Take me with you.” A lump solidified in her throat, making her want to choke. “If you stay in this room, who knows what kind of other rumors will start flying around. You need to get out there and take control of this. And if you need me there with you to make it seem like… like…”

She swallowed hard, unable to make herself say it. A little bit of his soul seemed to leave his stare as he picked up on what she was insinuating. Just like with trinkets, he could make it appear like he was taking advantage of her. Perhaps not as brutally. She wasn’t a Mercy Program print, after all. But she was beneath him in more ways than one.

“I’m not,” he shuddered out, “doing that.”

His tears were falling angrily by then. He regarded her with desperation. She knew that look. He wanted a drink really fucking badly, and she couldn’t blame him. But he promised her he wouldn’t take another sip of alcohol unless the situation involved saving a trinket.

“It’s one or the other,” she said gently. “You head out there with or without me, but you head out there. If you stay here, they’ll decide what our story is.” She swallowed again, willing herself not to cry along with him.

One of them needed to be the strong one.

“I won’t do that to you out there,” he rasped. “Never you.”

She nodded. “Then you go out there, and you tell them I’m working on your latest light-up tux.”

Although he nodded back, his fingers stayed locked around her. His eyes beseeched her. “Fifteen minutes?” he asked, as though she was the only person in the world he needed permission from.

And she desperately needed these fifteen minutes too.

“Let’s lay down,” she said gently.

Micah swept her fully into his grasp and carried her to the bed. She wasn’t sure which way the pendulum would swing as they settled down. She would have happily allowed herself to be buried with his kisses and affection, but their predicament left him nearly lifeless. He released her onto the mattress, and he laid down, positioning himself to gaze directly at her. He drew a deep breath, looking utterly miserable.

“Oh, Micah,” she whispered.

Everly scooted closer, leaning herself against his forehead and stroking his hair tenderly. His eyes fluttered shut as she started to hum his favorite songs. His hand searched upward and found her, tracing the curves of her body. At least from this angle, he couldn’t see her tears break loose.

As they basked in each other’s touches and comfort, she wished she was fixing a light-up tux. People were much harder to fix than circuits and wires.

He stayed far longer than fifteen minutes, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him.

#gt #g/t #gt writing #g/t writing #gt fandom #g/t fandom #gt community #g/t community #giant tiny #size difference #my writing #print universe #print universe story #trinket universe #trinket universe story #printverse #printverse story #oc: micah #oc: everly

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mostmagical · 1 year

Text

So I have decided to start posting my one shots on tumblr.... Please have Adrien making cat noises:

Meow Me a Serenade: AO3

It had started as a joke at first.

Like always, as Chat Noir, Adrien’s number one priority (after, of course, saving Paris—that was a given) was to make his Lady laugh. He reveled in it all. Her little giggles, her full-body chuckles, even her fond little eye rolls. Groans were extra points.

They had been sitting up on one of the buildings overlooking the Place du Trocodéro, just goofing off after patrol. Ladybug was mindlessly scrolling down some feed on some social media on her bugphone, when she paused with one of her adorable little laughs.

“Look, Chaton,” she said, pushing the yoyo in his direction, “you’ll love this.”

A grin spread across his face as he saw the screen. It was a video of a little white cat, “speaking” to its owner in little mewls and yowls. He did love it, and his heart did a little flip in his chest at the thought of her knowing that he would.

“I could do that, you know,” he said.

She turned to look at him, the side of her mask raised and he knew she had lifted an eyebrow in question. “Talk, you mean?” She laughed. “You do enough of that already, kitty. You’re always talking my ear off.”

He nudged her with his shoulder, grinning ever wider. “No, I could totally make those noises.”

“Oh yeah, like nyah,” she said, laughing at her own joke behind her hand.

Playfully, he narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said. “Well, yes, actually, but I mean I could chirp and chatter with the best of them if I tried.”

“Sure, you could, but it would be nowhere as cute.”

He gasped dramatically. “Nya-ow, that’s a challenge if I ever heard one,” he said, leaning into her personal space.

To his delight, she placed a finger on the tip of his nose and pushed him away. His heart skipped a beat like it always did.

“Okay, minou,” she replied. “Whatever you say.”

“I’m very good at picking up mew skills, you know. Give me a week.”

Her responding eye roll was the perfect encouragement.

And so, he went home to study.

Adrien leapt through his bedroom window, detransforming almost before he even touched down to the ground. He took a second to toss some camembert to Plagg, before skidding over to his computer chair. It only took a few moments before he had pulled up hours of material to review. The internet, after all, was never lacking cat videos.

“What are you doing?” Plagg asked flatly.

Adrien didn’t take his eyes from the screen as a fluffy gray cat meowed at the camera. “Research.”

Plagg looked from the screen back to Adrien, before sighing. “Fine, do whatever, so long as it doesn’t distract me from savoring my sweet camembert,” he said, taking a bite.

Adrien finally glanced up at the kwami, giving him a roll of the eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he answered, waving a hand in the air. He reached for his headphones.

For hours, he watched video after video, listening to all sorts of chirps and meows and purrs—anything and everything cat. It wasn’t like he’d never watched cat videos before, but now he was taking notes. Sure, maybe this was a little more work than he would typically put in for a joke, but anything to make Ladybug laugh.

As the moon rose in the sky and Nathalie knocked on his door to remind him it was time to go to bed, Adrien decided it was time for the next step: imitation.

He laid back on his bed, phone in hand with his newly curated playlist of cat noises, trying to make his mouth form the same mewls and trills. Maybe this would be easier if he transformed… He could already purr anyway, he remembered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks at the memory.

“You sound ridiculous,” Plagg complained from his perch in one of his fencing trophies. “Can we go to bed already?”

Adrien narrowed his eyes at the kwami, but acquiesced nonetheless. “Fine, fine,” he replied, “good night, Plagg.” He turned onto his side, burying himself in the sheets.

His dreams were filled as per usual with his favorite bug and her sparkling laughter.

Adrien continued to practice by himself in his room, waiting for his next opportunity to amuse Ladybug with his newfound skill. Luckily, it wasn’t too long before he got his next chance.

The akuma that day had been quick work, not even requiring a Cataclysm to resolve. After their usual celebration, the two agreed to meet after Ladybug fed her kwami so they could decompress.

He was swinging his feet from their favorite rooftop across from the Eiffel Tower when she arrived.

“Phew,” she sighed out, her breath blowing her bangs up off her forehead. She plopped down beside him with little preamble. “Sorry I took so long, kitty, but I brought snacks.”

Chat Noir looked down at her hands to see a bag from the Dupain-Chengs’ bakery. His mouth watered thinking of the delectable treats she might have selected. She was so thoughtful. He decided to try and express how much he appreciated her.

“Proo,” he trilled at her, leaning into her space just a bit.

She wrinkled her nose at him, and gosh she looked so cute, it almost lessened the sting of her next words.

“You sound like M. Pigeon.”

“What?” he exclaimed, affronted, and leaning away. “That was a cat noise!”

Ladybug lifted her arms in a little shrug. “Sounded more like a pigeon to me.”

He huffed, pulling his face into an exaggerated frown. And he had worked so hard, too.

She started giggling, and his mood lifted instantly. “Sorry, Chaton,” she said. “Maybe next time.”

“Ugh, you can’t call me that anymore,” he cried, hanging his head dramatically. “I’m not worthy of the name.”

“Aww… Don’t cry, kitty,” she cooed.

She threaded her fingers into his hair, and automatically he leaned into her touch. Seeing a golden opportunity, he tried again.

“Mrrrp…”

“Pfft!” Air blew out through Ladybug’s nose, and then she was clutching her stomach as she giggled. Adrien felt his chest bloom with warmth.

“Okay,” she finally said, traces of laughter still shaking her shoulders. “That one was pretty good.”

“Really?” He grinned up at her.

Playfully, she rolled her blue, blue eyes at him, though the smile stayed on her face. Her fingers returned to his hair, gentle nails scratching behind his ears. He nuzzled into the touch, his purr thrumming the air around them.

They soon fell into a regular pattern like that. On patrols, after akuma attacks, or following any other public appearances they might make, Adrien would try his cat noises in the hopes he would get a small laugh out of her. If he was lucky, she would even pet him. His purr always coaxed a couple extra giggles out of her.

He didn’t think it was a big deal until he caught himself at home, trilling while he did his history homework. He hadn’t meant to do it, but it just came out, filling the silence of his room. His eyes flicked to Plagg over his shoulder.

The kwami was floating in the air, tiny arms crossed over his chest. “Adrien…” he started. “What was that?”

“I… don’t know what you mean,” Adrien said sheepishly.

“I am going to need way more cheese if you start ‘practicing’ again.”

Plagg flew away to the other side of the room, and Adrien tried his best to focus on his studies again, thinking and not thinking about keeping quiet.

It happened again when he was sitting in the library with Nino, researching for a literature project they were working on together.

“Hmm,” Nino hummed. “You have that biography on Victor Hugo?”

“Mrrft.”

Nino went silent. Adrien looked up at him to meet wide brown eyes, eyebrows raised high beneath the brim of his hat.

“Nino? Yeah, you want the biography or not?”

Nino just continued to stare at him across the study table like he had four heads, ignoring the question. “Dude, what was that?”

Adrien tilted his head. “What was what?”

“That noise you just made?”

Adrien straightened his posture, understanding seeping into his bones. He felt his ears grow warm with his embarrassed blush. “I– I made a noise?” he asked. “You sure I didn’t just say yes?”

Nino must have noticed he was getting nervous, because his expression slid into something a bit more teasing. “Yeah, it was definitely a noise. Uhh… I don’t think I could recreate it, but if I had to guess? Maybe… sounded a little like a bird?”

“It was a cat!” Adrien automatically responded. He slapped a hand over his mouth.

Nino blinked at his outburst, then quickly fell into peals of laughter. One of his hands gently hit against the table. “You’re so weird, man,” he said, his tone purely joking.

Adrien tried to push the self-consciousness of getting caught away and laughed along.

He was sitting in the back of the sedan with Nathalie and he was dying of boredom.

Maybe it would have been better if his bodyguard were allowed to switch on the radio, or if someone would just talk to him. Instead, they were in complete silence. Nathalie was reviewing some Gabriel documents on her tablet and claimed she needed complete focus.

Adrien’s leg started bouncing as he leaned against the door’s armrest. As they passed through the streets of Paris, heading towards some distant location across the city for an off-site photo shoot, he imagined his lady leaping and bounding across the tops of the roofs. He could practically hear the zip of her yoyo in the silence of the car.

“Chichichi,” he forced air out of his mouth through his teeth, imagining he was trying to chirp for her. His tongue rolled in his mouth almost naturally.

“Adrien.”

Nathalie’s stern voice cut through his thoughts and he remembered where he was again. His head turned to his left to meet her eyes. He couldn’t remember ever seeing such an amused look on her face before.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

His eyes flitted away from hers, shame coloring his cheeks. The wriggling against his side from Plagg told him just what he had done.

“N–nothing,” he said.

It was all he could do to count the seconds until they finally reached their destination.

“How are you getting so good at that?” Ladybug asked through her giggles one night.

Chat Noir lifted his chin into the air, his belt tail flicking behind him. He did a little purr for her (she giggled again). “Practice, practice, practice,” he sang.

“Practice?” she asked, plopping herself down on the rooftop edge. “What, you’re just meowing to yourself even through the akuma battles when I can’t even hear you?” She gasped. “Or—don’t tell me… Do you sit at home in your bedroom just making cat noises all day?”

He shrugged and sat down beside her, his legs criss-crossing over each other. “A little of column A, a little of column B,” he answered, waving his hand in a noncommittal gesture.

Her eyes twinkle a bit when she looks at him. “Don’t tell me you just meow at your friends and ask them to rate you?”

Adrien ignored the heat rising up his neck at the memory of Nino teasing him in the library. “Uhh… Something… like that,” he said.

She laughed at that, a tinkling little sound like stars, and he forgot all about it.

“Well, I’ll be honest, it’s grown on me a bit,” Ladybug said.

He could feel butterflies swarming around in his stomach.

“Mrow,” he replied. “Is that so, my Lady? I’m growing on mew?”

She rolled her eyes. “Like a weed.”

He grinned back at her, knowing she was only playing around. Excitedly, he trilled again, leaning his shoulder into hers.

Ladybug reached her hand up by his ears, running her fingers through his hair in gentle ministrations, and his purr rumbled through his chest.

Adrien was in Marinette’s room, finally allowed a rare appearance with his friends. They were currently in the middle of a Mecha Strike tournament, one of which Marinette had been destroying everyone in.

Nino pushed against his shoulder as Adrien finally slammed his character down on the screen.

“Aw, come on, dude!” Nino cried. “I want to win one.”

Alya laughed. “If you want to win, stop challenging Adrien.” She affectionately rubbed Nino’s back. “You know you have no chance of beating him or Marinette unless the world is ending.”

“Yeah, but, babe, if I go up against you, there’s no challenge!”

“Hey!”

Marinette giggled from her chaise across the room at the couple’s playful bickering. For some reason, Adrien felt his chest warm at the gentle sound.

“Ugh, I’m starving,” Alya sighed. “Adrien, how late are you staying?”

Adrien startled at the question directed at him. Idly, he pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen for the time, even though the little analog clock on Marinette’s desk told him it was just after 5.

“Uhh… I should be able to stay another hour or two?” His voice trailed off like it was a question. “So long as my father doesn’t have a sudden change of heart.”

“Great!” Alya beamed. “Nino, let’s go look for sustenance. We’ll bring it back up here with us.”

“Sounds good.”

The couple bounded down the stairs, closing the trapdoor behind them. Adrien leaned back into his chair with a sigh.

The sound of Marinette clearing her throat drew his eyes across the room. She didn’t quite meet his eyes as she said, “I– I’m glad you were able to come hang out with us today, Adrien.”

He smiled, though he wasn’t sure if she would see it. “Me, too.”

Realizing how long he had been sitting in the same spot, Adrien decided it was time for a stretch break. He stood up and raised his arms over his head, feeling the tension he hadn’t even noticed was there leaving his muscles. He took slow steps to where Marinette was sitting across the room, scrolling through her phone. He let himself sink down to the floor and lean his back against the chaise.

With one final stretch of his arms, the noise came out unbidden, like a yawn.

“Mrrpft.”

He was rewarded with the sound of his favorite giggle. Fingers delved into his hair like the most natural thing. He nuzzled into it, his Lady’s ministrations always reaching just the right spot. His chest grew warm as he started to purr.

Except, the noise that came out was throaty and guttural, unlike the smooth rumbling he was used to. He opened his eyes, realizing that he was certainly not Chat Noir right now. The (bare) fingers in his hair stopped as well.

He turned to look over his shoulder, meeting Marinette’s blue, blue eyes, set in her pink, pink cheeks.

“Oh,” he breathed.

“Oh,” Marinette breathed back.

#ladynoir #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #ml fanfic #miraculeakless #lovesquare #ml fic #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #mlb #also i accidentally posted to ao3 first without a summary oops #my writing

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ladygenius · 1 year

Text

Crimson Nights & Predators Part II

Description: After sneaking away at Rossis wedding to escape from lurking predators y/n and Spencer discover a safe place for both of them

Pairing: Reid x female bau reader

Content: pining, jealousy, just protective cutiepie Spence

Warnings: alcohol consumption, a couple swear words

Wordcount: 1150

Her serenading giggle echoed through the luxurious halls of the ancient building. Kings and Queens must have dined here some long-forgotten day, Spencer thought to himself. Her hand in his definitely made him feel as if being of Royal Blood himself.

As they were running through the halls and up a lavishly carpentered staircase their laughter almost managed to overshadow the splendor all around them, leaving even the countless portraits of ancient aristocrats staring down with jealousy. Jealous of those joys and passions only bodies of flesh and bone could be touched by.

But what had that to do with Spencer's and y/n's relationship?

Even now, it was obvious to him, that this was nothing but a dream, he would eventually have to wake up from. But right now he didn't care about the real world. The next day at work or his next awkward move when he felt self-conscious around her. Right now, he wanted this fairytale.

"Where are we going, y/n?", he couldn't help but be curious.

"Oh, you'll see.. Alright. It must have been about.. here!" After turning another corner, she made an abrupt halt in front of the most opulent-looking door they'd come across thus far. All the others were white but this one was made of elegant mahogany wood, all shiny and adorned with little golden ornaments. He had to admit, he was more than intrigued by the secrecy their little adventure had in store.

And y/n knew. She smirked at him proudly, as she admired his perfectly sculpted profile while he was admiring the sight of the mysterious door.

Oh, he'll fit right in there, she thought to herself with anticipation.

"Wait till you've seen what the inside looks like Doc", y/n gently slipped in front of Spencer, their bodies briefly touching.

Carefully she turned the knobs of the winged door and got them both open simultaneously with some effort. "Ready to have your mind blown?"

By god, Spencer was quite convinced he couldn't possibly be ready for anything this woman had in store. The luscious timbre of her voice alone was enough to make his head spin.

She stepped into the room confidently, darkness swallowing her at first, but the light thrown in from outside the window still allowed him to admire her perfect silhouette. He followed her cautiously, barely being able to make out a thing while y/n was clearly looking for the light switch. A sudden noise made them both startle, as the heavy doors to the room slammed shut. Y/n burst out into laughter about the high-pitched shriek that had just escaped her throat. Or was it Spencer's?

"Damn, I can't see a thing. Where's that goddamn light switch?"

"Woah easy, agent y/l/n. Weren't you here before?" He was quite amused by her sudden outburst.

"Why, yeah. But it's not where I remembered it somehow." As he was trying to help her find it, she almost stumbled over his feet, instinctively holding onto his chest to steady herself.

"Careful there, Klutz." His strong grip on her waistline immediately sent chills down her spine. While his eyes were slowly adjusting to the lack of light, the two of them stayed like this much longer than it took for y/n to regain her balance. He could now make out the linings of her face again, losing himself inside the gleams of light reflected in her widened orbs. The crimson-colored fabric underneath Spencer’s fingertips almost seemed to vibrate against his skin as he felt his own flesh burning, melting until it could finally be one with her.

“Oh”, y/n’s hand reached somewhere behind his back, her chest leaning in on him closely. With a sudden clicking sound the room lit up in flames – that’s how badly the actually quite cozy sepia light dazzled his vision at first. “Found it.” She shyly took a few steps away from him, her cheeks tinted in a soft shade of rose.

It was only now that Spencer took notice of the imminent splendor that was the essence of the room - or rather - the hall around them. His face froze as he was admiring the endless sea of bookshelves filling every corner of what must have been the single hugest library he has ever seen his entire life. How could I not know about this? he asked himself.

“So?” y/n cockily folded her arms in front of her chest, observing him closely. “Is this awesome or is this like, awesome squared infinity?”

His heart lit up at the woman of his dreams being equally excited about this sight of pure pleasure to him: books as far as the eyes could see, stacked from ceiling to floor onto the most extravagantly looking bookshelves. Their copies protected by fancy leather and clothbound covers, some of them undoubtedly first prints or at least rarest collectors’ editions. Not even he could read all of them in a week.

“Oh my god”, was the first thing Spencer could utter after an eternity of simply staring in awe. “This is incredible, y/n. How on earth did you find this?”

“Well, it might be that earlier this evening as I was taking a little extra-long in the restroom to hide from certain coworkers of ours, I started strolling around. And I couldn’t get past this door without risking a look by the life of me."

Her fingers carefully ran along the curved surface of an expensive-looking globe in the library's center. The dreamy look on her face was a sight he couldn’t ever possibly get enough of.

“Knew it!” Y/n victoriously chimed as she got open the top part of the globe, literally splitting the world in half with just one move. Yeah, that depicts perfectly what she’s doing to his own on a daily basis. The inside of the globe revealed an old-school minibar. “You really wanna drink some of this?” Spencer exclaimed in his signature surprised high pitch as y/n was studying the different bottles inside.

“Oh, come on, Rossi pays this place a fortune for tonight anyway. I’m positive they can spare like two fingers of whatever this stuff is in here. Yuck!” She scrunched her nose disgustedly at smelling the bottle but went along pouring the dark liquid into two fancy whisky glasses anyway.

“This might be a little rough. But you know, we’re in a gentleman’s environment today, so we’re doing gentlemanly stuff. To going astray.” Her glass clinked against his own.

No. To going astray with you, Spencer thought to himself.

Final Part III

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blurglesmurfklaine · 1 year

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Stick Season (1/14)

Summary: After Finn dies, Kurt leaves everything he knows behind without a trace. His hometown, his family, his boyfriend. When his dad has a medical scare, he returns to Lima, one year after breaking Blaine’s heart with no explanation.

Tropes/Genres: Angst, Reconciliation, Grief, Alcoholism, Mentions of Major Character Death

A/N: SO I’m TRYING SOMETHING NEW. Ya girl has been obsessed with the Stick Season album by Noah Kahan for a while now, and there are 14 songs and 14 days for the @klaineccfanficlibrary Valentines challenge so I’m merging the two bc why tf not I guess??

Every day, I’ll write a Drabble or short one-shot based on the summary above, and the song from Stick Season will be picked through a random number generator—so things might not necessarily go in chronological order! I’m a little late as today is the 2nd so I will try to catch up when I can!

Track 2: Stick Season // Day 1: Lovely Day by Bill Withers

Word Count: 401

***

It’s been six months since Kurt left Lima without a trace.

Six months since Blaine started counting the seconds between thoughts of Kurt. Considering he’s almost made it a full twenty four hours, he’d say he’s getting better.

He’s at the supermarket and Bill Withers is serenading him to the tune of Lovely Day, and for a moment, Blaine thinks it actually might be one.

And then he sees her.

Carole looks different than the last time Blaine saw her, standing on the Hummel front porch, trying to find the delicate balance between offering condolences and pleading for any scraps of information on where her step son might be. Her eyes were sunken in, then, hair pulled back in a ponytail that hadn’t been washed in several days.

Now, she’s still missing that radiant glow she emanated before her son died, but she seems better than before, standing in front of the grocery store window, as she picks up an avocado, testing the firmness.

Blaine wants to walk away. He should, really. Kurt made it abundantly clear that there was no room in his life for him, why would Carole have any? Surely, she’s forgotten about his existence just like Kurt has.

Still, something compels him to walk over and gently place a hand on her arm. “Carole,” he says softly. “Hi.”

She turns to him, surprise in her eyes. “Oh, sweetie, hi.” She moves to wrap her arms around him. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”

“I’m good. Better. How are you?”

“I could say the same. I miss him. I miss them both.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

That is the understatement of the century.

Blaine’s always had this illusion that if he could pile enough good and warm and bright on all his shit, maybe, just maybe it would cancel out the darkness and bitterness he inherited from his father. He thought Kurt was that brightness—so naturally moral and compassionate that Blaine was certain even the smallest bit of his light would be enough to cast out the shadows that haunt Blaine’s mind.

Instead, Kurt lied, promising Blaine that he was everything. Then he kept on driving forward, leaving their future behind.

Rain patters on the large window by the front of the produce section. “Looks like a storm’s coming,” Carole notes.

Great.

Blaine restarts the internal counter he has. After all, he always sees Kurt when it rains.

#wow look at me im writing!#Klaine #glee #Noah Kahan #stick season #Klaine fanfiction #Klaine valentines challenge 2023 #sorry for the angst

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princessofpatras · 10 months

Text

Lord, You Keep Me Crawling

Chapter Four: Am I My Brother’s Keeper?

“Are you sure about this?” Auguste asked for the fiftieth time since morning mass. “We can still bail.”

Uncle made a small impatient sound from the front seat as the rumble of the engine died.

“We’re here, Auguste,” Laurent snapped. “They’ve seen the car already.” The words came out sharper than he’d intended. That had been happening a lot lately.

“We could just drive away. They’d understand.”

Instead of answering, Laurent opened his car door and stepped out onto the driveway. The sun was setting behind the western treeline; orange fire bleeding out of the sky and a wave of indigo creeping in cautiously in its wake, as though the night were asking for permission to fall.

They were almost thirty minutes late. Uncle had blamed Laurent for taking so long to get ready that they hadn’t left in time to beat the rush hour traffic—which was completely unfair, because it wasn’t his fault that there was traffic or that he’d had nothing suitable to wear in his entire closet. In the end he’d settled on a midnight blue silk dress shirt with a subtle black floral brocade, his hair moussed and swept back out of his face, and a gold crucifix around his neck. He had put in and taken out his sapphire earring a dozen times over the course of getting dressed, but in the end he had decided against it, tucking it away in the jewelry box that he kept hidden under his bed.

He walked around the front of the car toward the cobbled walkway and heard the car doors open and close again as Uncle and Auguste followed. Juerre stayed in the car, waiting behind the wheel to take them home. The getaway driver, Laurent thought mockingly.

Daylilies flanked the walkway in rows of orange and yellow. As he walked up the path to the front door, he remembered a thousand other trips up that walkway—under sunshine and rain and indigo skies like tonight’s—skipping or running or dragging his feet over the cobblestones. Laurent had walked this path so many times he had carved it into his muscle memory like a river carving a canyon. He couldn’t escape it now if he tried. His legs carried him to the door.

Warm light poured out from the window. Laurent found to his surprise that he was tall enough to see in now, if he stood on his tiptoes. Immediately he noticed that the crystal chandelier in the foyer was not the same one that had hung there when the Fortaines lived here. He stepped back from the door, disoriented. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, centering himself on the pine and floral smell of the evening breeze. A chorus of peepers chirped a tuneless serenade from their hiding places among the low vegetation. He felt Auguste and Uncle step up on either side of him.

“Laurent?” Auguste asked warily.

Laurent opened his eyes and rolled back his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

With one arm cradling a bottle of wine, Uncle used his free hand to ring the bell. Laurent realized that he had never touched that doorbell before in his life. He’d never needed to. Loyse used to leave the door unlocked for him.

As they waited, Uncle spoke with his eyes on the door, “I want you both to be on your best behavior tonight.” He didn’t seem to be waiting for a response from either of them. It wasn’t a request, but a simple statement from a man who expected nothing less than total obedience. A spark of anger alighted in Laurent’s chest. Auguste shot him a sidelong glance, and Laurent saw the same feeling reflected in his brother’s eyes.

The door swung open, and suddenly Uncle’s face was plastered with a smile—the humble and magnanimous one that Laurent called his saint smile.

“Hello!” Hypermenestra burst into view. “Come in, come in!” She beckoned them through the doorway with a manicured hand. Uncle presented her with the wine. “Oh, how sweet,” she cooed, “you shouldn’t have!”

Uncle bowed his head, gracefully deflecting the praise. “I simply couldn’t show up empty handed. It’s a vintage from Ravenel, a very good year.”

“I’ll have it set out to breathe.” She summoned someone from the kitchen and handed off the bottle.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Uncle said as the doorman took his coat, “the traffic was terrible.”

“No, don’t worry about it, Father. Stavos tells me that dinner is running a bit late as it is, and Damen hasn’t even come down yet.” She grinned at Auguste and Laurent. “Don’t you boys look handsome?”

Auguste certainly did, towering in his burgundy shirt and trim black blazer, with his easy smile and strong jaw. He looked like the very picture of manly splendor and dash. Beside him, Laurent felt like a kid playing dress up. He let Auguste and Uncle carry the conversation from there as Kastor, Jokaste, and Theomedes spilled into the foyer and made their greetings.

“I suppose you don’t need a tour,” Hypermenestra said with an awkward smile.

“We know the house better than you do,” Uncle laughed. Laurent was no longer sure that was true.

He had imagined that stepping into the house would be like falling backwards through time, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. If anything, it thrust him roughly out into the present and locked the door behind him—forcing him to acknowledge that the home he had kept alive in his memory these past few years was truly dead and buried.

He had known that the decor would not be the same, but knowing was not believing, and his brain kept insisting that what his eyes were telling him he saw was wrong. The hardwood floor was bare, the silk Patran runner that Laurent was used to having under his feet was gone. From where he stood in the foyer, he could see that the furnishings in the den and the dining room were now of a more open and simplistic, more traditionally Akielon design. Gone were the old Veretian antiques that Loyse had been so fond of. The whole place felt awkward and warped. Stretched out and shrunken at the same time.

Even the air inside felt different. It smelled different. The aromas wafting from the kitchen were distinctly Akielon herbs and spices, and a new-paint smell clung to the walls. Even the furniture carried its own smell—the wood and leather and the smell of the rugs not quite matching the ones that used to be here. It wasn’t something Laurent thought he would notice if he hadn’t been expecting the old familiar smell of the Fortaine household. It wasn’t something he could even put into words; it was just them. And now it was gone, scraped from the house along with every other trace of them, and replaced by the alien scent of a new family.

Despite all that, the floorboards still creaked at the bottom of the stairs when Laurent walked there, as though they remembered him. The new chandelier hummed the same subtle electric note as its predecessor. Whispers and echoes of the past still endured within the carcass of the house, and Laurent saw ghosts in every corner.

He laid a hand on the round top of the post at the bottom of the balustrade, feeling the familiar, almost sticky smoothness of the varnish under his palm. He closed his eyes, and it was then—without all the visual distraction—that the past closed in around him.

It began with laughter. The sound of two young boys’ breathless joy bubbling through the stairwell, accompanied by their percussive footsteps racing to the top. Laurent, nine years old and already nursing a fierce competitive streak, shoved Aimeric bodily into the wall and streamed past, winning the race while the other boy cursed and recovered his balance. Nearly six months his younger but just as competitive, Aimeric proposed another game. They took turns leaping down from the top stair, adding one more to their jump each time, until Aimeric landed heavily on his feet, just barely sticking his landing after hurtling down eight stairs. He grinned triumphantly, assuming that to be the end of it, but Laurent hated to lose. He lept, and aimed for nine.

Laurent didn’t remember the fall, but he’d twisted his ankle and tumbled the rest of the way down the hardwood stairs, breaking his right arm somewhere along the way. After, Aimeric had drawn the neck of a violin on the back of his cast in permanent marker, complete with all four strings, so that Laurent could still practice his fingerings while his arm healed. He ghosted his fingers along his forearm and remembered it now with a smile.

Auguste’s hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his reverie. He opened his eyes to see that he and Auguste stood alone in the foyer as the others drifted away through the arched doorway into the den. Auguste offered him a reassuring smile, and Laurent returned it before catching up with the group in the den where they lounged on white couches and picked at a charcuterie board.

Where a portrait of Loyse, Guion, and their four sons had hung above the mantle, now sat a white orchid growing in a ceramic pot. Laurent caught a glimpse of his own face on the wall, solemn and pale. He suffered a moment’s confusion, until he blinked and the face blinked back. It was only his reflection, framed alone in a mirror behind the flowers.

Hypermenestra tapped Kastor on the shoulder. “Would you go tell your brother that our guests are here? I don’t know what’s taking him so long.”

A few minutes later, Damianos thundered down the stairs after Kastor, apologizing for his tardiness. He wore a brilliant smile and a blood-red sweater that fit him well and complimented his warm skin tone, his curls gently tousled atop his head. He looked effortlessly perfect.

Laurent wanted nothing more than to wipe the smile off his face with one of several scathing remarks that had formed in his head, but Uncle’s watchful eye was on him, and Laurent had nothing against Damianos’s parents as of yet. It was for their sakes, and for the sake of his own reputation among them, that he granted Damianos a tepid greeting.

A man in a white apron appeared in the doorway. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, everyone. Dinner is ready to be served.”

“Thank you Stavos,” Theomedes said. When the man had gone, he turned to the room. “It’s about time. I’m famished,” he said, patting his bulging stomach. “Let’s eat.”

When everyone was seated at the table and the first course of salad and bread with olive oil was placed before them, Uncle led them in saying Grace. Laurent noted with a stab of annoyance that there was a glass of wine in front of everyone’s place but his and Damianos’s. Auguste was toying with his glass already, an impatient twist to his mouth. Laurent watched him, frowning.

Uncle finished Grace, and Theomedes lifted his glass. “To peace,” he toasted in his sonorous voice, “and to new friends.”

“To peace and new friends,” echoed around the room as glasses clinked together.

Auguste tapped his glass against Laurent’s glass of water with an enthusiastic “cheers”, then lifted his glass to his lips and took a long, eager drink of wine. Damianos reached across the table to toast Laurent next. He felt rather ridiculous tapping their two glasses of water together; like they were children playing at being grown up.

Last, from his left, came Uncle’s glass. He leaned his head down toward Laurent’s, making the moment between them intimate. Amusement twinkled in his cool blue gaze when he saw Laurent eyeing his wine. As he lifted his glass to drink, he tapped Laurent’s chin affectionately with the knuckle of his forefinger. Laurent felt himself blush, and took a long drink of his water.

“That was a lovely mass you held this morning, Father,” Hypermenestra said as they started on their salads. “Applying the concept of ‘love thy neighbor’ to our two neighboring countries was very pertinent, I thought.”

Laurent found it difficult to focus on the conversation because Kastor had been staring at him strangely since the toast. He was grateful when Kastor’s attention was diverted by Jokaste.

“Kastor and I still think you should go back to the original sage green paint in the den,” she was saying to Hypermenestra. “It looked so beautiful in the pictures you sent us.”

“It doesn’t go with our furniture,” she protested. Meanwhile, Theomedes had struck up a lively conversation about football with Auguste and Damianos.

Laurent tuned them all out purposefully this time, poking absently at his salad with his fork. The sky was darkening, transforming the windows into mirrors that threw the dining room back at him when he tried to look outside. Each bright bulb on the chandelier and the orange flame of every candle on the long table burned double, their spectral twins floating out in the blue-black night.

His fork screeched against his plate when he heard his name. “I’m sorry,” he said politely, “could you repeat that?”

“Will you be at the homecoming game?” Theomedes boomed, as though the problem had been Laurent’s ears and not his wandering mind. “It’s Damen’s first game with the team. His new coach was so impressed with him, he’s putting him in as the starting quarterback. He’s a devil on the field, my son. Bound for the big league.”

Damianos grinned sheepishly. Laurent thought he saw a dark look pass over Kastor’s face, but it was gone in an instant.

“Not one you’ll want to miss,” Theomedes went on. “Bring your date to the game before the dance, if you really want to give her a night to remember.”

Laurent stretched his lips into a smile. He said, “I’m afraid I don’t know the first thing about football,” meaning it as a conversation-ender, but much to his chagrin, Theomedes took it as a request to learn. He spent the next ten minutes explaining the rules and nuances of football to Laurent in excruciating detail. Laurent made polite sounds to show he was listening, but in his mind he was attempting to unlock some latent power of telekinesis to make Theomedes’s head explode like a grape in the microwave.

He made eye contact with Auguste, who was hiding his laughter behind his knuckles. He glared when he was sure that no one else was looking, widening his eyes at his brother in silent communication of, save me, you asshole.

“Speaking of interceptions,” Auguste swooped in, “did you guys see that incredible catch by Orlant during the third quarter of the Arles-Aquitart game last week?”

“Ah, that was a thing of beauty!” Theomedes proclaimed. “Now there’s a man who would go far playing for Ios.”

Then Auguste dropped the bomb. “He’s a friend of mine, actually. We went to school together.”

“No way,” Damianos’s eyes had gone as round as the plates. Laurent was quickly forgotten as Theomedes and Damianos practically tripped over their tongues to interrogate Auguste about Orlant. Auguste glanced back at him, grinning. Laurent mouthed, thank you, and his brother tossed him a wink.

As the servers were clearing up the first course and preparing to bring out the second, Jokaste put down her silverware and looked up brightly. “So, I have a confession,” she said to the room with a twinkle in her eyes.

“You’ve come to the right man,” Uncle joked, earning laughter.

Jokaste aimed a conspiratorial smile at Laurent. “All week, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I recognized you from somewhere, Laurent. So, last night, I googled you.” His stomach fell; he knew where this was going. Jokaste turned to address the whole table again. “He’s the kid who won the Menuhin competition three years ago,” she finished triumphantly.

“The very same,” Auguste said, beaming with pride. He reached over and squeezed Laurent’s shoulder with a warm hand. Laurent smiled tightly and put down his fork, his appetite gone.

Across the table, Damianos’s face lit up from the light of his phone screen as he typed rapidly. His eyebrows shot up. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

“Damen,” Hypermenestra snapped.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, turning his phone sideways as music began to play quietly from the speakers. Laurent recognized his own violin by the first note, playing Tchaikovsky’s violin concerto in D. It was possibly his best performance ever, and that one that had won him the Menuhin.

He could still feel the moment in the middle of the first movement when his fierce concentration had turned to exhilaration as he surrendered himself to the music in a way he never had before; how it had all become so natural from there on, and the piece had seemed to come alive and take over control, guiding Laurent through the movements to the climactic finish.

He could still see his mother’s and brother’s beaming smiles in the crowd, and beside them Loyse’s eyes shining as she watched her star student bathe in the spotlight and the applause, while at that very moment her son, and his best friend since they both could toddle, left alone in a dark house, walked to the bathroom and grabbed his father’s razor blade—

“Turn it off,” Laurent said with a deadly edge to his voice. Damianos stared at him, startled. The music died, and he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“What’s the Menuhin?” Kastor looked lost.

Jokaste sighed. “It’s an international competition for young violinists. Don’t you ever listen to me?”

“Her mother won second place in 1981,” Damianos said, “and now she conducts the Ios Symphony Orchestra. Ringing any bells?” Kastor shrugged defensively.

Laurent nearly dropped his glass of water. “Kalliope Agrippina is your mother?”

Now it was Jokaste’s turn for pride. “The very same,” she flashed a grin at Auguste when she echoed his words.

“She’s a legend,” Laurent said, his distress temporarily forgotten in his excitement. “I must have listened to hundreds of her recordings. She’s absurdly talented.”

Jokaste’s smile was warm. “So are you,” she said. “I spent all night watching clips of your performances. I sent some to my mother, and she demanded that I introduce you to her. She says she’d love to work with you someday.”

Laurent found himself at a loss for words. It was a dream come true, but it came too late. Two years ago, he would have taken up the offer with a singing heart and a golden future unfolding before him. But now … He tried to string together an appropriate response. “I’m flattered … Thank you, and please thank your mother for me. That’s a very generous offer.”

“But Laurent doesn’t play anymore,” Uncle added lightly, like he was talking about the weather. Laurent froze.

“What?” Jokaste and Auguste burst out in unison. It was hard to tell which of them sounded more dismayed. Uncle sipped his wine calmly, like he hadn’t just shattered Laurent’s whole world. Laurent stared at his plate. A lock of blonde hair fell down in front of his eyes, but he didn’t push it back. He stayed statue-still, tension singing in every muscle, afraid that if he moved he would tremble.

“But … you won the Menuhin.” Jokaste’s voice was raw with disbelief. But it was Auguste that Laurent was watching out of his periphery. His face was a study in pure shock. His mouth hung open, his lips forming and unforming the start of words he did not speak as a thousand tangible thoughts flashed behind his eyes in an instant.

“Since when?” he finally asked. “Since …?” He didn’t need to finish the question. Laurent knew what he was asking, and his face must have given away his answer. “You promised me you would pick it up again. Before I left, you promised.”

“You left,” was all Laurent could say, the words leaving his lips almost involuntarily.

Auguste went on like he hadn’t heard him, digging himself out of his shock and deeper into his anger with every word. “And on the phone—you must have told me a hundred times that you were practicing … It was all lies?” Auguste’s voice was rough. He whirled on their uncle. “You knew about this, and you didn’t tell me?”

Uncle’s voice dripped with pity, “Auguste, you didn’t really believe him, did you?”

Auguste worked his jaw, grinding his teeth. “So, you two keep secrets from me now? Thick as thieves, huh? And I guess I’m just the poor fool you conned.”

Laurent swallowed thickly. “Auguste …”

“No, that’s—” Auguste broke off with a mirthless laugh. “Fucking unbelievable. Two years.” The dishes clattered as Auguste slammed his palms down on the table and pushed up briskly. He looked down at Laurent, and for a moment his anger receded, and his deep blue eyes were brimming with pain. His voice went terribly quiet. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.” A muscle in his jaw twitched and the rage swept back in like the tide returning. He threw down his napkin and stormed out of the dining room.

Kastor blew out a long breath, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline. He had watched the whole exchange with bright eyed amusement, popping cherry tomatoes into his mouth like popcorn. “Brutal,” he said, and crunched another tomato. Jokaste smacked him on the arm.

Laurent started to get up to follow Auguste, but Uncle placed a hand on his elbow and guided him back down to his seat. “Let him go,” he said. “The three of us will talk when he cools off.” To the DiAkieloses, he said, “I apologize for my nephew’s behavior. He has always been on the hot-headed side, prone to outbursts. He gets that from his father, I’m afraid.”

The front door slammed hard enough that Laurent felt the vibration of the impact through the floor.

Jokaste craned her long neck to peek into the hall. “Did he just leave?”

Laurent looked over at his brother’s abandoned place at the table beside him. There, lying face down next to his plate was Auguste’s phone. A cold fist closed around his heart. “Uncle …” He held up the phone and the room fell silent as a crypt.

It was Damianos who broke the silence. “Didn’t you guys all come in one car? How is he going to get home?”

Uncle dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, unperturbed. “I imagine he will walk.”

“We should send someone after him,” Hypermenestra said and started to rise. “We can have a car follow him.”

Uncle waved her down. “Let us not worry, a bit of walking is good for the soul, and God goes with him.”

After a period of uneasy silence broken only by the hesitant clattering of silverware, Uncle and Theomedes got to talking politics, and then no one else could get a word in until the servers brought out dessert. The table was piled with dishes of tiramisu and pistachio baklava, gelato in four flavors, and steaming cups of espresso for the adults.

Laurent had only picked at his pasta—much to Hypermenestra’s distress—but even while his nerves still danced in his stomach, he could not resist the chocolate gelato. He took small bites in silence, the hurt on his brother’s face never leaving his mind.

The conversation shifted from politics to Theomedes’s business, Angelico, and soon erupted into a heated exchange between him and Kastor.

“It’s hard to work with him breathing down my neck all day,” Kastor complained, “and frankly, he’s not great at his job. His methods are stale, he shoots down all my good ideas—he’s stuck in the past, operating on decades old strategies.”

Theomedes raised an eyebrow. “He has experience and wisdom, both of which you lack. Your job is to learn from him.”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Dad! I’m your heir apparent. Aren’t I? The optics on this are—”

“Optics?” Theomedes barked, “I piss on the optics.” His wife tsked.

“That’s great, Dad,” Kastor deadpanned. “Great business strategy.”

Theomedes dabbed at his beard with his napkin, then leaned back in his chair and leveled his son with a hard stare. “Makedon has worked for this company for nearly thirty years. He's a member of the board, for Christ’s sake, I’m not going to fire him.”

“I’m not saying you should fire him, just maybe don’t bring him to Arles. Leave him in Akielos.”

“These are delicate times, son. I need loyal people around me. Makedon is loyal. He’s coming to Arles. End of discussion,” he punctuated by slicing his hand through the air, palm down.

Hypermenestra smiled wanly. “That’s enough of that, you two. It’s not polite to talk business at the dinner table.”

“So, Jokaste,” Uncle said, changing the subject. “Are you a musician like your mother?”

Jokaste laughed lightly, “No, unfortunately I didn’t inherit her gift. I’m just a journalist.”

“Ah, yes,” Uncle nodded, “now I recall. You’ll be writing for the Arles Times, correct?”

“Yes, I start tomorrow. Before this I worked for the Ios Globe.”

Hypermenestra grinned. “Jokaste was their prodigy, their young star reporter. Last year she won a Pulitzer for her article about—ah …” She broke off suddenly. Tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear, she threw a nervous glance at Jokaste as though asking for help.

“Oh,” Uncle swooped in, “you must be referring to that terrible business with the Ios archdiocese. I read about it. I can’t even imagine …” He trailed off, shaking his head gravely. “Uncovering that was your work?”

Jokaste said, “I was on the team, yes.”

“What terrible business?” Laurent asked. He had heard nothing about it.

A hush fell over the dining room, and the air stood still like everyone had stopped breathing. Laurent searched their faces. Theomedes and Hypermenestra appeared to be having a silent conversation with their eyes, both wearing faces full of consternation. Damianos stared at his plate, for once guarding his emotions, while Kastor leaned back from the table, slumped low in his chair, looking anywhere but at anyone else. Jokaste was staring at Uncle, her expression as indecipherable as the Mona Lisa.

Uncle sipped his espresso and set the porcelain cup down with a light clink that seemed to echo. Finally, in a mild voice, he said, “I’m afraid it’s not a story for young ears.”

Jokaste tilted her head to one side, her cool blue eyes never leaving Uncle’s face. “I disagree,” she intoned breezily. “I actually think it’s especially important for young people to hear these kinds of stories. Not the gritty details, of course, but having some knowledge of the dangers they may face can help kids protect themselves.”

Kastor threw his head back and groaned, “God, please don’t start with this again. I’ve heard nothing but this sordid shit for over a year. The investigation, the cover-ups, the trials—can we just let it go?”

“Quit being a jerk, Kastor,” Damianos said with a frown.

“Boys, language, please!” Hypermenestra threw up her hands, exasperated.

Jokaste leaned in toward Kastor, “Can we please not do this in front of our guests?”

Kastor snapped, “That’s what I’m asking. Can we not?”

Hypermenestra shook her head. “I just still can’t believe Father Antony was involved in all that. Of all people, I never would have suspected him.” Kastor sighed heavily.

Theomedes grunted. “Was he the fag?”

Laurent’s heart flipped in his chest.

“Theomedes. That is no way to talk in front of a child and a holy man,” Hypermenestra hissed.

“Apologies, Father.” Uncle waved his hand in dismissal of the offense. Theomedes’s beard hid most of his sly smile. “But … wasn’t he?”

Hypermenestra clicked her tongue. “You’re thinking of Father Leandros, who was a homosexual. Father Antony was the priest at Saint Sebastian’s, where Kastor and I went before you and I got back together. A very nice man. He was always so kind to us, wasn’t he, Kastor? I just can’t understand it.”

Kastor said with a dry smirk, “Sure, super nice. He touched a lot of souls. I recall that he was especially fond of touching children’s souls.”

Suddenly there was iron in Hypermenestra’s voice. “I’ll have none of that talk at the dinner table, young man.”

“You’re the one who keeps bringing it up, Ma!”

“Watch it,” Theomedes roared, jabbing a thick finger at his son’s face.

Jokaste placed a hand on her fiancé’s arm. “Kastor,” she soothed, “don’t.”

Kastor shrugged her off and hiked his voice up to a falsetto impression of his mother, “‘What a kind man Father Antony was, what a good priest.’ I swear to God, if I have to hear one more word of that shit I’m going to throw myself off the Arles River Bridge.”

Hypermenestra was stunned into silence, blinking rapidly. Kastor grimaced, dropping his eyes to his plate where he began to smush up his tiramisu with the back of his fork. Uncle’s head had perked up like a hound that had caught the scent of blood. Laurent felt hopelessly out of the loop. He made a mental note to look up Jokaste’s article later.

“Son,” Theomedes said the word like an accusation, his face carved from stone as he stared Kastor down, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Hypermenestra snapped out of her stupor. “Theo! Listen to yourself! A fine example you set for your sons.”

Rage darkened Theomedes face. “You’re going to blame me for him?”

With a chuckle of bitter exasperation, Kastor pulled himself up from the table.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hypermenestra called after him as he fled the dining room. She got no response.

Kastor’s footsteps retreated up the stairs, and the echo of a slamming door reverberated through the house.

Theomedes turned to Uncle. “Well, Father, now we’re even. One outburst on each side.” He stabbed his tiramisu angrily with his fork.

When dessert was cleared away, the adults moved to the sitting room to have “adult conversation”, which Laurent knew just meant normal conversation over hard liquor. He and Damianos scattered; Damianos went off to the bathroom or something, and Laurent wandered toward the stairs.

During dinner, Laurent had been so focused on the people that he’d nearly forgotten where he was. It was impossible to forget now, with the stairwell looming before him like the gaping maw of some great beast. The stairs climbed up into shadow, the top stairs completely swallowed by the dark. Laurent climbed into the beast’s mouth, letting the shadow swallow him too as he ascended. He didn’t need the light. He could walk this path in his sleep.

Upstairs, the only light came from a thin strip of gold beneath the door at the end of the hall. Laurent followed the light, and opened the door to Aimeric’s old bedroom.

Kastor looked up from his desk where he was bent over a laptop, startled. When he saw that it was Laurent in the doorway, he grew irritated. “What do you want?”

“This is your room?”

Kastor eyed him warily. “Temporarily,” he said slowly. “Jokaste and I are hunting for a place of our own.”

Laurent stepped over the threshold and entered the bedroom. Kastor slammed his laptop shut and swiveled around in his chair so that his back was never to Laurent as he drifted through the room. Laurent trailed his fingers along the wall as he walked. The paint was cool against his skin—eggshell white now, where before it had been a deep blue. “The walls are different,” he said stupidly.

Aimeric’s presence—or perhaps it was his absence—felt closer here. Laurent carefully avoided looking at the bathroom door, but even from his periphery it seemed to call to him. It seemed to scream. He hardened his grief and his fear into a cold stone and buried it deep within his chest, and he did not look.

Kastor stood and cleared his throat. “Hey, um, I actually wanted to talk to you,” he said, “about what happened at the airport? I really did think you were a girl, at first. I’m not, you know … that way. You must get that all the time, though. You’re very pretty for a boy.”

Laurent stopped walking. He turned to look at the young soldier-turned-businessman and cocked his head to one side. “What is this, Kastor?”

“I just wanted to—I’m trying to say … I’m sorry for scaring you,” he forced out, looking constipated. “I was just dicking around.”

“In the future, you might want to apply the concept of ‘dicking around’ a bit less literally,” Laurent said.

Kastor huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. I walked into that.”

“And you didn’t scare me.”

“Right. Well, what I’m saying is …” Kastor stepped closer, leaning down to his level. His breath was a warm cloud tinged with the sour tang of the wine that Laurent had not been allowed to drink. This close, he could taste it. He forced himself not to step back. Kastor spoke low and collusively, “It was all just a misunderstanding, yeah? Nobody got hurt, so, really, it’s like it never happened. Nobody else needs to get involved. Water under the bridge, right?”

Laurent put on a smile. “Water under the bridge.”

He touched the wall again, a plan solidifying in his mind. “Jokaste mentioned that your mother sent you pictures of this house before the walls were repainted. Are they on your phone?”

Kastor hesitated, no doubt sniffing for a trap. “Yes.”

“Were there any pictures of this room?”

“A few, I think. There were all these little doodles along the baseboards in permanent marker.”

“I want the pictures,” Laurent said. “I left my phone downstairs. Give me yours. I’ll send them to myself.”

After another moment of hesitation, Kastor relented, as Laurent had known he would. Really, he couldn’t refuse Laurent anything now that he held a secret over him. That was the beauty of it.

Laurent took the proffered phone, and found the pictures right away. He quickly selected the ones he wanted—three photos of Aimeric’s blue walls, and the drawings of animals, cartoon characters, and superheroes lining the baseboards—and sent them to his own phone, regretting the fact that he had to leave Kastor with his number. A necessary sacrifice, he told himself.

He did not hand back the phone when he was finished, nor did he reveal any indication that he had accomplished his task. This was where his plan got a little risky. Laurent began to snoop.

He found nothing damning in Kastor’s text messages besides some truly horrific sexting exchanges with Jokaste that left Laurent wanting to rinse his eyes with bleach, and nothing suspicious jumped out at him from his emails.

“So,” Kastor said, hovering anxiously, “just to be clear … you haven’t told anyone? About our little … thing?”

“No, I haven’t told anyone,” Laurent replied without looking up from the phone. Kastor’s calendar was a wall of business meetings and corporate events. Only the morning of Friday, October 6th stood starkly empty. That was the same day as the homecoming game and dance at school. Laurent wondered if there was a connection.

“Good. Yeah, that’s for the best, I think.” Kastor was still talking. “Because that’s not me. I’m not—I don’t do things like that.”

Laurent, only half listening, hummed noncommittally. Scrolling through Kastor’s outgoing calls revealed something interesting. Kastor had called Guion Fortaine just this morning, and that call had lasted over an hour. Laurent didn’t jump to any conclusions yet; the DiAkielos family had obviously been in touch with Guion about the house at some point. It was not until he saw yesterday’s call to Vannes, and one to Audin shortly before that, that Laurent allowed himself to theorize.

The only connection that Laurent could think of between the three of them was that they were all members of the board of directors at the company that was now Angelico. There was nothing strange about Kastor speaking with his board members in preparation for a meeting. But no … Laurent didn’t recall seeing any board meetings coming up on Kastor’s calendar. And surely there would have been corresponding emails … unless it was unscheduled. Unless there was something afoot that Kastor needed to keep off the record. Laurent went back to the calendar, the empty morning of October 6th singing to him like a bird.

A burst of triumph rushed through Laurent’s blood. I see you, he thought with an inward grin.

“What’s going on here?”

Laurent stilled. The voice came from the doorway behind him, and it belonged to Damianos.

Laurent quickly closed all the apps and handed the phone back to Kastor before acknowledging Damianos. He turned slowly, crossing his arms, and watched Damianos stalk into the bedroom. He circled around Laurent to place himself within arms reach of both him and Kastor.

Laurent pierced him with a cold glare. “I was just sucking your brother’s dick in my dead friend’s old bedroom. The proximity to the bathtub where he slowly bled to death really sets the mood.”

Damianos’s mouth fell open, disgust warring with shock and then pity on his face. All that passed his lips was a breathless whisper, “… Jesus, Laurent.”

“The kid died in my bathroom?” Kastor croaked. Both Laurent and Damianos ignored him.

“It’s what you were thinking, isn’t it?” Laurent accused. “Is that not why you followed me up here?”

“I wasn’t … I didn’t know that about your friend. I’m sorry,” Damianos said, infuriatingly gentle.

“He’s lying, by the way, about the … sucking.” Kastor grimaced at his own words. “If anyone cares to hear my side of things.”

Damianos’s tone hardened. “No, Kastor, not particularly. I need to talk to Laurent. Alone.”

“Yeah, sure. At your own peril,” Kastor said, and with that, he was gone.

When the sound of his footsteps had dissipated down the stairs, Damianos said, “I’ll make sure he deletes your number.”

Laurent held himself perfectly still. “If it makes you feel better.”

“Listen, Laurent,” Damianos began. He ran a hand through his brown curls, tousling them to the point of messiness. The flyaways glowed in warm hues of gold and red where they caught the light. “I know you don’t like me, and frankly, I’m not crazy about you either. But putting that aside, I just want you to know that if you decide you want to tell someone about Kastor … about what he did at the airport—or if you already have told someone—I’ll back you up.”

Laurent blinked. That was not what he’d expected to hear. “Am I supposed to be moved by your readiness to betray your own brother?”

“It’s not a betrayal to tell the truth,” Damianos said in a voice as hard as steel. “He betrayed me when he asked me to lie for him.”

That did not sound right to Laurent. He fought to keep his confusion off his face, but he couldn’t quite stop the slight scrunching of the muscles around his eyes. As soon as he felt it, though, he smoothed it out and faced the Akielon as a statue. “He trusts you to protect him,” he countered.

“Why are you defending him?” Damianos flared.

“I’m not, I’m—” defending myself, Laurent had been about to say, but he could think of no way to explain it so that Damianos would understand. Frustrated, he turned away and walked to the window. He wondered where Auguste had gone, and if he was safe. Part of him had hoped to see his brother out the window, down in the driveway or in the yard, but it was fully dark outside now. All Laurent could see in the glass was his own pale reflection; a ghost made of light. It was a foolish hope, anyway. Auguste was long gone by now. Rather than stare at his own sullen face, Laurent picked at the thick paint on the window frame, carving off small white chips with his nail.

He heard Damianos sigh behind him. “It’s just a matter of principles, Laurent. Right and wrong. Yes, Kastor’s my brother. I love him, I always will. But I saw what I saw. What he did was wrong. I’ll help you make it right, if I can.”

Laurent dug his nail deep into the paint and twisted. “And if I asked you to continue the lie?”

“Why?” Damianos sounded so profoundly baffled that Laurent found himself wanting to explain; wanting to be understood.

He turned from the window to look Damianos in the eye. “I’m not a child,” he said. Judging by the furrowing of Damianos’s brow, that had clarified nothing for him. Laurent tried again. “I’m not helpless. I can handle Kastor.”

“I don’t think you’re helpless,” Damianos said gently, “but I’m offering you help anyway, because it’s the right thing to do.”

Laurent couldn’t bear the pity in the Akielon’s eyes. He looked away. He mistakenly glanced to his left, and caught sight of the bathroom door, hanging slightly ajar like an invitation. A bitter taste filled his mouth. He looked again at Damianos, in his sweater as red as blood. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” His voice was like ice, and it burned his throat. “You think you have the whole world figured out, with your ‘right and wrong’. Some things aren’t right or wrong, they’re just things that happen.”

“You don’t think what Kastor did to you was wrong?” Damianos asked, seeming genuinely confused.

“He didn’t do anything to me,” Laurent said.

“Laurent, I saw—”

“It was provoked.”

“Provoked?” Outrage flashed openly in Damianos’s dark eyes. “Nothing could provoke—”

“Stop trying to rescue me,” Laurent snapped, every word the crack of a whip. “I don’t need rescuing. So you can take your hero complex and go fuck yourself with it.”

“I don’t have—”

“You do,” Laurent made sure that his tone brokered no argument. “I’m done talking about this, understand? Let. It. Go.”

It was Damianos’s turn to brood. The furrow in his brow deepened as the silence stretched on, until finally he shook his head and started for the door. Something stopped him before he’d passed through the doorway, and he turned. “Just tell me one thing. Why did you give him your number?” he asked. Laurent had been wondering when he’d get around to that.

“He had something I wanted.”

“Aren’t you worried about what he wants?”

“I know what Kastor wants,” Laurent said with a light smirk. “I’m not the one who needs to worry.”

Damianos blinked. “What does that mean?”

“My poor dear brute,” Laurent said playfully, “have you truly so little mind for deception that you can’t see it right under your nose?” He sauntered to the doorway. Damianos did not move aside, so Laurent made to slip past him.

He was suddenly acutely aware of Damianos’s sheer size—this close to him, it was hard to be aware of anything else. Laurent’s eyes only came up to his chest, and for a moment his whole world was filled with the red of Damianos’s sweater and the dark smell of his cologne. He had to crane his neck to look up at his face. He wasn’t quite as tall as Auguste, but he was broader. He was like a mountain with wide brown eyes, staring down at Laurent with his lips slightly parted, as though his voice had been snatched from his throat. Goosebumps prickled to life along Laurent’s arms.

“I should get back downstairs before my uncle misses me too terribly,” Laurent murmured as he squeezed by. He could feel the heat of Damianos’s body everywhere, but he managed to make it past without touching him.

As Laurent fled down the hallway, Damianos found his voice again. “Wait—Laurent! What does that mean?” Laurent descended the stairs two at a time and rejoined the party.

Later, as the car pulled out of the driveway, Laurent looked back and watched the house fall away out the rear windshield, until it was no more than a spec of light in the dark. Uncle sat beside him in the back seat, as silent and cold as a winter night in Vask. Laurent rationalized that maybe Uncle had used up all his warmth on the DiAkielos family tonight, and had none left for him. But a small voice inside insisted that it was more than that; that his uncle was angry with him. Laurent ran through the whole evening in his head, trying to figure out what he had done wrong, but couldn’t think of anything to warrant this reaction from Uncle.

Laurent frowned, defeated. He stared out his window with a sinking feeling in his gut, searching for a glimpse of golden hair on the sidewalks and at every street crossing, but saw none.

#lykmc #captive prince #laurent of vere #my writing #damen of akielos #auguste of vere #capri fanfic #captive prince fanfic #lamen

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nocturnalghoul · 11 months

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Mushy May Day 30: Love Letters/ Seranade

Mountain and Cumulus each have a way to uniquely show their love to one another. Mountain leaves her letters and Cumulus serenades him while he works.

Words: 1001

Rating: Gen/Everyone

Read below the cut or on AO3 here

Cumulus could feel her frustrations billowing out and disturbing the air around her, fluffy curls flying wildly in the miniature storm as she stomped down the hall to her room. Nothing seemed to be going her way all day and all she wanted to do was get back to her room to scream into her pillow.

Throwing the door open with an annoyed huff, she looks into her room and notices a little green envelope propped against her pillow accompanied by a singular pink tulip. Immediately the storm she had accidentally conjured stills as a tiny squeal escapes her lips. How Mountain had time to sneak in here to leave the surprise for her when he has been pulled all across the entire abbey on various chores for Sister Imperator since sunrise is a mystery, but one she doesn’t care about solving.

Cumulus adds the flower to the mismatched bouquet in her window and sits down to look over the letter Mountain left her. On the front in silver ink is a large image of a fluffy vaguely heart shaped cloud with a smiley face in the middle. She rips open the envelope and feels that last whisper of frustration leave as she begins to read the letter penned out in Mountain's usual scratchy script.

A token of affection for the most beautiful cloud in the wide vast sky.

You are like a breath of fresh air wherever you go, raining down laughter and radiance upon each person you meet. I am so glad you deign to wander these dreary halls with hermits such as myself when clearly you are meant to hang high in the sky for all to admire. I am so deeply touched that the rest of the pack and I get to call you ours.

May we conspire at the horizon forever and always,

Mountain

Cumulus pulls out the small lockbox covered with stickers of various flowers from under her bed, taking a moment to rifle through the other letters. Near the bottom she finds her favorite, the very first letter that Mountain had ever left her with a little four leafed clover pressed between the fold of the light blue stationary. After rereading the letter and placing the new one inside she seals the box up and slides it back under the bed.

Letters from Mountain were no new thing, but somehow the earth ghoul managed to have a sixth sense about when exactly she really needed them. Though they did not come often, she treasured each one. The practice was something private for only the two of them to share away from the rest of the pack, as was the way in which she voiced her deep love for the earth ghoul. He snuck her letters and she snuck into the greenhouse to serenade Mountain while he worked whenever he least expected it.

Already she was brainstorming ideas for what song she wanted to sneak into the greenhouse and serenade Mountain with tomorrow morning. She was already planning on doing so sometime this week, but the perfect timing of the letter made her decide to move the timeline up.

The next morning Cumulus makes sure to rise early. When she stumbles out into the kitchen there is already a fresh pot of coffee waiting for everyone, as well as two cups with custom tea bags inside them, one for her and one for Rain. Judging by the cold kettle Mountain must have left here a while ago.

After preparing her tea, Cumulus slinks off, warm mug in hand as she strolls lazily through the garden path towards the greenhouse she knows Mountain will be working in.

She pushes the door open centimeters at a time in an attempt to best the squeaky hinge. She gets the door mostly open before a tiny screech comes from the door.

“Traitor” she pouts, but looking in sees no sign of Mountain in the main area. She lets the door slowly close on its own and steps deeper into the gigantic greenhouse until she sees Mountains auburn hair up in the bun sticking up from just above a workbench as he fiddles with something on the ground.

She launches into her song, serene notes of adoration echoing slightly off of the walls as the song builds. Mountain turns around, beaming at her with so much love and adoration that Cumulus feels like the one being serenaded.

As the final notes of the song fade out Mountain hops across the workbench, picking Cumulus up off her feet and swinging her around.

“I’m so happy to see you, songbird.” Mountain chimes, his normal low timbre shooting up in pitch.

“Alright, alright, down boy” Cumulus giggles, smacking lightly at his arm to put her down. “Did you really need to leap over the table about that?”

They both look at the line of potting soil smeared along his pant leg from sliding across the table and laugh.

“Oh absolutely ‘Lus. Walking around would have wasted like an entire second. Besides, I got excited.”

Cumulus leans her head against his chest, humming contently as he wraps his arms back around her tightly. They both stand there, swaying slightly enjoying the rare moment completely alone.

“Ya know, speaking of getting excited…” Cumulus leads, pulling back to look Mountain in the eye. The way he tilts his head slightly in expectation makes the little bits of loose hair falling out of his bun fall down framing his face beautifully.

“I was wondering what that line you wrote about conspiring at the horizon was all about” she continues with a wink.

“Your room or mine, songbird?”

Cumulus makes a big show of trying to consider which option to choose, pantomiming weighing out the options in each hand.

Mountain scoops her up into a princess carry, earning a surprised squeak from the ghoulette, before rushing out the door and towards the garden path back to the ghoul dorms.

“Time’s a wastin’, decide on the way my dove!”

#unedited so if you see mistakes no you don't #mushy may #nocturnal mushy may #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfic #mountain ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cumulus x mountain

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 4 months

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Christmas Reruns 2023 Day 29: New York Christmas Serenade (2/4)

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t! One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia. A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns. So here you go! Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Rating: G

Word Count: 1868

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 30 31 32

CS Genre: Canon Divergence (missing year between 3a and 3b)

Killian felt an unaccustomed stab of nervousness flow through him as he walked the steps leading toward Swan’s abode. He knew very little of what was transpiring in Storybrooke, only that the kingdom had once again been transported to the Land Without Magic via a curse and they needed the savior.

Much was riding on Killian’s success in restoring Emma’s memories, and he felt the weight of the responsibility placed upon his shoulders. While he’d have traded away the Jolly and done all in his power to find Swan simply for her own sake, the fact that her parents were counting on him spurred him on even more. It had been centuries since he’d truly belonged anywhere and he had no intention of mucking this up.

Truthfully it was a minor miracle she’d invited him to spend the evening with her and the lad at all, but from what he’d gathered as he’d wandered the streets of this strange place called “New York” Christmas was a time for miracles.

Taking a deep breath, Killian raised his artificial hand and wrapped on her apartment door promptly at 7:00 pm. He tapped his fingers against his leg as he waited, and then suddenly the door was opened and she stood there and literally took his breath away. She wore a soft green sweater that brought out her eyes, jeans and brown boots, her hair was pulled back into a soft pony tail.

“You’re stunning, love,” he said in wonder—almost reverence. His heart rate picked up as he saw her color prettily at the compliment. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Emma Swan was flustered by his presence in her home.

“Thanks,” she said, “you look pretty good yourself.”

Killian looked down at his black jeans, his blue button down shirt and his leather jacket, glad he’d thought to find attire more suitable to his environs.

“Aye, well..” he said, giving her a flirtatious grin, “I have been called dashingly handsome, love.”

She rolled her eyes but laughed softly, breathily. Killian leaned toward her, drawn to her, wishing nothing more than to repeat their mind-blowing kiss on Neverland. For a moment, Emma leaned forward, lifted her head. Was she actually going to allow him to kiss her?

“Hey guys, are you coming in soon?” came Henry’s voice from the kitchen, “I’m starving.”

And with that the spell was over. Emma took a healthy step back, held onto the door and waved him in. “Yeah, um…” she said, “come in. Dinner’s ready.”

Killian obliged, shedding his jacket and placing it on the rack beside the door. He looked around in interest, admiring the large, open feel of the apartment, impressed with the large, well decorated pine tree in the corner near the windows, enjoying the delectable aromas wafting in from the kitchen.

“It smells tasty, love,” Killian said, taking the seat Henry indicated at the head of the table. “Did you prepare our meal yourself.”

Henry laughed. “Mom doesn’t cook; especially on Christmas! Of any day of the year, we ought to at least have edible food on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

“Excuse me?” Emma said feigning great offense. “You better watch yourself, Kid. Santa’s still watching. Don’t want to get on the naughty list.”

Henry grinned. “Hey, I’m only telling the truth. I’d say being honest ought to keep me on the nice list. But seriously, Killian, we had our dinner catered from this little Italian place down the street. They have the best spaghetti and meatballs you’ve ever eaten!”

Killian smiled at the playful ribbing between mother and son. Though he knew his Swan would wish to have her memories and know the truth, he was grateful to the Queen for giving her and the lad such pleasant memories and such a close relationship in their false life.

“I’ve no doubt but that you’re right, Henry,” Killian said, taking the bowl of long, thin pasta Swan passed him. He placed a healthy serving on his place, and then topped it with the red sauce placed before him on the table. “As it happens, this is the first time I’ve ever consumed this particular dish.”

Both Swan and her lad stopped what they were doing and shot him astonished looks. “You’ve never eaten spaghetti and meatballs before?” Henry asked.

“Not even once.”

“Well are you in for a Christmas treat!” Henry assured him as he began to eat with typical preteen gusto.

And as Killian ate his meal of spaghetti and meatballs, salad and garlic bread, he had to admit the lad was correct—although whether it was the deliciousness of the food or the pleasantness of the company he enjoyed most was a matter for some debate. As the evening continued, Swan lost the last hint of her nervous awkwardness and began talking and laughing with him—far more open than she’d ever before been in his presence.

After dinner, Killian followed the lad into the living room to choose a movie for the evening, after which came a ritual that left Henry nearly writhing in excitement.

“We open most of our gifts on Christmas morning,” Emma told Killian as Henry rushed toward the tree, carefully picking up each of the brightly wrapped packages which bore his name, shaking them, looking them over, weighing them in his hands, “but a few years ago, the kid talked me into starting a Swan family tradition of him getting one of his presents on Christmas Eve. Choose carefully, kid.”

And suddenly, with the mention of gifts for the occasion of Christmas, Killian came up with a plan. What if he was able to jog the lad’s memories? With Henry on his side, perhaps the two of them could find a way to remind Emma who she truly was.

Killian grinned as Henry opened his chosen gift. The lad’s enthusiasm and exuberance were contagious.

“The video game I wanted!” Henry said as soon as the bright, colorful paper was ripped away. “Thanks mom! This is great!”

Emma ruffled his hair. “No problem kid,” she said. “And just you wait. You may be an expert at the other games, but I’m determined I’m going to beat you at this one!”

“Sounds like a challenge to me, lad,” Killian said teasingly, reaching over to playfully squeeze Swan’s shoulder from her perch beside him on the couch. “Are you going to let it go unanswered?”

“No way!” Henry said. “You’ll see, mom! You may be good catching real bad guys, but I’ve got the video bad guys quaking in their boots! Can I play it now? Please?”

Before Emma could answer, Killian put a up his artificial hand. “Just a moment, lad,” he said. “If you please, I have my own gifts to bestow.”

“Killian,” Emma said, looking over at him, “you didn’t need to…”

“Nonsense, love,” he answered. “You were so kind as to allow me to share your holiday. The least I can do is offer a few small tokens of my gratitude.”

“Seriously, we don’t expect…” Emma began again, but this time she was interrupted by her son.

“Did you bring me something?” he asked Killian, stepping up to him.

“Indeed I did, lad,” Killian said, reaching for his satchel. “If I don’t miss my guess, you have the heart of a true believer. The truest believer, even. I thought perhaps you might find joy in perusing the stories of other heroes and believers.”

With a flourish, Killian pulled Henry’s old storybook from his bag and presented it to the boy. It was this book that had ignited Henry’s belief the first time. Was it possible the item would do the trick for a second time?

Henry accepted the offering, muttering a quick “Thank you,” before peering in confusion at the tome.

“A storybook?” Henry asked, brow furrowed.

“Aye,” Killian said, “a storybook, but I hope you’ll find it so very much more. Go on lad, open it.”

Killian watched eagerly as Henry opened the book to the story of his grandparents. He hadn’t long to wait. Henry couldn’t have read more than a paragraph before his eyes got wide as saucers and he quickly looked up at Killian.

“Hook!” he said slowly. “I…I remember!”

Waves of relief covered Killian like a blanket. He may still have quite the uphill task in front of him, but for the first time since finding his beloved Swan in her apartment home, Killian knew without a doubt that he would.

–Up next: Emma wakes up on Christmas morning—and ends up spending a very pleasant full day with both her son and the pirate she doesn’t yet remember she had feelings for.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#christmas reruns 2023 #cs fanfiction #captain swan christmas ff #my fanfiction #new york christmas serenade

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pwrxglory · 1 year

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~Heart Inclined 5~

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

The servant and his master//The princess The parrot and The genie

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Jamil?"

Her hypnotic eyes didn't leave his ,utterly bewildered by his sudden visit.

"Ah I apologise this is certainly an odd time to arrive here and-" he stuttered not knowing what to say next.

"Yes?"

She tried to sound serious wanting to interrogate him an action that was wrong and least expected for him to do yet to her it was ever so right . Her heart couldn't stop beating because to her,no time wouldn't have been better for him to arrive. Like the protagonist of romance novel who'd take the bold step of whisking her lover away from her world at times of utmost distress.

She moved closer to him her eyes fixed at his. His breath hitched trying his best to form a sound,yet he was enchanted by the spell her eyes casted on him.

So this is how people feel when there under snake whisper

"Well? what is it that possibly couldn't wait till the morning for you to appear right here infront of my window in the middle of the night?

"You're number."

"Sorry?"

He faced her not hesitating anymore.

"I've to go back to college tomorrow. I forgot to ask you today But I was hoping if you wouldn't mind of course, if we stayed in touch so" he tried best not to break eye contact as hard as he could.

"You came all the way just for that?"

"Yes. Is it so wrong? "

she giggled at him ,trying his best to sound smooth yet his bashfulness giving it all away.

"No for a minute there I thought you were here to get your bangle back?" She grinned

"I would like you to keep it"

" Why?"

"It looked nice on your wrist "

"Oh really?" She smirked and placed her hand in his.

Moving closer not breaking eye contact, she could feel his uneven breathing.

"What else looks nice on me Jamil?"

He inhaled a big chunk of air...

God how much are you going to tease me? Well I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I returned the favour.

He smirked

Trying to best her in her own serenade game he brushed her hair to the back of her ear just like he had in the park catching her by surprise.

"Your hair, I can't tell if you've just woken up.It's so soft aswell " He chuckled making her blush.

"Thank you." She mumbled taking in the warm feeling of his fingers brushing through her hair.

"And you're eyes." He spoke moving his hand to cup her cheek "they mean more then the most valuable gems to me.." he continued making her heart beat quicken with every word.

She had sneaking suspicion that he was a hiding a smooth talker under his shy façade but for him to be this bold was making it hard for her to stay composed

He then moved the few pieces of strands to get a good look at her eyes, which were the treasures most precious to him.

Yet he was taken aback finding them swollen and not usual sparkles in them.

"Were you crying?"

Y/n immediately pushed Jamil back.

"My phone number right? Lemme get it." She smiled

And went in the room

"Wait here!"

"Oh..okay?"

He sighed

I wished you'd tell me what's bothering you even if I don't deserve to know.

The flying carpet now came inside the balcony swirling around Jamil

"Will you stop that HEY!"

Y/n came back to the balcony to find Jamil playing with a magic carpet.

"A flying carpet?" She asked

"The other services don't come with "fly to a balcony" feature so"

She giggled and petted the flying carpet, calming it down.

Jamil was astonished to find her accustomed to the magic carpet.

She handed Jamil a small piece of paper with her number on it.

"Now don't call me this late"she teased

Embarrassed he looked the other way and boarded on the carpet.

She looked at him again with a slight longing.

How she wished she could board on that carpet right now and fly away from her world and go see a new one with him.

Jamil noticed the way she was looking and tried his best to control his emotions.

You've got her number now. You've achieved the objectives Let's just go home now, please.

But then the flying carpet stopped moving

Why isn't it... oh wait he remembered the order the master of the carpet had given.

Kalim why did you have to order him that?

Jamil looked at her again.. her swollen sad eyes were beckoning him.

I can't leave her like this no.

She saw his unusual hesitation to take off

"Jamil are you al.."

Before she could finish her sentence he was already offering her a hand.

"Would you like to go on a ride?"

Her eyes were now filled with excitement and her heart was pounding so hard that she was worried it would come out from her chest.

Yet she couldn't say yes.. not because of Mezirerath or her secret being the princess but because of a horrifying memory.

Flashback

"Look Genie Im flying faster than you!"

"Y/N standing on the carpet is dangerous please sit down!"

"Huh"

"GENIE!!"

"Y/N!!"

Flashback

"I.. I couldn't" she refused

"Why?"

"Because It's soo late and you also have college to prepare for and.."

"It will help taking your mind off for a bit"

"But-"

Jamil sensed the hesitation in her usual confident voice he felt it similar to the way he acts infront of bugs.

He took both of her hands and spoke.

"Y/n look at me."

She looked his way eyes filled with determination.

"I know you want to go.I'll guid you"

"But Jamil..."

"Do you trust me?"

Slowly breathing trying to comprehend the situation rightnow and the man infront of her.

Y/ns life was like balancing weights on a unicycle going on a rope yet just for this moment she wanted to let those weights go and feel the wind with no one other than him.

Taking another deep breath she took his hand.

"Yes."

He then smiled.

The carpet now lowered down to the balcony floor. Y/n took small steps on the carpet,her hands never letting go of Jamil's.

"Welcome aboard" Jamil smirked

"Now we sit down comfortably as the carpet will soon lift off"

She then sat down with him. Feeling the carpet now move up from the floor as old horrific flash backs rushed in her mind she tightly gripped Jamils arm. as soon as it picked up the pace she clutched to him closely not letting him go one minute.

We're going to fall we're going to fall we're going to--

"We're not going to fall Y/n"

"Huh?"

"And don't you dare close your eyes at this scene."

She slowly opened her eyes to witness the night scene of the scalding sands. The Shimmering of the old river Jordan coupled with twinkling lights of the houses, the clouds swirling around the whole land it was as if the ground had a galaxy of its own.

"Woah!"

Her hair flowed with along the wind bringing back the nostalgic feeling of clouds around her. She embraced the exciting feeling lying her head down on his shoulder slowly.

"I told you didn't I?" Jamil smirked

taking her hand in his, fingers intertwined .

"It's like a whole new world"

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

"I fell down once."

"From a carpet?" She nodded

Jamil was taken back at her sudden confession.

"You're friend here is not the real carpet is he?" She asked

"No Because the original one is with you right?" he guessed

"Correct I see your catching things on now" she grinned

"It must've been a horrible fall making a girl who knows how to deal with angry merchants this scared" he smirked while fiddling with her hand.

"Mhmm mm "she nodded

She then snuggled close to his arm.

Jamil was blushing on the outside yet his heart was smiling all the way. Overjoyed by this moment of freedom. How many get to enjoy carpet rides with there beloveds like this? And how many of them were miserable servants like him? Jamil truly felt the most powerful and luckiest man alive.

"The night is long, where would you like to go first ?"

She sighed recalling all bad memories of that day.

"I dont know where to go or what to do anymore."

"Huh why is that?" Jamil asked confused at her sad expression.

She suddenly perked up

"Oh excuse me. But I really can't think of any place ..where would you go?"

"Me? Noone has ever asked me that.. I guess anywhere where nobody knows me"

She giggled at his annoyed tone.

"You sound like an overworked office worker whose desperate for a vacation"

"That kinda sums me up in a way."

"Really?"

He shifted moving his arm around her waist bringing her closer.

"Really. Id do anything for a vacation,you know see the world"

"A world tour then."

"Yes if I had a genie It's one of the three wishes Id make."

"Oohh what about the other two."

"Hmm Haven't thought about it yet. What would you wish for?"

"Well okay don't laugh.. so have you heard of the seven voyages"

"Don't tell me your wish is to be sindbad?"

She lightly punched his chest while pouting making him laugh

"No not sindbad but I want his boat."

"His boat. The one that could travel through sand water and air?"

"Yes. Thats the one.. Actually I may have or not sneaked into Jafar's room in the castle for it."

She pointed her fingers together and admitted

"You what? How the great sevens were you able to pull that off ?"

"I have my ways.But Jafar had a blueprint of the boat similar to the seven voyage legend which could run using his sceptre yet it was never finished."

"Too bad,even if it was finished wasn't the sorcerer's sceptre destroyed?

"It was but the jewel in it still has powers in it's fragments."

"I see"

"Wanna know a secret?"

"Yes"

Now it isn't everday I get to spill the beans about Mezirerath.Y/n smiled to herself

"The current grand vizier is after the last fragment."

Jamil was instantly hooked into this,he wanted to know more about this mysterious vizier who kept bugging the Asim family.

"Why would he want it is he a powerful sorcerer?

"Precisely, he is a pretty powerful one. Noone knows much about him but the fragment is his true objective. The keys to that room are held by the royal family the sultan and princess can only have access so nomatter what he can't have access to them. you'll always find him pacing around that specific room."

Jamil thought for a moment.

Could it be that the vizer is eager not for the kingdom to gain a new ruler but for the princess to get married instead? I mean with someone as gullible as Kalim as sultan he'll probably hand over those keys to him in a heartbeat.

"Jamil?"

" Sorry I've been spacing out lately" he replied

She smirked

"Goodness I wonder who could be behind that" she giggled

He gazed at her eyes again, swollen and not matching her teasing expression, he tried to ask her again. He cupped her cheek tenderly.

"Y/n what made you so hurt like this I know you don't want me to know but it really pains me to see you in this state"

"No No it's not like that at all..." she stuttered not knowing how to respond.

I want to tell you, I but can't ever let Mezirath know about you. Who knows what he could...

she sighed

"You know I too wish to go somewhere where none knows me too"she whispered

"Sniff I never thought I'd get to see a replay of this beautiful sight again.sinff sniff~"

Huh?

Both of them turned around to see a giant blue being smiling all the way, holding back tears of happiness as he honked his nose loudly on a large rug which seemed to be trying its best to wiggle its way out.

Jamil instantly got Infront of Y/n trying to protect her from this strange ghost like being

"What in the world are--?"

"Genie your back!" Y/n squealed in happiness in Jamil arms.

"Genie?" Jamil questioned

The blue being suddenly leaped infront of him bringing out his giant arm making it just about his size so Jamil would shake it.

"Bonefied and Certified The Genie NOT of the lamp" he laughed as small fireworks came from his bangles while shaking Jamil whole body with the handshake.

"Nice.. to umm meet you?" Jamil stuttered not really knowing what to make of this odd situation.

"Lemme just Oh okay no eye deformities and certainly can hear well and ohh look some muscles too and I see plenty of brains, brans inside this head and ooh some ." the genie continued to examin him from head to toe alternating between doctor clothes and tailors then he .

"Um Genie?" Y/n asked the blue being who wasn't letting Jamil go

"He's pitch perfect as he could get I now declare you officially approved for the lovely maiden here's your degree" he put Jamil down who was looking frightened and confused at the sudden and changed his clothes to a freshly graduate robes handing him a certificate.

The carpet now landed on the ground of what seemed like a luxurious private park.

"When bird brain told me you've been gushing about someone I gasped feeling, frightened worried, mortified. And"

"Someone huh?" Jamil questioned Y/n with a smirk

"Genie!!"Y/n s face flushed in the highest shade of red.

"Now now no need to be shy since the boy already took you out on your first carpet ride."

He then zoomed close to there faces and pinched Jamil's cheeks

"Aren't you a smooth little snake! You'll be the most adorable sultan Agrabah could ever have"

Jamil moved away from his grip annoyed and astounded by the eccentric fellow who kept talking things which didn't make any sense.

"May you go on more carpet rides explore the whole world and beyond with your many children and make your lovely kingdom to prosper further and Ohh Ohh i have to start looking for nice names too"

"With our what?" Jamil exclaimed

"Is Zohra too old fashion for a girl ohh ohh I know Al Hatim now that's a score for name and"

"Genie stop it already!" She pouted, her ears red and were now fuming in embarrassment

"Oh Y/n!"

The genie now took her hands and spoke with a look of adoration

"Look how strong you become. When Iago told me that you found someone who you feel so happy and strong with I thought he was baffling but then I saw you flying on a carpet!! A carpet!! despite of your fears look how you've grown already flying away with someone"

"Oh genie I'm just glad you're finally back " she smiled tenderly at her blue friend and the flying rug who snuggled with her.

Jamil smiled at the sight

"So these are the friends you mentioned."

"Yeah"she spoke

"Were they passed down to you by your mother aswell?"

"Uh huh the mean everything to me"

she looked at him and placed herself in his arms once more.

"Thanks for bring me out here "

Jamil was dumbfounded at her sudden embrace

"Ah..Anytime." He spoke and started to bring his arms to embrace her back-

"JAMIL! YOUR BACK!"

Kalim came running forward towards the two lovebirds.

"Kalim." Jamil shivered a bit.

Please lord don't--

"Oh you must be Y/n! Jamil's told me all about you" Kalim grinned as he brought his hand out for a handshake to which Y/n obliged smiling brightly.

"Nice to meet you too. You must be the friend he mentioned." She eyed Jamil and smirked.

"So you guys talk about me"

Jamil immediately perked up in panic.

"Yeah he told me how smart, fun and cool you are and that you have really pretty eyes, amazing hair and the nicest smile and.."

"Kalim that's enough" Jamil covered his mouth and stopped him from blabbering.

While she blushed at this revelation Jamil wished he could bury himself deep in the ground.

"Ohhh Ohh the loong awaited WingMan just showed up! Ladies and gentlemen "

The genie suddenly announced holding a mic and took Kalim in his arms.

"Come on J let the wingman do his magic for ya."

Jamil's brain was going in frenzy as he stared at his master being carried by the genie.

"Woah! I've never seen a ghost soo big and blue like you!" Kalim Gawked with sparkly eyes.

The genie then came closer to him

"Sparky ain't ya. Well I like you already! come here! " Genie then brought him in a tight hug.

Kalim grinned at this strange yet funny turn of events

"I like you too. I was thinking about throwing Jamil and his girlfriend a surprise latenight party.. but I really don't know how to manage one alone usually Jamil helps me."

"Thats the sweetest gesture I've heard since RugMan over there got diagnosed with diabetes! Lemme lend you a hand my man"

The genie then brought Kalim down on the other side of park and they both started scheming

Jamil was getting anxious of leaving Kalim with the blue eccentric being.

"What are they talking about?"

"They look like there made for eachother huh" Y/n giggled

"I don't know Y/n. Kalim has a knack for causing trouble."

"Then with Genie around you don't have to worry."

"Are you sure? "

"Ah hello "phenomenal cosmic powers" remember?" She grinned.’

They both circled around the fountain looking at each others reflections

Jamil sighed..

Everything feels soo incomplete yet complete at the same time. First a talking parrot then the knowledge about the great sorcerer and now a giant Genie. Is it really okay to just accept everything like this.. without knowing anything?Why does it feel like something dangerous something very ominous is keeping us apart like this. I shouldn't have been involved in the first place and now Kalims involved too and

"You think too much."

Her honey like voice echoed through his ears.

"It's become a habit. Someone's got to. With Kalim anything can happen ."

"Are you his babysitter or something."

Shit

"No but someones has to care for him."

She then came closer to him and looked at him intensely.

I've noticed this for a while. From the way he talked to Kalim on the phone and rightnow. He acts like he's responsible for him like a retainer. Or a guard. Sure his friend seemed a little oblivious but why be cautious to this extent.

I think it's better to be clear with him

Jamil blushed at the closeness.

"What are you doing?"

"My mother used tell me "Eyes are the windows to the soul" it doesn't seem like you want to care for him and honestly I don't know your relationship with him at all but Jamil there's going to come a time when he has to move on his own. When he won't accept your help anymore"

Jamil's eyes widened.

He knew it too.. but now honestly he wondered if he was too used to it to accept how Kalim was growing. His parents along with the rest of the Al Asim house hold still treats him the same way as they did when he was a toddler. Maybe it were the adults who weren't growing up and ready to accept the fact that the young master wasn't so young anymore.

You're an intelligent kid surely you understand right is what they always say.

"I know but I still feel obliged too."Jamil brushed aside the topic.

Y/n sighed

She then twirled her finger in the fountain, circling the water to create small spiral waves.

"Anyways do you really think that way?"

"What way?"

"What Kalim said."

He then perked up at the mention of that embarrassing scene.

God Kalim why why??

He gulped and spoke

"Yes I do"

Jamil looked at her way and fell into a trance.

Her skin was glowing under the moonlight and her cheeks had a light red hue while her eyes sparkled in anticipation..

"I-" His breath hitched and slowly he shortened the distance between them until there faces were only inches apart and

"There you two lovebirds are!!"

Genie exploded out of nowhere between the two.

"Gah!" Both jumped together

"Genie I've told you many time not to do that."Y/n fumed at her blue friend.

"Sorry Sorry but you're both gonna be late!!Allow me to escort you!"

The genie then shapeshifted into his airhostess form and teleported the the two on the flying carpet.

"Late late for what?"

"You'll see"

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

"Genie What is this??"

Both Y/ n and Jamil stared at the warm floating lights along with sparkling glass sequence cushions and the walls lined with glass cubes top to bottom, LED Lights were dazzling around and the floor was glowing cueing for what seemed like a dance floor as catchy music played in the background.

The two magic carpets were dancing around each other in the air.

"SURPRISE!"

Kalim yelled on top off his lungs from a DJ station along with genie who was wearing a sunglasses and neon sparkly jumpsuit.

"Try to keep calm folks cause DJ Kalims in da house !!

Kalim and Genie then fist bumped much to Jamil's horror

"Kalim what is all this?"

"Its a Latenight dance party surprise for the best Dancer in the world!"

Jamil felt like he would die of embarrassment

"Kalim you get here right now and--!!"

"Really you dance too ?" Y/n asked excitedly

"I no well kinda sometimes.."

Jamil faced her while blushing many shades of red.

"Whats the hesitation my man, here lemme give you a hand"

Genie then shapeshifted into Elvis presly persona

"~When I was a child, ladies and gentlemen, I was a dreamer.~~"

"Huh?" Jamil looked confused but then the genie teleported right out from his shoulder.

"~~Some people tap their feet, some people snap their fingers, and some people sway back and forth. I just sorta do ‘em all together, I guess~~.”

"What are you saying?" Jamil scoffed

"Do your thing my boy let the music take control and let your soul do what it wants to do~"

"You know you want to take her hand

You know you want to hold her tight and spin around and around

Not caring whose looking

Not caring whose there"

Jamil took a deep breath

Truth be told he did feel the tune getting to him.

"Well what are you waiting for Jamil! You can't keep her waiting! Go on dance with her!"

Kalim yelled on top of his lungs!

"Kalim!! have you gone mad?"

Y/n laughed loudly.

"Your friend is hilarious but I must say he made such a unique use of "phenomenal cosmic powers" lets join them"

Jamil faced her in disbelief.

"Y/n!! You can't be serious"

"Come on Jamil I wanna see your moves too. Dance with me" She pleaded

He sighed

"I'll have to warn you though"

Jamil now smirked mischievous twinkle appearing in his charcoal eyes that nade a shiver run Y/n's spine.

He then suddenly took her hand and pulled her by the waist. To which she squealed.

"I wont be letting you take your eyes off of me"

He then twirled her around each step filled with passion and love , slowly letting the rhythm take control, the room slowly dissolved for the two.. as if it was just the two of them alone in all space and time.

"Man that guy's got some moves!! I feel he's groove getting to me"

"Come on Genie let's join em too!!"

"Aye!! Little dude!"

Genie now shapeshifted into his jazz persona and teleported to the dance floor with Kalim.

"Bring out he disco ball Yoo!!"

The knew song made them change there stance and both of them let the music surge through there bodies.

Y/n fell in awe of the man infront of her, he was holding her so securely as if she was the most precious treasure she felt her self be control by the music and the way he guided her with the flow.

Jamil kept his eyes locked with hers he smiled genuinely letting his emotions take over him letting his feelings become one with the music.

He was happy She was happy a pure bliss for the two.

Then as the music started to get slow he drew her closer to his chest while she starting to wrap her arms around his neck.

He delicately brushed her hair aside so her eyes would continue twinkling back to him in admiration.

"You were right I really can't let my eyes off you"she sighed in defeat.

He chuckled

"I had warned you. A side note : mixing your passion and your desire can be dangerous"

She blushed at his sudden confession

His desire is he talking about me?

She smiled at the thought taking in the scent of his oudh cologne.

Jamil could hardly notice what he had let slipped by from his tongue. He was too drunk in the incredible feeling that was surging through each and every speck of him.

The music the rhythm the way both danced perfectly synchronously together it was the best experience of his entire life.

He always heard about the treasures that were worth more than gold and here had finally discovered one that was worth more than anything in the world

"Y/n"

"Yes?"

"I'm never letting you go."

"Jamil I.."

"I won't deny that there are many things about me that you don't know and there are many things about you that I'm curious about aswell but I don't want that to be a burden on us, on you.. regardless this my seem so uncharacteristic of me but.."

He clutched his hand onto hers

"I trust you.."

No please dont. You don't know what it means to get involved with me.. what Mezirath will do to you if.

He then chuckled

"Now look whose lost in thoughts. Really you just had to miss the whole point"

"What do you mean?"

He then patted her head.

"Don't dwell to much. I can tell you for one thing for certain in the end it all works out"

He recalled how even after his overbot it al turned fine though he still feels the burden at times.

The floating lights circled around them and then slowly started to fly away towards the sky..

Kalim then came running towards the two. With genie following by.

"Thanks for organizing this you two."

"It's all thanks to Genie here. I always wanted an indoor bedazzle party! I just wish I had Ortho here with me he would've loved to see this."

"Aww shucks your making me blush little sparky"

Genie giggle as smoke came through his corners.

"Whose Ortho?" Y/n asked

"He's a first year student at our college. He's actually a robot transfer student" Kalim replied

"A Robot transfer student? Which college do you go to anyway?" Y/n asked

"Night Raven College me and Jamil are both in our second years. Were in Scarabia dorm. I'm the dorm leader while Jamil is my vice."

"Kalim slow down will you. You didn't even take a pause"

"Night raven college. The one that had the recent rise in overblot cases"

Both boys froze at the sudden notion.

They both exchanged looks filled with sudden panic in there eyes.

"Ah yeah we did but we got over them so everything's fine now." Kalim stuttered

"Oh really?. Ive read about overblots in my free time and honestly felt quite scared when heard the story about the case of seven overblots at the school.I hope all those students who went through it are alright "

"Yeah it sure was scary I thought I had lost Jamil forever "

"Huh come again?"

Now they both panicked at Kalim's blunder.

"What he means is that many students got involved in it.. we did too in a way but were super glad it turned out alright."

"I see."

"But if ya ask me kid" genie who was patiently listening to them exploded infront of them.

"I think overblots are important."

"What? How could you say that?" Kalim asked him in disbelief

"Ones Magic is dependent on the colour of his soul and your emotions are the key of making them stronger. The people from my time went crazy with there magic out of control,blinded by there desires. With overblot hey its like a leash but at the same time.."

Genie now came in close to Jamil

"You overblot you let it all out. let's just minus the crazy vo doo stuff about the evil transformation and loosing control thing for a bit But Again You Let It All Out it's finally over you break the chains! your finally free right ??"

Kalim looks at Jamil with affirmation and grins

"Yes it does, you finally let your real self show, letting the world see your true potential"

Genie nodded

And you realize after that it was all just your brain messing with you that if anything you could always let your brain be free."

"But sometimes it's just impossible when your like-"

"A prisoner trapped in your life?"

Jamil got cut off by the genie.

"Yeah"

"Take it from me "phenomenal cosmic powers" itty bitty living space." He chuckled at the poor servant boy.

Jamil looked at him and honestly thinking about how hilariously stupid the comparison of his 17 year life of servitude vs his 10,000 year of being stuck inside a lamp were.

"Make all the little moments count and live them to the fullest..after all todays special moments are tomorrow's memories and you know there's no better treasure then happy precious memories with the ones you care about right?"

Jamil started to understand what he tried to say as he felt Y/n wrapping her arms around his arm he ran his hand through her hair.

" Yes they really are."

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

Jamil brought Y/n back to her home.

"It has really gotten late." Jamil said as Y/n came down the carpet to balcony.

She turned around and locked eyes with him once more.

"Goodnight my handsome prince"

"Really?"

She nodded

"Yes Id choose you over all those stuff shirt swaggering peacocks anyday" she giggled

Jamil laughed

poor princess dealing with all those suitors against her will.

He then looked at her and found her glowing magnificently

You know if I hadn't known better I would've taken her to be the princess instead.

"Then Sleep Well Princess"

Her eyes suddenly widened at how lovingly he called her by her true title.

Just then as she moved closer towards him, the carpet gave a little jump to let the servant boy close the distance, allowing their lips to finally collide in a sweet kiss.

___________________________________________________________

the longest fic Ive written. and after like how many months.

I kinda wanted it to be like in a sort of one shot style though still being part of the “Heart Inclined series”

Tried my very best to do Genie some justice but uwaa soo sorry Robin Williams IT^T

Kalim and Genie best friendship forever!!!!

This report was brought to you by

GET USED TO IT!

#disney twst #jamil x reader #jamil headcanons #kalim #kalim al asim #scarabia #twisted wonderland #twst fanfic #jamil viper #jamil x mc #jamil x y/n

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cicidarkarts · 1 year

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Blood Defied - 4: Thestrals

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Dear Credence,

It's good you're keeping up with your studies and making friends. I’m a little lonely back home, but I'm getting better every day. I hope you are, too. Sorry for the delayed response. I'm trying to be better, but everything that happened is weighing on my mind. I still love you, I just need time.

Love, Mom

Credence felt her sorrow seep out of her eyes, prickling the corners of her vision. Thank goodness Fran had left to meet up with friends so no one had to see or hear her. She put the letter back in its envelope and smacked it onto her desk. Rubbing her eyes clean, she headed out for the day.

The part of her that wanted to jog to Professor Howin’s assignment had been hampered by that letter. As the pep in her step had gone—leaving her in a mood just as cloudy and grey as the weather—she tried to enjoy her novel. The words jumbled up and her mind wandered again; she put her novel away in her enchanted satchel. Instead, she turned her eyes to the sights of the grand old castle.

She observed tapestries as she passed and counted the trees outside of the window, which quieted her mind a little. While heading for her destination, she drew closer to the melodic sound of a violin from the music classroom. She didn't realize there were any classes on Sundays.

The somber sound brought together her mood and the rain in a therapeutic calm. Each note took away a little more of her pain. The violin sent goosebumps along her arms as she listened to the musician's own pain made into art. Whoever played it, she thought, had to be a tormented but talented and insightful soul. As she passed the classroom, she peaked inside to catch a glimpse.

Ominis drew the bow across the strings. He had no music sheet. Instead, he felt the melody and released his emotion in every note. Credence had to keep watching. She felt unable to pull her gaze away as her mind begged to be part of this art, even as just an observer. Its melancholic tone invoked memories of her past, tugging her deeper into his own childhood. Though she knew very little of his past, she felt she knew everything she needed to in that moment.

His song came to an end in the otherwise empty classroom. Despite his back to her, he said,

"Hello, Credence." "Hi, um… Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt." He turned toward her with a soft, enchanting smile. "You didn't. I don't mind an audience. Did you enjoy it?" "I loved it, Ominis. It was beautiful." His cheeks turned pink, highlighting the dark flecks of beauty marks across his face. "Thank you. I didn't really have a plan for that one. I'm pleased it turned out okay.” “Oh, it was more than okay. You’re very talented.” “I was going to have a break, but I could play more if you'd like."

A scene hit her imagination. Ominis stood dressed in regal and dark clothes, bathed in the light of a hundred candles as he played his gorgeous songs; her sitting near him, wearing a dress she could never afford, relaxing as he serenaded her. She had to shake that fantasy away before she got too lost in it.

"I would really love that," she said, "but we'll have to some other time. I have to do my assignment for Professor Howin." "Oh?" he asked, putting his violin back in its case. "What's the assignment?" "I'm helping her care for the thestrals. I volunteered for it—actually, I was the only one who did. The only other guy who can see them was too afraid. I don't understand that. Thestrals are incredible." "They are. And very misunderstood." "Can you see thestrals?" "Cree, I can't see anything." "Oh," she said, looking away and fiddling with a lock of hair. "Right. Sorry." "Don’t worry about it,” he said, chuckling. “Would you mind if I joined you?" "Not at all."

He walked beside her, his wand out as they went. She told him more about her assignment—the names of the thestrals, the new mother and the foal she helped deliver, and being the only one besides Howin who seemed to care.

Ominis listened, his head turning to her occasionally but overall he faced forward. When she looked at him, she held a whole new appreciation for his strong, confident profile and his gentle smile. She pretended like her previous fantasy had never existed, even as she counted the beauty marks that dotted his pale skin. Seven…

When she finished her counting, her face warmed and she looked away, all while trying to continue her thestral tales as normal. Luckily, the field of thestrals wasn’t too far, and they came upon it just past the beast classroom. The school thestrals rested in their stables and wandered the field, grazing and playing and stretching their wings.

One of them saw Credence, snorted and shook, then ran over while kicking the air.

“Hey, girl!” Credence patted her bony face. “This one is Cleo. Cleo, this is Ominis.”

Cleo observed Ominis briefly, but returned to nuzzling Credence. Other thestrals converged upon them, some trotting, others flying, and still a few acting like they didn’t care by meandering nearer and eating grass. Credence pointed them all out by name. One male, Knight, strode up to them and leaned over Ominis' shoulder. Ominis went to pet him.

"Knight," Credence scolded, "don't you dare. Careful with him, he's a nippy little thing." Ominis pulled his hand back. "Good to know."

Knight nipped Ominis' vest, to which Credence Accio'd a piece of Knight's favorite fruit from the trough and tossed it.

"Go on, get the peach, you menace." Ominis straightened out his vest. "Ornery, isn't he?" "Knight thinks he's a big shot," she said, watching Knight chase down the peach and swallow it whole. "He's our only troublemaker, luckily. Everyone else is really sweet. Speaking of, I should check on our newest thestral. Her and Mom are probably in the stables."

In the confines of the stables, where the sunlight barely penetrated, Mom and foal laid together rested in shade and serenity. The suckling noises of the foal nursing filled the room.

She whispered, "The Mom's Ellis, and the foal is Jane." “Sounds like we’re interrupting feeding time.”

Ellis lifted her head and watched Ominis. Her wings fluttered, the wind from which shook the air.

"Yeah, Ellis is mad,” she said to him, then, still calm and reassuring but a little louder, she spoke to Ellis. “You're all right, girl, we're going to leave. Just wanted to make sure Jane is okay."

She took Ominis out of the stable.

“Is Jane all right?” he asked. “You seem worried.” “She was born premature. She’s been weak for a while. I had to hand-feed her for the first few weeks. I’ve had a lot of hands-on time with Jane and Ellis. It’s why Ellis doesn’t mind me at all, but she was probably protecting Jane from you.” “That’s very sweet. She’s just being a good mother.”

Credence soon got to work on her various chores. She cleaned out the trough and watering buckets, Accio'd food from the beasts classroom, and almost dragged buckets of water by hand across the field.

"You can just use Wingardium Leviosa," Ominis said. "You can just use Shutupicus Maximus." "Really got me there."

Ominis helped by keeping nosy thestrals busy through pets and play with one of their beaten down quaffles. This gave Credence breathing room to go quietly into the stables and replace old hay without everyone rushing in and enraging Ellis.

By the time all was done and sweat dripped down her face, Credence plopped onto the ground and was promptly cuddled by Thorium, one of the biggest thestrals.

Ominis sat with them, glistening in a little sweat, hardly mussed at all. Only a few locks of hair fell out of place, giving him the most refined disheveled appearance she'd ever seen. She took note of another beauty mark, sitting high upon the apple of his right cheek. Biting her lip, she looked away, back at Thorium's content expression as he laid his head in her lap.

"That one seems to like you," Ominis said. "Thor loves women. Howin thinks he was abused by men. It took Thor a long time to get comfortable with them, and he doesn’t hate men, but he really loves women.” “That’s so wrong, how people mistreat others who can’t stand up for themselves.” “I agree. That’s why I chose to keep going with my beast studies— Knight!”

Knight came up behind her and nipped at her hair. She shoved his face away and he tried to nibble her hands. He trotted over to sniff Ominis—who recoiled—then walked away without nipping.

“Oh, I see,” Cree said. “You hate me.” “You’d think he’d hate me. I just got here.”

A well-fed Jane and her exhausted mother exited the stables. Jane galloped about as her mother ate and drank her fill, but the foal’s frail legs couldn’t carry her for too long. She wandered up to Ominis and sniffed at him.

“And this one is…” he hesitated, then patted her face. “Seems small. Jane?” “Yep. I think she likes you. Really, Jane? After all we’ve been through. Guess I’m the stable punching bag.”

Jane curled up against Ominis, her head in his lap. Seeing his face light up was worth the relegation to punching bag, but she teased anyway.

“What do you got that I ain’t?” “Better vocabulary,” he said. “No, no, I think it’s your posh accent. Very calming for the animals.” He scoffed. “This isn’t posh. I can show you posh.” “You play the violin, how much more posh can you get?” “I will not stand for this violin slander.”

They both laughed as he tenderly stroked the foal. Jane’s eyes fluttered closed as she relaxed to sleep. In the peace of the sun and nature, fresh fantasies of Ominis playing the violin for her crept into Credence’s mind. It proved difficult to be distracted from this topic while in the serenity of the green grove, infatuating her with the idea.

"How long have you been playing the violin?" she asked. "Ever since I was a child. Mum wanted me to play the piano, but it was difficult for me to get a grasp on all of the keys, so I picked up the violin instead. I've loved it ever since, but Mum is pretty cross about it." "She should be happy with your talent. Why would she be so hellbent on you playing the piano?" "The piano is very popular. She was hoping I'd be a blind prodigy and make a fortune off it, but I also think she’s just upset that I didn’t do exactly what she wanted of me. Thankfully, I don't give a niffler's arse what my mum thinks. I love the violin, but it's just a hobby; I don't have big dreams about playing in an orchestra or anything." "What do you want to do?" "Settle down in a small place and live simply. Get a local job and pretend that I'm not a Gaunt." "Nothing wrong with simple living. It sounds nice. Well, aside from the dysfunctional family part." "Dysfunctional is too kind a word, and not one I'd use. But what about you?" "I want to be a magivet. I'd love to work with beasts, especially ones like thestrals, snakes, wolves, bats—the misunderstood animals. I mean, I'd work on any animal, but I love misunderstood ones the most. I wish there was a specialty for that. Sinister magivet: come bring all your ominous animals to me and I can heal them, probably." "I think you’ll have to come up with a better tagline." "I'm not smart enough to come up with a better tagline." "Not smart enough? You're literally a Ravenclaw." "Yeah, but I'm the dumbest Ravenclaw."

Ominis burst out into a loud cackle, making Jane shoot up and gallop away. He laughed so hard that he wheezed.

"Holy shit," Credence squeaked, voice high-pitched from holding down her laughter. "I've never heard you laugh like that!" "I just wasn't expecting—!"

He slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to calm down. His other hand wiped a tear from his eye.

"My God," he said, breathless, "that dumbest Ravenclaw comment caught me off guard. I haven't laughed that hard in years."

Their hyena cackling died down and they caught their breaths. She watched the patterns of his beauty marks change as his broad grin crinkled them. There was something enthralling about his laughter, though she frowned at his words. She guessed it made sense, given his tumultuous relationship with his family from what little she heard, and she wondered how deep the scars went.

"It's been a long time since I've laughed like that, too," she said. "Things are finally looking up, now that Mom and I moved here." "How is your mum?" "Standoffish at best. She's been through a lot." "So have you." "Yeah, I guess so,” she acquiesced, fiddling with a blade of grass. “But I'm trying to be understanding. She's a good mom. Nothing like yours from what I heard." "Thank God. I wouldn't wish my mother on my worst enemy." She giggled. "I wouldn't wish your mother on my worst enemy, either. No, my mom is kind, maybe a bit of a pushover. It's how we got into this situation to begin with. If she had put her foot down about my dad not uprooting our whole family to chase gold, maybe we'd all still be together." "I'm sorry, Cree. I didn't realize your father had…" "Oh, right. Yeah, my father and older brother both died in the wars. My mom and I almost did, too, until—"

She fiddled with a pebble and patted a passing thestral. It had been a few months since she last thought of that: the bright light, the adrenaline pulsing, the fear hardening her heart to conjure such terrible things in the heat of the moment. Yet, she reminded, without her actions, she and her mother would be dead.

"We've all got secrets," said Ominis. "I won't make you tell me if you don't want to." "Yeah… Maybe someday. Maybe a different secret. But not this one, and not right now."

He smiled at her, a sort of somber expression with upturned brows. He scooted closer to set his hand on her knee.

"When that day comes,” he said, voice soft, “I want to tell you some of mine, too." She caressed his hand. "I'd really like that."

Later that night, Credence headed into her dorm to study. She sat upon the second level, surrounded by pillows, books, quills, and parchment. The cozy atmosphere and pleasant thoughts of the day had her speed-reading and flipping pages with ease. She was interrupted by Fran, her frizzy-haired roommate who'd returned from Quidditch practice. Fran gazed around the brightly lit room, then caught sight of Credence and smiled.

"Hey there, stranger," she said, lumbering to her bed. "Hey, Fran." Fran flopped across the mattress and let out a tired sigh. "What do you look so happy about?" "I just had a really nice day, that's all." "Ooh, it's a boy, isn't it?" She sat up, waggling her brows. Noting Credence's heating face, Fran continued, "Did you maybe have a date with Sebastian Sallow? You guys had that assignment together and you always sit with him at meals. He's very handsome, you lucky gal." "It wasn't Sebastian. I spent time with Ominis." Fran's brow furrowed hard. "You went out with Ominis Gaunt?" "Um, yeah?" "Oh, you poor sweet girl. You really don't know anything about that, do you?" "About what?" "The Gaunt family. They're a scary bunch. They hate Muggles and Muggle-borns like yourself. I've heard they'll torture and kill them just for fun. Direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin—you know, one of the founders? Hated Muggle-borns, he did. Wanted to oust everyone that wasn't a pureblood."

Credence slammed her book shut. She glared at Fran, who still looked upon her with pursed lips that felt oddly condescending. Prepared to set the record straight, Credence proclaimed,

"Ominis isn't like that. He hates blood supremacy." "Is that what he told you? I dunno, Credence. Maybe it's true, but you don't know him. You don't know what he's capable of." "Yeah? Well, you don't know him, either. Ominis is sweet and gentle. You don't know what you're talking about." "You have no idea what the Gaunt family is like. They're a bunch of inbred psychopaths, even more than most pureblood families because they put so much stock in being Slytherin's descendants. I'm just nervous for you, is all. Anyone will tell you not to get close to someone from the Gaunt family, except maybe other pureblood supremacists like Melodria Malfoy or Regalian Black." "I'll figure it out for myself, Fran. Ominis has been nothing but kind to me. I'm not afraid of him." Fran shrugged. "Fine, whatever you say. I gotta head to bed. Gotta get up early tomorrow. Just… Stay safe, okay?"

Fran shut her curtains, leaving Credence to mull over the day's events. People really thought Ominis was like that? She frowned, tapping her open book. He was so quiet, tender, and understanding. The Gaunt family did chill her to her core, from what little she'd heard—even things straight from Ominis' mouth. But she'd seen the darkest parts of humanity, and she wasn't going to let it keep getting in her way.

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limey-self-inserts · 2 years

Text

by a hair’s breadth

Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: N/A F/Os: Aniketos (romantic - mentioned) Summary: Avon has a hair emergency, and seeks out help from Soldagand.

taglist: @call--me--home @knockshear @captainscyarika and dryad buddy @carbo-ships

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Visitors were not usually part of Soldagand’s day-to-day life. Carly, yes, but she was more than just a visitor. Townsfolk, rarely, certainly not without fair warning ahead of time (outside of an emergency). Alora, her tree was far enough from his that her visits were limited to providing an important piece of information or offering leftover hinds of venison. Aniketos, he would always contact first through the enchanted mirror that he and Soldagand shared.

So when Sol heard someone begin to sing outside of his tree, he nearly cut his thumb on the woodcarving he was working on. Sitting in silent confusion, he wondered if some poor confused mortal had decided to pick his pine to practise some serenade outside of. But time helped clarify the voice: Avon!

“What th’ heck are they doin’ here?” he muttered aloud as he set his half-finished flower aside, moving off to the entrance to his tree. Avon had been away again (he’d been getting the news from a pining Aniketos and a concerned Carly regarding her best friend’s slump in demeanour) so why they would come here without Aniketos boggled the mind. Parting the bark, he swept some errant frost from the tree trunk before clearing his throat and letting out a gruff, “Mornin’ Avon.”

Avon cut off from their singing quickly, turning to face him with a pleading expression. He recognised road bags still in their hands, a warm winter traveller’s cloak around their shoulders and covering their head - they must have only now returned to the forest.

“Hi Sol,” they replied quickly. “I’m sorry for summoning you at this hour, I just…well, I got into town last night-”

“Summoning?” Sol let out a soft guffaw. “I was already awake, you’re alright. Anyway, you got into town, and…?”

“Well, I…agh.” Avon rubbed at their cheeks with bunched fists, before pulling down the hood of their cloak.

“Ah. Shit.”

Their hair was trashed, was the politest way that Soldagand could describe it. It was normally fairly messy and somewhat lopsided, but this was way further than that. A patch had been cut almost right down to a fingernail’s length (one of Sol’s fingernails technically, but still mighty short), a chunk of several inches curled up against Avon’s left cheek while the right cheek was untouched, the parting was zig-zagging across their scalp, and several cowlicks were attempting a state of permanency. Like a brownie had gotten particularly pissed off and decided to swing at random with a razor blade.

“My hair had gotten too long while I was out and I wanted to cut it properly for when I got to see Ani but I misjudged the sides and then some kid accidentally threw an apple at the window which made me jump and I-” Avon gestured frantically to the particularly short patch. “I - I just - yeah.”

“....And you came to me before Ani because…?”

“Because I don’t want him to see me in this state and the local barber is sick and you’re the only person I know around here who has short hair,” Avon mumbled out, hands clenching close over their chest.

“You walked a day…to get a haircut,” Soldagand said slowly, his head slowly tilting to the side. An awkward silence settled in after those words, stretching itself out tenuously while waiting for either of the pair to say something, anything, until even the awkward silence itself was screaming.

“Please could you help me out with my hair?” Avon asked.

“Yeah, sure. Come on in.” Waving his hand, Soldagand stepped back into the tree, with Avon following quickly after him. He could still feel their hesitation, lingering near where the entrance had just been, but he made his way through to the living room area. There was work to be done, after all.

“Your place is different to Ani’s,” Avon commented absent-mindedly when they finally entered the living room area.

“He likes finery. I like rustic. ‘S all a matter of opinion,” Soldagand replied as he carried a box through from his bathroom. Setting it on the coffee table, he gestured for Avon to take a seat in one of the stools. “No reason to be hangin’ around.”

“Right.” Setting their cloak over their bags, Avon perched on the stool - it was sized appropriately for Sol, so their feet only barely touched the floor (unlike with Carly, whose feet didn’t touch the floor at all). Their hands kept fidgeting together, eyes glancing over as Sol carried a shallow bucket of soapy water back through.

“Do you do this often?” they asked.

“Little bit. Few times with Carly, but the method’s different. I’ve helped Ani before but his hair tends to do its own thing, especially when the seasons change.” Sol grinned in realisation. “Oh right, yeah. We’re probably a couple weeks out from winter, you’re in for a fun surprise.”

“What sort of surprise?”

“If I tell you now, it won’t be a surprise when it happens,” Sol said with a chuckle, his amusement not helped by the small pout that appeared on Avon’s face. “But seriously, I’ve only done this for myself and Aniketos. It shouldn’t be too hard though, mostly I think we just gotta get this even across the head. Which means that it needs to match this.” He tapped gently on the short patch on Avon’s head, and watched the wanderer’s shoulders slump.

“I guess I was figuring that really short hair would be helpful if I was stuck on the road for a very long time,” Avon said. “Alright, I’m ready.”

“I hope you were ready when you stepped in my tree,” Sol said with a soft snort of amusement as he dunked his hands in the water, beginning to card his fingers through Avon’s hair. “I am curious though, what were you goin’ on about with ‘summoning’? And the singing too?”

“...The ritual summoning?” Avon’s confusion was clear as day. “Aniketos told me that singing outside of a dryad’s tree is what summons them out. It’s how he knows when I arrive.”

Soldagand shouldn’t laugh. He shouldn’t. He knew how much Aniketos was pining over the poor sweet mortal, aware of his feelings but unsure how they felt in return, despite Sol and Carly both painfully aware of how much the feelings were reciprocated. The fact that Ani had whispered such a soft sweet lie to Avon for apparently the simple desire to hear them sing was…he couldn’t help it. Sol let out a poorly held-back snort.

“What? Is that not how it works for you?” Avon asked, starting to turn around in their seat but Sol’s hands kept them facing forward.

“Not for me, no,” Soldagand explained, plucking a small leaf from Avon’s hair and tossing it aside. “Certainly Carly doesn’t need to do that. It might be different between conifers and jacarandas. Mind asking him about it when you head there?” He wanted to be there for that conversation, but he’d take second-hand recounting.

“Sure, that sounds fair. I guess I kind of assumed that it was the same for all dryads and fae, but - “ Avon shrugged a single shoulder. “I’m only going off mortal books and whatever you, Ani or Carly tell me.”

“You’re learnin’, I can’t be mad about that. Not like most mortals have the best view of fae to be wanting to write down anything other than warnings. Met a bunch of uppity knights tryin’ to throw their weight around just last week, they got mad just because I was a dryad.” Another leaf was extracted and left to flutter to the ground. He kept finding small clods of dark red washed out by his hands, some weird kind of dirt. It crumbled too easily in the water to be clay.

“I get that feeling,” Avon sighed. “I - well, the whole thing about people getting aggressive at you without cause.”

“Some people are plain assholes,” Sol grumbled. “‘Specially if they’re picking fights with harmless wanderin’ folk.”

“Ah ha, yeah, harmless…” The way Avon trailed off felt like Something. Soldagand was good at picking up on Somethings, although perhaps not as good as Aniketos (that was why the Queen loved him for his information gathering). This felt like a Something though. The problem with Somethings was that sometimes trying to get more out of them was like handling a sleeping bird.

“You, uh…know a bit of magic?” he questioned.

“No, I’m about as magic-competent as a rock,” Avon said with a sigh. “Hey, did you make that?” They were pointing over towards the wooden rose left to the wayside. The Something had fled. Sighing out through his nose, Soldagand dutifully adjusted the conversation in the new direction.

“Yeah, I do a little wood-carving in my spare time,” Sol replied. “That one’s, uh, it’s goin’ to be a nice surprise.”

“It’s beautiful,” Avon said, smiling through their voice. “You’re really good at your work.”

“Lots of years bein’ alive means a lot of spare time. Gettin’ into hobbies helps pass the years. I’m probably one of the few dryads out there that decided to get stuck into the mortal community on my doorstep instead of being one of those that lingered out of sight ‘n’ out of mind, or one of those that trick a mortal into disappearing for a hundred years.”

“Dryads don’t have the best reputation. It must’ve been hard.”

“To begin with, yeah. But it barely took fifty years to crack through and get them to trust me fully. Nowadays if the Queen doesn’t have me on a duty for her, I’m usually around to help them out if bandits or raiders or a pillaging crew from the South comes up in this direction,” Sol explained. “Ay, straighten that back of yours, you’re melting down into the stool.”

“Sorry!” Avon sat back up, shuffling into a better poise. They even managed to gain an extra inch of height. As Sol went back to finishing scrubbing out the uneven lengths, they asked, “So you’re a fighter then?”

“That’s right. I’m good at it too, always helpful in life to have somethin’ you’re good at, and that’s especially true for fae. So I protect the town.”

“Mmm. Aniketos has mentioned that the Queen sometimes summons you to deal with powerful problems.”

“That’s right. Worries my poor Carly sick, but you can’t refuse the Queen’s orders.” Sol paused in the middle of rinsing out the soap suds. “Has, uh…Ani told you what he gets called to do?”

“He has. There was a mildly awkward morning when he was wearing one of his work robes and I stubbed my toe on the kitchen table, but he was more confused at my, uh, reaction than I was at his outfit,” Avon replied, a slight half-hearted chuckle on their lips.

“That sure had to have been a sight,” Soldagand mumbled quietly.

“He was more than comfortable explaining it all. Apart from the details I asked not to hear about. Like, I’m fine with it, but it’s just not my area of interest, y’know?”

“Hmm. No, yeah, that’s fair. I’m a little surprised you’re fine with it, is all.”

“I know enough about the fae to know that the Queen’s word is law. So long as he’s not having to take on giants or risk his life in any such way. Right?” Avon’s voice cracked just the right way that Sol could feel a whole host of sudden nervousness piling into their poor mind. Patting down their hair, he shook his head.

“His work is the least lethal, I can promise you that,” he replied, choosing his words carefully. There was only one story about an informant for the Queen getting uncovered in an unfortunate way, but one was enough that meant Soldagand had to ensure he wasn’t lying to soothe Avon’s concerns. “Straighten up again.”

“Sorry! Sorry.” Again Avon shuffled back upright.

“Gonna need you to stay sitting up tall for this bit,” Sol gently chided them as he started measuring out portions of hair, picking up a razor from his hair care box. “Ani would throttle me if I got a cut on you by accident.”

“I trust you,” Avon said, soft and bright.

“Good, I figured as much.”

Most of the haircutting process itself was done in silence. Soldagand needed to concentrate for this part. With several patches at multiple lengths, it was a tough job to get it all to the same length. But once the worst offenders were dealt with, it was easier to start trimming it all to match.

“Do you have anywhere you go to, when you travel?” Sol asked rather absentmindedly as he shaved down the back of Avon’s neck. “Or is it aimless wanderin’?”

“It’s aimless. Haven’t got a home anymore. I just, uh…town got too small for me. Had to leave for my own wellbeing,” Avon replied. “It kicks in often. The need to leave. I don’t like saying goodbye but, well, this is one of the first places where I can say goodbye and it doesn’t feel permanent.”

“So you do have a home, in a sense.”

“I…do?”

“You said so yourself. You can say goodbye from this place knowing that you can come back. That’s like a home,” Sol explained. “I think you should tell Ani that. He’d appreciate it.”

“He knows. I told him so before I went away after the Harvest dance.” It was interesting how a person could fit warmth and sadness into words. Sol recognised the taste of bittersweetness.

“You okay? Like, you and Aniketos? I, uh…” He lifted his hands away, letting Avon squint in confusion over their shoulder. “We were worried when you disappeared after the dancing. Thought something might’ve happened between you two.”

“It’s fine. It was two months ago, and I came back afterwards too,” Avon said, a bit too quickly. They didn’t look Sol in the eye before they turned away again. “We’re fine…unless he’s said anything?”

“This isn’t me talking about how Aniketos feels. This is me talking as his friend,” Soldagand explained, leaning in to make a few more cuts, evening up a few wonky ends. “And me asking as your friend, if you’d be comfortable with that.”

“...Thank you, Sol. But there’s nothing to worry about. It’s something for me to deal with on my own,” Avon said softly. Sol continued to trim away, noting the singular small sniff from Avon and how they rubbed at their face, before he finally stepped back and put his hands on his hips.

“There we go. You look downright handsome. Although not as handsome as me, of course,” he said with a chuckle. Avon’s locks had been cut and parted close to their head, currently smoothed back but guaranteed to spring into a mess once they got back on the road. It was much considerably shorter than their previous hairstyle, but it wasn’t bad at all. They ran their fingers through their hair, outwardly marvelling over the sensation.

“I - thank you so much,” they said, a soft beam of a smile spreading across their features. “I, I owe you something, I surely do.”

“I can put the hair into a pillow or somethin’, that’s fine. Alora taught me a little about that,” Sol waved a hand casually as he started to sweep the small bundles of brown fluff off the floor. “If you really want to open a favour with me? Then I’m gonna tell you to go straight for Ani’s place once you leave here, alright?”

“Of course! Thank you, thank you again.” Avon shifted forward, then hesitated. Thankfully Sol could recognise how their arms bunched up, a stance Carly took often before she would launch at him with a hug.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning them into a gentle bearhug. They hugged him back, mumbling out one last, “Thank you” before he scooted them over to their bags and cloak. Soon enough they were dashing into the woodland, a wave over their shoulder before they vanished into the undergrowth. Soldagand waved back, and let out a heavy sigh.

“Those two are going to be pining into gods’ damned spring at this rate.”

#writings #ship: full bloom #world: aalveir #self ship #self insert #Sol is so very tired at seeing Avon and Aniketos dancing tenuously around each other

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