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myckicade · 3 years

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Prompt: Which totally begs the question, does Taza get jealous? What would that look like?

A/N: I just want to say… Thank You. I love Taza, I really do. If they wanted to add him to the show, a bit more (*cough*hint*cough*), I certainly wouldn’t complain.

That said, this was enjoyable to put together. I like the challenge that comes with each different personality.

Jealousy Thursday continues! The fuse was lit with Bishop. Now, let’s fan the flames with Taza!

Title: Unbecoming

Teaser: This is why you should never make dinner reservations.

Tapping your foot against the side of the bar, you steal a look at your watch. A quarter passed six. As opposed to the last time you looked, at eleven minutes passed.

See, this… This is why you should never make dinner reservations.

Something came up. Something always comes up. You’re doing your best to understand that, really, you are. You know what you signed on for, after all. And, it did seem like it was a surprise need to call everyone together, just as you’d been ready to head out.

“I’ve gotta’ steal him from you, for a minute,” Bishop had apologized, with a sincere enough smile. “Fifteen minutes, tops. Have a drink, while you wait. On the house.”

Fifteen minutes… Bishop’s fifteen minutes sure as hell feels a lot like an hour and twenty. (And, yes, you’re still counting). You’d be on your second or third beer, by now, if you didn’t have the presence of mind to know that, duh, you’re driving to the restaurant, tonight. Well, maybe. You’ve already pushed that reservation back, once. After a second time… You might as well just cancel.

A loud ruckus behind you startles you from your thoughts. Glancing over your shoulder, you take in the sight of a selection of Mayans gathered around a table. They’d exited the back room, about fifteen minutes prior, and you were disappointed that Che wasn’t with them. Still are. He and Bishop are still back there, flapping their gums about who knows what. You don’t know, and you don’t ask.

You just… wait.

Anyway, at least you have the noise of the other guys to listen to. From where you sit, it looks as though someone has grown a little over-excited, and tipped a beer over. Right onto Angel. The man has stood to his feet, an irritated look on his face, as he pulls the front of his shirt away from his skin.

“The fuck?!” he bellows, looking to his brother, beside him. “I just opened that beer, bro!”

EZ has a wide, shit-eating grin on his face. “Sorry, man.”

You roll your eyes. You don’t know Angel, all that well, but… If there is anyone destined to be pissed off over a spilled beer, he seems the type. A nice kid, with a big gap between his ears, granted. But, still, a nice kid. Said nice kid is presently yanking off his kutte, draping it over the back of his chair. His shirt comes next, peeled over his abdomen like a fucking GQ model. Would it be overkill to roll your eyes again, you wonder? He’s not a bad-looking guy, no, and his abs certainly are a thing of beauty. (How that’s possible, you can’t fathom, for how much you’ve seen him drink). But, that’s really about it. He’s not your type.

Your type is going to owe you, so big, for missing this dinner date.

You’re about to turn away from the lean, mean, beer-guzzling machine, when something catches your eye. Well, hello. It’s fucking beautiful. Big, but not too showy. Solid, thick. Impossible to miss, and it makes a statement. You haven’t seen that on him, before now. Where has he been hiding it?

Oh, get it out of the gutter. You’re totally staring at Angel’s belt buckle.

It’s a nice buckle. It looks to be some sort of tribal design, worked into the metal with what must have been a sure hand. You really have to go ask him where he got it. You’ve been to every shop for four towns, and no one has anything close to the quality of what he’s wearing. While that design isn’t what you have been looking for, if it’s custom? You’ll pay a pretty penny to get what you want made.

The buckle comes closer, and you can see more detail. What you took for a tribal design reveals itself to be a serpent, of some sort, possibly a dragon. The work is so fine, even the scales are visible.

“See somethin’ you like?”

You jerk your head up, to stare, wide-eyed, right into Angel’s expression of amusement. Apparently, two and two equal five, and you didn’t compute that the buckle coming closer meant that Angel was coming with it. (Heaven, help you). He’s still shirtless, having put his kutte back onto his bare back. And, oh, hell. He must think you were staring at his abs.

You’d hate to have to tell him, his jewelry is more impressive.

Instead, you give him a smile. “Actually… Yes, I do.” This time, his eyes widen, eyebrows going for his hair line. “I really want to know where…” You circle a finger in the air, a few times, slow and lazy, before tapping it against that serpent. “…-You got this little beauty.” Angel looks down, and, fuck, he looks like he could choke. Flustered, and, is that a blush? It’s hysterical, it truly is. Did he really think you wanted a piece of him? Really?

Apparently, you had him going, as he has to look away, and clear his throat. He looks to the girl behind the bar, and nods. “Can I get another beer?” She makes haste, sliding a fresh bottle across the bar top, in the blink of an eye. No wonder this guy has a head as big as all outdoors. These broads just fall all over him, don’t they? Angel lifts the bottle toward his mouth, pausing to give you a fleeting side glance. “Got it across the border.”

“Mexico?” you ask, quite needlessly. You really haven’t thought to check, there. But, then, again… You don’t exactly have occasion to country-hop, very often. “Damn. That’s where all the good stuff hides.”

Angel nods, as he swallows his mouthful of liquid. “No offense,” he begins, tone highly suggestive that he knows he’s going to offend you, regardless. “But, you don’t seem like the belt buckle type.” He turns to face you, leaning to rest his elbow on the bar top. Casual as can be, which is hysterical, when you recall how pink his face had been, just a moment before. “So, was that actually a come-on, or what?”

The balls on this kid. You scoff a laugh. “No offense,” you mimic, tone suggesting more than just offense. You may just straight-up hurt his feelings. “But, you just don’t seem like my type.”

He smirks, and shakes his head. “See, I’m everybody’s type.” At least he took it well, you figure. Angel takes another swig from his bottle, before setting it on the bar. His eyes haven’t left you, all the while, but they are beginning to narrow. “So, if you ain’t tryina’ pick me up… Why the fascination with my wardrobe?”

Or, the lack, thereof. You toss that thought aside, and put on a pleasant smile. “Che has a birthday coming up. I want to get him a buckle, but it’s been a bitch. I’ve been to every shop in the area, and then some... Nada.” You lift your own beer to your lips, and take a sip.

“Yeah, the one guy in town who did ‘em right… I dunno’. He died, or got deported, or somethin’.”

Well. You haven’t choked on a drink, in a while. This is refreshing.

Angel’s eyes widen, again. “You gonna’ make it, or what?” A couple of coughs get you through, and you soon remember how to breathe. You nod, by way of response, pointedly ignoring Angel’s snicker. “Well, if you don’t kill yourself on that shit…” He shrugs. “You tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll check the shop, next time I’m down. Send you some pictures, if you want?”

Oh. Oh, well. “That’d be very nice of you.” You suddenly feel a little bad for all the rotten thoughts you’ve had about him. Just a little. Reaching into your pocket, you produce your business card, and hand it over to Angel. “Thank you.”

The grin that covers his face… Well, there’s no mistaking that he and EZ are related. “I’m a nice guy,” he preens, pocketing your card. “Just ask anybody.”

“Funny,” comes a voice from behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you come face-to-face with Bishop. “I tend to think you’re a bit of a pussy.” Angel rolls his eyes, but doesn’t respond. Must just be good-natured ribbing. Bishop turns a smile on you, next. “Sorry to have kept him for so long.” He’s not, and you know it. Business is business, according to Che. It takes as long as it takes.

“It’s all right,” you reply, returning the smile. “I had decent company.” You eye Angel, who wiggles his fingers in a cutie-pie wave. How ridiculous. You look over Bishop’s shoulder, next. “Where is the old man?”

Bishop chuckles. “Little boy’s room.” You smirk. “Should be right out.”

“Thank you, Bishop.”

“Hey, no problem, (y/n).” Bishop pats you on the shoulder, before collecting a beer from the bartender, one he didn’t even have to ask for. You know his status around here, but it still amazes you, somewhat, to see it in action. “You and Taza have a good night, huh?” You nod, and he heads for the table of Mayans across the room.

Beside you, Angel is back to grinning. “Big night, tonight?”

You don’t even get the chance to respond, before Che is slipping up behind you. “Probably not anymore,” he sighs, looking from Angel, to you. He grimaces. “I’m sorry, (y/n). Think we can still make it?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “I have a better idea.” Standing from your chair, you face the man you’ve been waiting a long, long time for. And, you don’t just mean the last few hours.

“Oh?” Che sounds intrigued. It’s a good sign.

“I’ve got a frozen pizza, and a half gallon of ice cream back at my place.”

He purses his lips, for a second. “…-What flavour?”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s so damned adorable. “Black raspberry.” He inhales, deeply, and you know you have him. “How about it? The game is coming on, too. It’ll be a perfect Thursday night.”

Che laughs, quietly. “Throw in a beer? You’ve got a deal.”

“We’ll stop at the store, on the way home.” You’re practically beaming, all frustration at missing your reservation forgotten. It amazes you, sometimes, that Che has the power to do that, just by existing. You grab your jacket, and look back over your shoulder. “Thank you for your company, Angel.”

He lifts his beer bottle to you, in salute. “Likewise. I’ll be in touch.” He pushes off the bar, and heads back to the table. “Night, guys.”

“Night, Angel,” Che chimes in, before sliding his arm around you. He sounds tired, his arm sitting a little heavy over your shoulders. “You ready?”

“Beyond,” you agree, and start for the door.

There are three slices of pizza left of the table, in front of you. The game is in the third quarter, and there’s a third Panther injured, and sitting on the sidelines. Taza is on his third beer, and the dog between you, on the couch, is serving as your third wheel.

Taza isn’t big on coincidences, nor does he lean toward superstition. But, the number three is weighing on his mind.

Neither of you really has a stake in this game. The score is average, the commentators are pretty typical, and you can’t seem to understand how Houston is losing, when Carolina lost Christian McCaffery to a hamstring injury, in the first half. You’ve grumbled about it, at least a dozen times. They’re doing their best, is the best answer Taza can come up with. It nearly spring-boarded off his tongue, before he could stop it. It would be a dead giveaway, that his focus is somewhere else. And, he’s trying, he really is. Pizza, drinks, football. It’s a very, very normal night.

Except that, no, no, it really isn’t.

Now, it can be said that Taza is a lot of things. Peaceable, where possible, sure. He’s getting too old for fist-fights, every other day. Intuitive, absolutely. He probably wouldn’t be V.P., otherwise. The position wasn’t designed for a complete dumbass. And, for everything that Taza is, there are plenty of things that he isn’t.

Stupid.

Irrational.

Young.

All right, that last one’s probably just vanity talking. (Never much took himself for a victim of that one, either). It doesn’t make it any less true. He’s holding up all right, he supposes. He can still ride, and hold his weapon straight. He has his hair, and his sight. All of his teeth. Sure, he gets up in the middle of the night, these days, the need to piss so bad he’s frequently sworn off all liquids, after noon. He doesn’t have the stamina he once had, loathe though he is to admit it, but it’s not as if he has a lot of trouble in the bedroom. Once in a while, things may not go… according to plan, but you haven’t complained. You might ask, “You doing all right?”, more often than he appreciates, at times, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

Well. That was a peppy little inventory of his face-first slide into old age.

Really, all-in-all, things are going pretty well. The two of you mesh in an interesting way, given the generation gap. You don’t treat him like a geriatric, or as your elder. You understand a lot of his outdated references, far more than he has ever encountered in anyone of… any age, honestly. Life, philosophy, it’s like… It’s like talking to himself, sometimes, when he talks to you. You just get it. It’s beautiful, and amazing, and he can’t believe that, out of all the billions of people on this planet, he found you. Moreover, that you want to be with him.

This is probably why he can’t get the scene at the clubhouse bar out of his head.

He wants to ask what you and Angel were talking about. He wants to know, so fucking badly. You’d been staring at Angel – a very shirtless Angel – when Taza stepped into the room. And, that stare was intent. Focused. You’d established, very early in your relationship, that looking will always be a forgivable offense. Appreciation of another being doesn’t jeopardize your love for one another. But… You’d touched. Your fingers were on Angel’s belt. The kid was in his smoothest stance, beside you. “I’ll be in touch.”

He wants to ask, but he can’t. Jealousy isn’t very becoming.

Angel is a nice kid, Taza supposes, all things considered. A bit of a man whore, maybe. Definitely a walking ad for penicillin. The ladies – and, plenty of the guys – love the hell out of him. A few tacos short of a combination plate, but a real talker. Fun-loving, and energetic.

Little bastard is probably a fucking three.

Heaving a sigh, Taza settles more heavily into the couch. It’s a comfortable sectional, and – embarrassing, though it is – he’s more than just a little bit in love with your chaise lounge. You have the best taste in furniture of anyone he’s ever encountered. Truthfully, you have the best taste in everything. Music, food, décor. And, according to you, your taste in men is absolutely impeccable. Your words, not his. He tries to draw on that, as something close to comfort.

It’s not that he’s suspicious, not really. Not really. In the entire run of your relationship, he’s seen you deep in conversation with other Club members half a dozen times, at best. Twice, you’ve given Coco advice on feminine needs for his daughter. Creeper has asked for details about your car, trying to decide whether it is worth buying his old lady one like it. Another conversation had been with Hank, the two of you tuning out the rest of the room, while he gave you tips on where to buy the best treats for Flint.

Smiling, Taza reaches down to pet the mentioned pooch’s head, where it rests on his thigh. He knows his visitor is bothered, not having left his side, all night.

Bothered. That’s one way to put it. And, quite frankly, Taza feels like an old fool. You’ve been entirely honest about your preferences, that you have zero interest in men your age, and younger. That they’re all ‘overgrown children’, and ‘don’t have their shit together’. But, according to you, the worst part is that they don’t understand you. You operate on different levels.

You and Taza operate on the same level. He understands you. And, you tell him, all the time, that you find his age to be a turn-on. You’re forever leaving him in a silent fluster, telling him he’s gorgeous, and sexy. That he’s the only man that’s ever made you feel so good. So whole. You don’t care that he’s set in his ways, because it doesn’t stop you from trying to urge him into trying new things. You don’t care that you sometimes wear him out after a single round, telling him that sleep is ‘a beautiful thing’. You don’t care that he doesn’t sport a perfect six-pack, unless he’s carrying a six-ring of your favourite beer. You still make him feel desirable. You make him feel young, and worthy of the love and attention you bestow upon him.

You’re amazing. Everything he never thought he’d find in another soul, ever again.

“Well, that sucks,” you complain, pulling Taza’s wandering attentions back to the television. He’s been so absorbed in his own worries, he’s missed the entire fourth quarter. At least he’d called the win, in Carolina’s favour. “So, whaddaya’ say, old man? Ice cream, and SVP?”

Taza looks at you, for a moment. A long moment, really taking you in. Your smile is so soft, teetering on tired. Your hair is tussled, probably from a rough finish on that game. (Hey, nobody told you to root for Houston, tonight). Yes, you’re amazing. You’re beautiful, and you’re perfect, and you don’t need to tell him what you and Angel were chatting over. He just needs to trust in you, and in the security of your relationship.

“Sounds good to me, (y/n).” You lean over, careful of Flint, and press a gentle kiss to Taza’s lips, before getting off of the couch. Taza watches you walk away, before closing his eyes, and taking in a deep breath. He holds it for a second, then slowly lets it out through his mouth.

No, jealousy is not very becoming, at all. Thankfully, it has no place, here and now. After all, he’s the one on your couch, cuddled up with your dog. He’s the one who gets to enjoy your company. And, come Hell or high water, he’s the one you’ll wake up with, tomorrow morning.

For the record, Taza loves the belt buckle you gift him for his birthday. The metal has been worked to include four incredibly detailed feathers, adorned with three turquoise stones, and an ethically-recovered bear claw. He seems to like that part the best.

And, by the time you tell him that Angel helped make it possible, he’s forgotten all about his insecurities. All he remembers of that night is how the ice cream melted on the counter, after he followed you to the kitchen, lifted you into his arms, and carried you to the bedroom. He’d had the strangest urge to show you how sorry he was for ruining your night out.

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#mayans m.c. fanfiction #mayans m.c.#taza x reader #taza romero x reader #taza x you #taza romero x you #anonymous request #fanfiction requests #ask box fic #Jealousy Thursday #che taza

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popopretty · 3 years

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Storm Bringer Spoilers (2)

I translated another part from the novel to give a bit more insights on Dazai’s scheme this time. This time from the perspective of Adam, the AI inspector. Even though it may sound contradictory to what Dazai told Verlaine before, I personally think that they were not all lies, which is kinda sad and terrifying at the same time.

Feel free to re-translate it if you want. Just note that I am not 100% confident with my translation and some of the meanings might be lost through bridge-translation.

[CODE;03]

....

A rain of bullets flew towards me. I opened the shock-resistant shield from my forearm. This shield is like an umbrella. It is coated by a superalloy that is resistant to heat and shock. It can ward off most small-scale mass attacks. It is a custom-made product that was designed to withstand the high energy of Arahabaki. All the full metal jacket bullet slid through the surface of the shield and landed behind me. Three shots didn’t slide but stopped when touching the surface, peeling off the alloy surface with their kinetic energy. But the damage was minor.

I leapt with my shield still raising. I stepped on the soldiers’ rifles and did a double leap. Upon landing at the wall behind them, I bounced back and hit them from the back. It was a light attack that can break some ribs, I knew it from the sensor. First one down. While I was still above the soldiers, I bent my leg like a sickle and swept the legs of another one, knocking him off the ground. When he fell down, I injected him with a dose of medicine from the needle on my finger. That made two.

However, while I was busy suppressing these two soldiers, the other one had more than enough time to raise their guns. Three of them were aiming at me. My hands were both on the floor and bearing my body weight, I couldn’t raise my shield. I did a high-speed search for a countermeasure. None of them would make it in time.

I ended up not needing a countermeasure.

The soldiers spasmed with the sound from an electric shock and dropped their guns. After a few seconds of agony, they lost their strength and collapsed.

I didn’t do anything.

Behind the soldiers, from the corridor on the other side of the door, I saw the savior who saved my day. That was someone I really didn’t expect.

“How boring.”, that person said as he lowered his Taser gun. “You use electric to knock down people, but all they do is to collapse. Boring.”

“You are... Port Mafia’s...”

Dazai Osamu.

The person who brought Chuuya-sama to the Port Mafia.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Inspector. Where is Chuuya?”

The boy of the same age as Chuuya-sama asked me, as he threw off the Taser gun.

“Chuuya-sama is...”

“Well, based on the time, has he been caught? Or is it about time he was rescued?” Dazai-san walked over the unconscious soldiers and came towards me. “If that’s the case then it’s not fun at all. I couldn’t see Chuuya weeping when he was tortured.”

“Tortured? Chuuya-sama?”

So Chuuya-sama was captured and tortured? It’s possible. But how can this boy know all of that? Why is he here in the first place? If I remember correctly, Dazai-san is the nullification ability user, the trump card against Verlaine. And I am pretty sure we tried to contact him because of that but couldn’t get through at all. So why is he here, right now?

“You will ask me why I came. I will answer, “Because it is a part of the plan.”. You will ask me what the plan is. And I will answer, “Everything. From the beginning to the end, I have this whole Verlaine incident in the palm of my hand. And then you will ask what I mean by that.”

In order to understand what Dazai-san said, I analyzed the information with high priority by my processor. However, Dazai-san’s thinking was even faster than that. I had to give it my best just to catch up with him.

“I will then say, everything literally means everything. All Verlaine’s targets, including the detective and the researcher, were decided based on the information that I gave him. It means his assassination planning procedure is also my procedure. Now you will ask me, “Why did you do such a thing?””

That’s it. That’s exactly what I want to know. What Dazai-san said just now strongly suggested that he had joined hands with Verlaine. There is a high possibility that he was the one who pulled the strings behind the death of the detective, and Chuuya-sama’s current serious situation. In another word, betrayal. Depending on his response, it might become another battle here.

However, Dazai-san’s final answer was far beyond my expectation.

“To buy time, before Verlaine could get to his final target. His final target is Port Mafia’s Boss, Mori Ougai. Mori san was supposed to be the first in his list, but thanks to me handing him the list, he has been changed to the last one. Thanks to the time I have bought, I am almost done with a plan to reverse-assassinate him. But before that, I have one last thing to finish.”, Dazai-san said with a smile as he reached out his hand and helped me get up.

Then he stared into the middle of nowhere, and said with the eyes of a wizard who could see through everything, “Chuuya will kill N at this rate. Then he will cease to be human. But I want to see Chuuya suffering as a human. So I’m going to stop him.”

***

The alarm went off as if the disaster that will destroy the world has finally come. The emergency lights went red and the scene of the facility changed completely. It is like we were inside a monster’s stomach. The wireless feeds were released to all the general staff and the warnings were being called repeatedly on all lines.

Intruders in the Lab area. The internal information staff are to dispose of the prescribed materials and leave the premise immediately. The operation staff are to be ready for action with first-class equipment. This is not a drill. This is not a drill.

I continued my work, while removing the noisy warnings from my hearing options. We pushed the unconscious Shirase-san into the equipment storage room. I closed the door and applied the electric lock.

“I have changed the lock here into the time-varying encryption type. That way, Shirase-san will be safe for a while.”

“Thank you. Next is Chuuya.”, Dazai-san said so then walked away as if he didn’t care about Shirase-san at all.

“Please wait, Dazai-san.”, I called out to him. “About Chuuya-sama, you just said “as a human being”? Do you know if Chuuya-sama is a human or not?”

I somehow had a strange expectation that a person like him would know the truth. I didn’t have any reasons, but I felt that. It’s human’s arrogance to think that intuition and inspiration do not exist for us machines. If it’s something humans can do, then I can do it too.

“I don’t know.”, Dazai-san said simply. But his eyes slightly narrowed like he was having some deep thoughts. “Both N and Verlained said that Chuuya was not human. But I think there is more than that. Because I have read this notebook, this Rimbaud’s Memoir. To some extents, the incidents this time all started from this memoir.”, Dazai-san said, taking out an old leather-bound notebook from his pocket.

Rimbaud’s Memoir!

I quickly scanned the notebook that Dazai-san had. This might be the real thing. This might be. Rimbaud’s Memoir is a kind of journal that the dead spy Rimbaud kept in secret before his mission. It contains information related to the spy missions during the Great War, so even though there were rumors about it, there was no information that it has ever been found.

“Just what have you done to get your hand on that?”

“You can try to ask, but I will just tell you lies anyway. Because I am a liar.”

A mysterious smile appeared on Dazai-san’s face. I ran him through my lie detector sensors but there was no responses. His vital signs are almost the same as of a sleeping person. The output data is too normal for such a condition. This is not normal. Just who in the world is this boy?

“We do not really have time to hold a tea party and chat here. We have to find Chuuya first.”, Dazai-san scratched the back of his neck and said with a dim voice.

“How can we find him?”

“Finding Chuuya is always easy.”, Dazai-san smiled as if he already saw through everything. “We just look in the direction with the loudest noise.”

....

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #storm bringer #spoilers #bsd spoilers #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #adam frankenstein

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highlifeboat · 2 years

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u kno what else we need.. bela and mia headcanons, we don't see much of them interacting, same for dani and mia. we need more content of the girls with their (step)-mom!

Bela and Mia headcanons!

Bela and Mia are both science nerds.

Bela likes all kinds of sciences, but Mia specifically enjoys biology and paleontology

Mia once saw Bela reading a biology book about animals and proceeded to go on a 30 minute tangent about why there are so many different breeds of dogs and Bela listened to the entire thing, mostly surprised that Mia even knew half the words she was saying.

Sometimes they do science experiments together. Usually stuff like baking soda volcanos, y’know, for fun, but sometimes they do more high scale projects.

But never dissections. At least, not animal dissections.

Alcina once caught the two of them making Elephant Toothpaste in her bathtub and the entire bathroom AND her dressing room was filled with the stuff.

They’re no longer allowed to do those types of projects inside.

Besides being science nerds, they’re both huge animal lovers.

They once had a nearly 4-5 hour long discussion on how birds and reptiles are technically modern dinosaurs, and how something like a T-Rex could evolve into a chicken.

Elena, Zoe, and Alcina, after they all had to sit there and listen to that conversation: “Holy shit we love a couple of fucking dorks.”

Mia likes to watch Bela fold origami. She just… finds it relaxing.

Bela, when she caught Mia trying on Alcina’s dresses: “Feels pretty good, right?” “...Yeah….” “It’s okay, I won’t tell Mama.” “*Sigh* Thank you.”

Mia’s helped Bela get through panic attacks on more than one occasion even before her and Alcina were dating. Because she knows how awful they are to have with nobody around to help.

And Daniela and Mia headcanons!

Daniela and Mia have the same level of Feral Energy

They play-wrestle all the damn time, and (much like with Cassandra) Mia usually lets Daniela win.

Mia once suggested they carpet slide down the stairs. Daniela didn’t know what that meant but was excited about it anyway.

Spoiler: It didn’t go well and they both ended up getting concussions.

They later did a similar thing with a laundry basket.

Shocker, Mia doesn’t like Max, and while she doesn’t think it’s her place to pry into any of the girls’ relationships (Except for like… if they date Melony), she is one of the people who’s a little worried Daniela might be getting used.

That said, it is kind of nice just to see Daniela so happy, and sometimes Max really isn’t that bad to be around.

Daniela was the first one who got Mia to start using buzzing as a verbal stim.

They would probably both benefit from chewelry, because Daniela will chew on things absentmindedly and Mia is a nailbiter.

Daniela will ramble to Mia at length about the latest romance book she’s read.

Mia doesn’t understand the appeal of romance novels, but she’s happy to listen to any of the girls talk about any of their interests.

Mia read one of Daniela’s Mothman fanfictions once.

Mia's face, as she reads the fanfiction:

D: “So, did you like it?? OwO” M: “Well… You took some real creative liberty with giving a giant moth a dick, I’ll give you that. TuT’”

It wasn’t that it was bad. It was that it was good. And detailed. And a self insert.

Daniela holds Mia’s hand if she (Dani) starts getting overwhelmed/sensory overload.

If it gets really bad Mia will take her to a nice quiet spot to calm down. Usually one of the rooms where Daniela has piled her squishmallows.

#i'm sorry this took forever #but you're right we needed some bela/dani and mia content lol #asks #anons #headcanons

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wherethewordsare · 3 years

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DESIDERATUM Pt2

Beginning>> Next

Summary: Desideratum - to long for. Five times Jaskier needed Geralt, plus one time Geralt needed him.

Hey yall, this is another train fic! Keep an eye out for the next part on Friday from our next mystery contributor!

He told himself it was for a number of reasons that he went out looking for Geralt. He told himself it was because he was bored at court, because Virginia was in a cooling phase, that Arthur was due back home any week now and Jaskier wasn’t looking forward to another shouting match between the count and countess.

Jaskier told himself so many things as he followed the rumors to the river as to why he went looking for Geralt but the true reason.

When he came down the path, he took a beat, watching his- his what? Geralt would never let him call him anything that made Geralt his anything. But there Geralt was, his shoulders drawn in a hard line of tension, sleeves rolled up over his elbows.

Everything had gone tits up so fast that Jaskier didn’t know what else to do, so he did what he always would do. He clung to Geralt and hoped that the look of worry and concern were real and not just a creation of his own panic as he struggled for breath. The lump in his throat when he looked at Geralt was no longer just metaphorical and it crushed against his windpipe in a way that felt too much like a hand strangling the air from him.

He tried for words but nothing came and Jaskier simply let himself be dragged along, first to a healer who was simply ineffectual and then to the witch. He was out before too long, sliding into a hazy sleep where he couldn’t call out for Geralt any more than he could with that thing blocking his voice.

Coming to was no more illuminating than before, but he had a taste in his mouth of dust and blood and something sharp like magic meant to harm, In his fog he thought maybe he had been put in a bed in an inn somewhere and turned, reaching for the solid line of Geralt’s side that wasn’t there. For a moment, panic swelled in his chest and he thought the magic had come back, choking him again, but it was just the same pain he realized he was growing accustom to.

The woman on the edge of the bed, her back turned to him was gorgeous and haunting, her black hair cascading down her naked back-

Her naked back. What had happened? Where was Geralt? Why did Jaskier remember an orgy?

“Not to be untoward or anything, but did we-” he gestured vaguely between himself and the woman but when she turned, her face was a mask of determination and power. He scrambled from the bed, his boots by the door.

When she asked for him to try some scales, the only song he could think to sing was Geralt’s. If he was close, maybe he would hear, maybe he would come and save him. Jaskier needed him to appear, to pull him out by the scruff of his neck as he always had and make those faces at him again, the ones Jaskier could tell himself made it feel like Geralt actually cared, even a little bit.

“Make your last wish!” she demanded as she stood above her circle of candles.

He knew what he desired, what would sooth the thing roiling in his gut but in the moment, he didn’t want to risk putting Geralt into the path of this crazy woman. “I- I wish very badly to leave this place forever!”

When she started chanting, he ran.

“Oh Geralt, thank the gods,” he huffed. It would have been so easy to just lean into him, into the space where Jaskier knew he’d be safe. He could pretend that Geralt would be happy he was alive even as he rushed in to save the witch that had just nearly tried to kill him.

“She saved your life, Jaskier, I can’t let her die.” What was he supposed to do with that.

Jaskier stood in the middle of the road, watching as the house seemed to partially collapse, and his heart collapsed with it. His chest constricted in a way he hadn’t been expecting. Sure he had cared for Geralt but something else, something like poison slipped between his ribs and festered into his heart.

Jaskier didn’t just care for Geralt, he might have been just a little bit in love with him and it hadn’t been fair that he had resigned himself to a life chasing after the impossible.

“... It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” There was a war within him. His- not his. Geralt was gone and Jaskier was left behind, as always, picking up the pieces of something he hadn’t realized would shatter so easily.

“They’re alive!” Chireadan slumped down in front of him, pulling him to the window

Jaskier pushed in beside him, expecting relief to sooth the vibration under his skin. They were alive alright, and fucking their way to proving it. It had never bothered him before the idea of Geralt sleeping with someone. It shouldn’t have mattered then and so he told himself it didn’t.

Just this once, and then we’ll never see her again. Jaskier reasoned, turning away quickly.

But of course it wasn’t.

And it wasn’t… and it wasn’t… and it wasn’t. And each time they ran into Yennefer by chance, by fate, or by Geralt’s own undefined need, a part of Jaskier chipped and cracked and threatened to shatter.

“I thought we had a contract in Vizima?” Jaskier bounced along side Roach, his fingers working over a particularly tricky chord procession.

“I have a contract in Vizima,” Geralt deadpanned, not looking at Jaskier.

“That’s all well and good, but this is the road to Murivel,”

“I know how to read a map, Jaskier,” he growled back, but there didn’t seem to be any heat behind it. Instead, Geralt seemed almost pleased with himself.

“I don’t doubt your ability with a map, Witcher, but I’m starting to doubt your sanity. What are you playing at?” he jogged up a bit until he was nearly in step with Roach, pushing his lute back over his shoulder.

“There’s a bardic competition in Murivel for one of their festivals.” And there it was, that smile Geralt gave him on the rare occasions when the coin was alright, the people weren’t awful, and all the gods agreed that Jaskier should have something at least slightly nice in his life. He tried not to admit how much he had come to live off those smiles or to read into them.

“What about the contract?”

“Hm,” Geralt smirked, urging Roach on, leaving Jaskier to follow.

They had found a room at a tavern on the edge of town and Geralt had even agreed to attend for Jaskier’s performance.

“I mean it, Geralt! I’m counting on you,” Jaskier teased, throwing a towel at him as he climbed out of the bath.

It felt like nearly every eye in Murivel was on him when he took the stage, but even through the haze of pipe smoke and the setting sun, Jaskier could still make out Geralt towards the edge of the square, his eyes not leaving Jaskier as he began to play. He hadn’t realized how much he had needed just that one set of amber eyes on him to settle his nerves.

Jaskier had glanced away for a moment but when his eyes found Geralt again, those same eyes were now caught in violet ones framed by dark raven hair and a smile like a knife. It cut Jaskier to ribbons and his fingers tripped over the chords he otherwise knew in his sleep.

Geralt had said it was because of a bardic competition, but as Jaskier left the stage, knowing that he lost points for his sudden loss of breath mid performance, he felt… played.

Geralt would come back, of course he would. He always did. Jaskier sat at the end of the bar in the tavern and watched the door as he slowly tipped himself into the well made mead, spending nearly every coin of his third place winnings. He watched and waited as the tavern slowly emptied out, the barkeep getting more and more aggressive with insisting Jaskier call it a night. And so he did.

Jaskier climbed the stairs alone and pushed into their… his room. The only thing there that had even suggested he wasn’t travelling alone was a second cloak hanging beside his on the back of the door. He reached out, adjusting it without purpose until he couldn’t bare to touch the thing any more.

The note he left for Geralt was short and to the point and Jaskier didn’t think he would even think anything of it. Jaskier was prone to taking off randomly and this would have been no different, not from where Geralt stood anyways.

He hadn’t slept and he watched through the tiny window as the sky beyond the city went from a deep bruising blue to a soft gray. He had set out then, not looking back as he found the road west.

Jaskier swallowed around the lumb that had caught in his throat, the memory of the djinn tinging it with that same sharp taste that still left him breathless and helpless.

“She saved your life, Jaskier. I can’t let her die,” he said, his eyes softer than they normally would be.

The exhaustion in his bones couldn’t outway the burning in his chest that propelled him forward. Jaskier had never understood why Geralt couldn’t have let her die while Jaskier himself stood there choking to death on a need he could not name.

#witcher #witcher fic #geraskier #jay writes #witcher train #rating: teen #part 2

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keepyourpantsongohan · 3 years

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And Many Happy Returns

A gift for @sloaners, one of the funniest, nicest and most talented people I know. You deserve nothing but good things, so here’s something made with the wish to make you smile. Please check out the collaborative pieces by @uintuva @tomicaleto @kiro-sveta and @ohayohimawari. | AO3 (Art/Writing) | Podfic |

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It starts, as the best intentions often do, with a thirty-year-old man blowing out a birthday candle.

“Happy birthday, Kakashi,” Tenzō tells him warmly.

This warmth between them is both new and old. It aches of familiarity, and partnership, and all the things Kakashi has compartmentalized as something he ought to think about at a later date. But it is later, the moon shining down upon them in the wee hours of the night, his face bare to his companion. It’s a new world order, one where to Kakashi is the Sixth Hokage, and the village is bustling with migrants from all its neighbours, and where he lets someone look at him the way Tenzō is doing, like he has done something incredibly right.

Kakashi wishes Obito were here to see this. He likes to think it would annoy him a little, even if this was exactly what he had suggested.

“So how does it feel?” Tenzō asks, smiling. He sets down the cupcake, knowing Kakashi isn’t interested in sweets anyway. “Your first birthday as Hokage. This should be a day that the whole village celebrates.”

“Maa, you know I don’t like parties,” Kakashi says, ducking his head as if a villager might pop up somewhere with a confetti canon. He reaches out and lets his fingers brush Tenzō’s. “This is fine with me.”

Tenzō sighs, all fondness. “Well, you have to at least let me show you your birthday present.”

Kakashi raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Did you bring something?”

Tenzō shakes his head. “It’s more of something I get to show, actually.”

It’s very tempting for Kakashi to make a joke at that, but his thought is soon cut off by a gleaming light in the sky, a bright blue-green speck making its way from far up above them, heading downward quite suddenly. For a moment, he thinks it could be a shooting star. Yet it doesn’t look much like a star to him, particularly not when he realizes whatever it is is hurtling not only towards the ground, but towards them. Kakashi’s mental calculations suggest that the meteor will land before they get a chance to move.

It is all they can do to brace for impact. Kakashi feels his chakra gather in his palms and raises his hands so that he might be able to form a chidori. Beside him, Tenzō’s hands form a serpent seal and a wooden dome suddenly encloses them. A futile effort, given the speed and force of the object, but one Kakashi appreciates nonetheless.

What surprises him, however, is when the meteor passes straight through the barrier, lands in their laps with a groan, and lets out a frustrated, “Ow!”

Kakashi’s brain tries to catch up to the situation. They’re alive. They’re alive, and so is their meteor. Except it’s not a meteor, it’s a mint green man, who has appendages jutting out from his neck that dig into Kakashi’s thigh. Kakashi’s eyes rove over the man’s back, taking in the familiarity of what he is facing.

“Obito?” asks Kakashi incredulously.

“Obito?!” Tenzō repeats, his voice rising an octave. “Your Obito? Kakashi, isn’t he supposed to be dead?”

Kakashi says, before he can think much about it, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

In answer to their questions, Obito finally rolls over, confirming what Kakashi already knew. Obito’s face and body are the same as they were at the height of the war by all accounts. Scales, tomoe, and horns decorate his body, but what draws most of his attention are the brushstrokes painted across his stomach, reading, “Love, Kaa-san~”

A hand thrown over his eyes, Obito grumbles out, “Your mother says, ‘Happy birthday,’ Bakashi.”

—

Tenzō’s first order of business is to find out how this happened. Obito’s first order of business, as soon as he is able to stand on his own two feet, is to stare at Kakashi.

“Wh— That’s— You’re handsome!” Obito accuses, outraged. He points his finger at Kakashi’s uncovered face.

It’s unclear if Kakashi’s face is flushed from the impact of Obito’s words or the impact of his body flying at them from space. “Uh, thanks,” Kakashi replies weakly.

“Can we go back to Kakashi’s mother?” Tenzō asks, waving a hand in front of them. “How many people are back from the dead?”

“Just me, so far,” says Obito, a little defensively. “Kaguya’s immortal, so it’s not like she was dead in the first place.”

“Kaguya,” Kakashi echoes flatly, eyes drifting up to the night sky. Tenzō’s gaze follows his, staring up at the moon, suddenly conscious of every moment he and Kakashi might have shared under the moon’s light. “My... mother?”

Obito claps his hands together, distracting Tenzō and Kakashi from their respective existential crises. “Right! She said this would help explain.”

Then, without preamble, Obito steps towards Kakashi, places his hands on either side of his face, and pulls him forward into a long, enthusiastic kiss. Kakashi’s hands drift upward, hovering over Obito’s sides. Though Tenzō can’t see both of Kakashi’s eyes, he does see one of them widen and shut, as a bright light pulses from Kakashi’s forehead, blowing his hair upward with an accompanying breeze. They draw apart, with half-smiles on their faces.

“Oh,” Kakashi says, as if the situation makes any more sense. He looks at Tenzō. “Can you tell him too?”

Obito nods. Tenzō tries not to jump when Obito leans towards him and their lips meet. As they do, Tenzō’s eyes are flooded with images, first of a woman with three eyes and long silver hair, and then of a man who looks just like Kakashi. The images flash quickly from the woman holding a small child, to passing through rips in the universe, to the remnants of Obito’s chakra being pulled into the moon. It is not unlike being awoken from a genjutsu.

When the last memory passes before his eyes, Tenzō pulls away and says, “You know, all she said you had to do was touch us. Any reason you chose a kiss?”

Obito’s mint green skin turns a bright shade of orange. “Hey— Well... Kakashi, help me out here.”

“It was a pretty good kiss,” Kakashi offers in reply. “Eight out of ten, at least.”

“Six and a half,” says Tenzō. “He bit my lip.”

Obito grumbles under his breath, “Some people like that,” while Kakashi laughs.

—

“Remind me again why we’re staying at Yamato’s place and not yours, Bakashi?”

Kakashi tosses a pillow at Obito, which, to Tenzō’s mild regret, he catches. “Because my place is the Hokage’s residence. Your chakra signature is too noticeable. Not to mention, the horns.”

There’s far more intrigue in Kakashi’s last few words than Tenzō finds comforting.

Obito and Tenzō lock eyes. “He looks at me judgementally,” Obito complains, pouting.

“That’s because I’m judging you,” Tenzō informs him, just a little bit amused. “Consider me your rehabilitation sponsor.”

Obito winces. “Doesn’t me dying count for something?”

Tenzō regards Obito speculatively, weighing the consequences of an honest answer. Strangely enough, the man seems sincere. One of the orbs floating by Obito’s head brushes against Tenzō’s cheek, like a sulking cat seeking attention. “No,” says Tenzō, this time smiling outright.

Tenzō brings his attention back to Kakashi. He roots through one of his utility pouches, and shortly deposits what he finds into Kakashi’s palm. “This was supposed to be a gift for you,” Tenzō explains. “But now I suppose it makes more sense to give it to both of you.”

“A key,” Kakashi observes, turning the wood over between his fingers. His mask, now back in place, doesn’t fully hide the flush creeping up.

Tenzō nods, and with a few hand seals, a duplicate is in his hands. “I like my house the way it is,” he tells Obito, closing his fist over it.

Without waiting for a reply, Tenzō crosses the room to head upstairs. Aside from Kakashi and Obito likely needing their own moment to speak, he feels the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes.

As his feet reach the third step, he hears Obito say, “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“You might try being helpful,” Tenzō calls out from the stairwell.

—

Obito decides to take Yamato—Tenzō, as Kakashi keeps calling him—seriously. He spends the next morning in Tenzō’s kitchen helping out. The fridge doesn’t have everything he needs, but he saves time by going out into the garden and encouraging some of the fruits to grow with his mokuton. Food hasn’t been a necessity for Obito for a few years, so he takes care in arranging it, hoping that if it isn’t tasty, it’s at least well-presented.

Obito is attempting to place seaweed on rice in an appreciable impression of a cat’s ears when Tenzō comes to stand beside him.

“Is this for Kakashi?”

“This one is for you,” Obito says, gesturing. “The other one is for Kakashi. His box has a rabbit.”

Tenzō eyes crinkle at the corners. Obito is beginning to recognize the motion for what it is, a reflection of the way Kakashi smiles, when the mask is in place. “Thank you. I can bring it to him, if you want.”

Obito mulls over the offer. “We can go together.”

“I don’t know if that’s—“

Obito closes the box, and uses his free hand to wave off Tenzō’s concerns. “Don’t worry about it. It’s too early for him to have any visitors. Besides, I want to see if he really wears those robes like Old Man Third.”

Tenzō shakes his head. “How are you planning to pass through the village unnoticed?“

Obito taps his temple, right beside his sharingan. “Kamui,” he says, both an explanation and a warning.

“Obito—”

In one fluid motion, Obito tucks a bento box in the crook of his arm and grabs Tenzō’s elbow to yank him forward. Moments later, they stand in front of Kakashi, who looks surprised but pleased.

“What brings you two here?”

“Your lunch,” Obito declares, sliding the box across his desk.

Kakashi rests one elbow on the desk, leaning his head on his palm. “What’s the occasion?”

“I didn’t give you a gift,” Obito says, and then freezes.

At once, both he and Kakashi realize what Obito has said. Kakashi is looking at him the same way he did the night before. His stricken look and doubt from the war is gone, replaced by something warmer and softer. Obito feels his face heat up.

“There’s nothing you need to give me,” Kakashi says quietly. He hasn’t stopped looking at Obito.

“I want to,” Obito tells him honestly. It feels freeing to say it.

Kakashi finally breaks their gaze. “That’s good to hear,” is what he says, reaching for the bento box. Their fingers brush.

Though Obito can feel Tenzō looking at them, he finds himself distracted in Kakashi’s face. The war feels only like yesterday to Obito, but he can see new lines on Kakashi’s face that hadn’t been there before. Lines beside his eyes to accompany his smile, a tan line peeking up from where his mask has not sat evenly on his face, and a line between his brows that reminds Obito he is standing in front of the Sixth Hokage.

“Kakashi, I—”

What Obito is going to say, even he cannot predict, but he is spared from answering by the door to Kakashi’s office suddenly bursting open.

“Sakura, Sai,” Kakashi greets the two teenagers casually, as if there is not a six-foot-tall formerly dead rogue ninja in his office. “What’s going on?”

Sakura stares, disbelief written on her face. “I could ask the same question.”

“It’s a long story,” Tenzō says, raising his hands in a warding gesture.

The boy, who must be Sai, blinks, looking oddly unaffected. “Kakashi-sama, is this some kind of test?”

“Would you believe it if I said yes?” Kakashi asks.

Sakura gives him a withering look. “Not even a little bit.”

Though Sakura is the one Obito expects to be gawking at him, given that she was present when he died, her ire is directed towards her teacher. It is Sai who looks at him with focused curiosity. Well, Obito supposes people don’t encounter a jinchuriki with his appearance every day. “If you have something to ask, just say it,” Obito tells him.

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” Sai inquires seriously. He has a sketchpad in his hands, as if he were intending to take notes.

“Why are you alive?” Sakura asks, reasonably.

“It was Kakashi’s birthday yesterday,” he explains, before Tenzō grabs his arm and phases them both through the wooden floor.

—

“Just stay put for now,” Tenzō demands, when they arrive in his back garden. “We’re lucky it was those two. If Sasuke or Naruto were in the village right now, there would’ve been much more of a scene.”

Obito sits down on the engawa, feet sinking into the grass. “I was just helping out,” he says, shrugging.

Tenzō takes a seat beside him. “Help less obviously.”

“Kakashi wouldn’t take my apology,” Obito replies quietly. He brushes his fingers over a dandelion, letting it grow taller and wilder in his grasp. “But he would take my lunch. I know he still has thoughts about my past, but he won’t say anything about it. He just keeps looking at me like...”

“...He’s happy that you’re alive?” Tenzō suggests. “He is. Believe me, he doesn’t look at just anyone like that.”

“He looks at you like that.”

Though his expression doesn’t change, Obito doesn’t need a sharingan to pick up the redness in Tenzō’s cheeks. “It’s complicated.”

“Am I complicating it?” Obito asks sincerely.

“A little,” Tenzō admits, to Obito’s surprise. The other man chuckles. “But I think you’d be complicating it whether you were alive or not. And I like to see him happy.”

The words make Obito’s stomach tighten in a pleasant way. He takes a moment to take stock of his companion. It is easy enough to see what Kakashi sees in him, in his honest feelings, determination and loyalty. It makes Obito wonder if they can make whatever this is work after all.

“I’m sorry for what happened during the war,” Obito tells him. “For what I did to you. I know what it’s like to be used. It doesn’t change anything, but—”

“It does,” Tenzō interjects calmly. “It helps.”

Obito wants to say something more, but both of them turn their attention to the woods, feeling a familiar chakra presence rushing at them at full speed.

“That’s not...”

“It is,” Tenzō confirms. “Well, this was bound to happen eventually.”

With that, a green blur rolls straight past Tenzō’s wards and jerks to a halt right at the edge of Tenzō’s property. “Yamato, my youthful friend!! Is it true that you and my rival are now living together in hot-blooded cohabitation?”

“Does he really not notice me?” Obito mutters. Tenzō kicks him.

“Not exactly, Gai,” Tenzō calls out. “He’s free to come and go as he pleases.”

Gai, who looks every bit as energetic as ever, pushes his wheelchair closer to them. “Yosh!! Just like Kakashi!” Gai replies. “He wants to train harder before taking that next step.”

When he is at arm’s length from the house, Gai turns his stare to Obito, narrowing his eyes with a concerned frown.

“Hey Gai,” Obito says, waving.

Gai lets out a thoughtful hum. “Yamato, your comrade seems... familiar. Have we met before?”

“Seriously?!” Obito exclaims.

This time, Tenzō elbows Obito. “Gai, I’m not sure if he looked like this that last time you saw him, but this is Obito. He's come back from... somewhere.”

Gai’s smile fades. The seriousness in his expression looks out of place. “I see.”

Obito takes a deep breath, and stands up. He bows his head a little, half in contrition and half because he thinks Gai would rather not look at him. “I’m sorry. Kakashi told me that Naruto’s friend, the Hyuga boy, was your student. I know that doesn’t change what I did, but you deserve to hear me say it. I wish I could bring him back—”

“Neji?” Gai interrupts him, his voice shaky.

Obito offers one quick nod. “Yes, if I could’ve done things differently, I would—”

“Neji,” says Tenzō beside him, sounding shocked. “Obito, what did you do?”

It surprises Obito that Tenzō hasn’t already heard this story from Kakashi. He lifts his head to reply, when suddenly he catches sight of the source of their surprise. Standing beside Gai, unscathed, is the Hyuga boy who Obito had certainly impaled with mokuton.

“Gai-sensei?” Neji asks, stepping unsteadily towards his teacher. “What happened?”

“Neji!” Gai says again, pulling his student down into a tight hug. Gai’s eyes are full of tears, but his grin is blinding. “You’re alive!”

“Not if you keep crushing me like this,” Neji wheezes, but he returns his teacher’s embrace, pressing his face to Gai’s shoulder. Some of the weight in the air finally lifts off, and for a moment, there is peace.

And then the moment passes. Tenzō’s hand comes down firmly on Obito’s shoulder, turning them to face each other. “Obito,” he repeats soberly. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Obito yelps. “All I said was that I wish I could take back what I’d done to the Hyuga kid—”

Tenzō eyes him doubtfully. “And that was all it took? Listen, I wish that I could bring Asuma back, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to show up at our next Mahjong game.”

Obito wishes this level of suspicion was unwarranted, but he supposes his track record is less than stellar. “I don’t know what happened, alright? If you don’t believe me, ask the kid.”

“Neji,” Tenzō asks, with far more patience in his voice than he had with Obito, “what’s the last thing you remember?”

“The war,” Neji says, finally escaping Gai’s hug. He thinks for a moment, and then frowns. “And then some strange woman who claimed she knew Kakashi-sensei.”

Obito and Tenzō look at each other. And somehow, from across the village in the Sarutobi District, the wind carries out three piercing screams.

—

When Kakashi gets to Tenzō’s place that night, Obito is already fast asleep on the sofa, sitting up straight with his mouth wide open. One of the orbs that is always surrounding him bumps against Kakashi’s hand, not unlike Kakashi’s ninken do to greet him. Tugging the blanket over Obito’s shoulders, Kakashi smiles. “You’ve made a lot of paperwork for me, you know,” he tells his sleeping friend. Obito mumbles something in reply unconsciously, and Kakashi ruffles his hair, sighing.

“You can’t give him all the blame,” Tenzō points out, emerging from the kitchen with his hands on his hips. “It’s a full moon this week. Strange things tend to happen.”

Kakashi laughs. “You, defending Obito? It didn’t take him long to win you over.”

Tenzō approaches him, settling a hand between Kakashi’s shoulder blades, a soothing warmth. “Only on a trial basis.”

Kakashi closes his eyes. “You realize, as Hokage, I oversee all shinobi trials.”

He feels Tenzō laugh at his back, the hand drifting to his side. “Maybe Obito was right, this system is corrupt.”

“You can admit that you’re enjoying having him around, Tenzō,” Kakashi baits, tugging him towards the sofa.

“I find his absurdity disarming,” Tenzō confesses. “It’s similar to how I feel around you sometimes, actually.”

Kakashi pulls Tenzō down so that he can sandwich himself between the two mokuton users. “I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”

Tenzō leans on Kakashi, just as Kakashi leans on Obito. “You would.”

Obito opens one eye. “You shouldn’t talk about me like I’m not here,” he mumbles, through a yawn.

“Go back to sleep,” Kakashi says, patting him on the cheek.

For once, Obito listens. And so, tangled on the sofa is how they find themselves the next morning, when all three of them awake to a glowing purple egg gleaming innocently on Tenzō’s coffee table.

#kakaobiyama #kakayamaobi #kakashi hatake #yamato tenzo #obito uchiha #might guy #kagumo #(in the background lmao)#team 7 #naruto series #mine #ayesha talks anime #collaboration #sloaners #sending big hearts ur way sloane #my obito is always dedicated to u

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cadriona · 2 years

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i do not know if tumblr submitted an ask before i was ready to send it or not but quick summary is just love the idea of having a beiguang collection on ao3 since ship tags on ao3 have been turning into absolute slush piles to browse these last few years, and a moderated collection is a viable solution i've seen around before

the questions i have at the moment are twofold:

1. when the intro says the collection is dedicated to works "featuring" beiguang, does this mean that beiguang can be the only pairing present in the fic, no exceptions, or is this a sliding scale? i suppose the intent is that beiguang are the Main Pairing (i.e. they (as both individuals and a unit) get the most focus and development/the plot hinges on their character actions/relationship development), but what would happen in the rare situation that multiple (presumably mutually exclusive) pairings drive the plot equally? assuming it's executed well and (we'll assume two for now, as this argument probably weakens as the number grows) both pairings are featured throughout the entire story, would that qualify as a legitimate part of the collection under the current rules?

and if other pairings are allowed to be features (in the most basic sense of the word, like "facial features", not synonym for "starring") but not costars (in a sense) in a fic, what is the cutoff point for a fic to no longer be considered A Beiguang Fic, but instead A Fic Which Has A Lot Of Beiguang Who Are Important To The Story But Is Not A Beiguang Fic? i understand this is a pretty finnicky question, but art has a lot of grey area by nature, so i think it's worth at least considering.

and 2. aside from Collecting Beiguang Fics, what is the goal of the collection? like, specifically, is it meant to simply be an archive of fics (in the same sense that ao3 is an archive) where beiguang are the main/a major focal point of the story, regardless of how good, bad, or ugly the content may be at times? or is it meant to be more of a community resource, for lack of a better term, for people looking for beiguang fics meant to end well for them? i don't think there's anything wrong with the latter--esp since the rule abt foreign-language fics requiring a fluent reader to vet them first leads me to believe that fics posted to the collection would be fully read before passing judgement on their belonging and would therefore bring up mental health concerns for those moderators in the face of a fandom as prone to bad actors as genshin--and as your collection, i think you should be free to put as many restrictions as you like on the content it contains.

if it's meant to be an archive, then i have some questions regarding the details of the rules simply because they seem worded vaguely enough that annoying tricksters or whatnot with too much free time on their hands might want to toe that line and just generally be problem-riddled nuisances. but, since i'm not invested enough in beiguang to write for them or search through their slush pile, i don't wanna just be Some Outsider pestering a community member abt this resource they've created and curated for other people with substantial investment in the pairing simply bc i happen to enjoy using their resource myself, if that makes sense.

anyway, yeah!! thank you for your consideration w/the long long ask, and best of luck maintaining the beiguang collection~

Hihi! yeah this was the only ask I got, so no worries on that front :D

I'll try to answer without rambling too much, so here goes:

featuring beiguang as currently defined is indeed a sliding scale. This is because I think the fics that features two ships where neither of them are exactly a side-ship (so for instance, a double-date with ganqing or similar), may be included as well. With your example of a fic with two ships in a more plot driven fic, i'd say it would depend on more of a case by case basis and by suggestion/submission? An example would be how there are many childe/zhongli fics where beidou/ningguang are also tagged and present, but as I haven't read many of them and can't exactly judge with the rate I'm currently going through the archive, it would be difficult to say whether or not there's enough beiguang to be added to the archive. For drabble fics and the like, with maybe half of the content predominantly featuring beiguang, if that makes sense? Honestly some of your questions for part 1 are ones that have been bugging me as well, but I think I'll need the thoughts of people who have actually read the fics in question to be actually able to determine if it is a predominantly beiguang fic, or if its just one where they are present, but more in the background.

At the moment the collection is more meant as an archive in general: pretty much the good the bad, the inbetween, with certain fics left out (such as those that came about due to harrassment on twitter featuring the pairing but uh, done so in a malicious manner). It's also meant as a way to be able to quickly find beiguang-centric fics in general, seeing as the current tags are filled with chat fics, fics that tag at the slightest hint of a ship, and etc. The foreign language rule is mainly to prevent similarly malicious fics from making it into the archive, so fingers crossed I can find help on that aspect TuT

Since it's meant as an archive, yeah I agree the rules are somewhat vague at the moment and could therefore be suspect to trolling behaviour. It's why the collection, while open, is also moderated, but by the time I start adding more mods onto the team (hopefully soon because this was... a much larger undertaking then I had anticipated), then I hope it is people that I can trust and love the pairing enough to not want to ruin the experience for other people. As I get further along/more people get added, I'll definitely try to clarify the rules more, so hopefully people will bear with me as its still a growing collection and I am only one person orz

Thanks for the ask and the detail you went into for it! It helped me clear up some of my own thought processes, which i very much needed xD

And for future reference, I'm going to try to tag posts related to the archive #beiguang archives so there's that too lol

#rubberbandballqueen #ask and i shall answer #beiguang #beiguang archives #cadri's post #aka guess what I'm doing instead of writing a thesis proposal This Time

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years

Text

one chance to change your fate - chapter 4

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides, character!Thomas, Nico Flores, Dragon Witch (villain) Rating: Teen & up (see Warnings) Relationships: Loceit, Dukexiety, Royality, background Karrot Kings Warnings: Language, some sexual humor/vaguely implied sexual content, a lot of self negativity from Roman Word count: 9278 Notes: a big BIG thank you to my awesome beta @yougoodfahm!

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

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Chapter 4

Two days later, Logan was awoken by a soft yet insistent ringing in his ears—the alarm spell he’d set up to go off every morning, about half an hour before he and Janus needed to get up. He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers to turn the noise off.

He turned his attention to Janus, who was still fast asleep, lying facing him on their side; their arms were loosely wrapped around his waist and their face was nuzzled against his bare chest, the warm down coverlet tucked snugly up around their neck. Some of their hair had worked its way free of the braid they wore it to sleep in and instead trailed in wisps along their cheek. Logan reached down and gently smoothed the loose hair back, gathering it together and tucking it behind Janus’s ear; their cheek was warm and soft, their face relaxed.

Logan tipped his head to press a kiss to Janus’s forehead, gently nudging at their shoulder. “Good morning, dear,” he said softly.

Janus made a sleepy noise of complaint, shifting closer to him. Not quite awake, but stirring. Logan smiled and shook them again. “Janus.”

“Mmnh,” Janus grumbled, worming still closer. “G’way.”

“It’s time to wake up, my love.” Logan kissed their forehead again.

“Nooooo,” Janus whined, squeezing their eyes tighter shut.

Logan rubbed his hand up and down their back. “It really is, my dear.”

Janus wrinkled their nose, still not opening their eyes. “Sleep,” they mumbled.

“Well, I need to get up, then,” Logan tried.

As he’d expected, Janus’s eyes flew open and they tightened their grip around him. “No.”

Logan chuckled. “Good morning.”

“Mmh,” Janus mumbled, burying their face in his chest.

Logan stroked their hair and waited patiently for a minute; when Janus showed no further signs of stirring, he let his hand come to a rest on the back of their head. “You never answered my question the other day,” he said.

There was a pause.

“What?” Janus tipped their head back to blink up at him in bleary confusion.

Logan resumed stroking their hair. “Day before yesterday, at dinner. When Roman and Remus were asking about your terribly mysterious partner. I asked you what you thought my favorite thing about you is.”

“Oh.” Janus blinked some more, seeming marginally more awake. “Obviously my ass.”

Logan flicked their ear gently. “Dear.”

“My mouth?” Janus tried with a smirk that was too sleepy to be as suggestive as they clearly intended it to be.

“Janus. I’m serious.”

Janus wrinkled their nose and closed their eyes again. “That’s no fun.”

Logan waited, running his finger up and down along their cheek.

“I dunno,” Janus mumbled. “Probably something sappy. You’re nice like that.”

Logan smiled and cupped the side of their face in his hand. “You’re my favorite everything,” he murmured. “How clever you are. How beautiful. The way you notice every little detail. Your fierceness. Your humor. Your gorgeous scales. How stubborn you are. Your smile. Your—”

Janus rolled to lie on top of Logan and kissed him, deep and hard and still a little sleep-clumsy, warm lips sliding against his as they cradled the back of his head in their hand. Logan let his hands rest on their back, one on the small of it and one higher up tracing gentle patterns with his fingers, as he lazily reciprocated the kiss; it tasted of morning breath, but Janus was so soft and clingy and warm in the mornings that they never failed to melt him anyway.

Janus pulled back, green eyes inches from Logan’s own brown ones. “You taste bad,” they told him with a petty little pout.

“Somehow, between you stopping me from getting up to brush my teeth and you being the one who kissed me, I fail to see how that is even marginally my fault,” Logan responded, trying not to sound as amused as he felt.

Janus pouted harder. Logan reached to catch one of their hands in his own, and, with a little awkward maneuvering of elbows, brought it to his lips to kiss. “If we get up, we can both brush our teeth,” he suggested.

Janus laced their fingers through his. “It’s so cold, though,” they whined.

“It is not that cold. Living quarters in the palace never drop below sixty-five degrees, and it’s nearly summer.”

“Shut up with your facts. I’m cold,” Janus grumbled, pointedly grabbing the edge of the comforter and dragging it up to their chin once again.

Logan conceded this point. Janus did run very cold, to the point where Logan wondered if it was another spillover effect of the curse, like their scales; they were only so warm like this in the early mornings, after a full night cuddled against him under the covers. At any other time, their fingers would be almost icy, and their lips would be cool when they pressed against his.

“If you let me get up, I can restart the fire,” Logan offered.

Janus grumbled some more, but rolled off of him, pulling the comforter with them and retreating into it until they were hardly visible beneath it.

Logan sat up and tucked his feet into his slippers. He rose, bent back down to press a kiss to Janus’s forehead—earning a soft sigh of content—and crossed to the fireplace, still warm and full of banked embers. It was the work of only a few moments to add some fuel and use a simple spell to properly restart the fire. He pulled a pair of breeches and a pale green shirt out of his closet, then moved to the door of the washroom and traced the glyph on the door, activating the water-warming charm he’d set up on it when he’d first moved in. He brushed his teeth and splashed water—not yet more than lukewarm, but he didn’t mind that nearly as much as Janus would—on his face, then changed quickly into the clothes. Buttoning the collar of his shirt, Logan reemerged from the washroom into the bedroom. He picked up Janus’s fluffy yellow dressing gown off the chair they’d discarded it on last night, and returned to the bed.

“We do need to get up,” he reminded Janus. “And it’s getting warm now.” He offered the dressing gown.

Janus made a wordless noise of complaint, but sat up and let him wrap them in the garment, pouting up at him all the while. “I hate waking up so early.”

“It’s nearly nine,” Logan commented with a raised eyebrow, going back to the fireplace to check that the spell had lasted long enough for the wood to properly catch, then to his closet for a waistcoat in the same shade of emerald green as his breeches.

“Yes, and?” Janus stretched languidly, sliding their toes into their fur-lined slippers as they did so. “I see absolutely no reason to not lounge about in bed all day.”

Logan gave them an unimpressed look, buttoning his waistcoat. “Darling, we start work in an hour.”

Janus closed their eyes, pouted, and shook their head. “That’s so boring. There are so many more fun things we could be doing instead.” They held out their hands palms-up imperiously, waiting until Logan crossed the room and placed his hands in theirs.

“I’ll make you tea if you get up,” he coaxed, as he did nearly every morning, smiling a little at the familiar routine.

“Hmm, bribery.” Janus gazed up at him through their lashes, raising one of his hands to their lips. “You do know just the way to my heart.”

Logan moved his hand to cup their cheek, and they leaned into the touch, tilting their head to the side; their braid slipped off their shoulder, exposing the side of their neck.

He blinked. “Ah, Janus?”

“Yes, my everything?”

He moved his other hand to the side of their neck. “You might want to wear something over this.” He passed his thumb lightly over a hickey that was both darker and higher up on their neck than he’d thought it would be last night.

Janus’s breath hitched at the touch and their eyelashes fluttered. “Ah,” they said with a composure that was nearly uncracked. “That’s probably a good idea, yes.”

Logan held back a smirk and ran his thumb over the hickey again; Janus let out a half-stifled, breathy sigh, tipping their head back. “Logan.”

“Yes, dear?” he inquired innocently.

“That is unfairly hot and you know it.”

“Oh, really?” He dropped his hands to his sides and took a half-step back. “So, tea?”

Janus squawked in indignation at the loss of his touch. Logan gave them his blandest smile just to needle them further, offering his hand to help them to their feet.

Janus sniffed haughtily, but accepted the hand and made their way over to an armchair by the fire to curl their knees up to their chest and pout some more over the general concept of being awake.

Logan left the bedroom to the living area and put the kettle on, pulling out Janus’s favorite cups and the breakfast tea they both liked. The kettle hadn’t yet begun to whistle by the time Janus, their hair now loosened from its braid, shuffled out from the bedroom, came up behind him, and slid their arms around him, bending down and nestling their face in the crook of his neck.

“Did you get lonesome?” he inquired, reaching up to pat their cheek once in acknowledgement as he continued measuring tea leaves.

Janus nodded into his neck, not relinquishing him until the kettle demanded his attention; then they hopped up to sit on the counter and kicked their heels.

“Do you want to get dressed before breakfast arrives?” Logan inquired as he poured the water into the two cups. Breakfast came from the kitchens, delivered fresh and warm at nine-thirty or thereabouts; it would arrive before long.

Janus sighed, adjusting their dressing gown. “Probably.”

Logan set the now-empty kettle down beside the teacups and offered Janus a hand to help them back down to the ground.

“I brushed my teeth,” they announced, landing lightly on their feet and not releasing his hand.

Logan laughed and drew them close. “Did you, now?”

“Mmhm.” Janus grinned and leaned down to press their forehead against his, wrapping their arms around his neck. “You can check. If you want.”

Logan threaded his fingers through their hair, leaning still closer and brushing their noses together. “But I trust your word, love,” he breathed, and Janus shivered in his arms, their eyes widening noticeably on the word trust . “Why would I need to—”

Janus seized his face in their hands and cut him off with an enthusiastic kiss, pressing close against him and all but drinking him in. Logan smiled against their lips and relaxed into the kiss; their mouth did indeed taste fresh, and their early-morning warmth hadn’t quite worn off yet. They sighed into his mouth and pulled away, a delightfully besotted look in their eyes.

“I love you,” he told them, for good measure, and relished the pink that sprung to their cheeks.

“You’re a sap,” Janus mumbled, looking away and putting their hand in his.

“Indeed,” Logan agreed, following them as they tugged him back into the bedroom. As they rummaged around in their own closet, Logan located the rest of his own outfit—mint green coat, pale yellow cravat, plain white socks, and gleaming black shoes with just a bit of extra height built into the soles. He sat on the end of the bed to put on the socks and shoes, leaving the coat and cravat lying beside him.

Janus emerged, wearing a yellow turtleneck that would safely hide the hickey on their neck from the princes; the shirt was paired with high-waisted black pants and black suspenders. They wordlessly crossed the room, sat on the bed beside him, picked up his cravat, and held it up. Logan turned up the collar of his shirt obligingly and bent his head.

They wrapped the cravat around his neck and began tying it with gentle fingers. “I love you too,” they announced after a moment. “What’s the general plan for the day?”

“Well, it’s going to—thank you, dear,” he broke off to say, as Janus tucked the end of the cravat into his waistcoat and turned his collar back down. He continued, “It’s going to be a rough day for Remus now that the deadline is past and things are really cemented into place. So I’ll be trying to keep the preparations out of his hair as much as I can.”

Janus nodded and kissed his cheek, helping him into the jacket.

Logan hesitated, turning his phrasing over in his head before he went on. “We may want to try to encourage him and Roman to give each other some space.” Janus had given Logan to understand that Roman had promised to work things out with Patton and his fathers last night; with Roman thus exempt from the competition, Remus was bound to be jealous and upset—not without reason, either.

Janus nodded. “That shouldn’t be too hard; I’m sure I can just send him out to the gardens and he’ll be gone all day.” They looked themself up and down in the mirror, eyeing their outfit critically, then went back to the closet and reemerged with a pair of black fingerless gloves made of shiny leather. “There,” they said, satisfied, just as there was a knock at the door in the next room. That would be breakfast.

“Come in,” Logan called.

As the kitchen staff laid out the breakfast on the table in the next room, Logan fixed his hair in the washroom; Janus, meanwhile, brushed their hair and drew it back in a loose ponytail, then hovered in the doorway of the washroom impatiently until Logan gave them a turn with the counterspace to pull out their makeup and draw on thin, sharp wings of black eyeliner.

Logan headed out into the kitchen to sweeten the tea he’d brewed earlier; he was just in time to call a “thank you” after the people who’d brought up the breakfast as they were on their way out. He added sugar to Janus’s tea and honey to his, then brought the cups—just reaching the perfect temperature—to the table. He went back to rummage in the cupboard above the sink.

“Need help?” Janus inquired over his shoulder. He hadn’t consciously heard them come in, but he didn’t startle.

“I’ve got it, thank you—would you mind serving?” Logan nodded towards the table.

“Of course.” Janus busied themself filling two plates as Logan pulled down the two jars stored on the top shelf: the hormone replacement potions he brewed in bulk every month. He measured out the potions carefully into two little cups with an easy precision born of some seven years’ practice. He’d become a wizard specifically to study gender-related magic; it was listed as his specialty on his certification degree, which he was rather proud of. He had been brewing his own hormone potion since he’d learned how, partly because it was just a little cheaper than buying prescription potions and partly as a point of pride. Once he’d gotten his official certification four years ago, he’d started making Janus’s potion for them, too.

Theirs was very easy, based on a standard prescription formula; the finished potion was a shimmering pearly concoction containing a small dose of estrogen and a bit of jasmine flavoring to cover up the bitter flavor that potion bases tended to have. For his own potion, however, Logan had altered the prescribed formula just slightly—a fairly standard testosterone dosage in a potion flavored with loganberry extract that gave it a nice purple color. The flavor was pleasant, but, although he’d never admit it, he’d chosen it more for the name than the taste. (He had gotten into several arguments with Patton, when he visited Janus’s family with them on some of his days off, over whether it counted as a pun. Which, of course, was a ridiculous idea and not true in the slightest. Wordplay was quite different from puns, thank you very much.) He’d only implemented a few small tweaks to his original prescription, based on what Logan liked to call “research” and Janus liked to call “illegal magic experimentation done on your own body, what the actual hell, Logan, do you have no sense of self-preservation at all, you idiot?”

This was, in Logan’s opinion, entirely unfair; he’d known exactly what the risks of the spells he’d done were, had been confident he could successfully navigate them, and, most importantly, he had been right. He hadn’t harmed himself, and he’d gotten what he insisted was a more accurate measurement of his own physiology and natural hormonal cycles. Based on that, he’d been able to customize the potion even better to his physical needs. The tweaks hadn’t been much, but in Logan’s opinion, they made all the difference. It was simply another advantage that home-brewed potions carried; you couldn’t get this kind of specificity in a drugstore-variety hormone potion.

It hardly ought to count as illegal when he only ran the research spells on himself, anyway. He understood the ethical concerns of running those kinds of tests on someone else, of course, and would never do that, but he’d known what he was doing! Janus was simply being overprotective. Besides, between himself and Janus, he was the expert with an actual certification. The fact that he’d adamantly refused when Janus, annoyed, had challenged him to run the same tests on themself “to prove they’re so safe” meant nothing. It was simply an overabundance of caution. Nothing more.

Now, finished with measuring out their potions’ daily doses, Logan sealed the jars and returned them to their shelf, then passed Janus their potion and took a seat at the table. Janus set a plate down in front of him; fruit, toast with his favorite jam, and scrambled eggs topped with salsa, all just how he liked them.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, accepting the fork they passed him. He tossed back his own potion, washed it down with a sip of his tea, and tucked in. He had a long day ahead of him; best to fuel up.

***

For one single moment when he woke up, Roman was content, staring up at his painted ceiling and snuggling under the covers. The delicate, brightly colored designs on the ceiling were abstract, the sort of art that made the eye jump to seek out patterns that didn’t exist: the perfect spark for creativity and imagination. He usually daydreamed in the mornings, slipping in and out of sleep, until Janus arrived to nag him to get up and start the day. And what better to daydream of than—

Patton.

Roman was suddenly fully awake, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted more to throw up or to cry.

The deadline had been yesterday. And Patton had said nothing. Because he didn’t know. Because Roman hadn’t told him, and had smiled and lied to Janus’s face yesterday when he promised he’d tell Patton how he felt and go to his fathers and get excused from the competition.

And now Roman would have to marry a stranger from some far-off land.

He suddenly understood exactly why Remus had been so antsy and distraught all month, so irritable and set off by the smallest thing. The competition had all seemed so surreal to Roman; it had been so easy to refocus instead on his near-daily meetings with Patton that he swore were getting more and more openly flirtatious by the hour, and to shove the competition to the back of his mind and believe it wouldn’t affect him. Patton’s face had pinched up with worry whenever it came up, anyway; Roman hardly wanted to upset him discussing it.

Guilt rolled in his stomach. Patton was going to be crushed. Precious, sweet Patton, who deserved nothing but joy and light in his life—he was going to try and hide it for Roman’s sake, but Roman knew better, and—oh, Janus had been right all along.

He had been so stupid.

Roman rolled over, pulled the nearest pillow over his head, and let the tears flow.

He wasn’t sure how long he cried, tiny little sniffles interspersed with choked sobs, curling tighter and tighter in on himself in a vain, desperate search for comfort, but eventually the tears dried up into a sort of numb horror, his mind circling around and around through worse and worse thoughts.

Patton was going to cry. Patton was going to hate him. Patton was going to pretend it was okay, because Patton was sweet and kind and thoughtful and so, so good, but it wouldn’t be okay, not even a little bit, and they’d both know it. Patton was never going to talk to him again. Patton was never going to give him flowers again. Never going to laugh at Roman’s stories, never going to light up when he thought of the perfect pun, never going to stumble over his words in an eager, laughing babble as he told Roman about his day, never going to look at Roman like he could be happy forever.

Roman was going to marry a stranger, and Patton was going to move on and never think about him again, and Roman wasn’t sure which of those things was worse. He could feel the tears and snot starting to dry on his face, but he didn’t care enough to do anything about it.

There was a knock on the door. “Roman?” Janus called, voice light and far too chipper. They waited a beat, then came in when he didn’t respond. “Time to get up, lover boy,” they announced, dragging the wide drapes open and flooding the room with sunlight. “I was thinking we could—Roman?”

Roman made a wordless noise of misery, burrowing a little deeper under his covers.

“Roman?” Janus said again, a distinct note of concern working its way into their voice. They moved over to his bed and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Roman mumbled.

They sat on the bed beside him and lifted the pillow he’d hidden his head beneath. He flinched away from the too-bright morning light. “What happened?” They searched his face, their eyes wide and bewildered, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it as he sat up.

Roman wiped his nose and looked away, gut twisting with the sudden realization that he really, really didn’t want to know what Janus’s reaction to finding out would be.

“He—Patton didn’t say no, did he?” Janus said disbelievingly. “Roman?” They gripped his shoulder again, fingers clinging tight with worry. “He didn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Not to you. Would he?” They hesitated, mind clearly racing. “Did your fathers—?” they began.

Roman shook his head.

“What happened?” Janus pressed once more.

Roman winced and curled in on himself.

“Roman?”

And there it was. A note of horror. The truth had occurred to them.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing it wasn’t enough.

Janus took him by both shoulders and turned him to face them. “Roman, what did you do?”

Roman hung his head. His voice came out in a mumble that promptly cracked and fell to a whisper that shrank smaller and smaller as he went on. “I—I didn’t—Ididn’ttellhimaboutit.”

Janus hesitated. “Say that again,” they said, rising anger warring with a pleading tone. Pleading with him to say anything else or tell them they’d misheard him.

Roman bit his lip. “I—” A lump rose in his throat, and he stopped, twisting the handkerchief back and forth in his hands.

“Roman,” Janus begged, their grip tightening on his shoulders once again, a vice-like pinch through Roman’s silk pajamas.

Roman looked up at them. They were staring desperately at him.

He hadn’t even thought about how this would hurt them, too. How could he have been so selfish?

“I didn’t talk to him about it,” Roman forced through his suddenly wobbling lips.

The stricken look on Janus’s face would have been enough to make Roman cry at the best of times, and now was certainly not the best of times. As their hands slipped off his shoulders to rest slack in their lap, Roman shrank back, hiding his face in his hands, tears overwhelming him once more.

“I’m sorry, Janus,” he choked out.

Janus got to their feet, not meeting his eyes. “Get dressed,” they said tonelessly. They turned and walked out. The door shut without so much as a slam, but Roman didn’t find that reassuring in the slightest.

He could just hear Logan and Remus’s voices through the door, raised in concerned, questioning tones. Janus didn’t answer them, or if they did, not loud enough for Roman to make out their voice over his own sobs.

He wanted nothing more than to pull the covers back over his head and cry the day away; but Janus had told him to get up. The least he could do was oblige them.

Roman took several deep, gasping breaths and pulled himself together shakily, swallowing the tears back until he could wipe his face and blow his nose and force himself up out of bed and across the room to his closet.

He dressed in the first clothes that came to hand, splashed cold water on his face, tried not to cry again at the sight of his tear-splotched face in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, failed, changed to a new shirt that didn’t have tears and toothpaste dribbled down the front, washed his face again, and after three tries managed to clip back his hair in a half-up style that was still too messy because normally Janus would do it for him.

And then he sat on the bed, wringing the handkerchief Janus had given him back and forth in his hands, staring at the door.

He ought to go out there and face the music, as it were. He knew that.

But he’d just lost Patton. He didn’t want to lose Janus, too. And if he just stayed here, stayed in his room and pretended he wasn’t hiding from the consequences of his actions, then maybe this moment of time would freeze and he could just stay here forever and things wouldn’t get better but at least they wouldn’t get worse, either.

Roman probably didn’t deserve for things not to get worse.

He straightened his shoulders as much as he could, took a deep, shuddering breath, and walked to the door, holding the handkerchief tight. Maybe it was about to become a memento of the last time Janus was nice to him. He hoped they’d let him keep it.

He took another moment with his hand on the doorknob to steady himself, taking one deep breath, then another, then a third. When he still didn’t feel any more steadied, he grimaced and pushed the door open before he could change his mind, emerging into the sitting room.

Janus was pacing in circles around the room, long legs eating up the distance at a rapid pace, hands gesturing wildly as they muttered to themself, and all their hesitancy and horror from before was gone. Now they only looked furious. Remus was at the breakfast table, munching on a stack of pancakes, worried eyes tracking Janus. Logan was seated on the sofa, back ramrod-straight, shoulders taut, expression serious, not speaking a word. The whole room felt oddly still and silent, Janus’s angry movement the only energy in the space.

Janus froze at the noise of the door opening for just a beat, then turned on their heel to glare at Roman, crossing their arms.

He shrank back under their gaze, half of a mind to step back into his room, lock the door, and never come out. Logan was looking back and forth between Roman and Janus, his expression hard to read beyond definitely not good; Remus’s eyes were fixed on his twin. Roman spared him the briefest glance before meeting Janus’s eyes once again. At least Remus didn’t seem mad—although he certainly wasn’t anywhere near happy.

“So,” Janus said coldly. “You decided to grace us with your presence. How kind.”

Roman winced. “Janus—” He faltered, having no idea what on earth he could say. I’m sorry didn’t really cover it, but every other option was worse.

The slight flare of Janus’s nostrils was enough to stop Roman in his tracks, anyway. “What?” they snapped.

Roman looked at his feet.

“No, really, what? I’m quite curious. What earthly thought process could possibly have gone through your head leading up to this? Do share your enlightened decision-making prowess with the rest of us,” Janus went on, stalking closer to Roman in a way that made him feel very much like he was about to be eaten alive.

Roman wound the handkerchief around and around his fingers. “I—I don’t—I’m sorry.”

“Clearly. But I’m afraid I kind of don’t care about that just now,” Janus informed him, grabbing his chin and making him face them. “Explain.”

Roman’s tensed shoulders had climbed until they were practically around his ears. But he wouldn’t refuse Janus. Not after that moment of shocked hurt earlier. “I—I didn’t tell him,” he began.

“Mmhm.” Janus’s tone was as chilly as snow down Roman’s back. They let go of his chin and crossed their arms again, staring him down. “You made that pretty clear.”

“No, I—I didn’t tell him anything.” Roman faltered at the way Janus’s lips tightened, but he forged onward. Too late to turn back now. “I didn’t—I didn’t even tell him about the—the deadline. That I could have gotten out at all.”

“Oh my god.” Janus threw their hands in the air. “I didn’t think it could get worse.”

“I thought it wouldn’t be fair to him!” Roman couldn’t help but defend, knowing he sounded hysterical and teary. “I didn’t want to pressure him, I was trying to be mindful of my power, I—”

“You make him the happiest I’ve ever seen him!” Janus snapped, shoving a finger in Roman’s face. “You make him happier than any actual boyfriend he’s ever had before! He’s made it pretty fucking clear he was interested in you for months now, so quit giving me your ‘I wasn’t sure’ bull.” Their voice rose as they went on until they were all but screaming in Roman’s face. “I thought you at least had the fucking sense to act in your own goddamn self-interest when it came down to the line! But evidently I overestimated your brainpower!”

“But I—”

“No. Shut up.” Janus’s hands were shaking, their voice gone low and furious. “Patton is one of the two most important people in my life, Roman. Did you stop to think for a fucking second about respecting Patton’s autonomy in the situation? Think about the way that deliberately withholding critically relevant information would impact his ability to make his own decisions?”

Roman’s gut twisted. He had not thought of this angle. He looked at the floor again and didn’t speak.

“Did you ever realize that this isn’t just about you?” Janus went on. “Because it’s not just about you, Roman! Your actions have consequences! You can’t just decide to play the martyr because you feel like it, or you think it’s the righteous thing to do, or whatever the hell was going through your head. You can’t do that to Patton! It doesn’t make you the hero if Patton gets hurt! Do you understand that?” They looked down at the handkerchief he was still twisting in his hands and snatched it from him. “Do you understand how monumentally stupid you’ve been, Your Highness?”

The tears that had been pooling in Roman’s eyes spilled over. “Yes,” he choked out. “I get it.”

“Do you? Do you really?” Janus demanded, hands on their hips.

“I know!” Roman sobbed. “I get it, Janus! It’s my fault and I was stupid and now you hate me and Patton will too and it’s my fault! I know! I know I just ruined my whole life and his too! You don’t need to explain to me why I’m stupid! Okay?” He gulped in air, the sensation in his lungs all wrong, just like everything else about this moment. “I know,” he repeated, voice cracking.

Janus was silent for a moment, their expression hard. “I don’t hate you,” they said tersely. “I’m monumentally angry with you, but I don’t hate you. Clear?”

Roman didn’t know how to formulate a response to that. “You d—don’t?” he hiccuped after a pause.

Janus made a face, shoved the handkerchief back at him, and crossed their arms. “You’re my friend,” they said as he wiped his tears away again, though their tone didn’t soften from its stony prickle at all. “I’m not throwing that away overnight. You know, unlike how you decided to throw Pat—”

Logan cleared his throat, and Janus cut themself off almost instantly, their eyes flying to him.

“I get the feeling you might regret whatever you’re about to say,” Logan commented mildly.

Janus blinked. “I—you’re right. Thank you.” They looked back to Roman. “I... apologize for that last bit. It was... uncalled for.”

Roman wasn’t convinced that anything they could say to him, no matter how much it hurt, would be uncalled for just at this moment, but he was too choked up to form words. He waved his hand vaguely.

Janus was silent for a moment. “I… listen.” The furious edge was gone from their voice, and their breathing had steadied, but Roman thought this new, deadly serious tone might be worse; it was so much more calculated and intentional than the angry shouting of a moment ago. “I care about you, Roman. But if you break my brother’s heart, I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive that.” Janus turned away from him, arms wrapped tightly around themself, and Roman realized very suddenly that their shoulders were trembling.

“Janus—” he began, reaching out instinctively but catching himself before he could lay his hand on their arm.

Janus shook their head, still not looking at him. “I don’t want to hear it.” Their voice shook ever so slightly.

Logan fidgeted in his seat, staring at Janus with a surprisingly distressed expression, his eyebrows knitted together, but he didn’t say anything. Remus was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, half-eaten pancakes forgotten in front of him.

“What—” Roman began. He hesitated, not sure if it was the right thing to say, but he felt he had to say something. “What should I have done differently?”

Janus spun back to face him again, face flushed and eyes filled with barely-held-back tears. “Anything!” they snapped, fury coloring their voice once again. “What is so hard to comprehend about that? Would even an ounce of communication with literally anyone in this situation have killed you?”

Logan got to his feet. “Janus. Roman. I do not intend to invalidate either of your feelings in this moment, but I fail to see how this is at all healthy for either of you at this point.” He sighed. “Would it help to—”

“Shut up,” Janus and Roman snapped in unison.

Logan recoiled, looking shocked, for just a second; then his brows drew even closer together than they had already been, and his lips pressed together in a frown. He crossed his arms and lifted his chin just slightly, looking away from them.

Janus hesitated, something like regret flashing across their face almost too quickly for Roman to read it. “I—Lo—”

“What’s going on?” Thomas’s voice said.

Roman jumped, but he seemed to be the only one surprised by the new arrival. Looking over, he saw both his parents by the door, taking in the scene.

“Your son is an idiot, that’s all,” Janus responded to Thomas in a cold tone, fists clenching at their sides.

“Janus, you are speaking to the kings!” Logan interrupted frantically, his former anger melting away into alarm.

“I’m well aware,” Janus snapped. “If they wanted me speaking my mind to always be a nice thing, they should have thought of that before they raised their child to be so self-centered and hell-bent on self-sacrifice!”

Nico leaned over and whispered in Thomas’s ear; he received a nod and stepped out of the room. Thomas, meanwhile, clasped his hands in front of himself, raised his eyebrows, and gave Janus and Roman his full attention.

Janus hadn’t stopped ranting. “He can’t get it through his thick skull that being happy is good or that his actions have consequences and that he’s not the only one affected by them! And I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to fix it this time!”

“You don’t have to—” Roman began.

Janus glared at him. “Yes, I fucking do! And not even just for you! For Patton! Do I have any idea how to fix it? No! I was totally unprepared for this eventuality! I thought you had this handled! I didn’t think you’d make it worse, you nitwit!”

Roman winced and fell silent once more.

“Sorry,” Thomas said, “who’s… Patton?”

Janus froze and pinned Roman with an icy look. “They don’t know about him?”

Roman looked away.

“What the hell, Roman?” Janus demanded.

“I was shy about him!” Roman defended. “I was going to tell them eventually!”

“Is he some kind of game to you? Some sort of toy to string along for fun? Not even important enough to tell your own parents he exists?” With each accusatory question, Janus took another step towards him, backing him towards the wall.

“No!” Roman shook his head frantically. “No no no no no—I just—I mean, have you told your dads about your boyfriend? It’s embarrassing!”

Janus flung their hands up in a bewildered, aggravated motion. “Yes, I have! Obviously! Ages ago! We’ve been together for years, I bring him home all the time!”

Roman blinked. “Wh— years?”

“Yes, I—” Janus inhaled. “You know what, he is none of your business! We are talking about you and Patton right now, and every time I think I have a handle on how badly you’ve messed this up, it gets worse.”

“Alright,” Thomas interrupted. “I still don’t understand what’s happening, but let’s all take a deep breath and sit down and sort out whatever’s upset you all so. Come on. Everybody find a chair. Let’s go.”

Janus, who was trembling again with what looked like barely-held-back angry tears, took the armchair nearest Logan, and Thomas took one across from them. Roman made his way to the sofa; Remus hopped up from the table and plastered himself to Roman’s side, protectively wrapping his arms around him.

Roman tensed for a moment; he wanted a hug, very badly, but part of his brain insisted he ought not accept comfort when he’d upset Janus so much. That part, however, was quickly overpowered by the fact that Remus was as clingy as an octopus, and Roman was clearly getting the hug whether he wanted it or not. Roman relaxed, which wound up prompting a fresh burst of tears now that he wasn’t focused on trying to hold them back.

Remus only held Roman tighter, to the point where it was nearly uncomfortable, resting his chin on top of Roman’s head; he didn’t even make a teasing comment about “waterworks.”

As Roman got his tears under control once again, he realized that Remus hadn’t said anything for the entire morning so far. Quiet Remus was practically unheard of, and never a good sign. Roman frowned.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Look who’s talking.” Remus thumbed at Roman’s cheek, still wet with tears—not quite wiping them away, but still a comforting gesture. “I dunno. I’ll—” He hesitated. “I’ll tell you later.” He let go of Roman, but left his hand on Roman’s shoulder, a grounding weight only a little bit sticky with the syrup he’d poured on his pancakes.

Roman nodded and looked back up; Thomas was watching the twins closely, concern plain to read on his face. Logan was drawing back, as if he’d just been leaning forward a second ago. Janus was leaning forward, with their elbows on their knees; they were raising their hand to their face to brush away the tears that had spilled down their own cheeks. If Roman hadn’t known better, he’d almost have thought the two could have been holding hands a second ago.

As Nico came back in—Roman couldn’t be sure what he’d been doing, but he suspected it had been some sort of arrangement to clear the family’s schedules for the next hour or two—Thomas beckoned him over to sit in the chair beside him. The two clasped hands, and Thomas leaned over and murmured something Roman couldn’t make out in Nico’s ear. Nico nodded.

“Okay.” Thomas turned back to the rest of the group and took a deep breath. “What’s going on?”

Janus, Remus, and Roman all began talking at once.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“—thinks it’s funny to go around playing with—”

“—both need to fucking cool their tits—”

“—I was only trying to help—”

“—can’t believe he would be so—”

“—they keep yelling and yelling and it’s not even funny—”

“—and I’m so so sorry—”

“Whoa!” interrupted Thomas. “Okay. Everyone take a breath.” He turned to Nico. “Alright. How do we want to do this?”

“Hm.” Nico considered this for a moment. “Logan?”

“Your Majesty?” Logan inclined his head.

“Could I get your perspective to accompany all this?”

Remus let out a small snicker, which he quickly stifled.

“Roman, Janus, we’re going to hear each of you out,” Nico clarified. “I just want a quick rundown of what’s happening first, and it seems like you’re both feeling... a little distressed for that right now.”

Janus gave a small, terse nod, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Logan took a deep breath, clearly weighing his choice of words. “Well. I am not directly privy to all the details, of course, and that should be kept in mind. But my understanding is, roughly, as follows. Roman has—actually, hold on. Roman, may I speak freely on this matter?”

Roman blinked. “I—yeah.” There was no point now in trying to wait until introducing Patton to his fathers could be a joyful, celebratory moment.

Logan nodded once. “Thank you.” He turned back to the kings. “To my understanding, Roman has been, to some extent, romancing Janus’s brother Patton, who works in the palace gardens, for some five months now.”

“But—” Roman began. Logan was oversimplifying!

“Roman,” Nico said gently, holding up a hand, still looking at Logan. “Wait your turn, son.”

Roman bit his lip and fell silent.

Logan nodded and continued. “Each of them has demonstrated extreme reluctance to openly discuss their feelings with one another for reasons unknown to me, to the point where… well. Where yesterday came and went without either of them doing anything to cement their relationship and remove Roman from the competition. Janus seems quite upset by this, I believe mostly out of concern for Patton’s feelings—”

“He can’t just—” Janus burst out.

Nico opened his mouth, but Logan beat him to it. “Janus,” Logan said gently, much more gently than Roman usually heard him speak to them. “I am in no way attempting to belittle you, or your brother, or your relationship to him, or the consequences Roman’s actions will bring, or the way you or Patton feel about this. I merely intend to give the kings a brief rundown of the concrete events that have taken place so they are better equipped to understand. Alright?”

Janus held Logan’s gaze, something hard in their expression trembling and melting away, leaving them with a startlingly vulnerable look in their eyes. “Alright,” they whispered, closing their eyes.

Logan nodded and turned back to the kings. “Janus had been under the impression that Roman and Patton intended to make their relationship official yesterday, but that did not actually occur, I believe partly because Patton was unaware that leaving the competition was an option for Roman at all. This morning, after we learned what took place, we sent for Your Majesties. While we waited, Roman and Janus proceeded to participate in a screaming match, mostly in the form of Janus lashing out and berating Roman about his treatment of their brother, and Roman accepting it unquestioningly in what seemed to me to be a concerning form of emotional self-flagellation. This lasted until Your Majesties arrived.” He paused, clasping his hands, then nodded to himself. “I believe that is all.”

“Wait, what?” Janus said, blinking. They stared at Roman. “You were what?”

Roman squirmed uncomfortably under the sudden attention. “You were right,” he mumbled. “I messed up. It made sense to let you say whatever.”

“What—like, using me as a way to punish yourself?” Janus, for some reason, seemed distressed by this, their voice pitching high.

Roman just shrugged.

“Roman!” Janus snapped.

Roman fidgeted with the handkerchief, not meeting their eyes. “What?”

They spluttered for a moment. “You can’t do that!”

He frowned. “Why not?”

��I— what do you mean, why not? It’s shitty, that’s why not!”

“But—” Roman began.

“Okay,” Thomas interrupted again. “Break time. Janus is right, that’s not healthy, Roman, but we can discuss that in detail a little later.” He looked at his husband. “I think we can spare a few hours, don’t you? This does seem like a family emergency.”

Nico nodded. “I was thinking the very same myself. You and I are already free until at least noon, and I think we can potentially extend that by another hour or two if we need.”

“Alright.” Thomas looked back to the younger four, his eyes settling on Janus. “Janus, it seems pretty clear that the hurts between you and Roman went both ways. I want to make sure we allow you to process however works best for you. Would you like to stick around while we all work through what just happened, or would you like to take the day off and deal with your emotions yourself for today?”

“Can Patton have the day off too?” Janus asked immediately.

“You said he works in the gardens? Of course he can,” Nico agreed. “I’m sure we have plenty of gardeners, that should be fine.”

Janus didn’t hesitate. “I want to go home, then.”

Nico nodded. “Go ahead. We can discuss what happened between you and Roman privately with you tomorrow and help you work out a solution, alright?”

Janus was on their feet and moving before Nico even finished speaking. “Yes, fine, absolutely,” they tossed over their shoulder, heading for the door.

“Janus,” Thomas called. “Make sure you’re taking the time to care for yourself, too.”

“Mmhm, of course.” Janus didn’t sound particularly sincere.

“Janus?” Roman worked up the courage to say.

Janus froze in their tracks, not turning. “What?” Their voice was much chillier than it had been speaking to his fathers.

“Can—can you tell him I’m really sorry?” Roman’s voice dwindled smaller.

Janus sighed. Their shoulders slumped slightly. “...Maybe.” They walked out the door and shut it behind them.

Logan stared after Janus, then glanced at Remus, then Roman, clearly struggling with something; he looked beseechingly at the kings.

Nico smiled slightly. “Why don’t you take the day off, as well, Logan?”

“Thank you, sire.” Logan practically bolted from the room. “Janus!”

There was silence for a few seconds after Logan’s departure; Thomas and Nico seemed to be having a conversation with only their eyes.

“Alright,” Thomas said, offering Nico his hand as both men moved to the couch by their sons, “let’s talk about it.”

***

Janus was halfway back to their and Logan’s rooms by the time Logan caught up with them. He wordlessly offered them his hand, and they clung to him as they walked the rest of the way back to the suite.

The moment the door was closed behind them, Janus crumpled to their knees, too worked up to even properly cry; Logan sank down beside them and drew them close.

They hid their face in his shoulder, clinging to him with all their strength. “I thought it was going to be fine!” they burst out after a minute.

“I know.” Logan’s arms were firm around them. “I know, dear.”

“Patton doesn’t even know,” they went on. “How am I supposed to break it to him?”

“I would suggest that his favorite tea be involved,” Logan responded reasonably, “but I also get the feeling you meant that rhetorically.”

Janus chuckled in spite of themself, taking a deep breath. They looked up, making sure they had Logan’s attention. “I’m sorry I told you to shut up earlier,” they said. “I know you hate that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Logan hesitated. “Emotions were running high. I certainly understand doing something in the moment that I wouldn’t choose in a more rational mindset.” He glanced away. “I… I admit that it did… sting. But I know you didn’t intend it maliciously.” He looked back, meeting their eyes once again. “I forgive you, dearest.”

“I love you,” Janus told him, only stumbling a little over the words. At a better time, the look of startlement on Logan’s face at them saying it first would be absolutely delectable; they stored that information away to process at a later date.

“I love you too,” he responded, cupping their cheek in his hand. “What do you need before you go to pick up Patton?”

“My wallet,” Janus said.

Logan’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you have that on you?”

“No, I left it in the dresser, I wanted to wear tight pants and putting things in my pockets ruins the look.”

“Wh—Janus, we’re supposed to carry our IDs on ourselves at all times when we’re on duty!”

“Nobody ever asks for my ID.” Janus waved at their scales. “They just recognize me and understand that I have a higher level of clearance than they could ever dream of.”

“Dearest, that’s illegal, you can’t just—”

“Are you saying you don’t appreciate the way I look in these?” Janus challenged, smirking. Flirting and teasing, after all, was so much easier than confronting the emotions the last hour had stirred up.

Logan paused, clearly torn. “I… did not say that. At all. And that’s actually irrelevant to my point.”

Janus pursed their lips. “Darling, I need you to understand what’s more important: a silly little law that nobody cares about anyway, or me looking hot?”

“I—what? Clearly the law that is designed to protect our safety and that of the royal family, Janus!” Logan made a bewildered gesture.

“Interesting.” Janus raised a sly eyebrow. “So there are other laws you’d be willing to rank below my appearance in terms of importance?”

“Dear,” Logan said helplessly.

Janus relented. “I’m teasing. Don’t worry.”

Logan nodded. “Alright. You need your wallet. Anything else? Keys? Hat? Cardigan?”

“All of those, yes. And that should be everything.” Janus leaned their head on Logan’s shoulder, reluctant to leave his arms.

He cradled them close. “Remember how a few days ago you told me I didn’t need to work so hard?” he asked.

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Yes, and I remember exactly what you answered, too, so if you’re about to turn that on me, I want you to know that you’re being very hypocritical. Also that I’ll be incredibly insulted that you would ever imply I would work, let alone hard or on purpose.”

Logan blinked several times. “You—we literally have a live-in job, what are you talking about?”

“Irrelevant.” Janus waved their hand. “Continue.”

Logan was still hung up on his confusion. “You voluntarily spend a decent amount of your free time behind the counter in your fathers’ bakery! What do you mean, you don’t work?”

“No, I—oh, nevermind. It’s about maintaining my reputation as a terribly high-maintenance spoiled little piece of eye candy, love, not about what I actually do. What did you want to say?”

“I— what?” Logan said helplessly. “Who thinks that of you?”

Janus sighed, trying not to laugh. “Nobody. I just like it as an idea. You were saying something about me working too hard, probably?”

“Oh.” Logan nodded, clearly refocusing. “Yes, exactly. It isn’t your job to tend to every emotional need of the people you love, you know.”

“Hmm, I don’t like the sound of that.” Janus wrinkled their nose. “What if instead I pour all my energy into manipulating every situation to protect them from even the slightest harm, and then have a total breakdown when something I can’t control happens?” They spoke lightheartedly, jokingly, sounding a little sarcastic, knowing that Logan would parse the barely-hidden vulnerability out of the sentence anyway.

Logan put his hand on their arm, looking them in the eyes. “Roman and Patton are both adults. They can handle themselves. Even through rough patches. It’s not your responsibility to protect them from everything.”

Janus whined a little, leaned forward, and pressed their face into Logan’s neck for comfort, breathing in the scent of him and feeling his warm skin against their cheek. “But I want to.”

He stroked their hair. “I know. And, as you yourself just said, if you pour all of your energy into doing so to such a great extent, you then break down when you run into the inevitable failure.”

Janus pouted. “Hey, you can’t use my own words against me, that’s illegal.”

“Like not bringing your ID to work is illegal?” Logan said, and Janus didn’t need to see his face to know the way he was raising his eyebrow.

“You’re terrible,” Janus told him, trying not to smile.

“I love you, too,” Logan responded, shifting and offering them his hand as he got to his feet. “If you want to catch the next trolley into town, you’ll need to get going to pick up Patton soon.”

Janus nodded and leaned in to press their cheek against his in something that wasn’t quite a kiss but carried the same energy. “You don’t mind staying behind?” they inquired.

Logan hummed thoughtfully. “Well. I am loath to leave you in such a state of distress, so in that sense, yes, I mind very much. But this seems like an incredibly personal family matter, and I doubt I am close enough to Patton for my presence not to feel like an intrusion to him.”

Janus wrinkled their nose, but didn’t say anything. Logan was probably correct, even if Patton would never say so aloud.

“I will be fine,” Logan assured them. “I’ve been meaning to brew some more sleeping draughts for the palace stock, anyway, you know how long they have to sit before they’re fit for use.” He squeezed their hand and nudged them towards the bedroom. “Go on, dear. Gather your things.”

Janus located their wallet and keys; then a black sunhat with a broad, round brim, because they burned easily; then a long, drapey black cardigan, because they always got cold on the trolley with its open windows.

“I’ll see you later,” Logan told them by the door, holding both their hands in his own. “Good luck. I love you. Remember that it’s not your responsibility to fix everything.”

Janus leaned down to kiss him goodbye. “I love you too,” they whispered. In a more normal voice, they added, “I’ll try and be back tonight.”

Logan nodded, and they left him in the doorway, looking after them as they started towards the garden in search of Patton.

It might not be Janus’s responsibility to fix everything, but that didn’t mean they weren’t going to try, anyway. All they had to do was figure out how.

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schmuckyschmarnes · 4 years

Text

other people suck

Summary: You’re tired of socialising, all you want to do is go home and eat your pizza. Bucky fluff ensues. Warnings: none except for the fact that no one asked for this shit but i couldn’t sleep so here we all are again.

Fuck these shoes. You could feel the blister that had announced itself earlier in the night throbbing with every step. Admittedly, deciding to walk back to the tower might not have been the best idea, but the thought of having to endure some small talk (that you would initiate, because you couldn't help yourself) the entire car ride home made you want to fling yourself off the nearest building. It was all Tony's fault. Every now and then, Tony would decide to throw a party because "we've all had a rough go of it lately" and "it'll be good for team morale". This is usually fine, you show up, mingle for half an hour, and then go up to bed. But this time, some fucker (Clint) suggested that the party be held outside the tower, so Tony looked at some options, bought three of them, and then sent out digital invitations that claimed that this was technically a team building exercise and not showing up meant that you were letting down the team. Somewhere between Thor smashing his third glass and Steve challenging Bruce to an arm wrestle you decided you were okay with letting down the team.

So there you were, a few blocks from home, your phone clutched in one hand, a greasy pizza box balanced precariously on the other, waitress-style, willing yourself to push through the pain. A pleasant breeze played with the skirt of your dress as you walked, and it was a welcome distraction from the small voice in the back of your mind suggesting that you drop everything to take a look at how gross the blister really was so that you could rate it on a scale of "not bad" to "amputate the whole thing".

When you finally reached the tower, you kicked off your shoes and tucked them under your arm, relishing the feeling of the cold tile underneath your bare feet. You thought about going straight to your room but decided on one of the lounges instead. Everyone was gone anyway, and the TV in there was great. When the elevator doors opened, you found the TV blaring, the light from it was the only illumination in the room. "Hey, doll." The voice made you jump, and one of your shoes slipped, causing them both to fall to the ground. "Jesus Christ, Bucky!" His laugh was sweet, cheeky but not unkind as he asked FRIDAY to turn on the lights and made his way over to you. "You alright?" He asked, the hint of a crease forming between his brows as he searched your face. "Yeah, I'm always alright," you replied, bending to pick up the shoes that had fallen, and then cursing when you dropped your phone. Your head was throbbing and you missed the cool breeze you had walked home in. He laughed again and picked it up before following you to the small kitchen off of the main room. "Can't believe you brought me dinner, doll," he said, "I'm flattered." "You wish," you replied, dropping your shoes purposely this time, and sliding the box you had placed on the counter further away from him. "I do" he nodded, a hand to his chest. His stomach grumbled and you laughed at the impeccable timing. "Help me find a bandaid? I've gotta put something on this festering wound of mine," you said dramatically as you opened cabinets and drawers. He moved into the kitchen and pulled a box of bandaids out of small first aid kit sitting on a shelf in plain sight and you sighed, rolling your eyes at yourself for missing it. "Let me help," he said, having watched you try to apply the bandaid and lose your balance, twice, reaching out for him to steady yourself against the second time. You had barely nodded before you felt a hand on either side of your waist and Bucky had hoisted you up onto the counter.

"So doc, you think we should cut it off?" you asked, having examined the swollen mess and prodded it to your satisfaction, wincing every time. You swung your legs as he removed the white tabs covering the sticky brown latex. "Definitely," he replied, his hair falling into his face as he bent down, stilling your leg with his metal hand. "There's no saving it." You closed one eye and scrunched your nose as the bandaid came over the blister, and Bucky squeezed your calf in response as he straightened back up again. "All done," he announced, moving to dispose of the small strips of waste.

“Thanks, Buck." You shuffled to the edge of the counter to prepare yourself to jump off but he was back at your side.

"I don't think so," he said, placing your arms around his neck and sliding an arm beneath your knees to lift you.

"Bucky, I can walk!" you huffed. He ignored your protests and carried you over to the sofa, dumping you on it before returning to the kitchen.

"Oh I know," he replied, throwing himself onto the sofa beside you, pizza box in hand. "That's exactly what I was worried about, sweetheart, can't have you running off on me now."

"Sweet- stop trying to butter me up, Bucky, the pizza is mine," you practically squawked.

"Give up, doll," he chuckled as he opened the box and took out a slice, handing it to you, before grabbing one for himself.

"Fine," you said around a mouth full of cheese, waving the slice in your hand for emphasis. "But you're getting the next one and I get to pick the toppings."

"It's a deal," he agreed, his own mouth full.

"And bring this closer," you grumbled in defeat, grabbing for the box.

"Stop fussing," he tsked, smacking at your hand. He rearranges the both of you, pulling you against his side with one arm, and you let him, leaning into his warmth, the pizza box now sitting in your lap. "Happy?"

You hummed around a new mouthful of pizza, and he picked up the remote control, searching for a new movie to replace the one he was watching when you arrived.

"You weren't at the party," you said, as the twentieth century fox logo fanfares its way onto the screen.

"Nah," Bucky said.

"Not worried about letting everyone down with your lack of team building?" you asked, using your free hand to make quotation marks.

"What are you talking about? I'm doing plenty of team building right here," Bucky quipped, and you laughed.

"Why'd you come home so early, anyway?"

"I dunno," you sighed, taking a bite and chewing as you thought. "I love everyone, and I'd die for them, you know that, but sometimes it's just like..."

"Other people suck?" Bucky offered, reaching around you for another slice, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding, grateful for his understanding.

"Other people suck," you repeated, shifting against him and turning your attention to the TV.

When you woke up you were in your bed, a blanket tucked around you. You reached for your phone on your bedside table, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the light, and groaning at the notifications that lined your screen.

You opened a message from Steve - Tony agrees this still counts as team building and won't ride you about it later, which, as we all know, means that he absolutely will. Accompanying the text was a blurry photo of you and Bucky on the sofa, both asleep, your face on his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head and his arm thrown over you loosely. The pizza box lay discarded on the floor. Another unread message, from Bucky: Don't worry, doll. I haven’t forgotten, next pizza's on me.

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quicksilversquared · 4 years

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The Wavering Peahen: Chapter 1

When Nathalie started feeling oddly ill again, both she and Gabriel were worried that the Peacock Miraculous might somehow (impossibly) be to blame again.

So naturally, they pick someone else to be the Peacock for a bit. You know, as a test subject. Except the new Peacock... doesn't exactly know that.

links in the reblog

Ever since Miracle Queen's akumatization, Gabriel Agreste had been feeling pretty optimistic about his now-improved chances of defeating the superheroes. While he had lost the box of Miraculous because of his poorly-thought-through gamble with Miracle Queen, he had made other gains.

He knew who Ladybug's backup teammates had been, and could use that against them should they show up again. He had gotten the digital copy of the Grimoire, which was- well, maybe it was only partially translated, and some things still seemed to be in code, but it had some pretty interesting information in it, like what powers the other Miraculous- the ones that he hadn't seen in action yet- had. And best of all, because of the Grimoire, he had gotten the Peacock Miraculous fixed and now Nathalie could join him on a much more regular basis without putting her own health at risk. He had figured that that should be enough for them to secure a victory within a week, or at most a month, if things went really badly.

It had been five months and the superheroes weren't giving any ground, standing solid as they fought akumas and sentimonsters alike. It. Was. Infuriating. And for a man like Gabriel, who wasn't particularly patient to start with...

Well, some days it felt like anything could set him off. They should have won by now, darn it. They were two adults up against two kids. Getting their Miraculous should have been like taking candy from a baby... and yet it wasn't.

Across the room, Nathalie coughed, pulling his attention away from the grimoire and the hints for the potion ingredients that still seemed to be listed in some sort of ridiculous code. Gabriel glanced over at her, and Nathalie gave him an apologetic grimace before returning to her work.

She had had this dratted cold for at least two months now, and no, it wasn't just him exaggerating out of annoyance. It had started small- just a small cough here and there and the occasional sneeze, or the need for her to finish a day early because she wasn't feeling well- and gotten gradually worse. He had hoped that she might have recovered at least a bit over the weekend, but instead she had come to work looking substantially worse than before.

While he had tolerated her coughing before- after all, she was helping him out with his mission and previously getting sick because of it- coughing from a common cold was simply annoying. It was grating and disruptive and kept pulling him out of his concentration. He hadn't said anything about it yet, of course- it was not, after all, Nathalie's fault, she didn't want to be sick- but it was annoying nonetheless.

Gabriel reached across the desk for his phone and ordered a large ginger-honey tea and a bag of cough drops for Nathalie. Maybe that would help quell her coughing.

Now, back to the grimoire... what on earth could they mean by tears of joy...?

Seven minutes later, the tea and cough drops arrived and were promptly delivered to Nathalie's desk. She murmured a quiet thank you. The chef nodded, then retreated from the room at once. As soon as the office door swung shut behind him, Gabriel could feel Nathalie's gaze slide to him.

"I take it you're annoyed by my coughing, sir?"

"It is a bit disruptive, you have to admit," Gabriel told her, finally deciding to put a flag on the potion ingredients section (really, he could only puzzle out about half of them, it was ridiculous and Nooroo apparently had no idea what the infernal clues were referring to either) and move on. He was severely behind on his design work, so perhaps he would do that for a while. "So I came up with a potential solution for it. Is that a problem?"

"No." Nathalie considered her tea, then took a small sip and made a face. "Though I might have preferred to order my own tea. This one...is not a favorite of mine."

"It is what many people recommend online for a sore throat. I thought it would be best, considering how long this cough seems to be lingering."

Nathalie opened her mouth like she was going to comment on that, then clearly decided against it. A moment later, she smothered a yawn. "I suppose that makes sense."

Gabriel frowned. "Is your cold still not getting any better? It's been months."

"Not particularly. I haven't been congested, which is a relief. But-" She yawned widely again, then frowned. "And I've been sleeping fine! I don't know what the issue is."

"Well, maybe you should finish what you're doing and then take off for the day," Gabriel suggested, both because he was tired of the coughing and, well, if Nathalie was feeling poorly and coughing that much, then the smart thing for her to do would be to go home and not infect the rest of the house. If that was even possible, considering how long she had been feeling under the weather. "Get some rest, and come back when you're feeling better."

"And if there's an akuma attack?" Nathalie asked, straightening and frowning at him. "I don't want to be the reason you miss out on winning, simply because there wasn't a sentimonster there to assist."

"If you're awake and able to take a break to help from home, then that would be much appreciated," Gabriel decided after a moment's consideration. "Thank you."

"Of course, sir." Nathalie glanced back at her screen, did a few quick clicks, and then downed her entire cup of tea in one go. "I've come to a decent stopping point. Anything else can be finished at home."

"You're meant to be resting," Gabriel reminded her. "The work can wait. And the company does have plenty of secretaries, we can always assign some of your work to them. Actually- yes, if you're feeling up to it, it would be nice to get a list of what can be done by others. Then I can reassign those things right away and get them checked off before we get too far behind."

"I'll have an initial list done by the evening." Nathalie did a couple more clicks, then shut her computer and started gathering up her things. "Text me if you're going to akumatize someone, and what their powers are going to be. Then I can come up with a complimentary sentimonster. I can set up an alert on my phone so I won't miss it."

"Thank you." Gabriel watched as Nathalie packed up her computer, then rose to open the door for her. "Keep me updated on how you're feeling, okay? And don't push yourself too hard to come back early. You do better work when you're not ill."

"Of course." Nathalie nodded to him, then headed out the door. Gabriel watched her go for a moment, then turned and headed back to his work.

Maybe he really should spend the rest of the day focusing on his designing. After all, if Nathalie was sick, it was probably only a matter of time before he got ill as well. And Gabriel no longer designed when he was unwell, for- well, for a multitude of reasons.

(He had only just managed to get fully out from the shadow of the infamous Cold Medicine Dress of '02 recently. Misstepping and having a repeat of that particular incident would not reflect well on the company.)

Actually, now that he was thinking about it, it was better to be safe than sorry. Reaching for his phone again, Gabriel ordered an array of multivitamins for himself, plus a bottle of hand sanitizer for his desk. He also requested that the maid to come in early and wipe down Nathalie's work area, just in case.

Some might call it overkill. Gabriel was simply of the opinion that it was better to be proactive than reactive.

Five days later, and Nathalie was still feeling under the weather. She had even fainted later in the week, she admitted to Gabriel when he called to check in on her. And she swore that she had been resting properly and getting plenty of sleep.

"It's been really odd," she told him two days later, after dropping into the mansion to collect a few more things to work on from home. "I've not been congested or had a runny nose at all, and that- that's a hallmark of cold and flus, right? And there's not been a fever at all." She frowned, clearly reluctant to continue, but she forged on anyway. "It almost feels like- like a slow onset of- no, that can't be it. It's impossible, I shouldn't even think about it."

Gabriel frowned for a moment, about to snap at her to just spit it out, and then it hit him like a train. Tiredness, weakness, fainting, feeling sick but not congested or snotty at all- those were all things that they had seen before.

Like a slow onset of using the Peacock when it was broken.

He wouldn't want to say that out loud, either. That sort of possibility...

But he had fixed it!

"Nathalie, do you think..." Gabriel started, then trailed off, entirely unsure of what he wanted to say. The Peacock causing the problems should have been an impossibility, but- well, how were they meant to test that? Because they had to test it, before Nathalie got any sicker. "Perhaps we should hold off on any further involvement from the Peacock for the time being, and return the brooch to the safe? Just in case."

"But Ladybug and Chat Noir!" Nathalie protested. "And this could be a cold, but there was just some damage still from using the Peacock before and it's gotten snarled up in the cold? Or maybe it's just lingering effects that are rearing their head. Because you fixed the Peacock, it should be perfectly safe to use."

"I know, but we should test it." Gabriel didn't like the idea, either, considering that it meant no sentimonsters assisting him. He would double-wield, but Nooroo had told him that it wasn't the best idea. Besides, if something had gone wrong in the fixing, he didn't exactly want to risk his own health. Particularly if he was going to be going out to assist his akumas to try to tip the scales in his favor. "I wonder if a couple weeks without using the Peacock would be enough for us to draw a conclusion about if that's at the root of the problem, or if we might need longer."

Nathalie was frowning. "But sir, if we just go back to akuma-only attacks- right now, we still have the advantage. Ladybug and Chat Noir haven't managed to fully rebuild and retrain a backup team yet because we've kept up the pressure on them. If we let up on the pressure, that could let them catch back up. We have to keep up on the attacks."

"And I'll do that, with the akumas." Gabriel's mind was made up now. He couldn't risk having Nathalie getting sicker. Besides, what if it was something more serious, like- well, perhaps like cancer? He wasn't sure what signs of cancer were, really, but those kinds of symptoms seemed like the sort of thing that cancer would maybe cause. At this point, he honestly wasn't sure what was the worse option, cancer or the Peacock somehow malfunctioning again. "And I want you to go to the doctor and get tests run. We want to come at this from all angles. Maybe it is just a cold, but we want to be sure."

"I can have the tests run without giving up the Miraculous," Nathalie protested. "Wouldn't it make sense to at least check and see if there's something else going on before we jump the gun and take the Peacock off of the battlefield? And what if it's just a cold and I coincidentally get better after I'm not wearing it? There's no real way to test anything."

That was fair enough, Gabriel supposed. He tapped his lips, considering.

They could, of course, just go off of whether or not Nathalie got sick again once she resumed using the Peacock- assuming, of course, that her health improved after she took it off. But that would be putting her at risk again, and he didn't particularly want to do that. If they had another ally, they could always have that person use the Peacock while Nathalie recovered. If it made them ill, then he would simply have to lock it away, or attempt to do another fix on it.

Except- oh. He had almost forgotten, but technically they did have another person on their side! She wouldn't be his first choice in most circumstances, but the number of people who would actually go along with Hawkmoth's plans was limited and he couldn't be too picky.

"We can have our other ally test it," Gabriel announced grandly, quite pleased with himself for coming up with the plan. "Then I'll continue to have a Peacock by my side, and if they get sick, too, we'll know what the problem is."

Nathalie frowned, puzzled. "Another ally? Who? The Gorilla?"

"No, no, of course not!" Gabriel snapped, somewhat exasperated that she hadn't immediately caught on. Adrien's bodyguard was loyal to the family, sure, but not that loyal. He'd turn them into the authorities in a second if he found out about Gabriel and Nathalie being the city's supervillains. "Are you crazy? He would never support this. Think harder- the only person besides us who has willingly been akumatized!"

Nathalie only had to think for a moment, and then her eyes went wide. "Lila Rossi? But sir, isn't she, ah..." She tilted her head to the side, considering how to word her concerns. Gabriel chuckled.

"Spiteful? Petty? Childish? Perhaps. But she's also hell-bent on revenge against Ladybug at the moment, has no moral compass, and is very easy to manipulate. She wouldn't think twice about taking on a Miraculous and using it regularly." Gabriel was liking the idea more and more, really. If Lila got sick, it was really no skin off of his nose. Her use to him in her civilian form was starting to wear thin, and she was regularly gumming up the works in the photoshoots that she took part in. Her no longer being allowed to model due to health reasons would be a bonus, not a concern. "I would know who she is, she wouldn't know who I am, and if she tries to step out of line, I know who her mom is." He had an entire file folder on Mrs. Rossi and her ex-husband, plus some information on Lila's extended family. If she tried to take the Miraculous and run... well, he knew exactly where to look. "A few well-placed threats, and she would fall right back in line. She could take over the Peacock's duties for a month or two to give us the chance to figure out if your health has anything to do with the Miraculous."

"It seems risky," Nathalie commented after a moment. "I mean, I don't doubt that you'd be able to control her, at least in the long term. But what if she goes out and joins the fight? She's ruled by her emotions, it seems, and she might not think through the possible consequences." She snorted. "Actually, never mind might- she won't think through the consequences. Add in the fact that she'll only be able to be out for five minutes after she creates a sentimonster..."

"It's not ideal," Gabriel acknowledged. "But your health is important. This will allow us to ensure that the Peacock is safe to use going forward, while still providing me with some degree of backup."

Nathalie sighed, then very quickly slid into a nearby chair before she could collapse after her legs wobbled. "I suppose. I want to say that I'm just being paranoid, but this is just a little too similar for my comfort."

"It is. It's not just you." Gabriel tapped his fingers against his leg, trying to consider everything. He would bring the Miraculous over that evening, once dark had fallen. "Anything else to consider? You've dealt with Ms. Rossi more than I have."

"Just that she thinks that she's a master manipulator and will probably think that she's capable of tricking you," Nathalie warned after a minute's consideration. "Every time I talk with her, she has this look on her face that just screams that she thinks we're dancing to her tune. Something like that could be a liability. She could think that she can get away with more, unless you're very clear with her about how she doesn't fool you one bit from the start."

"True." Her delusions had to be very thoroughly stomped out. Perhaps he should record their entire interaction when he gave her the Peacock, just for blackmail purposes. One foot out of line, and he could get her in quite a lot of trouble. Working with a supervillain would not be taken lightly. "I'll do that. And if she decides to act out and cross Hawkmoth... well, she'll regret it."

Just like he had suspected, Lila had been all too willing to take over the Peacock duties. He hadn't told her why, other than Mayura was temporarily unavailable and unable to fight, but that wasn't information that she had to have. Perhaps she would have accepted despite the potential risks- Lila seemed hotheaded enough for that to be a very real possibility- but he wasn't willing to risk her turning him down.

Gabriel smiled to himself as he tucked away a copy of the recording of his visit to Lila away in a safe spot. He had her right where he wanted her, and if his read on her emotions was anything to go off of- which it was, his magic emotion detector was very reliable- then she wouldn't be acting out or attempting to double-cross him. Lila had promised to make it to every akuma battle that she could- she was very interested in seeing Ladybug's downfall, after all- and to exercise some common sense about what she could and couldn't handle, since Hawkmoth would be very displeased with her if she lost the Peacock... and besides, being unmasked as a supervillain in that way wouldn't go well for her, either. Being defeated and unmasked as an akuma didn't ever get anyone in trouble, but if she had had a Miraculous...

Lila had turned sheet-white at that thought. Clearly even she wasn't cocky enough to think that she would be able to get away with something like that.

All in all, it had gone pretty well, Gabriel thought. Soon enough, they should know if using the Peacock was still a problem, or if Nathalie could reclaim it. If it went well, and if they ever managed to get their hands on another Miraculous- one of the ones that the superheroes always pulled out as their backups- then they would have a third team member trained and waiting in the wings.

He truly hoped that it would go well. If it went really, really poorly... well, he might just end up regretting this whole thing.

#Miraculous Ladybug #my writing #The Wavering Peahen #new story new story

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lepus-arcticus · 4 years

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37.

“Why a snake?”

Outside, a cacophony of cicadas shriek, their shrill melodic cries lacerating the thick Tennessee dusk.

“Hmm,” she grunts into the pillow, her wet hair curling around her earlobes. The door connecting their rooms is ajar, creaking against the air-con. She’s sprawled naked on her belly across the cheap paisley comforter, towel abandoned to the sticky carpet, and her ouroboros leers at him from above the refined slopes of her sweet little ass.

She lifts her chin and fixes him with a look that says ‘leave it alone, Mulder’. Instead, he moves from the desk to the bed and sinks down beside her, covering the tattoo with his palm, getting close to her skin and inhaling the lingering scent of motel bar soap. There is a subtle ripple of scar tissue distorting the snake’s twisty scales, a souvenir from that awful afternoon in the office. Surely, he thinks, still sick with shame, it’s been longer than three years. Surely he’s not the same man he once was.

The serpent observes him from between his fingers, and he finds he can’t look away. “I mean, from a purely Abrahamic perspective, snakes are the ultimate in baddie symbology. They’re practically reviled in your religion. Why… why choose to mark yourself with such a symbol?”

Scully nuzzles the pillowcase and pouts, sinking back into that place she goes. Mulder bides his time, thinking of the temptation of Eve, of original sin, of the swath of papery snakeskin nailed to the doorbeam of the Church of Signs and Wonders. He thinks of Minoan goddesses glazed with quartz paste, of Osiris and Ra. He thinks about how the span of his fingers nearly encompasses the width of Scully’s waist.

“I don’t know,” she says, finally, but he knows it’s bullshit. There’s nothing that Scully doesn’t know, doesn’t turn over in her head until every thought is as clean and hard as a freshwater pearl. He hums in disapproval, and she pops her ass up into the warm air, rolling it towards him, trying to change the subject.

“Was it the alchemical connection that stirred you?” he murmurs dramatically, allowing himself to be hypnotized by the suggestive pulses she’s making with her hips, by the way she looks at him from under her eyelashes. “Surely it’s not an ode to organic chemistry.” At this, she snorts, and he smiles through a tremor of lust, dipping his head to bite her soundly on one peachy cheek.

She jerks but then purrs his name, and he keeps his head low, getting hard at the thought of all the paganish and sin-soaked things he suddenly wants to do to her. Maybe it’s the case and its stink of religious zeal that’s getting to him, but he wants it dirty this time, wants to shock her a little, wants things from her that the professionals in his videotapes charge extra to do.

He roots closer to the seam of her rump, tasting her downy skin, letting his tongue dip into the divot below her tattoo. There’s a dumb joke rattling around his brain about eating tail, but there isn’t enough blood left in his head to make it clever. Instead, he moves behind her, strategizing, salivating.

He grips her hips and hauls her up so that she’s on her knees, spread wide before him, and she’s so slim that there’s no flesh to move out of the way--the view is already downright pornographic. She stretches her arms towards the pine headboard and sighs happily as he wrestles his stiffening cock out of his jeans one-handed, sliding the fingers of his free hand through the searing hot basin of her cunt; her beautiful, beautiful cunt that is already so wet for him, because, thank whatever snake-scorning gods hold dominion over the earth, his Scully nearly always wants it just as bad as he does.

“You’ve got the prettiest asshole,” he croons, and it’s indisputably true, especially when he drags his fingers up to glaze it with her arousal.

She’s quiet, and he knows from experience that she’s waiting to see what he’ll say next, what he’ll do. He’s not sure if it’s a dare, but he decides to take it as one anyway, because there’s a hot pang at the base of his spine and it’s spreading to his balls and he’s not in the mood to be anything resembling circumspect. He swipes his thumb over that tight, sweet bud, his dick throbbing painfully at the way it clenches a little against him, at how she doesn’t retreat, but instead pushes back.

Jesus Christ.

He rubs and rubs with the meditative concentration of a Jaipur snake charmer until she finally makes a small, desperate sound, and then he’s lost. Without even bothering with a warning, he’s got two fingers deep in the velvety clutch of her pussy, and he’s diving face-first into that forbidden place, tonguing the pucker of it viciously, already drunk on the earthy tang that’s at once thrilling in its novelty but still so essentially Scully that he almost comes into his fist.

But he holds off and makes her come instead, begging to fuck her ass while she’s pliant and pleased with him, promising to go slow, groaning good-naturedly when she shuts him down and then amends her rebuffs with a sly maybe some other time, Mulder, because despite what your videos might advertise, that kind of thing requires careful preparation.

He enjoys fucking her hard from behind anyway, enjoys watching the ripple of her body as it slams against his hips, enjoys sliding a cheeky thumb into the pink, puckered darling of his fantasies as she’s coming a second time, enjoys earning her dazed, delighted mewl.

“At least tell me about the tattoo,” he says afterwards, when they’re sweaty and exhausted and starting to talk about finding a diner. “We’re in snake country, Scully. It’s only right.” Even as he’s saying it, he realizes he’s not serious, that he doesn’t care, that he likes that she won’t give him all of herself, even when he asks nicely.

“C’mon, Mulder, you love a good mystery,” she smiles. “Maybe if you figure it out, I’ll let you fuck me in the ass sometime.” -

Incrementum

#incrementum #I don't know what to say other than I just have a lot of time on my hands these days lol

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elisaphoenix13 · 4 years

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Well That's Different

You all can thank @zoxiqwritesstuff (and @funkylittlebidiot) for being able to read these fics since they have been the main contributors.

Everything was going well. Of course even William knew that wouldn't last long based on the little bit of experience he and Thomas got helping the Avengers in these battles as well as the stories they told. He was helping innocent bystanders escape by blocking them from any attacks with his magic, and whoever he couldn't cover, Thomas would run over and get them out of the way. It was their usual job while Harley and Peter had graduated to actually helping fight their enemy. Harley rarely stayed behind at the computers anymore after the fight with Thanos, and William still hadn't asked the older boy about that. It was probably exactly what it sounded like though.

"That's everyone." Thomas says when he stops next to his twin. "We can focus on the idiot now."

He motions toward the new bad guy of the week and William nods. They had no idea what the guy's name was because Stephen never let him finish the monologue he started, interrupting him multiple times until he got mad enough to get straight to attacking, and Peter had actually snickered over the comms. Whoever he was though, he could use some form of telekinesis and had a disgusting mutant army that looked like they had crawled out of the sewers.

They probably had.

None of the Avengers could get close enough without being thrown to the side. Not even Quill. In fact, the enemy currently had the god in the clutches of his telekinesis and was tossing him around like a ragdoll, slamming him against buildings or other members of the team. While he was preoccupied with Quill, Harley and Peter landed next to the twins to watch and cringe.

"Maybe the four of us can swarm him at once and surprise him. He can't get us all." Peter suggests.

"Especially not when he's throwing Quill around like that." Harley concurs and the four boys wince when they hear a groan from the celestial when he's thrown against a building.

"We need to go now. He might be immortal but that doesn't mean that doesn't hurt." Thomas says.

"William, can you teleport us over to him?" Harley asks and the youngest nods.

"I think so."

It barely took a thought. One second they were three blocks away from their enemy, and the next they were just a few feet behind him. Navy mist was just beginning to surround William's hands as he began to conjure a spell, but before he or his brothers could do anything, the man turned on them and stopped them with his telekinesis. All four were frozen in their offensive stances as Quill was finally released (and lay unmoving where he was unceremoniously dropped), and instead they were lifted off the ground.

"Well, well. If it isn't Stark's boys." The man grins. "I applaud your enthusiasm but an ambush won't work so easily on me."

William did his best to fight through his frozen state. Telekinesis was a form of magic wasn't it? But nothing was working. He couldn't move an inch and his heart dropped into his stomach when they were thrown back down the street like yesterday's trash. The suits Tony made them kept their collision with the ground from being fatal but it still knocked all but William out. His vision was blackening around the edges but he still tried to get up to check on his brothers until he looked up and saw something flying through the air and straight for them. On instinct, he used his magic to shield the four of them, but the shield fell after what ended up being a car bounced off of it.

William gasps for breath and tries to stay conscious when he hears some kind of unholy roar. Another car was thrown at them, but he didn't have the energy to conjure another shield. He tried to do it anyway, but then the ground shook around him and broke his concentration, and a large shadow loomed over him. The crunching of metal fills his ears and he looks up with wide eyes when he sees a black-scaled dragon standing over them and with the car in its jaws. The dragon drops the vehicle off a safe distance away from the boys and roars at the man before breathing fire at him.

He clearly had tried to use his telekinesis on the dragon, but it was far too big for his abilities and he didn't stand a chance against the flames. William looked away, not wanting to see what happened to their enemy, but he knew it included the mutant army since a few pained screeches had followed. Only when it fell quiet did he look back. All that remained of their enemies was ash, and the Avengers looked over at the dragon in shock. Scott and Natasha eventually went over to Quill to check on him, but they kept most of their attention on the dragon.

Then it sunk lower to gently nose at the conscious boy and William's heart pounded in his chest. The dragon's muzzle was nearly as big as him and he was almost knocked over because of it.

"Honey...Friday says the boys are okay." Tony says with his hands out toward the dragon in a placating position. "How about you change back so we can take them and Porcupine home to get some rest?"

William looks at Tony and then at the dragon before his father's words click and he gapes. "Mom?" The dragon rumbles softly and nudges him again. "I didn't know you could turn into a dragon!"

"Believe me. I didn't either." Tony says. "Duchess, come on. The boys are safe. You incinerated the asshole."

The dragon first checked each boy before it finally shifted back to Stephen and he faltered in place. Sam rushed forward faster than Tony could and kept the sorcerer from face planting onto the ground, and the rest of the Avengers helped the boys as Stephen used the last of his energy to open a portal back to the tower. Whoever wasn't helping Quill, Stephen, and the boys through to the tower had stayed behind to help with clean up and Stephen collapsed onto the couch with Sam's help. Bruce double checked the boys' well being just to be sure they would be fine before they were taken to their bedrooms, but William stayed in the living room with Stephen.

"Mom? Are you okay?" William asks.

"I'm fine. Shapeshifting into a dragon apparently saps a lot of energy from me." Stephen sighs out.

"You've never done it before?"

"No. I didn't know I could either. I just saw what that man did to you and your brothers and I lost it." Stephen explains.

He thanks William quietly when the teen retrieves a pillow and blanket for him and he lays down with a tired sigh. William lays the blanket over Stephen and the sorcerer falls asleep almost immediately. Tony taps his housing unit to retract his suit and he sits on a small part of the couch to rub his thumb across his spouse's cheek just as the elevator opens and Lucy could be heard crying. Athena and Valerie go over to Stephen and the little girl immediately crawls onto the couch to curl up with him, and Athena jumps up onto the last open area to join them.

Cassie had followed to give Lucy to Tony and she sighed when the infant almost instantly quieted in his arms. "Well...she knows what she wants." The teen sighs.

"Thanks for watching her Miss Sass." Tony says as Lucy grabs her father's finger and sticks it in her mouth.

"You're welcome."

"Where's Dia?"

"Waiting downstairs for me. We're going to watch tv now that Lucy isn't going to be with us." Cassie turns to look at William. "Want to join us?"

The boy shakes his head. "No thanks. I need a nap too."

She nodded and left to go back downstairs and William got his own blanket and pillow before laying on the other couch. While he dozed, he sometimes heard Tony doing something in the kitchen and talking to Lucy in Italian, and over time he heard the rest of the team join them. They kept their voices low as they talked about Stephen's sudden transformation, but then things started to get progressively louder as more of them came up to the penthouse and Harley and Peter woke. The two older teens sat on the third couch to watch tv and William eventually sat up when he was done dozing to watch tv with them.

"How are you three feeling?" Tony asks from the kitchen after letting Bucky take over cooking.

Things were a little harder when a baby was occupying an arm and the other wasn't as strong as it used to be. Sometimes Tony wondered how Stephen did it with Valerie and his hands.

"Fine." Both Harley and Peter respond and William nods.

"Urgh...stop…" Stephen mumbles and William looks over to find that Athena had crawled onto him to lick his face. Valerie very helpfully giggled while her mother tried to swat the wolf away.

"Mama tired?" She asks.

"Mmhmm…" he hums in response.

Valerie hugs Athena around her neck to stop her. "'thena, no!"

She then crawled off the couch and gently tugged Athena with her, and the wolf went a little reluctantly to sit with her while she played in her corner with her toys. Levi fluttered with excitement as it joined her and the three proceeded to have a tea party. The cloak did all the motions of drinking tea, but Athena just sat in place like she usually did. At least until Valerie got up to get Athena's special biscuits. Then the wolf was a more willing participant.

"Willy! Play?" Valerie asks and he smiles.

"Sure."

William slides off the couch and walks over to join her and Stephen cracks an eye open to watch them. He was happy to watch them and relax that way until Bucky announced that dinner was ready and then he finally sat up and yawned. William took Valerie into the kitchen for dinner while Levi cleaned up their tea party mess (yes, it was still weird for Stephen to see his cloak do such a mediocre task), and Athena went to her bowl. Steve fed her dinner and she ate gratefully next to Tibbs who was chowing down on his food like he hadn't eaten in weeks. All that was missing was--

Jingling reaches Stephen's ears as the elevator opens and Flynn darts out to run into the kitchen and stick his face in Athena's bowl. The wolf grumbles but shares her meal with him until Quill walks into the kitchen to add a little more meat to the bowl. It was a system now whenever everyone came up to the penthouse to eat. No one bothered to give Flynn his own bowl since he preferred to share with Athena and she never snapped at him, so they just added some extra meat.

"How are you feeling?" Tony asks Quill as he and Scott fill their plates and sit down.

"Little sore still but that'll be fine in the morning." He grunts out. "Don't recommend being thrown around like a ragdoll by the way."

"Where are Cassie and Diana?" Stephen asks after he walked into the kitchen and got a plate that Tony had filled for him.

"They'll be up in a little bit. Their movie is almost over." Scott answers.

Dinner passes in easy conversation and it also renews the sorcerer's energy so he felt marginally better halfway through his meal.

"Alright. I'll say it. Mom was a badass today." Sam suddenly announces.

Bucky nods. "Wish you had done that before."

"I didn't know I could." Stephen huffs.

"Well now you do." Natasha says. "Now we've got an immortal god and a mama dragon up our sleeves."

Stephen rolls his eyes. "Me doing that again will be for when we have no other options left. It drains me."

"Still an option." She shrugs.

"It was definitely hot." Tony grins. "Once I got over the shock."

"Well you're not getting any tonight. I'm too tired." Stephen mumbles.

"Nemmeno se--" Tony grunts when Stephen throws a plastic cup at his head. Thankfully it had been empty. "I'm just kidding Duchess."

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #supremefamily #mama bear stephen strange

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contaiinedarmageddon2 · 3 years

Note

❌ Sollux getting crushed under a lorge troll lady’s rear of your choice, so long as she’s doing it intentionally X3

As a result of his strange status in life (and unlife) Sollux had strange relationships with others. One of the strangest had formed with Her Imperious Condescension, a being once of nearly pure mythology to him as a wiggler. Theoretically with a skillset like his he could have contacted her long before the game and its fallout, but the consequences for even the slightest error would've been unthinkable. Besides, who would have guessed the Empress of all troll kind, revered nearly as a goddess, would be such a glutton for social media?

By the time certain microblogging platforms had shattered that illusion, Sollux was a long ways past being concerned with little things like consequences anyways. From there he'd discovered that for the most part, he liked talking to her. The yellowblood had a certain mix of eagerness to please mixed with self depreciation that complimented an ego as enormous as the Condesce's. A habit of making extremely stupid decisions resulting in a break from the drudgery if nothing else also aided in keeping things interesting. Though it was for the best that he was rarely within retaliation range whenever he took it too far.

Megalomaniac she might be, but the Condesce was no fool either. While it helped that she could easily beat anything she couldn't outsmart, a healthy amount of outsmarting kept her from having to get her hands dirty more than was entertaining. The implications of the wider reality the strange platform provided a window into were disturbing, and if the lowblood’s abilities and experience was half what he reported, then she could endure the attention. Alternia’s empire was brutal but also highly sophisticated, and the imperial technology core could bring a developed planet to its knees in a week. But even they suffered a few cullings after laughing at her suggestion of hacking into systems in a parallel universe. Smug little shits, being useful didn’t mean being untouchable. There were lots of useful trolls. Escaping the Condesce’s ire required being both unique and strong enough to endure an angry highblood’s temporary lapse in judgement.

This is what started things towards the current arrangement. The Condesce, or “Condy” as she had come to allow mentioning such things. Harmless venting, at least online where there wasn’t a target to harmfully vent onto.

“T)(e fucking audacity of t)(ose beac)(es, laug)( at M-E?”

“you diidn’t let them get away wiith being 2tupiid twiice riight?”

“Of course naut! Twice?”

“mockiing the empre22 and beiing laughably fuckiing wrong two.”

“W)(ats t)(at guppy? You could do beta t)(en?”

“of cour2e. why what were you lookiing for?”

“W)(ale… I need information! W)(at if some sucka)( a universe over gets the brig)(t idea to swim into mine first!”

“2o what, new2 2tatiion or radiio even? ii don’t know that ‘adjacent’ mean2 anythiing but each uniiver2e doe2 have iit2 own coordiinate2.”

“Talk sense buoy whatc)(a mean?”

“ii could put a program liike what ii u2e on your hu2ktop or palmhu2k or whatever the fuck two 2croll diifferent feed2 from other place2. 2ee theiir coord2, compare iit two your own. ju2t on your2 though, be2t you tell people what they need two know riight?”

“--EXACTLY! T)(anks guppy t)(at would be good work.”

“well you can thank me iif iit work2, not liike ii have a hiive two put a tv iin.”

“)(u)(? )(old on a minute Condy’s getting an idea.”

From there a very interesting and very daunting offer was made. Come live in the palace, at least for a little while. Install and oversee a few changes. The Empress hardly ever got an excuse to use the guest rooms. He wouldn’t leave her alone amongst empty rooms and dullards, would he? Despite every alarm bell ringing in his head at once, Sollux allowed himself to be buttered up and drawn to the palace. While he was never surprised the Empress was enormous, it was an ironclad rule of nature, that didn't make him any less impressed. The figure that awaited easily tripled him in height, and in terms of mass it was pointless to even consider. Either of the Condesce's hips jutted out further than Sollux was tall, and even those monuments to imperial glory struggled to carry the impossible shelf of tyrian backside scarcely clearing the floor behind them. Condy's wetsuit was nothing short of a miracle of modern Alternian technology to compress and contain the true Battleship Condescension.

Had it not been for that mountain of ass Sollux could've walked straight under the overhang of Condy's hips (even past her thunderous thighs) and barely brushed his horns under them. This was something he found out first hand during his time in the palace. Having been walking at speed, being built to her scale the palace was enormous, Sollux came across a corner and failed to notice the enormous shadow cast around it. As the Empress rounded it in a wide arc, the yellowblood had time to feel the brush of her hip atop his head before colliding with and barely even denting the rubbery expanse. It however had no trouble bulldozing him to the ground, with so little clearance that the cheek he was under promptly buried him. The slick surface of her wet suit proving to be a safety feature as it helped the immense weight slide over him rather than catch hold and drag him along, though the passing still took several long seconds. If Sollux hadn't started sputtering curses once freed Condy would likely never have even noticed the disturbance. If fuckers didn't get out of the way it was their funeral. The smaller troll briefly expected a quick execution order at his transgression, but was instead met with cackling laughter and a mighty CLAP as the Empress slapped a hand across the side of one cheek and declared he was lucky she liked the bold type.

#WILDCARD PART 1 #((Fuck it #don't want to hold it until I have the entire thing #you get a two parter starting now))#drabble #prompt #ficlet

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ryqoshay · 3 years

Text

Tri-Arame: Sitting Sasuke

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Words: ~3k Rating: G Time Frame: Late in the first trimester of their 2nd year Story Arc: Stand Alone

———-

Author’s Note: Ever since myon included Sasuke in her SetsuAyu doujin, I knew I needed to include Ayumu’s pet in my fic as well. And I had to borrow a certain idea from the doujin as well, because it fit so well with headcanons I already had for the girls.

I’ll link the doujin as well as another source of inspiration in my followup post so tumblr doesn’t drop this one from searches; the tag is barren enough as it is...

----------

Setsuna hummed happily to herself as she entered the clubroom and turned toward her hidden stash of manga with the intent of getting a chapter or two read before the others arrived. The next book was being released soon in one of her favorite series, so she wanted to reread the previous book to remind herself where everything had left off. Of course, the series was so good that any of the books warranted a reread on their own merit as well.

However, something on the other side of the room caught Setsuna’s eye. Strange, she didn’t remember an aquarium there before. Her manga quickly forgotten, she made her way over. Oh, it wasn’t an aquarium as it wasn’t filled with water, rather it just had a bowl of it in the middle. What was the term used for… terrarium, that was it. So, what critter had one of her friends decided to bring to school?

Setsuna hunched down to get a better view into the various structures in which an animal could hide within the terrarium. At first, she didn’t see anything, so she shifted her position to check through one of the side panels. And that was when she finally spotted it, a purple snake, coiled up inside something that resembled a pink rabbit.

“It’s so~ cu~te!” Setsuna couldn’t help saying aloud as she stared, transfixed at the animal.

Though she’d never considered herself a fan of snakes, she wasn’t exactly afraid of them either. She’d seen larger snakes at the zoo and smaller ones while out hiking but had always been indifferent toward them. This time, however, instead of a neutral reaction, she found herself wanting to hold this one and see it up close. As such, Setsuna had to resist the urge to pull off the top of the terrarium and reach in. It would be best to ask permission from the owner, she told herself. After all, she didn’t know if it was venomous or if it would be afraid of strangers or whatever and the last thing she wanted to do was to scare or hurt the cute little thing.

“Setsuna-chan?”

Setsuna jumped and let out a startled cry as she whirled to face the door, twisting awkwardly from her position and throwing herself off balance. “Yuu-san? Ayumu-san?” She uttered, catching herself on the bookshelf.

“You found him…” Ayumu’s expression was apologetic.

“Eh?” Setsuna was confused. How was she expected to not notice such a sizable addition to the clubroom?

“Sorry for not asking permission first.”

Oh. Yeah, it did actually violate one of the school’s policies. But Setsuna hadn’t even considered that earlier as she had been so distracted by the adorableness. And of course, he belonged to Ayumu, the pink rabbit enclosure should have been enough of a giveaway.

“It’s fine. I’ll let it slide this time.” Setsuna assured.

Relief took over Ayumu’s posture. “Thank you.”

“So, to what do we owe the pleasure of his visit?”

“Construction.” Yuu said.

“Hm?”

“That storm last week did some damage to the exterior of our apartment complex.” Yuu explained further. “So now they’re fixing it.”

“And the noise has been stressing out Sasuke to the point where he’s not eating or even wanting to be held or do anything other than hide.” Ayumu continued.

“So, poor Sasuke-san is scared?” Setsuna turned her attention back to the terrarium. “Awwww…”

“Under different circumstances, I’d give him to Yuu-chan for a little while, but she’s right next door, so that wouldn’t be much of an escape.”

“That makes sense.”

“Plus, I’ve temporarily banned Yuu-chan from feeding Sasuke because she…”

“Ayumu~!” Yuu suddenly whined. “That’s supposed to be a secret! And besides, it’s not my fault he keeps looking at me with those adorable, pleading eyes. How could I not give him a second serving?” She blinked and covered her mouth as she realized she had just been the one to divulge the details of the supposed secret.

Both Setsuna and Ayumu laughed a little at the cute behavior.

“Anyway,” Ayumu continued “I was hoping I could either leave him here for a little while or maybe someone from the club could…”

“I’ll take him!” Setsuna offered before realizing she was interrupting. “Sorry, I mean…”

This time, it was Yuu who chuckled at the reaction.

“It’s alright.” Ayumu dismissed with a shake of her head and a smile. “But are you sure? Do you want to check with your parents first?”

“It will be fine.”

“Have you ever taken care of a snake before?”

“No, but surly I can look up what I need online, right?”

“I’ll just write up a list of things that Sasuke is used to, like feeding times and temperatures and light and such.”

“That works too.” Setsuna nodded. “Say, uhm… you said he didn’t like being held…”

“Oh, no, he usually likes it when I hold and play with him, but he’s just been so stressed by the noise…”

“I see, do you think maybe I could…” Setsuna’s gaze drifted back toward the terrarium.

“Well, he’s pretty shy around strangers.” Ayumu admitted. “It took him a number of visits to get used to Yuu-chan. You’re welcome to try, of course, but don’t be too disappointed if he doesn’t respond.”

Setsuna couldn’t help smiling as she lifted the hinged portion of the lid. “Hey, Sasuke-san.” She cooed as she reached her hand toward the pink structure.

A curious purple head poked out at the mention of his name and a forked tongue flicked out to taste the scent of the new person invading his home. Setsuna paused a few centimeters away, remembering Ayumu saying he might be shy and hoping Sasuke would be the one to close the distance. Thankfully, her instincts were right and a moment later he was coiling around her hand and wrist. She giggled at the strange sensation of scales sliding over her skin.

“Wow…” Yuu breathed in awe.

“I think he likes you, Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu said happily.

“He really is adorable…” Setsuna swooned as she pulled her arm out of the tank and moved it closer so she could better inspect the creature.

As if in response to the praise, Sasuke slithered farther up the raven-haired girl’s arm and held his head up close to her face.

“Uhm, forgive me for asking, Ayumu-san,” Setsuna started as she reached her free hand up to pat the snake gently on the head “but what made you choose a snake for a pet? He’s adorable, but I would have thought you would go with something…” she paused to decide the best word “fluffier? Like a rabbit or something.”

“It was all Yuu-chan’s fault.” Ayumu responded with a smile that indicated a wealth of warm memories were welling up within her.

Of course. That made sense.

“Rabbits are definitely one of my favorite animals,” the redhead continued “and Yuu-chan has known that since not long after we met. So, for my birthday one year, she saved up and tried to buy a stuffed rabbit she knew I would like.”

“But it turned out to be a bit too expensive.” Yuu added with a slightly embarrassed chuckle. “So as a last resort, I found a plush I knew I could get from a crane machine, a purple snake. I was worried she wouldn’t like it, but…”

“I’m sure Ayumu-san would like any gift from Yuu-san.” Setsuna thought aloud.

“You’re right there, Setsuna-chan.” Ayumu confirmed.

“Working hard to obtain a gift but ending up having to get something else that is still loved by the recipient because the thoughtfulness of the giver is more important to them is a classic trope.” Setsuna explained. “Some of my favorite episodes and chapters have been centered around such a plot device.”

Both Yuu and Ayumu laughed lightly.

“So that made you fall in love with snakes and that’s why you got Sasuke-san?” Setsuna pondered.

Ayumu shook her head. “No, that was Yuu-chan again. She spotted him at a pet store and set up a plan for me to get him.”

“Like with the plush from years before, he was more expensive than I could afford.” Yuu admitted. “But I had the store hold him for a few days and between Ayumu and I, and with some help from her parents, we were able to get him.”

“Mmm, that sounds nice.” Setsuna said with a smile, despite a small pang of jealousy. But who could blame her? Who wouldn’t want to be with someone so obviously devoted to them? “Hehe.” She suddenly laughed as a completely different idea came to her. “If I put him over my shoulders, instead of a feather boa, I’d be wearing an actual boa.”

“He’s a python actually.” Ayumu corrected. “A ball python. But he does like riding on my shoulders at home.”

“Want to ride my shoulders?” Setsuna asked of the snake on her arm as if he might actually understand. “I’d wear him through practice if I wasn’t afraid of him falling.” She continued as she coaxed Sasuke into position.

“He’s pretty good at holding on as I walk around.” Ayumu said. “But the sudden movements of our dances might scare him.”

“Mmm.” Setsuna nodded in agreement. “But still, wouldn’t it be fun to design a costume around him?”

“Maybe write a song about him?” Yuu chimed in.

“Yeah, something like a ballad with slow, graceful movements.” She hummed a random tune and made gentle wave motions with her arms, carefully monitoring Sasuke’s response. “Though I suppose if he’s shy, he may not like the crowd too much…”

“Or the flashing lights and effects.” Ayumu added.

“Well if that’s a concern, why not a small, private show?” Yuu suggested. “Like just the three of us?”

“That might work better.” Ayumu seemed to be warming to the idea.

“Sounds like fun.” Setsuna said with an excited smile.

“Oh, and if we do want to share it with others,” Yuu shared in the excitement “we could always film it and make it a PV to post online.”

“That’s an amazing idea, Yuu-san! We should try that someday.”

“Semp… AAAIII!” Kasumi’s call for her senior turned into a scream.

“Kasumi-san?!” Shizuku exclaimed as her fellow first-year spun and barreled into her as though she had forgotten she was there.

“S-s-snake!” The ash blonde cried in a panic, trying to push past the brunette to escape the clubroom they had just entered.

“Kasumi-san, wait!” Shizuku called before giving chase to her fellow first-year.

“Uhm…” Setsuna pondered as she moved back toward the terrarium. “Do we have anything here that we could use to cover this thing until I can bring it home after practice?”

“I think Kanata-san has a blanket or two…” Yuu thought aloud.

“We probably shouldn’t borrow them without her permission.” Ayumu dismissed. “What if she is scared of snakes as well and it ends up bothering her to have her blankets used in such a way?”

“Perhaps we can leave him in the student counsel office for the time being?” Setsuna offered.

“That sounds good.” Ayumu nodded.

“Back in you go, Sasuke-san.” Setsuna guided the snake down her arm and into his terrarium. “Everything will be alright. One short little move now and another big one in a bit, but then you’ll be in a nice quite apartment. Sound like a plan?”

For his part, Sasuke slithered into his rabbit enclosure and coiled up. However, after a moment, he poked his head out and stared at Setsuna for a few seconds before pulling back in.

“Looks like he agrees.” Ayumu commented before lifting the tank to take it to the student counsel office.

----------

Everything was not alright.

Setsuna sighed as she stared at the snake in the terrarium she had just finished setting up in her room.

She really should have checked with her parents first. Or perhaps she should have made sure she knew everything about caring for a snake before she jumped at the opportunity to do so. While she maintained confidence that she was able to do everything on Ayumu’s list, it took quite a bit of convincing before her parents let her store the frozen mice in their freezer.

And what the heck was up with this one instruction on the list? Was it normal for snake owners to sing to their pets to encourage them to eat? Or was it simply something special Ayumu did for Sasuke?

Well, Setsuna did recall reading at some point about some study performed with music as an aid in plant growth. And it was true that music had a power that transcended the need to understand the language of the lyrics. Babies and many mammals responded positively to music. So why not reptiles? Suddenly, the practice no longer seemed strange to Setsuna.

She got up and quickly made her way to the bathroom to retrieve the mouse she had left thawing in the sink. Ayumu had mentioned that since Sasuke was well past his scheduled feeding, that Setsuna should make an attempt as soon as possible.

“Ready to eat, Sasuke-san?” Setsuna asked, pulling the mouse out of its bag with a large pair of tweezers and opening the lid of the terrarium. “Here comes a cute little mouse.” She moved the food as though to pretend it was alive.

When Sasuke did not seem to repond, Setsuna leaned down to check. Sure enough, he hadn’t budged at all. His eyes were open, so he was undoubtedly aware of Setsuna and the presence of food, but he remained still.

Well, music it is then. Setsuna stood straight and took a breath.

“Hashiridashita! Omoi wa tsuyoku suru yo.” Setsuna began, keeping her volume low so as not to disturb her parents. However, she almost forgot the next line when Sasuke’s head popped out of his enclosure. “Nayandara kimi no te o nigirou.” The snake seemed to be ignoring the mouse and stared directly up at her. As there was no music accompanying her, Setsuna skipped a few beats ahead to keep the song going. “Daiji na kimochi maru de uragiru you ni sugoshita…”

Setsuna continued through the first verse, watching Sasuke for any further response beyond occasionally flicking out his tongue. Upon reaching the chorus, she began moving the mouse again. This time, it caught Sasuke’s attention. Just inside the enclosure, Setsuna could see scales sliding past each other as the snake shifted its position. Then, right as she reached the end of the chorus, Sasuke struck.

Startled at the swift movement, Setsuna almost dropped the tweezers. Her mental record scratched for second before she recovered and continued into the second verse. She then withdrew the tweezers and gently closed the lid before watching with fascination as Sasuke began the process of slowly swallowing the mouse.

Only a bulge behind Sasuke’s head remained as evidence of his feeding by the time Setsuna finished her song. Smiling, she retrieved her phone and snapped a quick picture to send to Ayumu.

“Good boy, Sasuke-san.” Setsuna cooed a she hit Send.

UeharaAyumu: He ate!

UeharaAyumu: Oh thank goodness

UeharaAyumu: I was so worried

UeharaAyumu: Thank you so much Setsuna-chan!

ScarletStorm: You are welcome, Ayumu-san

ScarletStorm: But no thanks are truly necessary.

ScarletStorm: I merely followed your well-written instructions.

UeharaAyumu: But I do need to thank you

UeharaAyumu: For providing Sasuke with an environment where he felt comfortable

UeharaAyumu: He trusts you

UeharaAyumu: And that is enough to be thankful for

ScarletStorm: Very well then.

ScarletStorm: On a related note, your instructions say that I should not hold him until he is finished digesting?

UeharaAyumu: That’s right

UeharaAyumu: I think most of us might need a rest after eating basically a week’s worth of food in one meal

ScarletStorm: That makes sense

Though it made sense, Setsuna found it a little disappointing. While her primary reason for agreeing to watch Sasuke was to help a friend in need, she also had a selfish reason of wanting to experience what it might be like to have a pet, even if just for a week or so. And part of having a pet was petting it and holding it and the like, right?

UeharaAyumu: But don’t worry, Setsuna-chan

UeharaAyumu: He should be good to go in a day or two, depending on a few factors

UeharaAyumu: But given the circumstances, I would bet on the lower side of that range

UeharaAyumu: Just check in on him when you get home from practice tomorrow

UeharaAyumu: He trusts you so if he’s ready, he will come to you if you put your hand near him like you did earlier today

Setsuna chuckled. It almost seemed like Ayumu had read her mind though the phone.

ScarletStorm: Alright, I will try that tomorrow.

ScarletStorm: Thank you, Ayumu-san.

UeharaAyumu: I’m the one who should be thanking you

UeharaAyumu: For agreeing to take care of Sasuke

UeharaAyumu: And for getting him to eat

ScarletStorm: You already thanked me for that.

ScarletStorm: And the pleasure is mine.

ScarletStorm: Anyway, I need to get back to my studies.

ScarletStorm: But I wanted to give you an update on Sasuke-san first.

UeharaAyumu: It was very much appreciated

UeharaAyumu: Have a good night, Setsuna-chan

UeharaAyumu: See you tomorrow!

ScarletStorm: Yes, you as well. See you tomorrow.

Setsuna set down her phone and turned her attention back to the terrarium, only to find Sasuke staring up at her. Oh dear… was this what Yuu meant when she meant by adorable, pleading eyes? She suddenly empathized with the plight the twin-tailed girl faced. The temptation to go thaw out another mouse was ris… No. She shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Sasuke-san.” Setsuna apologized. “Ayumu-san said you can only have one at a time. She was very clear on that. But… she didn’t limit how many songs I could sing to you… Would you like me to sing something else?”

Sasuke lifted his head and flicked his tongue as if to respond that he was interested.

“Alright.” Setsuna said with a smile. “How about an old favorite of mine from one of the best groups in school idol history?”

----------

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

#YuuAyuSetsu #Takasaki Yuu #Yuki Setsuna #Uehara Ayumu #Tri-Arame #Love Live Nijigasaki #fanfic

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arthurjdrake · 4 years

Photo

When: A few nights before POTW events. Where: YM&O Summary: It’s definitely not a date night but it’s definitely a date night. With: @cryxmercy

[TEXT]: Hey! You alright?

[TEXT]: This is going to sound weird but… Um. Are you free tomorrow maybe?

[TEXT]: I’ve got a voucher for an all you can eat buffet with a +1. Thought maybe, you know, if you were interested… we could go get food?

[TEXT]: Just don’t ask me where the voucher is for.

{text} Hey. Yeah, I’m fine. Why? Are you alright?

{text} Am I free? I mean yeah. Of course.

{text} Wait. Are you asking me ou- Is this a d- Are you sur- You had me at ‘all you can eat.’ What time?

[TEXT]: All good, great actually. Sun’s out and I went on a walk which was nice. Fresh air, you know?

[TEXT]: You are? Oh! That’s good cool awesome great.

[TEXT]: Best way to get you to anything - free food. :P Uh, say 7 ish? I’ll pick you up.

{text} Fresh air does do a lotta good. You should come running with me sometime. See if you can still keep up in your old age.

{text} Yep. I literally have nothing going on.

{text} Free food and pets. Animals I mean. Not like- petting. FuK. Anyway. Yes. 7 is good.

[TEXT]: Subject myself to willing torture? You sound like Nadia. But maybe. I’d need convincing though.

[TEXT]: Alright, cool.

[TEXT]: Haha, funny. Well, I’m not sure the trio would want to be brought along. But okay, 7 it is. See you. :)

{text} I’m good at torture. Convincing? You mean it’s not enough for me to say there’s no way you can still outrun me?

{text} :P

{text} No, but I'll go to a place if there’s an animal there I can pet. Especially cows. See you then.

[TEXT] .... you’re right. That’s motivation enough. I’ll CRUSH you.

[ User knows he definitely won’t crush her, in fact knows this is a truly terrible idea ]

[ User also doesn’t respond because no cows, not in this yard or any other yard ]

If he was being honest, Arthur wasn’t sure this was a good idea. He’d had the voucher for several weeks, tucked under a miniature statue in the entrance hallway and the little strip of paper taunted him every time he walked in through the door. Perhaps it was some weird irony, to get a voucher to that place out of any that happened to be in town… But sometimes you had to face your fears. There was also the niggling worry that not using it would anger some silent higher power and another thing might just come to try and kill him all over again.

Not to mention the fact he’d finally had the floorboards replaced, it wasn’t something he really wanted to test. Plus, why couldn’t he take Mercy out for food? Though it didn’t explain the nervous roll his stomach seemed to be doing; flipping over itself as the time grew nearer to departing. It took a little while but eventually after trying several options he settled for a blue check shirt; cuffs folded neatly over his elbows leaving the tattoos that ran the length of his arms exposed. Light tan trousers, brown boots and a smart fedora to accompany the look. The hat being a necessary addition to most of his wardrobes of late considering the haphazard needle-like pin feathers that had started to grow in. A frustrating trait he had to find creative ways of hiding less he wanted to out himself rather publicly.

After he was happy with everything, Arthur grabbed the voucher, his wallet and the keys for his Bentley which after he locked up rolled smoothly onto the road towards his destination.

{text} Bring it, old man.

(User will get her cow one day. Just you wait.)

Mercy put her phone down and then realized she hadn’t asked him what the dress code was. Though he had said ‘buffet,’ which meant it was probably not overly fancy? Did she just… wear what she normally wore? Which looking down at what she had on - ripped jeans and a faded t-shirt that said Woodstock ‘69 - she decided that she should probably wear something a bit… better. Maybe jeans without holes? A dress?? Did she own a dress? But then if she didn’t dress like she normally did it might be weird if it wasn’t- No. Of course it wasn’t. It was just food. They’d gotten food before.

Mercy sighed and scrubbed her hands through her hair. She’d just… have a look in her closet and see what looked decent. After she brushed her hair. And showered. And… should she shave her legs?? No. Why would she? It was- No. Nope. Nonono. With that sort of thought pushed firmly down into the ‘not relevant’ part of her brain, Mercy got up and headed upstairs.

A bit later, she’d ‘thrown on’ the one dress she happened to own that looked… well, it didn’t look half bad actually. It was a light blue color, soft and slightly fitted at the waist, and came to about mid-calf. She threw on a pair of sandals - not thinking about the fact that she had given in and shaved her legs - and brushed her hair out into something manageable. Not that it would stay that way, but she’d tried. Grabbing her bag when Arthur texted to say he was there, Mercy gave Loki a pat, locked up and headed to the car. And it was a very nice car indeed. So much so that she forgot about being slightly uncertain of her choice of clothes, and grinned at him as she approached.

“So how drunk do you need to be to let me drive home later? On a scale of 1-10?”

With the Bentley idling, Arthur climbed out and waited by the passenger side after sending off a text to let Mercy know he was here. Though he wasn’t at all prepared for the person that stepped out of the apartment building, or how his eyes drifted appreciatively over her figure. His mouth gaped a fraction though he caught himself before it became too obvious, and he wet his lips as his stomach flipped again seemingly intent on tying itself in knots.

But, of course, Mercy knew exactly what to say to get him back on track and he huffed with mild indignation over the idea of her driving his car. “That’s not going to happen Mer, you know that.” He reached blindly behind him fumbling for the door handle but eventually popped the door and pulled it open for her. “You look beautiful by the way…”

The fact she’d put so much effort in made him question whether it was even fair going to the place the voucher entailed… But if anyone could survive mime central, well, it was her.

Mercy felt only a bit awkward as she made her way towards Arthur and his fancy ride. She didn’t see the way his expression faltered, or the way he looked her over, though she knew he was looking. She was right there after all. It’s not like he could help it. He looked quite nice himself, Mercy noticed when she finally looked up. It didn’t take her long to notice the ink on his arms either. How had she not noticed that before now? Though Arthur did tend to wear long sleeves more often than not.

His indignation only earned him a smirk as she waited on him to open the door. “Alright.” Maybe not today, but one day she’d convince him to let her drive. She was quite good at it, if she did say so herself. But just as she’d rerouted his train of thought in mentioning the car, he returned the favor when he told her she looked beautiful. Though hers was more a thought derailing than a rerouting.

She felt her cheeks tinge pink, and a slightly nervous huff of laughter made it’s way past the heartbeat in her throat. “Oh… thank you. I just… it was clean…” It was pretty clear to anyone that wasn’t blind that she’d not simply picked the dress because it was clean, but Mercy cleared her throat, and said nothing else about it as she willed her blush to go away. “You look rather nice yourself,” she redirected as he got in. “These are lovely.” She gave one of his tattoos a soft trace with her finger. She had several of her own, as well as a few other marks she hadn’t chosen. But nothing like what Arthur had.

“So… where’re we going?”

It had been a long time since he’d seen Mercy get done up for anything. A very long time indeed, and for a moment he was struck dumb by the sight of her walking towards him. Enough that words failed and his rather rational mind misfired several times before he even found the right words - and even they felt underwhelming after they left his mouth. Though the blush that rose in her features perhaps suggested otherwise.

“Well, better clean than… not,” he grinned around the joking tone, his hands rubbing together mildly simply to give him something to do to quell the nerves. As she got in, Arthur closed the door and circled back around to the drivers seat, sliding in and buckling up. “Ah-- thanks, I got that one after I went home… to-- well, our home, not that it’s there anymore but you know...” it was his turn to laugh a touch nervously the gentle touch to his arm enough to turn his smile bashful.

“Uh… Well, funny you should ask,” he started unsure how to break this news ultimately deciding that ripping the band-aid off was likely the best choice. “Uh, well, I came second in that dumb pie competition… And for that I… well, I got an all you can eat at the mime restaurant… Which I’m honestly not sure if it’s a joke or…” His eyes cut sideways, nervously - uncertain as to what her reaction might be, “I wasn’t sure if there were… consequences to not using stuff… And I didn’t want to… chance it, but I also thought it’d be… That it would be nice for us to catch up and just-- Be normal for… A bit.” He faded off, internally cringing at what he’d just tried and failed to explain.

Wow, so smooth.

“Might have some… white cat hairs on it, but… well. Yeah.” She picked at a non-existent hair. “Yeah?” She looked at the tattoo again. “When was that?” Mercy hadn’t been back in… gods. Decades. Maybe even centuries. The thought that it was so different now - the place where they were born no longer there - made her quite suddenly homesick. Though Arthur’s laughter was enough to quell it quickly enough. “I’d like to go back someday. Even if it’s not the same.” Some things were always there. The sea. The stars. The mountains. It would be nice to see them again in her homeland, even if it was more than a thousand years since she’d first stood and looked at them as a girl.

Mercy’s thoughts came back to the here and now as Arthur seemed to be slightly unsure how to explain where they were going. Her eyebrows rose a bit. Then a bit more. And a bit more. She took a moment to process it, nodding slowly and finally just deciding that this place was as good as any. In fact, it was perfect. Because fuck mimes. “You won fair and square, and bad jokes aside, going in there is just a good, old-fashioned fuck you to those clownfuckers.” To hear he wanted the two of them catch up and just… be normal for a bit… that eased some of her mime-centric ire. Quite a bit of it actually.

Her expression returned to the slightly bashful smile from a moment before, and she gave his arm a playful nudge. “What’re we waiting for then? Unless… you know… you’ve changed your mind about letting me drive…”

“Well, still it-- it looks real nice, you look real nice… Not often I get to see you all done up considering” it seemed that whenever they did see each other these days something always ended up going sideways and even when things went right there had always been something else overshadowing it. So, even if it was at this blasted mime restaurant, he was determined to make this a good night. “Uh, maybe twenty years back? I… needed to do some soul searching I guess.” Things had been confusing back then, coming to terms with his memories amongst other things.

“Is it? I didn’t… really think of it in that way but I guess,” he wasn’t sure but Mercy seemed way more gung-ho about the idea than he’d actually thought she would be. He wasn’t sure whether that meant this was a good idea or a truly truly bad one. “I’d rather go to the Artesian or somewhere but… Maybe next time?”

The nudge was enough for him to make up his mind, “alright, alright, I don’t have a death wish quite yet yet.” He huffed, putting the car into gear and pulling out onto the road.

“Thanks,” she said again, without the disclaimer this time. Though her blush flared slightly. “I um… I don’t… remember the last time I put on something that wasn’t jeans.” It wasn’t as if she ever went anywhere (on her own or by invitation) that meant she got to dress nice. She didn’t… date. Or whatever it was called these days. Hell, there were apps now for that sort of thing. It was… a bit daunting. Not that this was… that. Or anything. But the point remained that Mercy wasn’t at the top of most people’s list when it came to going out.

Mercy hummed quietly as his answer, glancing at him as they pulled out. Twenty years ago she was… in New York. A world away from where Arthur had been. And again, that brought on a feeling of homesickness she hadn’t felt in a long time. “And did you find anything?” she asked softly, though she was quite serious. Because she should’ve been there. To answer his questions. To fill in the gaps. To help it all make some sort of… sense.

She couldn’t help the ire that rose up at the thought of what had happened earlier in the month. She didn’t wish to cause any trouble, but Mercy was of a mind that if Arthur thought he should go, regardless of the reason, then they would go. And damn anyone who tried to start trouble. They deserved a normal evening. Arthur especially. At the mention of a next time, Mercy was a tiny bit surprised, but she couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe so.”

A genuine bit of laughter worked it’s way past Mercy’s smile. “I’m a very good driver I’ll have you know. I’ve never once gotten a traffic ticket.” The fact that the cops hadn’t been able to either catch or find her during or after the fact was irrelevant.

“Well, if you get the chance you should do it more often… It suits you,” Arthur paused before adding hastily, “not that your usual look doesn’t suit you-- It does, suit you that is, you look good anyways just-- You look really nice and that’s… new, uuuuh” he trailed off awkwardly, feeling a general heat creep up his neck in embarrassment. Maybe he should just… stop talking. New was good, just as old was good as well.

Perhaps it was nerves getting the better of him, but Arthur wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to spend more time with her. Wanted to learn about the things that had happened in those years. What had she done? Where has she been? What had life brought about for her, all things he hoped to learn more about tonight and going forward into the future. Because if they stood any chance of truly rebuilding what they had, they needed to work on reinforcing the foundations.

“Mm, in another life and definitely not with my 150k car thanks,” he laughed regardless as they drove, the journey not being very long before they were pulling up outside the dreaded mime restaurant. Once parked, he grabbed the voucher from the dashboard and circled around to open her door. It wasn’t necessary, and he knew well enough she could get her own door but in the moment it felt like the right and polite thing to do.

Mercy’s eyebrow raised again as Arthur started down a very slippery (but completely unintentional) path that - had she been someone else - might’ve gotten him in a fair bit of trouble. But she wasn’t someone else, and she knew what he meant. Even if she couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across her face. “Maybe I will then,” she said casually, before turning to look out the window in order to give him a reprieve from being watched as the blush crept up his neck. Mercy found it adorable, just like the rambling, but she wasn’t quite sure he would appreciate the sentiment. Not now at least. So she kept it to herself.

Truth be told, she was nervous too. She missed him. Though that was no one’s fault but her own. And she wanted to spend more time with him without it being too much all at once. Even if they somehow seemed to end up together more often than not, without any real thought or effort behind it. They’d talked a bit about the past, but not all that much considering how many years stretched between the last time they’d been together and now. So there were many things they didn’t know about one another. Mercy knew a little bit more than Arthur did. She always kept tabs on him. Or tried to. Where he was, how he was doing. If he had a family or people that cared for him. It was hard sometimes though. And there were stretches of time where she wouldn’t check in, if only because she knew if she saw him again there would be no way she’d be able to leave again.

Like now. There was no way she could ever leave again. Not now. Not ever.

So Mercy would do whatever was needed to build back what they once had. And that included teasing him whenever possible. “Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “Suit yourself. But I’m tellin’ you, you’re missin’ out. I can do this amazing thing where you drift sideways for like… a quarter-mile…”

The ride over was uneventful, and Mercy gave the restaurant a glare through the windshield before Arthur opened her door. “Thanks.” She glanced up at the exterior of the building again, then glanced at Arthur. She looped her arm through his. “You still good?”

Perhaps if this did become a regular occurrence, whether it was going out to dinner or anything else that most might consider normal things would finally begin to fall into place. He hadn’t forgotten the conversation and revelation that had been made after the wraith attack, in fact, the thought remained acutely present whenever he let his mind wander to it. They hadn’t discussed it further, and Arthur was admittedly hesitant to broach it until he’d made up his own mind. There was also the issue that he still wasn’t entirely confident in his own thoughts and feelings surrounding the revelation. Was his forgiveness of her past actions based on his own true acceptance and coming to terms with finally having the truth or was it also influenced by sympathy of what she’d been though? Did it justify what had happened or was that simply his own natural inclination towards preferentiating the emotional and physical well-being of those he cared for over his own needs and wishes? It was a myriad of complex and counterintuitive thoughts that he didn’t quite know what to make head nor tail of.

So rather than rushing in and saying something either of them might come to regret, he kept his thoughts and feelings to himself for the time being. A part of him hoped that simply spending time together would help answer those lingering questions and doubts. But such thoughts were quieted by her attempt in convincing him to let her drive. “You say that as if it’s going to make me more inclined to let you - when it does precisely the opposite.”

Eventually they arrived, and Arthur glanced up at the hellish looking sign above the door. Wondering not for the first time if this was a very, very bad idea. Mercy hooked her arm in his and he fortified his nerves, “yeah, all good.” With that they walked inside to the restaurant that was devoid of any talk the only sound being the clink of cutlery and crackly jingle of French accordion over speakers he couldn’t pinpoint the location of. A silent man with brown hair slicked with some grease and oily white face-paint stood by the reception and Arthur held out the voucher. “I um--- Won this, apparently it’s supposed to… Well, apparently it means we can have dinner here…” Was this what you were supposed to do? He had no idea.

The man’s smile grew eerily brighter, as he mimed a clap, skipped on the spot before sweeping into a bow that seemed to indicate wonderful, right this way.

Oh boy, they were in for a night.

Mercy had known when she told Arthur the truth of the last 200 years that things wouldn’t simply… be like they once were. She wasn’t stupid. Or naive. Just because her feelings had never changed didn’t mean that his hadn’t. Especially considering Arthur had had several lifetimes between now and then. Even if Mercy hadn’t. Even if every day was just one day further away from the past. From that part of her life where she’d been happiest. It was hard, even now, to simply… forget. Even though there had been times she wished she could. Those had been bad times, when she’d been lonely enough and hated herself enough to wish away the good memories along with the bad.

But that was then. Now Mercy was glad she hadn’t gotten that wish. Because she didn’t want to forget. The good as well as the bad that had followed. The mistakes she’d made. The promises she’d broken. The hurt she’d caused. If she didn’t remember then she couldn’t change. If she couldn’t change, then history was doomed to repeat itself, wasn’t it? And Mercy had always believed that her fate was her own. There was no preset ending. No story that was already written. So while there was still a long road ahead, Mercy was hopeful that with time things would all work out.

So she didn’t push to talk about things that weren’t ready to be talked about. They would come, as all things did, when they were ready. For now, Mercy was happy to be with Arthur, regardless of the… circumstances. Or more so the locale. It was… horrifying wasn’t the word. But no matter. “Fortune favors the brave,” she told him when he said he was ready, giving his arm a pat as they made their way into the mouth of the monster mime.

Mercy narrowed her eyes at the man that led them to their table, but kept quiet as he mimed over the list of available items from the buffett, and then the wine list. She tipped an eyebrow at Arthur once the man had gone, but surprisingly - other than the eerie quiet of the place - the evening proved to be uneventful. Well… that is until they found themselves inexplicably out on the sidewalk - both very, very winedrunk - and being mimed at not to come back. Ever.

“Well, that’s jus’... fuckin’ rude…” Mercy said, giving the mime her own gesture while still speaking loudly and in Danish. Which was what had gotten her and Arthur kicked out in the first place. “Your mother… your mother was a hamster!” She tried to sound threatening, but could only snort with laughter as she held onto Arthur’s arm.

Strangely enough the door slammed shut silently, but the look on the mime’s face was enough to make Arthur snort - compounded by Mercy’s own antics. “Ohmyodin nooo--” he tried to grab her hand but missed and almost lost his balance needing to grab onto a wall to steady himself “don’t-- Don’t anter- antanger-- don’t do that.” Despite the chastisement there was a ridiculously stupid grin on his face that suggested he wanted her to do anything but.

He couldn’t stifle the snicker that escaped him at her exclamation, most of the time in the restaurant had been spent chatting and catching up over far too much wine and despite his reservations he’d had a thoroughly enjoyable night. Their raucous and banterous relationship from centuries seemed to settle back over them both so easily, like a well-worn jacket you could slip back into without thought.

Arthur pushed off the wall, steering them in a very haphazard walk back through town. “I can’t believe… You told him he… looked like a carnie reject that-- that had crawled outthe grave.” He shook his head, “you know mirrors don’t lie… and luckily- luckily for him they don’t laugh either didyousee-- DId you see his face paint? Whodoesthat?”

Mercy had had an exceedingly good time once they had gotten over their initial reservations about the restaurant itself. Perhaps they’d drank a bit too much, but it was hardly the first time. Well, maybe in this lifetime, but certainly not altogether. Regardless, it had been all too easy to let old habits settle back over them. For Mercy, it was a welcome feeling. As was the light-hearted laughter that flowed so easily once they’d softened the edges of their uncertainties with rather a large amount of wine.

Arthur’s half-hearted chastising made her grin, though as the door shut ever so pointedly - yet silently - on them, Mercy waved the restaurant off and turned to her staggering friend. “Least when… when we painted our faces… was for a reason. Intami… entera… intimo… to look scary…” she said with a stifled giggle. She took Arthur’s arm as he tilted sideways, though their height difference made it almost comical to watch. “Easy there… you might…” She giggled as she steered them back towards the sidewalk. “... you might topple over… like a big ol’ tree just…” Her hand made a falling motion. “Boom. I’d have to… drag you home…”

“Right! Yes! The scary- most scary, so more scary than those…” he made a face as they wandered down the street “onion lickers… So French. Why are there so many onion lickers here?” As they walked in a very side-to-side line Arthur pointed to his car “weeeeeeell, you could. Or there’s… the sport vroom vroom. Buuut-- you” he sing-songed while booping her nose “are too drunksy to drive.”

And so the car was left by the side of the road, left to be collected when the furious hangover of tonight’s activities had subsided.

His thoughts returned once more, circling back in strange logic “I’m not scary… never…” he hiccuped raising a hand to his mouth and snorting “never have been… You’re… so scary, the scariest. But not… not with me.”

“The scariest…” Mercy agreed. As far as the French population of the town went, Mercy merely shrugged. “C’est la vie?” Though she wasn’t able to keep a straight face and ended up laughing at her own humor. “Ohhh… the car… Ohh, I’d like to drive… can I?” But they were already moving past, to which Mercy pouted. She waved at the car, and tried to wave Arthur’s hand away as he booped her nose. “Don’t touch… my nose… tickles...” She wrinkled it as it did just that, and then scrubbed her face against his arm to fix the itch he’d caused. “‘S’better…”

Mercy inclined her head to look up at him as he declared their status in regards to scariness. She blinked slowly before the effort of looking up became too much, and her head dipped to lean against his arm again. “I’ve never ever scared you?” she asked, quite sincerely despite her current state. “That’s… tha’sgood.” She nodded for moment. “But you’re wrong about… about the other bit.” A finger poked his arm. “You… are very scary-” That same finger turned to poke at herself. “- to me.” She huffed. “The scariest.” It didn’t occur to Mercy that Arthur might ask why he frightened her so much. It also didn’t occur to her that she might just answer him.

“You’re terrible,” he chuffed, giving her a little bump not that he let go of her arm so it only served to stagger them again. “Noooo, you…” he hiccupped again, words faltering “are drunksy, not safe.” Though they were already passing it and onto more interesting things. Like trying to boop her nose again, his hand unsteadily waving in the air “almost---almost…” he booped it again “ha! Got it!”

They walked again for a little bit, the weight of Mercy’s head comforting where she rested it against his arm. “Me? No. Never ever. And I knooow you’re not meant to say never ever but – never ever!” It was his turn to give her a bit of a look, mildly disbelieving. “No I’m not.. Look at me.” He made a face, blew a raspberry and wandered on. “Why am I scary?” he couldn’t help but wonder not that he might truly appreciate the scope of the question or an answer if it came.

“You’re just as… as me as drunk I am. Wait…” Mercy frowned. “Drunk as I am… there.” She snorted. “That’s better.” Watching his hand twirl it’s way towards her nose again, Mercy snapped her teeth at his finger when it got close, but only managed to bite her tongue. “Oww…” she groused, flapping a hand at him half-heartedly as she dissolved into more drunken laughter.

She glanced up at him, pushing a flyaway strand of her hair back from her eyes. “I see you…” Her expression turned slightly softer. “I always see you…” She leaned her head back against his arm, but this time she let her hand slip into his too. “Sometimes I wonder if- if you see me too.” It was perhaps a bit deeper a statement than Mercy intended, but it was said nonetheless.

Mercy seemed to think for a moment before she answered his follow up question. “Because you’re- you. You’re… my person. And… losin’ you… ‘s’the only thing I’ve… ever been ‘fraid of. Hm.”

A snicker escaped him after she snapped her teeth and he poked her nose, it was cute, hearing her laugh. Truly laugh, how long had it been since he’d had the pleasure of hearing that sound? Too long. Far too long. Even as she moved to take his hand, the warm wrap of his palm intertwining his fingers with her own.

“I know… M’very tall,” it wasn’t hard not to see him; the depth of her remark lost on him at present. “I can,” he answered as he swung their hands gently, but paused before amending “well-- I can… Can with glasses… Hard without.”

The latter answer caused him to tilt his head, “well, if I’m your person… does that make you my person? ‘Cause, I don’t wanna lose you… Didn’t like it then. Don’t want it. Nope. Not ‘gain. Nopenopenope!”

“The tallest…” Mercy smiled fondly, humming in contentment as their fingers twined together. It felt good… safe… not at all awkward or hesitant. It felt like old memories and happiness, and Mercy held on just a bit tighter as they walked. She laughed a bit, glancing up at him again. “But I like your glasses… they’re nice on your face. Which is… also nice. It’s a nice face… a real nice Arthur -face.”

A very thoughtful look came over her at his question. “I wanna be your person… if I’m not already. Can I be? Yours?” Mercy squeezed his hand, looking at him with an almost pleading expression. “I don’t… I don’t wanna be anyone else’s. Ever. And I promise you won’t… you won’t lose me ever. Never ever. I promise.” She hugged his arm tightly, and even pressed a kiss to his sleeve. “I promise…” They teetered a bit around the corner at the end of the street, Mercy nearly stepping off the curb before they got straightened out. But she never let go of his hand.

“And you… are very short.” He smiled aside at her as she settled against his arm, it was a nice feeling comforting and familiar. Reminding him of times when they had hung out in trees in the lazy afternoon sun when hunting game and fallen asleep there until the next morning. “S’cute.” He blinked from behind the lenses, a little touch of red colouring his features. “Arthur -face. That’s me. Mister Arthur-face.”

“My person?” he asked, “I don’t… Hm, I’ve never had a person before…” there were a few moments of silence as he mulled over the idea. “You promise?” the words echoed around in his head but ultimately Arthur nodded slow before the action grew more definite “yes. I promise and you promise. Double prom-promises. Super special.”

“Woooah!” he called out as she teetered precariously to the edge of the curb, grabbing her hand tight and pulling her back “don’t! Floor is lava!” to which he suddenly darted away from her in search of… something to get up on.

“Oi… s’not nice to… point out my short- shortcomings…” Her laughter took over when she realized the irony of the statement. She was quite short though. At least compared to Arthur. When he said her stature was cute, Mercy glanced up at him, trying not to grin but failing. “Is it? I always thought it… it made me seem less… hm… threatening…” she giggled. “It’s just the right face… if anyone else had your face that would be… weird.”

“Mmm, you know… your person. Just… that person who’s… yours.” She nodded to herself, the logic of her statement currently making a great deal of sense. “I promise…” Mercy answered as sagely as she currently could. Then he promised back… and Mercy smiled, squeezing his arm. “We’re each others’ peoples… persons… person?” She would’ve hugged him if she hadn’t teetered towards the curb… only to be snatched back just in time.

“Oop!” Laughter bubbled up again, and she grabbed his arm to steady herself as the world spun just a bit. “What? Lav-Ohhh… oh no… lava?” Her expression turned genuinely concerned. “Arthur it can’t be… lava… there’s nothing to climb- oi! Where’re you going?!” Mercy blinked once, snorted with laughter, and took off - in a mostly straight line - after him.

“They’re very short-short shortcomings,” he countered with a playful smile playing on his features. “Mhm,” Arthur nodded sagely feeling it explained itself well enough. “You’re jus’- jus’ a tiny ball of rage. Pint sized ball of chaaaaaos and rage… S’cute.”

“Each other’s person’s person.” Arthur nodded his grin growing widely but further talk was forgotten as the more pressing issue became the floor is lava.

“High bench!” he called back in a fit of laughter as he ran down the street. They had been passing a park and Arthur had seen exactly where his safe haven would be. The issue was, he tried to clamber over the waist-height fence to get in and in his current state got half-way over before he lost his balance keeling ass over teakettle into the grass. “Oof.”

“I have to be… ‘cause I’m short… no one’s…” She giggled. “No one’s scared of… short people…” It was a very untrue statement, but in the context of their conversation - and her winedrunk brain - it made perfect sense to Mercy. As did Arthur’s summation of being each other’s peoples. Persons. Person. She knew what he meant.

But then he was running away, and Mercy forgot about anything other than beating him to that bench. “No fair! Head start…” She almost bounced off the fence as he was clambering over, the railing stopping her with an ‘oof’ of her own that dissolved into more laughter as Arthur toppled onto the ground. Mercy threw a leg over the top rail, gripping it precariously with both hands before she managed her other leg - dress be damned - and dropped to the ground on the other side. She tilted sideways a bit as she straightened, but managed not to join on Arthur in the grass. Instead, she stepped over him before he could grab at her, and climbed victoriously onto the bench.

“Victory… is mine,” she cackled, slightly out of breath. “And you sir… are on fire…” she told Arthur, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

Apparently he was more drunk than he believed himself to be, and the resulting crash on the other side of the fence gave proof to that. But with no real damage done, he snickered and as Mercy tried to step over him he tried (and failed) to snag her ankle to tug her down to the ground with him.

“No fair! That’s--” he inhaled as another bout of hiccups overcame him “that’s my bench.” He glowered at her from the floor though it looked more like a sad pout than anything truly meaningful. “So anta- antgag-- meany. Short- short meany bench stealer you.”

He let out a long puff of air, arms going above his head as he stretched out on the ground. “M’not… wait… is lava fire? I’ve… I’ve never tested that one.” Folding his arms behind his head, he let his gaze wander from Mercy on the bench to the dark skies overhead. Noticing the sparkle of stars studding the black canvas of night. “Huh... pretty.”

“No… it’s mine… you…” she grinned, “fell into the lava. S’mine…” She did a rather clumsy spin on said bench, and nearly toppled off backwards for her efforts. When she’d righted herself, Arthur was looking up at the sky. Mercy looked too. “‘S’fire, yeah,” she murmured. “Sort of.” The softly twinkling stars overhead had pulled her attention though, or more precisely the sudden wave of nostalgia she felt looking up at them. Especially with Arthur right there on the grass.

So without much forethought, Mercy joined him. She flopped down heavily on her back, close enough to jostle him a bit, and threw one arm under her own head, beneath her mass of riotous hair. “Beautiful,” she agreed with a small, contented sigh. She was quiet for a bit after that, just enjoying the relative peace of the moment, and wondering why they hadn’t done this before now. Arthur was very, very warm next to her, and she couldn’t help but slide a bit closer to him as the coolness of the grass seeped through the fabric of her dress.

He raised his hand waving his middle finger in her general direction as she spun on the bench before the hand fell back to the ground and folded under his head. “Well… can’t die in fire so ha, not dead.” Surprisingly the floor was rather comfortable and Arthur stretched out as he lay there stifling a yawn that sudden overtook him from a combination of the drink and length of the day.

Still, as Mercy dropped down beside him he smiled. “Come t’save me?” he asked tilting his head to look aside at her as they lay there under the blinking stars. It was rather a good night for it all in all considering how much you could see. “It is.” There was a period of silence that followed, reminiscing on how they used to do this as children. “Remember when we’d… sneaky sneak out… Watch the aurora?”

Mercy grinned a bit more mischievously than usual as he waved his middle finger at her. “Promise? And ‘course not. You’re a fiery… firebird. Birb. Firebirb.” She hopped down beside him after that, turning her head a bit as he glanced at her. Her bright laughter sobered just a bit, but not to anything bad. Just… softer. “Always…” Her eyes searched his face for a moment, until Mercy found her cheeks felt quite warm.

They both turned back to the stars after that, Mercy thinking on how much she’d missed this. Despite the muzziness of her head at the moment, nothing could dampen the feelings that slowly wove their way back to the surface. The silence was comfortable, but also weighted with all the years that lay behind them. The good ones, and the not so good. But Mercy could only smile as he mentioned their childhood. So long ago now, but still so fondly remembered. “I do…” Her eyes moved over the stars as they blinked slowly at the pair of them. “Never got caught… not once…”

There was another small moment of silence before Mercy asked, “Do you miss it?” She tracked the shape of a constellation with her finger. “‘Cause I do…” It was unclear what ‘it’ was, and Mercy didn’t elaborate.

“Huh?” a confused expression passed across his features not entirely seeming to recognise the connotation his gesture might’ve implied. “M’super firebirb. See?” he grabbed his hat and spun it at her as she got off the bench and moved closer; the act revealing the beginnings of bright orange feathers haphazardly making themselves evident against the contrast of his dark hair. “Super feather!”

It was nice, just to stay here in this space together and Arthur stretched out and settled, before he started to whistle a tune that seemed to only exist in his own head. The notes floated in the air, a quiet scale of music in the dark night. “Not once…”

“All the time,” he admitted quietly, a wistful look crossing his features.

The thought had already slipped away, replaced by the need to try and catch the hat he flung at her. She missed, and it landed somewhere nearby in the grass. But she didn’t miss the brightness of the feathers against Arthur’s dark hair. “Ohhh, lookit…” Mercy crooned over them. “Firebirb fluff…” She gave them a small stroke with her fingers. “Wish I had feathers…” she murmured before turning to watch the stars.

Arthur’s whistling was nice. Soothing. Mercy would’ve hummed along, but she didn’t know the tune. So she just closed her eyes and listened. The world was so loud now. So full of noise and motion. It was hard to find the calm, quiet places anymore. Let alone places that brought some sort of… peace.

But this place did. Or well… the moment did. The place was somewhat irrelevant in this case. Wherever Mercy found herself, as long as Arthur was there too, she found a kind of quiet - a peaceful calm - that she’d never found anywhere else. When he answered her question, Mercy opened her eyes and slowly turned onto her side to look at him. She propped her head in her hand, her own expression turning wistful. “Do you ever... wish we could go back? To bein’ farmers?” A soft, crooked smile pulled at the edge of her mouth as she reached up to touch the newly-grown, flame-colored feathers again. “I think I might like it… one day…”

“Can have mine, they’re itchy” he groused raising a hand to rub at the feathers where they poked out randomly. Arthur made a face as he found one particular spot that was specifically annoying and scratched at it for a few moments.

Tunes were something that came quite easily to him, he might not be able to carry them with his voice but he could whistle most things with near perfection if he’d heard them a few times. When Mercy propped herself up, his head lolled vaguely in her direction to look at her. “Sometimes, was more simple back then,” he made no effort to move as she stroked the feathers again knowing it was a rather common habit for her in general. She’d always liked them more than he had.

“Well, you can be my farmer. But no cows.”

“But if I pull them it’ll hurt…” She knew the feathers irritated him to no end, and she had always offered to help him pluck them in the past, once they were in fully and wouldn’t bleed like a stuck pig. Speaking of: “Don’t scratch, silly…” She swatted at his hand. “-they’ll bleed.” Mercy shook her head, but kept at the feathers, lazily tracing the soft edges and watching them ripple beneath her fingertip. “All I got…s’magic wings that aren’t ev’n real…”

“Simple’s’good…” She glanced at him. “Simple’s… not hard… ‘s’th’opposite of hard…” Mercy grinned a bit, happily amused by her own words. And Arthur’s. Though her expression softened as she continued to pet his feathers. “I wish everythin’ was that simple again…”

“I know, but they itch,” even talking about it made him want to scratch them, but when he did and Mercy slapped his hand he pouted. “They itch.” As if he hadn’t already told her that, but he willfully pulled his hand back with a small huff. “Least you got them. Don’t even have wings.”

“Maybe… Maybe one day it will be.” Who could say for sure, but until then they would make the best of it. Tilting his head, Arthur looked back to the stars his mind drifting to what it would be like to fly again, even in a plane. To soar above the clouds and simply… be. But that wasn’t going to happen, and it was a sad thought to dwell on for too long.

So, Arthur shifted rolling onto his side and slowly clambering to his feet offering his hands out for Mercy to take so he could help her up.

“Should rub somethin’ on ‘em then… stop the itchin’.” Mercy had no idea what that might be, but surely it was better than bleeding all over himself. “But that’s-” She gave her own huff. “‘S’not the point… point is… they’re not… real. They’re jus’... magic. Fuckin’... smoke an’ mirrors. Like the Fates are makin’ fun o’ me… or remindin’ me of...” She frowned a bit and trailed off. She’d always hated the idea of Fate and Destiny and… all that garbage. The idea that her life wasn’t her own just… pissed Mercy off. And the added fact that the wings were a constant reminder of the worst day of her life didn’t help either.

Mercy hummed as her own thoughts drifted back to happier things. “Maybe… simple’s nice.” This was simple, just watching the stars with Arthur. Talking about… whatever crossed their minds. It was nice. But nothing could last forever, and when Arthur rose and offered his hands to help her up, Mercy took them and was pulled a bit unsteadily to her feet. She kept hold of them, laughing as she stumbled towards him. “I think… I think you’re… drunker than I thought I am…”

“Still wings,” so they still counted for something at least but he understood where her frustration came from, they’d shared in that for as long as he could remember. Perhaps even longer. “Don’t think so,” he patted her arm gently as though this would make any kind of difference but in his mind it was better to try than not.

Grabbing her hands he pulled her up and he beamed as he caught her. Laughing as he held her steady, “wooooah careful!” Gathering up the wayward hat, it wasn’t long before they were ambling once more through town until they eventually came to Mercy’s street. “Almost hoooome!”

“I guess,” she groused. It wouldn’t change anything no matter how much either of them lamented the lack of real wings. But that didn’t stop either of them from doing more pouting over it now and then. His patting was appreciated - but still… fuck fate… - and she gave him a sheepish smile before they climbed to their feet.

“You saved me,” she laughed. “My tall… very tall… savior…” As if to accentuate the point, she tilted her head waaay back and grinned a bit (a lot actually) drunkenly at him, before giving him a soft pat on the chest. They started walking soon after, and Mercy swung their hands lazily as they turned onto her street. She blinked a few times before realizing they were actually almost back to her place. “Oohhhh… yeah… guess so…” She wasn’t quite ready for the evening to be over, but it had to end sometime. Though she might’ve walked a little bit slower after that.

Eventually they ambled lazily to a stop at her door, Mercy chewing her lip a bit nervously. “You wanna… maybe… come in?” she shrugged, wiggling her fingers where they were still entwined lazily with his. “You know… so you don’t… I don’ know… get run over by a train or… somethin’...” A short huff came after that as she blushed because Shut Up Mercy.

“M’not the one that did the saving,” the murmured statement was spoken softer than anything else he’d spoken tonight. It was strange to think about the countless times she’d pulled him from the brink over the years, sometimes it left him wondering how he might ever compare. How he might ever do that for her. But he didn’t quite know how to elaborate on that sentiment.

The invitation was surprising, not something he’d anticipated. Though his mind was always on seeing her safe, and he’d only thought to the point of seeing her home safe. “Oh-” he looked surprised by the invitation though it was clouded by a momentary look of confusion. “There a train here?” If there was he hadn’t seen it. “But um. Can do? Do you want me to?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that…” she said, her own tone a bit softer as well. He’d saved her just recently, after all. When she was being drained of her lifeforce by the wraith. But saving someone wasn’t always about slaying a monster or patching their physical wounds. Sometimes it was far deeper than that. But at the moment, Mercy didn’t have the capacity to express such a thing. If she were sober, perhaps she could have made it more clear. Or perhaps words would’ve failed her then too.

Perhaps if she’d been sober, she also wouldn’t have asked him in. Or maybe she would have. The world would never know. As it was, she didn’t like the idea of him wandering home all alone in the dark, drunk as he was. She also wasn’t ready to let him go just yet either…

Her look turned confused for a moment as he asked about… trains. “What? Oh. OH. Yeahh… no. I mean… I think? Maybe? Somewhere?” Mercy looked about as if this train might appear nearby, but looked back to Arthur with her own slightly surprised expression as he… sort of… said yes. “Yeah? I mean…” she huffed. “Yeah… ‘course I want you to come...” Mercy blinked, and a blush slowly moved over her cheeks. “... come in. I want you… to come in. Inside. The apartment. With me… yes.”

Now might’ve been the precise moment he usually would drop some thoroughly insightful remark, but wit seemed inclined to take a backseat right now. As it stood, he didn’t have anything insightful to say and Arthur swayed on the spot leaning himself against the wall for support.

“No? But what about the train?” he looked once more to the street as if half expecting a train to appear there. But when none came he looked mildly disappointed, “hey, remember… remember the ori- orien- express? That was fun.”

Her surprise was met with a curious slightly playful grin, he pointed a finger at her. “Oooh, rude,” his tone was childish in nature and amusement. “Yes? Okay.” And that was all it took to get his agreement, he squeezed her hand that he had yet to let go of and pull her towards the door. “The graaaaand tour please!” Unfortunately, on the other side of the door Arthur stopped dead in his tracks his eyes narrowing. “What’s that?” he asked of the brilliant white fluffball perched on the back of the sofa.

“The train? What train?” Mercy had completely lost the plot where the train was concerned, and looked past Arthur with concern. Her expression brightened as he mentioned that particular train, however. “Yeah… that was…” She snorted. “... a time.” But it turned to a frown again right after, and her eyes went slightly crossed as she looked at his finger. “Rude? What’s rude? Oop!” She was tugged along inside, and closed the door with her foot before tossing her bag and her keys haphazardly on a nearby table. “Not much to tour it’s… only a couple o’ rooms..” Though she nearly ran right into him as he stopped just inside the doorway (still holding her hand).

Mercy peered around him at the object of his sudden interest. “Oh… mmm. That’s… Loki. ‘S’my cat. He can’t hear you real well.” She spun her fingers by her ear. “He’s mostly deaf. But look…” Mercy wiggled her fingers at the cat, which was staring at Arthur quite intently. So intently that he ignored Mercy’s attempts to coax him over. “Fine, meanie-butt.” She tugged Arthur on inside, stopping by the staircase that led to the upper floor, which was just her bedroom and ensuite, and a small closet.

“Living room, kitchen-” She pointed to the smaller room just off the one they were standing in. The living room was mostly full of books, records, plants, and pictures - there was also a large, comfy-looking sofa set, a coffee table, a soft rug, and above the unused fireplace there was a TV - along with other haphazard bits and bobs of what Mercy had collected over her six years in town. It was organized, eclectic chaos.

She pointed upstairs. “... bedroom, bathroom… blood-stained landing… you know… the usual…”

“The choochoo train!” he sighed in dramatically put-upon fashion. “No murders on that train.” But they were moving after that as Arthur tugged her inside. “It’s your rooms though!” as though this made it more important, and it did in his mind. A chance to learn about her life here in town.

Yet any questions were paused when he eyed the white furball perched on the back of the sofa locked in a stare-down. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, inherently wary considering Cats had a weird thing for trying to chase or otherwise harass him. Probably the bird thing, but it made him naturally wary. However, the eye-contact was broken as Mercy tugged him further in and he reluctantly left his stare-off.

“Do you not clean?” he asked poking through a couple of her shelves but finding nothing of interest wandered over to the comfy-looking sofa and flopping down onto it not noticing his little furry follower.

“Not that time at least,” Mercy snorted as she was tugged along.

“My rooms are full of books and… stuff. And Cat.” She glanced between Arthur and Loki, trying not to laugh even harder as the white cat tilted his head to better observe the newcomer. But for the moment, he stayed where he was. Until Mercy and Arthur moved on. Then he hopped down and strolled along behind them.

“‘Course I clean… you think I want dust-bunnies?” she huffed, scrubbing her hands through her hair and picking out an errant bit of grass that had hitched a ride. “Bloods hard to get up… and ‘m not replacin’ those boards… think I might just move anyways…” Hair situated, she plopped down on the couch with him and propped her now bare feet on the coffee table. A moment later, a white floof leapt silently onto that same table, and once again observed Arthur curiously.

“Loki…” Mercy rubbed the cat with her foot. “Lokiiiiii… no....” The cat merely rubbed against Mercy’s foot while continuing to stare at Arthur. “‘S’not a birb… not for you…”

“Yes, I can see the cat” he sent the feline a silent look of judgement one it felt like the cat returned from across the way. But it was forgotten soon enough, until he flopped down on the sofa and he eyed the cat as it hopped up on the table.

“No, but…” he pointed vaguely to the knick-knacks and other items strewn about the room with no apparent order, a fact that bothered him greatly “looks like someone came through here with a- a tornado or something.” He tilted his head at her mention of moving. “Where to?” he asked hoping it didn’t sound too inquisitive though there was a minor look of concern “you’re staying in town right?” He didn’t want her moving away, not after they had just found one another.

Arthur glanced at the cat, “why s’it staring at me? M’not cat-- M’not cat nibbles.”

“It’s organized chaos… I know where… where everythin’ is…” She gave her own vague wave and then turned to look at him. His look made her smile softly. “Course I’m stayin’. Wouldn’t go anywhere else…” There was no way she was leaving, not now. Not unless Arthur left too. Which he’d just gotten here, hadn’t he? Not so long ago. She let her head tip to his shoulder as they both turned to look at the cat. “I just wanna… be someplace else. Someplace tha’s… not here… someplace that… mm…” She frowned slightly. “... someplace that lets me sleep…” It was an odd statement without any context, though Mercy seemed to drift just a bit after that.

She pulled herself back as Arthur asked about Loki. “Hm? Oh… s’fine. He’s jus’ wonderin’ what you are…” Mercy rubbed the cat with her foot again. “And whether he likes you…” She cut a glance up at Arthur’s expression. “You’re way too big to be nommed… by him at least…”

“Right,” he eyed the general mess around him seeming unconvinced by her statement of somehow knowing where everything was.

“Okay, good, ‘cause you shouldn’t go anywhere. I’d be sad.” Arthur mulled over her words, before a solution that worked rather well came to mind “could come stay with me? Big house. Lots of room, you could have your own room… and a bed! A big bed, big comfy soft bed!” he pointed at the cat as well, “could have its own room as well.”

“Why?” he questioned of the cat wondering what he was, his eyes narrowed suspiciously “does he like me? I can’t tell,” he jostled her arm before waving at the cat again “how d’you know?”

Mercy just hummed at Arthur’s disbelief. It was true. She could find anything that was in here, though some things might take her a bit.

“I don’t want you to be sad… ever.” She curled her hand around his arm, much as she had when they were walking earlier, and let her eyes fall closed. When he spoke up again, Mercy tilted her head to look at him. Her expression was… surprised. “Really? You’d want me to stay with you? Like… in your house? Your new house? Like I would… live there? Like a… cohabi-... corre-... like a roommate?” Mercy grinned, finding the idea quite agreeable. “Don’t tease me with your… fluffy beds...‘Cause I’ve just got a stupid… stupid mattress on the floor right now. ‘S’fine… but ‘s’not fluffy. You’re for real?” she asked again. “You don’t jus’... feel sorry for me an’ my teeny tiny apartment?” She was mostly teasing, but while the majority of her thoughts had screamed a resounding yes, a few lingered behind, wondering what the catch was.

“You hear that, Loki? A room… to yourself…” Mercy laughed. “All covered in… glorious white hair…” She made a thoughtful face. “He hasn’t attacked your face yet… must like you-Oh.” The cat in question hopped silently to the arm of the sofa, padded around the back of it and proceeded to give Arthur a cursory sniff before deciding his… feathers… required grooming.

“M’not sad now,” he answered candidly leaning into the touch comfortably in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Was Arthur thinking through what he was saying? Partly. Really, he just felt bad that Mercy wasn’t happy here and hoped that maybe he could find a way to help make her happy. If it meant sharing a home then why not? It wasn’t as if he was lacking the space.

“Noooo in my shed,” he deadpanned before breaking out in a grin and nudging her “joooking! Jokes! ‘Course. Come be my room-house- house person.” He blinked, not quite sure what to make of her bed situation “no no, you need a bed. Big- big super big fluffy bed with lots of pillows. Like- like” he rooted around before pulling out one of the throw pillows but his train of thought diverted “hey! I have this one!” It had turned up in his lounge several weeks ago, not that he could remember where it had come from at all.

“Wha- ah!” he braced as the cat leapt over making a face as it started grooming his feathers. “Ugh cat slobber,” he groused.

“Good… ‘s’always good when you’re not sad.” Mercy idly stroked his arm with her fingers, tracing the tattoos inked into his skin. Most of hers were old, the colors faded with time. She’d have to get them reinked eventually if she didn’t want them to fade completely. Arthur’s seemed brand new in comparison.

Her concentration was broken when he jostled her, and she laughed, giving him a small shove in return. “Is it a nice shed?” Mercy grinned at him, though it softened a bit as he reiterated the offer. The rational part of Mercy’s brain was asking itself if she wanted to put herself in a situation that might be too much too soon. Considering they were finally starting to regain a bit of their old equilibrium. But the rest of her brain, the part that was giddy and happy and all for the idea of being roomies with Her Person told the other half to be quiet. “I’d like that…” she told Arthur.

Before she could say anything else, he was on about the bed situation and showing her one of her own pillows. Who’s twin just happened to have wound up at his house. For reasons. “Do you really? Tha’s… weird. ‘S’real weird…”

Loki decided to make his presence known at that point, and Mercy covered her mouth to stifle her laughter as Arthur’s feathers were subsequently put into order by the feline. “Loki! Don’t bother him… shoo…” She gave the cat a scratch and a gentle push to move him away from Arthur. Loki blinked at her and narrowed his eyes, but finally moved away to lie nearby. “Sorry,” Mercy told him, smoothing the cat-licked feathers with her fingers.

Her touch was always comforting, it was nice to simply have someone there that appreciated you and was happy to share that it was certainly something he didn’t want to give up and plus, it was enjoyable he thought muzzily as he sank into the cushions of the sofa.

“The nicest,” he laughed, the sound soft by comparison to his earlier more rambunctious mood that had been tempered and softened by the familiarity of Mercy’s presence. The balance she always seemed to bring to his mind and perhaps his soul if such things existed. “Alright…” and just like that it was sorted for the time being.

The cat sauntered off and Arthur eyed it suspiciously giving the cat a judging look before his attention returned back to the pillow issue.

“Weird,” he agreed as he held the pillow up before he tossed it down on the sofa and collapsed sideways tucking his hands underneath it pillowing his head ontop. “S’comfy though. Hm… soft,” he murmured closing his eyes as he settled nuzzling against the fuzzy material that to his rather inebriated brain felt very, very nice.

Mercy had always been affectionate, at least where Arthur was concerned. Not so much in this lifetime - tonight notwithstanding - since they were still slowly finding their footing, but in the past she’d always found a reason to be touching him, even if it was something as simple as resting her foot against his beneath a table. It was as much a comfort to Mercy as it was Arthur. And it was easy to sink back into that comfort. Into the inevitable balance that seemed to be at the forefront of their centuries-long relationship. It was a good place to be.

“Your everythin’... ‘s’always the nicest…” she hummed, giving his arm a soft squeeze. A softer sound followed the settling of the roommate situation, and her thoughts drifted slightly after that. To where, Mercy wouldn’t remember in a moment, but somewhere good. Somewhere familiar and safe. Somewhere where the two of them could just... be. It was a good place.

She blinked as Arthur tipped to the side, snuggling her throw pillow sleepily. “Here… don’t wanna get cold…” Mercy pulled a throw off the back of the couch and did her best to put it over Arthur’s long-limbed form. “‘S’better,” she said to herself when she was satisfied with the blanket arrangement, which was haphazard at best. As for her sleeping arrangements, she wasn’t going to make upstairs, so she simply pulled a bit of the blanket around herself, and laid her head on whatever part of Arthur was closest.

“Hm, flirt” he joked cracking an eye tiredly to look at her “shed’s yours.” Considering how much time she liked to spend in the garden anyway it was practically her domain anyways. But this was nice. Sinking into the warm familiarity of memories long since past, the heat of a log fire warding off the winter chill as they huddled under furs waiting for whatever stew or meat to be served up before going to bed warm and full. Their families present, and laughing over the crackle of the longhouse hearth.

“M’never cold,” but she haphazardly tossed a blanket over him and Arthur couldn’t seem to find the effort to protest as he settled as comfortably as he could on the sofa. He felt Mercy settle as well, pulling the blanket up under his chin as he drifted sleepily towards a familiar snow-laden path that led towards the depths of the forest, a comforted smile on his lips as consciousness slipped away.

#para #chatzy #a sky full of stars #p: freyja #// this is just much wholesome content

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writinginstardust · 4 years

Text

An Unexpected Christmas

Pairing: Alex Claremont-Diaz x reader

Prompt(s): my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and i’m so sorry

Warnings: pretty sure there’s some swearing

A/N: Thanks to @writingbychelle for requesting this prompt! As you can tell by the word count, I had a lot of fun with this one and got very carried away.

Word Count: 3484

The White House Christmas party could either be the most entertaining or dullest event of the year and it was in full swing right now. Fortunately this year it was erring on the side of entertaining, mostly due to the increased presence of people my own age. The White House trio in particular. They were respectable - you had to be - but by god were they good at livening up a bunch of boring politicians. The ones that needed a little livening anyway. Some, I knew, could do it on their own.

Alex, June, and Nora. I envied them sometimes. They always had each other and they positively shone in the spotlight, unlike me. I tended to slide into the background alone and for the most part I didn’t mind. I’d been dragged to these things for half my life, one or both of my parents having held high offices since Obama was first elected, and for most of those years there’d been no one my own age I’d really managed to make friends with. I’d always been alone at parties and desperately tried to hide from anyone who wanted to engage in any sort of political discussion or ask about my future. Which was just about everyone.

I knew my parents ambitions for me, everyone did. And they all would have assumed whether my parents had said a thing or not. But that was never what I wanted. It came as quite a shock when word got out that I was going to Georgetown to study art with a minor in creative writing. It’s funny. Maybe if I’d followed in my parents’ footsteps I’d actually be friends with Alex and not alone at this party.

It’s not as though I never spoke to any of them, we saw each other constantly at state functions where there generally weren’t many other young people to talk to since we were usually the only ones living in DC, but I knew I wasn’t exactly their first port of call for entertainment. They had each other and I had a 10 year old coping mechanism. And that was fine. It was all very fine. I was used to it. I just kind of wished things were different.

“(Y/N)!” June’s voice drew my attention and she beckoned me over to where she was talking to Nora and Alex.

“Hey,” I offered them all a smile when I reached them, noticing that June and Nora both looked way too pleased and Alex ever so slightly uncomfortable. Huh, that was odd.

“Enjoying the party?”

“It’s one of the better ones I’ve been to. Half the interns are already drunk as are the Attorney General and Defence Secretary and I heard someone mention karaoke so hopefully it will be spectacular.”

“Karaoke?” Nora asked in surprise.

“Yep. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I have a lot of questions.”

“And I have a lot I could tell you.”

“Not right now though.” June interrupted. Alex, surprisingly, hadn’t said anything yet. That was weird.

“You’re right. Ask her then,” Nora prompted. I looked back at June expectantly.

“Mom heard that you’re not going away with your parents for Christmas?”

“Unfortunately not. They get to enjoy the Bahamas and I’m stuck slaving over an assignment.” Normally I wouldn’t mind but my art professor had been in a rather cruel mood and set the class a 10,000 word paper and a large scale practical project right before Christmas break. All because someone laughed when he tripped on the way into class.

“Well, she wants to invite you to spend Christmas with us instead so you’re not all on your own. Unless you already made other plans, that is.”

“No...I, uh, had nothing planned.” Surprised at the invitation, the words were out of my mouth before I could really consider their consequences.

“So you’ll come? Mom is pretty insistent so if you’re saying no, I’m making you tell her yourself.” Well, looked like I was spending Christmas at the White House then. It’s difficult to say no to a president, especially when that president is Ellen Claremont.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Brilliant!” June was positively gleeful. “I’ll go tell mom.” She spun on her heel and took off to the other side of the room, Nora trailing behind her. That left me alone with Alex who was still uncharacteristically quiet.

“Are you alright?” I asked when the silence started getting awkward. “You haven’t said a word.”

“I am so so sorry.”

“Why?”

“Why on Earth did you say yes?” He asked rather than answering my question. “You must have realised what that was.”

And I had. It was a very obvious and deliberate attempt at a set-up. Just about everyone apparently thought that we’d be great for each other and I knew everyone badgered Alex about it all the time. Maybe that’s one of the reasons we’d never really managed to become proper friends. I didn’t have it so bad. I was an only child and most of the people I really cared to talk to knew very little about this part of my life. There was the odd comment from my parents but they knew by now that I wouldn’t just go along with what they planned or thought best for me. I’d overheard enough to know Alex wasn’t so lucky.

“They caught me off-guard. It’s not ideal, I know, but it’s better than the Christmas I was in for otherwise.”

“Sorry. I didn’t think about that. It’s going to be unbelievably awkward you know?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“How can it not be?”

“Just try to ignore it all.” I sighed. “Look, I know it will still be a bit awkward no matter what we do-”

“A bit? Do you realise how relentless my family are?”

“I know. But maybe we should just actually talk. Get to know each other a bit. It might make it more bearable.”

“Or less.”

“Alex, like it or not, we’re stuck in this situation now, we might as well make the best of it. Maybe this will give us a chance to actually become friends.”

“Friends, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, if everyone thinks we should get together then there must be something compatible about us. We could try and be friends rather than having whatever this is.”

He knew what ‘this’ I was referring to. Whatever was between us. Neither of us really knew what it was or what to call it. We weren’t friends. It wasn’t some weird sexual tension. We were more than mere acquaintances too. A couple of young people in the same position who talked and occasionally got drunk together but had no significant attachment to each other (well…) was about the closest description. Whatever ‘this’ was, I didn’t want it.

“Okay. Let’s see how this goes.”

It went pretty well in the end.

I woke early on Christmas morning, hours before I needed to think about leaving for the White House, I always did. Trying to sleep again would be futile so I rolled out of bed and went to make myself pancakes, shooting off a quick message to Alex to check the time and what I should wear on the way. It was a valid question. Some people dressed up, some didn’t leave their pyjamas, I didn’t want to be over or underdressed. I put the kettle on and felt my phone buzz in my pocket. It was Alex. I had a text from him timestamped at 3am and it was 7am now. Did he sleep at all?

It was still weird - getting texts from Alex. He’d taken my suggestion of friends to heart and had been texting me about all sorts at all hours of the day and night for the past week. It was odd, but nice. And I - and by extension, everyone - was right. We had a lot in common.

I checked his text.

Alexander the not-so-great: I’m already up so come by whenever. Dinner at 1 though so before then.

Me: Okay. Making pancakes now, see you in a couple of hours?

Alexander the not-so-great: ...If I come over, can I have pancakes?

Me: Sure.

I froze. Had I seriously just invited him over for breakfast? I read the text again. Yes. Yes, I had. Okay. This wasn’t weird at all. Too late to do anything about it now though.

10 minutes later I heard a car pulling up outside. That would be him.

“Merry Christmas!” I smiled as I opened the door for him, trying to look as if I wasn’t freaking out a bit at this turn of events.

“Hey,” he smiled back and I swear that smile didn’t used to do the things it was doing to me now.

“Come in, food is nearly ready.” I stepped back so he and one of his security team could come inside. I couldn’t help feeling bad for the woman that was stuck coming out here with him so early in the morning.

Breakfast turned out not to be as awkward as I’d anticipated, in fact it was quite nice. I hadn’t actually seen Alex since the Christmas party last week but thankfully we were getting on as well in person as we had been over text. Better, even.

“Okay, I need to go take a shower,” I said when we’d finished washing up our plates. “Wi-Fi password is on the router in the living room through there if you want it. Just make yourself at home while I get ready.” We wandered out into the hall and I started up the stairs before pausing and adding. “Guest bathroom is at the end of the hall upstairs and the door next to it is the guest room, you can use anything you need in there. There’s towels and stuff if you need a shower or anything.”

“Is this your way of telling me I stink?” He asked with a teasing smile.

“No worse than usual.” I grinned back and finished climbing the stairs, Alex’s laughter following me until my bedroom door shut between us.

I tried to get ready quickly, feeling as though I was keeping him waiting somehow even though he’d said there was no rush. I managed to shower in record time but that was all I got done quickly. Everything seemed to have gone missing, my hairbrush, moisturiser, toothbrush - which I could have sworn I left charging on my desk, and half my clothes. Maybe I should have tidied my room a bit over the past few weeks, but to be fair, I had a lot of work to do and keeping my things tidy wasn’t much of a priority.

Kicking a pile of clothes to the side, I freed my underwear draw and managed to find a clean set to wear. That was something at least. I looked in my wardrobe, at what was the only selection of clothes I knew for sure were clean, and tried to find an outfit in there somewhere. There was a cute dress or two, but I still wasn’t sure if that was too formal, and a few paint covered t-shirts, some jeans, all my party clothes, and a few shirts. I could probably find something that would work but I needed to check with Alex first. I tried texting him but he didn’t answer. Of course the one time I needed a reply, he was ignoring his phone.

With a huff, I threw on my bathrobe and went downstairs to find him. He wasn’t in the living room or the kitchen and his security was still here so he hadn’t left. I asked her if she knew where he was and she told me he’d gone to the bathroom. Thanking her, I padded back upstairs to intercept him on his way out. That turned out to be a mistake.

The bathroom door opened and Alex stepped out. Apparently he’d taken me up on my offer of the shower and I was having a hard time deciding if I was happy about that or not. On the one hand, the sight of him still slightly damp with water dripping from his hair and a towel slung low on his hips was fucking glorious. On the other, the sight of him like that was probably going to kill me.

I could feel my cheeks burning as I tried and failed to keep my eyes on his face and not his annoyingly toned abs but I could tell he noticed as he smirked at me. Asshole.

“Can I do something for you?” Yeah. He could take the fucking towel off. I swallowed those words that got alarmingly close to spilling out of my mouth.

“Yeah. I wanted to ask what I should wear. I’m a bit low on options but I don’t want to be overdressed or anything.”

“What have you got?” And I definitely shouldn’t have, especially not now, but I gestured for him to come into my room and take a look.

“Sorry about the mess. It’s not usually like this,” I apologised when I saw how taken aback he looked. I pointed at my open wardrobe. “That’s the only stuff I know for sure is clean.” He considered for a moment before pulling out one of the slightly more casual party dresses along with a cardigan.

“This should be fine. Don’t bother with heels or anything though, just put some sneakers with it.”

“Thanks.” I took the clothes from him and shooed him away. “Go away now. I can’t get dressed with you in here.”

“You sure?” He winked and I smacked his arm, rolling my eyes.

“If I’d have known this was what being your friend entailed, I never would have suggested it.”

“That hurts.”

“You’ll live. Now go get dressed.”

“Sure you want me to?” He winked at me again and in all honesty, I wasn’t sure but I needed him to if I was going to stay sane.

“Oh my god, just go.” He grinned at me one last time before I shut the door on him and let out a deep breath. Alex Claremont-Diaz was going to be the absolute death of me.

We got to the White House just before nine and the rest of the family were up and waiting in the living room. And that was something interesting to walk into. Never in my life did I think I’d see President Ellen Claremont half asleep on the floor in her pyjamas. There were some very meaningful looks aimed our way when we walked in together and I could tell we were both regretting turning up at the same time. It was too late to do anything about it though.

“So that’s where you disappeared off to this morning,” June said with a smirk.

“Well I had to do something while I waited for you all to wake up.” There were raised eyebrows at that and Alex froze for a moment as he realised how that might have sounded. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

No one bothered to respond to that and just shifted to make space on the floor by the tree for us, failing to repress their smirks when they basically forced us to sit together. Alex really hadn’t been exaggerating about how bad his family was with this.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that everyone had got me gifts to, and good ones. They apparently knew me better than I’d thought. Thankfully I’d managed to find something for everyone too, though I doubted my gifts were quite as good. But it’s the thought that counts after all.

Soon after the presents were done everyone headed back to their rooms to get dressed, once again leaving Alex and I alone. I didn’t miss the wink June threw our way as she left and pointedly shut the door behind her. I kind of wanted to die.

“I am definitely starting to understand why you seemed so horrified by this idea,” I groaned when the door clicked shut.

“I did warn you.”

“Yeah, after I’d already agreed.”

“You could have just said there was a change of plan.”

“You try telling your mother that.”

“...Okay, you have a point.” I sighed and laid down on the rug.

“It could be worse. At least they’re not saying anything embarrassing yet.”

“Give them time.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“With good reason. I hope you’re ready for this.” And, like a fool, I thought I was.

Christmas lunch passed agonisingly slowly with meaningful glances thrown both my way and Alex’s from Zahra and every member of the family. The food was great though and it was still enjoyable when I was able to ignore the looks and immerse myself in the conversation but even that didn’t last long. Leo just had to ask about both our love lives. Alex managed to field most of the questions and more than once I saw him shoot his family murderous looks which made them drop it for a few minutes. I appreciated the attempts.

Drinking and ridiculous games followed for the rest of the day and I lost track of time, enjoying everyone’s company even if they were still giving us looks and comments. I found myself minding less and less the longer I was there though. It sure wouldn’t be the worst thing to get together with Alex and honestly the idea was becoming very appealing.

11pm rolled around. Eyes started drooping, conversations died down, and murmurs about heading to bed started up. I was half asleep myself, leaning on Alex’s shoulder and not really caring anymore what anyone might think, and dreading the prospect of getting up and making my way home. I’d gotten a lift with Alex from my house and I was regretting it now. Either I’d have to trouble someone for a lift home or walk. Neither option seemed great but I’d have to pick soon. The longer I stayed there, the harder it was getting to move.

Ellen and Leo stood and announced they were heading to bed and I decided that probably meant I should leave too, no matter how much I didn’t want to. I shifted and started to get up but Ellen stopped me.

“(Y/N), honey, it’s late, you can stay here tonight.” There was only the faintest smirk on her face now so I knew the offer was more out of care than the family’s attempt to set Alex and I up.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” She smiled and left, Leo following with Zahra close behind. I hesitated for another few moments. I probably shouldn’t stay but the option was incredibly tempting.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Alex said quietly. I looked over at him and he was smiling slightly, the look on his face softer than any I’d ever seen before. “But I’d like you to.” There was something strangely vulnerable in his voice and I found myself agreeing to stay without thinking.

“Okay.” He grinned and stood up, much more himself now.

“I’ll show you to a guest room.” We both pretended not to notice the smirks on both Oscar and June’s faces as we left. I didn’t have the energy left for conversation so we walked through the residence in comfortable silence until we finally arrived at a door that looked just like every other.

“Well, goodnight I guess.” Alex finally spoke again. “I hope today wasn’t too awful.”

“It was actually really nice.” I smiled sleepily at him.

“Even with all...that?” He gestured vaguely to indicate his family.

“It wasn’t so bad.” I mean, it totally was but being with Alex had been worth it.

“I’m glad. It was nice having you here.” I tried to ignore the way my heart swooped at that but it was difficult in my tired state. “I’m just along the hall in the east bedroom if you need anything and I basically never sleep so don’t worry about disturbing me.”

“Thanks Alex. And thanks for today.”

“You’re welcome. Goodnight.” And then, quite unexpectedly - though maybe if I’d been paying more attention it would have been less of a surprise, he leaned in and kissed me. Just lightly, his lips soft and warm against my own for a few brief moments before he pulled away with a soft smile. “Sleep well, (Y/N).”

He turned and headed to bed himself, leaving me standing dumbly in the hall, surprise rooting me to the spot. After a few seconds spent staring after him I finally shook myself out of it, turning the doorknob and slipping inside the guest room. My whole body felt warm and molten and I collapsed on the bed, mind swirling with thoughts of Alex. Today hadn’t been what I expected but it was better than I dreamed. Maybe being set up wasn’t so bad after all.

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