#i was makin dinner one night when this occurred to me
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morales twins vigilantes: getting found out pt 1
hey yall im in my fic writing era. but i am BAD at writing LMFAO i'm really not sure i'll ever write a proper fic with a plot or anything
either way, i hope yall like this lil drabble my brain came up with on a whim of the morales twins!
it's how i imagine the way their secret would be revealed after doing the whole vigilante thing together for a lil bit. it's kind of based on the hcs i had of the twins which is here, kind of a continuation of the last bullet point there actually
miles1610 is miles and miles42 is milo bc i read a couple fics with that name given to him and now it is stuck in my heart u_u
>2nd part here<
well. uh. hope u enjoy! :)
It was a fight that went slightly awry that really did them in.
No blood, no fireworks, no loud banging or explosions or anything. No one was even so badly hurt that they almost died, either.
It was simply just… a broken mask and their father unexpectedly being on patrol that fateful night that finally brought their secret out to light.
The Morales twins had been doing their vigilante thing together for only a few months now. Miles had been Spider-man for well over a year, of course, but it was after a particularly bad fight with a rhinoceros guy (what a freak…) that went semi-viral on social media that his brother Milo finally put his foot down and pulled those Prowler gloves from under his bed. He worked hard to modify the technology to better suit him, and had all of the armor and rope he needed in order to keep up with his brother all set in as little as 2 weeks.
Miles hemmed and hawed about bringing his not-super-powered brother around for the nasty fights he usually tackled alone. But he would be lying if he said that Milo’s concern didn’t put a small smile on his face in the end. Plus, it really helped out a lot when Miles needed to be somewhere quickly but still had a criminal left to take on and web up. Milo being just one text away from springing into action took a real big load off of his shoulders in ways he couldn’t even imagine.
That was about 3 months ago.
It was relatively smooth sailing until one Jefferson Davis took a night patrol under his belt without even warning the boys.
Well, Miles thought to himself in retrospect, we weren’t really around the house to catch if he did tell anyone, so.
Miles ran along a side of a building to catch up with the villain of the week. He was desperately trying to keep this super-powered baddie off of his not-so-super-powered brother, and not quite succeeding. Miles told Milo time and again not to tease any bad guys during a fight. Keep the attention off of you, bro. You do not have superpowers. I do! Is that not what Miles said? God, it’s like in one ear and out the other with this guy. Ugh.
Currently, Milo is parrying and deflecting attacks from this shocker-looking guy, a real piece of work. He still had his hi-vis vest on-- and Miles swore he even saw a name tag on it somewhere which was just hilarious, really-- but aside from his normal-looking work outfit, everything else about this dude was definitely not normal. Like the bright electricity fizzing all over his skull that just barely concealed this man’s real face, and the giant lightning bolts shooting out from his hands as he tried to fry Milo. It was a good thing Milo had enough sense to install energy-absorbing tech into those giant claws of his, or else Miles would be in real big trouble at the ER.
Miles ripped a chunk of some abandoned demolition project that never got done and swung it with all of his might in the direction of their fight, using his webs for maximum distance. It didn’t hit electro-dude but it almost hit his brother. Oops.
“Ayo, watch it!” Prowler growled, his mask distorting his voice the same way it distorted Uncle Aaron’s back when he held the mantle. He gracefully flipped out of the way and shot a grappling hook somewhere off into some scaffolding, pulling himself away from the action to let his bro fly in and give the temporarily-distracted electric-man some work.
Miles would snap back with a retort if he weren’t so busy pummeling this villain with all that he’s got. Both boys’ curfews were about an hour ago and they just knew their mom would be fuming once she got back and found out. But this needed taking care of, and neither Morales boys were willing to leave some freak of nature to take over Brooklyn and shut down all the power lines over a bedtime. Hell no.
But this needed to end now, or else good ol’ Spidey won’t be seeing the light of day for another 2 months. And by the looks of it, neither will the Prowler. Before Miles could even think to land the finishing blow on old lightning-head here though, tragedy struck.
An all-too familiar voice hollers out those dreaded words both boys hate hearing, especially in the middle of a fight.
“PDNY! Freeze! Put your hands up where we can see ‘em!”
Everyone did freeze, Milo looking particularly shocked as his head swivels around to the sight of waving flashlights and 3 burly but familiar silhouettes making their way past the far gates and advancing quickly into the fray.
Jefferson Davis’ gun appears to almost materialize out of the shadows, his face lit up in the harsh lights of his flashlight beam, sporting an intimidating, professional look. Cop mode, is what Miles and Milo called it jokingly one day as they lounged in their room, passing a bag of chips between them and having a laugh at their dad’s expense. That was before Milo took on the mantle of the Prowler. That was before this.
Miles panics slightly as he feels the man jump up underneath him, thrusting an arm into the police’s direction, ready to fire off a bolt--
Right after Milo lunges in front of the officers, ready to take the blast.
It happens in a fraction of a second. Miles didn’t even think he had enough time to open his mouth, let alone warn Jeff of the incoming danger. He figures that’s what Milo must’ve thought, too, otherwise there really was no other explanation for this stupid decision he just made.
Sparks flew, and then the thud of a body hitting the floor seemed to echo throughout the demolition site.
Shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit, was Miles’ inner monologue as he finally landed the blow to the side of the baddie’s head, knocking him out successfully. He quickly webbed the man up to the floor, restraining him fully. The way I shoulda done in the first place, damnit, Miles lamented, freezing in place after the deed was done. His brain was working into overdrive to try and think of ways he could extract his now-nearly unconscious brother from this place without raising their dad’s suspicions.
Ever since Prowler joined in on Spider-man’s “adventures”, the media became even more fascinated with capturing every single moment it could of Spidey now that he had a sidekick in tow.
Headlines splashed on magazines, articles and news feeds read: “Batman and Robin! Spider-man and… the Prowler?” and “Webbed Menace Recruits Purple Sidekick, Even More of a Menace”. They haunted Miles’ every step. Milo, for his part, was mostly amused. But every now and then he would complain about being known as his brother’s sidekick, as if that was the most egregious part of having his every move recorded and uploaded for millions to see online.
Their mother became even more suspicious of her twin sons after she watched a video of the two vigilantes stopping a runaway bus in downtown Brooklyn. They looked eerily similar in size to her own teenage boys, and even seemed to banter the same way after all of the civilians were saved and back on solid ground. The way Spider-man clapped Prowler on the shoulder… hmmm.
To say that she shared her suspicions with her husband would be an understatement. Milo and Miles somehow always managed to catch a familiar cop car slowly rolling around corners and down streets, keeping pace just behind them, watching them. Miles would always roll his eyes, knowing it was their father. Milo would be annoyed but managed to shrug and keep minding his own business, since it was very obviously their father. When confronted, Jeff would try-- and fail-- to casually brush it off as simply doing Concerned Dad things.
“Listen, you two.” Jeff started one evening after dinner. He managed to get both boys down in their room one weekend, just for “a quick talk”. His excuse was that Brooklyn was getting too dangerous lately, especially at night, and that he was “gonna keep an eye on them” as a precaution.
But neither boy missed that slight nervous shift in his stance as he delivered the news, and once their dad bade them a good night and left, they gave each other a silent look that conveyed the exact same thought they were both thinking.
They’re onto us.
Well, their parents’ fears and suspicions were definitely going to be confirmed whether the twins liked it or not.
Milo groaned on the ground, the Prowler gauntlets having taken the majority of the blast sent his way, but the mask was halfway blown off, revealing a good portion of the boy’s face underneath. He rocked in place for a moment, blinking stars and dancing lights out of his eyes for just that one moment.
“Prowler!!” Miles shouted. In his panic, he forgot to lower his voice and conceal his identity, but his feet just wouldn’t move! What the hell, Morales… get it together! His brother was just badly injured and here he was, frozen in place like a deer.
Jeff, for his part, was barking orders to his coworkers and directing them to make a sweep of the place in case any other suspects tried to make a run for it.
They both left. He finally jolted his bright beam of light onto Spider-man, simply standing there a little ways away and staring back with those unnervingly gigantic bug-eyes of his. If Jeff wasn’t in work-mode right now, he’d explode on this guy and ask about what the hell was going on here, but Officer Davis was nothing if not a consummate professional.
Plus, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
There was what seemed like a teenage boy on the ground, wearing those goddamned gauntlets that Jeff could’ve sworn he shipped off to the junkyard after Aaron’s funeral. Damnit, if this punk was running around wearing his brother’s mantle and tagging along with Spider-man just to double-cross him in the end, there was gonna be hell to pay.
Jeff didn’t know why, but he felt slightly protective of the bug-themed hero, damnit. Sue him. And those claws brought nothing but terrible memories of screaming women, dead brothers and heightened stress. He did not need this right now, fuck.
Once the boy on the ground stirred, Jeff quickly pointed his gun and flashlight beam directly onto him. “Those orders were for you, too, punk. Do not try me tonight. Freeze. Put your hands out where I can see ‘em!”
Milo froze on the ground, and then tried to twist his face away from his looming father who was only a foot or two away with the world’s brightest flashlight in his face, fuuuuck. He just knew he was gonna be feeling this headache for the next 3 days…
Tentatively, he also raised his claws in front of his face as slowly as he could, trying to cover his face even more. He propped himself up on his elbows and tried to regulate his breathing.
Having a cop for a dad was not always peachy, but it helped a lot to know exactly how an officer would react if any sudden movements were made while having a gun out, and Milo was not trying to get a bullet to the chest on top of the mother of all electric shocks as well. No thank you.
It was in this moment that Miles’ brain started working again, and he unstuck himself from the pavement to reach out to his dad.
“Offi-- ahem, ahem. Officer Davis,” he remembered to lower his tone and conceal his voice a bit as well, and continued, “what a surprise to see you here. On this, uh. This very beautiful night!”
Groan. Oh my god. Even Milo rolled his eyes a bit, trying to shuffle back.
“I said FREEZE!” Jeff roared, attention still trained on Milo.
Without glancing up, he added, “And you Spider-man. Oh, buddy you are gonna get it after I’m done with this little asshole, runnin’ around with my brother’s-- man, y’know what-- nevermind! Just stay back, okay? I got this handled.”
“But wait! Th-that’s uh. He’s not an asshole, officer, he’s my-- my sidekick! He’s the good guy!! He helped me take this guy down! And he even saved you just now!” Miles waved his hands around frantically, agitating Jeff.
Stop doing that, stupid! Milo thought to himself in a daze, still recovering from the electric blast.
“Stay back, Spider-man. I’m warning you.” Jeff growled.
Miles picked up the hint and halted his movements, giant white eyes flicking back up and down from his dad to his brother and back. He had to think of something, or else Milo would be dragged back to a holding cell and both of their identities would be out. He just couldn’t let that happen.
Biting his lip, Miles gathered some resolve and stepped forward again. “Officer Davis—”
“Not another word outta you!” Jeff swung the flashlight right back onto Miles threateningly, and then trained it back onto Milo again. “I am serious right now, Spidey. One more word outta you and I’m slappin’ the cuffs on you too, I swear to god! I got more than enough room in the back of the squad car for two freaks!”
Miles recoiled. “Freaks. Geez, is that what you think of us?”
But Jeff didn’t answer, because he was all of a sudden deathly silent.
Both of the other officers just finished their sweep of the area, and were making their way back to Jeff when he all of a sudden kneeled down, still training that gun on Prowler’s face. But his movements were slow and hesitant, as if he were performing them in a daze.
Miles’ spider senses should’ve been tingling by now, at the very least a little. Still, he stayed glued to his spot as he watched Officer Davis-- as if in slow motion-- shifting his flashlight and gun into one hand, lowering both slightly and away from Prowler’s shattered mask.
As his other hand reached out, Milo flinched, but he didn’t need to. Jeff simply carded his calloused fingers over his hair, his braid on the one side of his head, in reverence. Milo couldn’t breathe. He was too scared to speak.
And then everyone’s blood ran cold at the same time.
Jeff saw the beads of Milo’s favorite basketball team colors, ones that he was excited to get again at the barber shop last weekend, simply hanging there tied to the ends of the Prowler’s braid, sitting limply in his hand. Milo’s blood ran cold once he realized exactly what it was that his own father was looking at. He didn’t need to reveal his face whatsoever when his now-exposed hair told the whole story anyways.
Miles’ spider senses finally kicked up once Jeff looked up slowly, an absolutely ruined expression rippling across his worn-out features as he really gave Spider-man a good, hard look, eyes playing over what little he could see of the vigilante in the darkness of night.
For a split second, no one said anything.
Even electro-head seemed to be silent as he came to and tried to sneakily rip the webs off of him. No dice. He finally turned his attention to the trio not too far away and opened his mouth.
“Hey, what the hell is this, some family reunion or something? Let me outta here, man! Goddamn, what a fuckin’ punch, man… shit…”
Everyone startled at the same time, turning their attention to the villain. Damn, almost forgot about him.
The other officers finally arrived to surround the other angles behind Spider-man, one of them even kneeling down beside electric-- whatever, the villain of the week-- and started cutting him out of the sticky ropes to put him in cuffs.
“Don’t even think about it,” one of them grunted once they got to his hands and saw a tingle of electricity surging through fingertips. “We got dampeners in my squad car if you try anything cute, got it?”
Jeff slowly holstered his gun, keeping the flashlight trained on the Prowler, unable to tear his eyes from this boy lying on the ground at his feet.
“Davis…? You good?” This was the officer who wasn’t busy wrangling sticky webs off of the baddie. He had his flashlight and gun trained on said baddie of course, but his head was swiveled to look at his captain.
Jeff swallowed hard and nodded slowly, a weirdly mechanical kind of movement.
“…Okay. Hey, Spidey. Thanks for this, I guess,” said the officer, keeping his concerned gaze trained on Jeff, shrugging a shoulder. “Too bad about your friend though. Hope he’ll be fine.”
It took Miles a second to recognize that iconic mustache, and then it dawned on him that it was his dad’s faithful friend and his own sidekick, Officer Gutierrez. How ironic, Miles thought ruefully.
He turned back to his dad, who was now helping Prowler up from the ground and steadying him against his side.
“What’re we doing with these two?” Gutierrez asks, because someone has to.
Jeff startles, as if he was just asleep and happened to wake up. “Uhh, about...?”
Gutierrez gave him a look. “The mask guy under your arm. And, uh. This guy,” he points his chin towards VOTW (villain of the week) as he’s being hauled up forcibly by the other officer, now in giant sturdy cuffs binding his arms together.
“The… that guy. Electric man. Just… just put those dampeners on his hands and take him down to HQ. They’ll probably just ship him off to the Raft. Let me know when you guys get there, of course. I’ll uhm. I think I’m gonna be taking my break right now.”
“You taking the mask-man all by yourself, then, captain?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I will. It’s… something personal to me, to be seeing these claws on this boy. I’m sorry. I think I might explain later but right now, we gotta get that guy behind some kinda bars. Please, Gutierrez.”
Gutierrez gives him an unreadable expression, and Jeff shoots an apologetic look back.
Finally, his partner gives a small nod and turns back to the task at hand. Miles breathes out a sigh of relief.
But it was a breath too soon.
“Spider-man. Prowler. The both of you. My car. Now.”
#mine#spiderverse#miles morales#miles g morales#listen idk what's getting into me either tbh i'm just......#like this is it i guess LMFAO#i hope it's not TERRIBLE but yeah these are my brain blasts i have occasionally#i was makin dinner one night when this occurred to me#bc i was really thinking about miles and milo just teaming up and doing the whole vigilante thing.... thinkin abt how cute that would be!#but then my brain was like “ok and so when do the parents finally find out tho. cuz they're DEFINITELY gonna find out lmfao”#and an image of milo's broken mask and jeff doing his cop thing popped into my mind#btw i know that prowler miles has his braids out n everything in earth-42#but in this particular instance he needs to keep them under wraps so their parents dont watch the news and put 2 n 2 together#so yeah#broken mask= hair fallin out. oops#oh yeah pt 2 is in the works so that should be up soon too#anyways thx 4 reading ♡ :)
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A Spoonful of Honey
Jason Todd/pregnant fem!reader (cause why not, I started reading the adventures comic so silly Jason is just on my mind as much as big beefy himbo acting like a baby over taking medicine. Chat I’ve been through it these past months, so this isn’t proofread)
Time Written - 11:05 p.m
The morning was cold, dreadfully cold, with a humid fog blanketing the dreary skies, blurring the atmosphere in a quiet haze. The temperature reached forty degrees at the highest around the late evening, giving those who had no business being outside a perfect excuse to remain indoors.
You basked in this opportunity to bring out your gold handle, cream colored dutch oven. Soft cardigan sleeves pushed up to your elbows to cut vegetables for a hearty dinner.
Slow, rugged feet trudged into the kitchen in the midst of you sautéing a rainbow assortment of veggies in butter and oil, dressed in his ‘plain ol’ civilian clothing’, a muted gray hoodie pulled over his head.
A sort throat was how it started; signifying the side effects to his nightly routine. Vigorous exercise could only help so much to fight off the chill, but with temperatures dropping incredibly low, sweat could nearly freeze on skin shortly after it’s been secreted.
The cold nearly nipped a permanent flush to his chiseled cheeks, kissing a sprinkle of color on his nose. He looked as exhausted as he did the previous night, when he first arrived home with a short cough and occasional clear of his throat.
Jason was sick, in the beginning stages of a cold. He’s not even bothering to hide it, yet continued to insist it wasn’t as bad as he led it on to become.
“You’re makin’ soup?” he asked. A comforting, light pressure of broad muscle against your back. Warm hands roaming from their soft placement along your hip dips roam forward, rustling along the fabric of your plush sweater, palms finally settling snug over your stomach.
“Mhm.” You nod, settling one of your hands over his interlaced fingers. “Chicken. With potato, and a ton of vegetables you like.”
“Mmm,” he hums, lightly sniffing the delectable curls of seasoned steam from your spice additions. “Smells incredible, ma.”
“Thank you. Good for the cold,” you comment, feeling satisfied at your seasoned sauté of protein and vegetables. You glance over your shoulder, smiling a little at his calm, droopy expression. “And colds.”
“Wow. Funny.” He murmurs per your amusement, taking over in reaching for the box of broth you set aside.
“You looked a little under the weather. Just wanted to help you feel a little better.” You reply after nodding in thanks for his aid, snapping open the seal to the box.
“You’re always taking care of me.” He exhales, his head tilting to kiss you on the cheek. He sounds grateful for the consideration, but he’s not very surprised by it.
You always had a tendency to spoil him. It’s just been your nature since the minute he first knew you.
“How’s the little one doing?” he asks, thumbs brushing light ovals over the soft mound of your protruding bump. Barely the size of an overripe grapefruit, or an underripe honeydew.
“Fine. No complaints,” you continue while pouring in the chicken broth. “Though, I’m sure the baby’s convinced that papa is doing a terrible job not resting up.”
Of course, he says nothing of it to confirm or deny. As if there was anything to deny, you could hear it in his slightly nasally tone. His fingers continue their gently ministrations, his eyes seemingly fixated on your actions, or unfocused as his mind trails off to space.
“Jay.”
“Hm?” His head slightly perks, leaving you to instantly assume the latter.
“It’s only been four months. You won’t feel much at four months.”
Maybe it’s faint arrogance to the doctor’s words. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he thinks that he can feel their baby shifting and wriggling around inside. He never thought of it before until it occurred to him one day, entering his mind at first as a silly thought before turning into a strong fixation.
“What, are you expecting it to come out and give you a high five?”
“Shut up.” He grunts, earning you a smirk.
“Couch,” you instruct, your gentle squeeze of your hand on his forearm combatting your firm tone. “Dinner’s almost done. Go relax.”
“Alright.” He’s quick to agree, yet his actions say otherwise. For a man who’s known by others to sulk, in your doting presence he reverts to a state a comfortable serenity, regardless of this mild illness weighing heavy on his tired bones. Regardless of your ever so heartwarming instruction, he retaliates with gentle backlash, consisting of third grade retorts and heavy groans. All in good fun, merely poking at your funny bones to catch a glimpse of a smile.
He moves his hand in little circles against your belly, waiting for his baby to respond. While he doesn’t feel any kicks just yet, he’s excited just thinking about all the times they have to come.
As much as you loved every ounce of physical touch, the slightest pet peeve of him not doing as you requested for his own good irked your mind. “Jason. You gotta move.”
“Can’t,” he mutters, “I’m fine right where I am.”
“You can play with the baby after you eat, Jason,” you insist. “You gotta eat, take some medicine, and rest. You can’t take medicine until you’ve eaten first.”
“I bet you the baby’s hungry, too.” Such sweet words from his mouth nearly had you melting on the spot. Already a doting father in waiting, how could you not feel your heart flutter?
“Jason,” you insist once more, your spoon resting on the rim of the cooking pot.
“Don’t wanna,” he replies, sounding both annoyed and amused by such insistence. His warm body never separated from yours for a mere five to seven minutes after that, your palm reaching up and back to catch his cheek, meeting the warm skin of his flushed face.
“You ever notice that you get grouchy during a cold—“
“I’m not grouchy right now though—”
“—the baby wouldn’t want their papa to be grouchy.”
“And you’re being a little mean.”
“Me? Mean?” You sounds surprised, though you’re smiling wide the entire conversation.
“Yes, you.”
“I could never.”
He doesn’t look at you though, his voice sounding playful once more. “You’re being super mean, trying to make me eat and take medicine and everything. The audacity, ma.”
You scoff as you closes the pot, turning your full bodied attention to Jason.
You smile, adoring your sick beloved, the father of your unborn baby gazing down at you with exhausted, lovestruck teal eyes. He always looked so cute, especially sick with a cold. Especially with the mentality of thinking he can do what he wants at this moment, thinking he’s said all the right words to coerce you.
“Good. That’s called love, now gooo.”
He sighs, and he’s really not looking forward to it. The idea of eating just doesn’t sound appealing right now anymore, nor does taking the medicine. Either way, the coziness of his woman wrapped in pearl colored cashmere with a cozy smile finally allured him towards the promising comfort of the living room couch, a temporary respite.
Inevitably, He left you to finish, granting the kitchen vocal silence for the next twenty minutes, apart from the soft drum of heavenly soup coming to a boil. Only when you come to find him did you see him flopped on the couch, an arm draped over his eyes to block all means of light.
You beckon him with a bowl of warm soup settling on the coffee table, alongside the eventual promise of lemon balm tea with a spoonful of crystallized honey.
“I don’t even feel that sick,” he grunts as he sits up, his voice starting to get a little hoarse from him talking (and complaining). Let the big guy say what he wants, you knew him better than even he admitted to allow.
“Then you’ll have no problem drinking my horrible concoction,” your gentle sarcasm would never be heard as unfavorable in his ears.
Jason takes a sip of his soup, slightly wincing from the heat on his sore throat, but he doesn’t seem as pleased with it as he’d originally thought. It tastes good, everything you’ve ever concocted for meals brought comfort, but as of now. he’s not really as hungry as he anticipated.
“What is this? Chicken, right?” He’s just making small talk now, wanting the conversation to last. “It’s really good, really, ma. Just not as hungry as I thought.”
You nod, not really happy about the outcome. But again, he’s sick. You can’t blame him.
“Take a few more sips, at least. Just so the medicine dosent make your stomach hurt.”
Jason looks away when you mentions the medicine, but he nods all the same. He eats what he can from his bowl, his shoulders slumping as exhaustion decides to increase weight down on his bones, forcing him into an even drowsier state.
All he does is partially lean against you after setting his bowl back on the table, keeping his eyes closed to ease the faint throbbing pressure building at the top of his head.
“I don’t even like cold medicine… I can’t sleep when I’m drowsy.” He mutters to himself, seeming to babble to no one but himself on not being so ill.
Your hand reach up to settle along his back, easing the tension with your fingers massaging his neck, confusion conflicting your mind at first.
“What you just said made no sense,” you giggle a bit, watching him lazily shake his head with a mild scoff.
He presses his head against the curve of your shoulder, his voice growing soft like a cat’s rumble. One of his arms settles lazily around your back. his body feeling practically limp.
By now, his response came in a series of short, muffled hums. He’s not complaining, really, but he is being extremely clingy. He just wants to be wrapped up in your arms, succumbing to an incredibly long sleep in your embrace, as if he can’t support his own weight. (He really can, but chooses not to.)
“On the bright side, the medicine says it tastes like honey.” You gently suggest, putting optimism where it may have lacked.
“Can’t you take it for me?” He lightly whines, his voice rumbling with a drowsy rasp. At this point, it’s not even because of the cold. Jason’s just too exhausted to think straight.
“I don’t know if pregnant women can take this kind of cold medicine,” you whisper to him, holding his shoulder after combing through his hair.
“Pretty please?” He whispers, his body feeling a little warmer from your presence. As comforting as it may have been to him now, a few minutes longer would’ve resorted in an uncomfortable ache in his neck from this poor posture.
“C’mon baby, just one little cup of medicine and you can sleep as much as you want. I’ll even yell at Bruce or Dick if they even try to call.”
Jason gives a light chuckle, his nose brushing along your jaw before planting a minor kiss along your neck.
“Fine, guess I’ll stop giving mama a hard time about it. It’ll be your job in about five months.” He speaks in second tense towards the bump in between you, followed by an eye roll on your end.
Watching you measure out the golden, syrupy mixture of potentially foul tasting medicine left him in a weak bind. He’d graciously drink horrid syrups consisting of fear toxin and joker venom if it meant you’d spoon-feed him an antidote. Such blind devotion was rare to come by throughout his life, comfort was your name in a foreign language.
He’s blessed with your smile once he had gotten the medicine down, rewarded with a kiss on the tip of his nose and a cup of promised tea, ambrosia to combat the foul taste. Goddamn medicine bottles with their stupid, deceiving lies.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so needy.” His slurred mumbling surprised you the most as you adjusted the blankets between the two of you.
A light tongue click leaves you, shaking your head in denial from such an unnecessary apology. “Don’t be, you silly man.”
Whether from some conflicting guilt, or illness inducing dysphoria on his mind, or shame, you gently deny and accept his apology with another kiss.
The effect of the medication is quickly kicks into place after ten minutes in bed, starting to drift off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Nothing but calm silence steals his consciousness for a few hours, warm bodies sheltered by the chilly winds batting against fogged glass throughout the long hours of the night. Despite the occasional faint echoes of neighbors next door and above, serene silence envelopes the minds of exhausted bodies.
You were snuggled up beside him with one of many pillows invading the space. Your cardigan sprawled neglected on the floor, cast aside due to the overwhelming seer of body heat.
He sighs softly, still tired, but his eyes glance over to the time on the nightstand clock.
He’s been asleep for hours, the time being … A little after eleven.
“Damn.” He whispers, drawing your closer to his body in a close hold. You feel so good like this, so safe. Spending all this time with him, doting on him, caring for him would mean the fifty percent chance you’d be afflicted next once he got better. Jason didn’t mind one bit, as much as he knew he should’ve been the one spending all his free time being attentive to your needs.
Either of you would look back on this and laugh of it, considering it practice for the baby.
For now, in the short time period of limbo between doctors appointments, checklists on supplies, criminal justice, and other impending challenges of becoming parents, everything was quiet. Calm, perfect even.
“Shh, the baby’s sleeping,” you softly retaliate, your hand cradling over his on the bump. You nudge just a little closer to the warmth radiating off him, seeking comfort with the furnace you call your beloved.
“What time is it?”
“Sleeping time,” he retorts, still sounding a little drowsy, his words coming out slow and somewhat slurred. His nose felt more stuffy than before, his head aching with a pressure that grew the longer he remained awake.
Once more, calloused fingers rustle against the fabric of his shirt on your body, potentially to be stretched during the later months to come. Here’s to hoping, he’s been secretly dying to see it.
“I love you both,” he whispers along your forehead, speaking from his heart in the sanctuary of your shared vulnerability.
You smile, tilting your head up to plant a soft, exhausted kiss on his chin. “We love you too,” you whisper, fighting back sleep to express an intimate act of love.
He closes his eyes, ready to sleep again. He’s not tired yet, stuck between the purgatory of both conscious states, but he’s not going to be able to stay awake much longer. At this point, he’s already half in the land of dreams. He’s comfortable—and happy to be with you, and with his baby.
“Never wanna let go of you two,” he mumbles, faintly catching the fragrance of your shampooed hair, the faint spice of ambery musk clinging to your skin.
You can’t help but quietly coo, burying most of your face against the crook of Jason’s neck.
“Then, don’t.”
#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x fem!reader#dc jason todd#jason todd x y/n#jason todd dc#gotham knights jason todd#jason todd x female!reader#jason todd gotham knights#jason todd drabble#jason todd x#my personal life went through a dead dove phase#this is my therapy#for free
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Hnnng been having Karasu thoughts. What would happen if for some reason Karasu thought MC was cheating but in fact they were planning some sort of surprise for him? Can you imagine his immense guilt when he realized he doubted them for nothing!?! Ugh I love angst-but-not-really scenarios
a/n: keeping this light on the angst because I don't like tormenting our dear crow boy too much. :(
suspicious surprises | karasu x reader
1.1k words | sfw | gn!reader | misunderstandings and resolved angst
cw: they/them pronouns for mc.
Mammon knows Karasu better than anyone else in the Devildom. He knows what Karasu's voice sounds like when he’s frustrated, knows what his eyes look like when they glint dangerously with anger he tries to hide. More often than not these days, Karasu looks happier than Mammon can remember, and they've known each other for a long time. Maybe that’s why he’s confused by the way Karasu looks now, pacing back and forth in Mammon’s room while he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“What d’ya mean, MC’s been acting weird?” Mammon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “They seem fine t’me.”
Karasu shook his head. “No, there’s something going on. They were on the phone with someone earlier and hung up quickly when I walked into the room. I asked them about it and they said it was nothing,” Karasu explained, glancing at Mammon, “but you and I both know they’re not a very good liar.”
“Can’t you just, I dunno, look up that stuff at work? Their phone logs and whatever else, y’know, see who they were talkin’ to?” It was an innocent suggestion, but Mammon didn’t expect Karasu to glare at him like the idea was offensive.
“I would never abuse my position to violate their privacy like that.” The frown on Karasu’s face deepened. “I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Okay, okay,” Mammon raised his hands placatingly. “Well, what else has been buggin’ you? Because one phone call ain’t enough reason to make you–” he paused, waving his hand in Karasu’s direction, “–y’know, like this.”
“They’ve been spending a lot of time with Asmodeus–alone,” Karasu added, annoyance creeping into his tone. “I know MC and your family are very close, but the secretive phone calls? Hushed conversations? And their little–their little dates,” he nearly spat the word between gritted teeth.
“Dates?” All of Karasu’s suspicions started to fall into place, and Mammon nearly groaned when he realized what all the mixed signals meant. “Nope, no way,” he said hastily, shaking his head. “Asmo’s a flirt but trust me, he’s not makin’ any moves on MC.” Mammon rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly because he knew exactly what you and his brother were up to.
Karasu looked unconvinced and continued pacing, listing off all the clues that led him to believe something was going on.
“Well, a few nights ago they went to The Fall together–” (to sign a contract to reserve one of the VIP lounges)
“–and yesterday they went out for dinner–” (after they finalized the menu for the dinner Ristorante Six will be catering)
“–and now they’re out shopping.” (so Asmo could take you to pick up the custom gift you ordered with his help)
Karasu dropped onto the couch beside Mammon and ran his fingers through his hair. “What am I supposed to think? They’re spending so much time together all of a sudden. Every time I mention it, MC looks guilty like they’re hiding something from me.” His glasses slid off his nose when he looked down and they clattered on the floor. He ignored them and buried his face in his hands instead. “What could be bad enough that they feel like they can’t tell me?”
Mammon rubbed his back, albeit a little awkwardly; he wasn’t sure the gesture was appreciated. “I can promise ya that whatever yer thinkin’, you’ve got the wrong idea. Did it ever occur to you that maybe MC’s keepin’ secrets from you for a reason?”
The crow demon looked up in confusion. “Is there such a thing as a good secret that MC would keep from me?”
Mammon sighed. One of the smartest demons in the Devildom and he’s so clueless, ain’t he? “Let me ask ya this, then: you got anything special comin’ up?”
Karasu pulled out his D.D.D. and Mammon snorted when he started scrolling through the calendar app to check his schedule for the week. “Only some work-related meetings, nothing out of the ordinary.” He tapped the screen a couple times quickly and squinted at something. “Oh, and MC mentioned something about doing something on Saturday for…for…”
Mammon smirked knowingly. “What’s that about Saturday?”
Karasu set his D.D.D. beside him and slumped back against the couch. “They’re planning something for my birthday, aren’t they?” he asked flatly, even though he already knew the answer. It was so obvious now.
“Of course they are,” Mammon snickered. “The first birthday you’re celebrating together since you two started goin’ out, yeah? MC’s lookin’ to spoil ya, you lucky bird. Asmo offered to help MC plan the whole thing since he has lots of useful connections in town. Don’t tell ‘em I ruined the surprise though, MC will kill me. ”
“You really think MC would go to all this trouble to surprise me?” Karasu asked. Mammon expected him to be relieved, but he just sounded sad. He stared in front of him, eyes unfocused, unblinking. “I was afraid…well, I was worried about a lot of things, I suppose,” he admitted, lowering his eyes while his hands fidgeted nervously in his lap. “But I didn’t know how to tell them that.”
Mammon nudged his shoulder lightly. “You haven’t done this sort of thing in a long time, right? How long’s it been since you were with someone anyway? Five years? Six?”
“Double that at least,” Karasu said, sniffling his nose.
No wonder he was so lost. “See? This relationship stuff is all new for you. It makes you feel vulnerable and out of control, and I know you’re not used to that.” Mammon leaned back with a sigh. “And trust me, my brothers and I know a thing or two about bein’ jealous and possessive and all that. It’s sort of our reputation ‘round here.”
“I didn’t really think MC would–you know, hurt me intentionally,” Karasu explained slowly. “But you’re right. I let my anxieties get the better of me. I’ll learn from this and be better for them.” He looked at Mammon worriedly. “You won’t tell them, will you?”
“It’ll be our little secret,” Mammon said, drawing his fingers across his lips with an exaggerated ziiiip. “But I’m serious, you got lucky with MC. You’re good for each other.” Mammon watched the bashful smile bloom on his friend’s face, his eyes brightening slightly with something hopeful.
“You really think so?” Karasu asked wonderingly.
Mammon nodded. “Wouldn’t have let it get this far between ya if I thought otherwise.”
A quiet giggle bubbled out of Karasu before he bit his lip to stifle the sound. “I think I’m going to enjoy my birthday this year for the first time in a long time,” he admitted softly. The grin on his face was contagious, and all Mammon saw was a hopelessly besotted crow oozing with affection.
Karasu might not realize it, but Mammon’s seen MC with the same expression on their face and he knows who it is they’re thinkin’ of when they do. “Yeah, I think so too.”
read more: karasu masterlist | obey me masterlist
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The Trials, Part One
Leah, back from the Shadowlands and feeling a bit lost, decides to take her mother’s advice and undergo the shadowhunter trials.
Leah sat staring into the dying embers of her dinner campfire. The sun was sinking low behind the trees of the Zuldazar wilds, encompassing the primeval jungle in a deep, consuming darkness. This would be the end of the third day of her pilgrimage to undertake the shadowhunter trials. So far, it had been nothing more than a glorified camping trip.
She had decided against throwing another log on the fire so as not to draw the attention of any predators that might be lurking in the underbrush, just as she had done the past two evenings. The thought had occurred to her that keeping the fire going might also draw the attention of the Loa, but she reasoned that if they wanted to find her, they could do it in the dark just as easily. She wondered how long she would have to wait, or if they would even come at all.
In spite of her nagging doubts, Leah relaxed and listened to the sounds of the night. Crickets chirped their happy songs while frogs called for their mates. The humid breeze gently rustled the leaves. The huntress was nearly ready to settle down and let the jungle sing her to sleep when the sounds abruptly stopped. Leah sat up straight and alert.
Behind her something stirred. Leah froze; she strained her senses to catch whatever clues she could about who or what had come upon her so suddenly without notice. Soon she felt a familiar haunting presence.
“Bwonsamdi,” she uttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
From the darkness the Loa of Death emerged, and Leah felt an eerie chill wash over her. The low light from the glowing coals cast deep shadows over his skeletal features causing him to look even more ghastly than usual.
“Whatchu doin’ sittin’ out here in de jungle all by yaself, chile?” He said as he took a seat on the ground next to the huntress. “Thought for sure you’d be home wit’ dat mon I let ya take back witchu… ya know, makin’ up for lost time.” The loa grinned lasciviously at Leah, who averted her gaze as the color rose in her cheeks.
“I was, but I wanna be a shadowhunter. Back on de Darkspear Isles, we used to go to First Home for de trials, but now dat we’ve left dat place, I didn’t know where to go. I thought maybe if I came out to de wilds and waited, I might find a sign or somethin’. I’m not sure what I’m s’posed to do.”
Bwonsamdi cocked his head to the side. “You really wanna be a shadowhunter, or are ya just doin’ it ‘cause ma’da said you should?” When Leah looked incredulously at him, the Loa responded, “You don’t think I know what goes on in my own realm? I heard you two talkin’.”
Leah sighed. “Mama made some good points. I do wanna uphold our traditions, but I think, if I be honest with myself, dat ain’t why I be here. Lately I be feelin’ so lost, like I don’t know where I want my life to go. And I realized dat I keep bein’ flung around from one tragedy to another without a chance to breathe in between. I feel like all I do be react. I thought if I came out here and de Loa spoke to me, I might finally be able to take control of my own life for once.”
Bwonsamdi leaned back and tapped his chin with a bony finger. “Hmm. Well adaptability do be one of de Darkspears’ best traits…”
“Yeah, but I be tired of feelin’ like I don’t get a say-so in what happens to me. I wanna be de one dat makes de things happen for once.”
The old Loa leaned forward now, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his hands. His eyes blazed with a spectral, captivating glow. Leah found herself unable to look away.
“Might I be offerin’ some perspective, Leah Darkspear?” Bwonsamdi did not wait for her to respond. “You say all you do is react. Things just happen to you. But you don’t take dese things lyin’ down, do ya? No. When Garrosh Hellscream treated de Darkspear like dogs, you joined de resistance.”
“Vol’jin asked me to,” Leah explained.
“But you didn’t hafta say yes. And when you joined dat ill-fated Azazi Empire and things started goin’ south, you was gonna step up and challenge Nazazi for leadership.”
“But I never got to, we all fled before dat happened.”
Bwonsamdi nodded. “Yes, and who was de one dat shepherded de others, kept dem all together and gave dem a new purpose by startin’ your likkle Expedition League?”
“But it didn’t work!” Leah objected. Her voice softened, tinged with sadness. “Over time, everyone left and went dey separate ways anyway. Hardly anybody from de old days still be around.”
“Hush,” Bwonsamdi snapped. “Stop interruptin’ and listen, chile.”
Leah shrunk back, chastened.
The Loa continued. “So people came and went. Dat be life. But you kept on wit’ your vision. You gave dem a purpose. Together, you found troll relics dat otherwise would have been lost. De important part be dat you made sure dese people had a home when dey needed one.
“You may not think yaself a leader, but time and again you step up and take charge when things need to get done. You don’t hafta do dis, others would take ya place if ya didn’t.
“You make things happen all de time, Leah Darkspear. Ya mon be proof of dat. I let him go, but you got him a body, you did de ritual to bring him back. He wouldn’t be alive now if not for you.
“De power to take control of your own life already be in you. You be a natural born leader, Leah. Ya know it be de truth. You just gotta be willin’ to admit it to yaself.”
Leah sat with her brow furrowed, the Loa’s words turning about in her mind. All her life, she had considered herself a reluctant participant at best in the shit-show that was life on Azeroth. In the ranks of the Horde, she assumed the role of Commander had been bestowed on her because it was her time to be promoted, not because of any meritorious acts. In other aspects of her life, she always told herself the only reason she found herself leading was because no one else was stepping up. In her relationship, she told herself Ja’mez had always deferred to her because he was an easy going mon. But was that true, or did people let her take charge because they knew she would? Did she really have it in her to shape her own life the way she saw fit? Had she been doing that all along without even realizing it?
Bwonsamdi could see that his message had hit its mark. Leah had gotten so lost in her thoughts that she forgot he was there and started when he suddenly rose.
“Well, now dat we got dat outta de way,” he said, his words drawn out long as he stretched his old bones casually. He stepped away from Leah’s camp and slowly dissipated into the surrounding night.
From the darkness, Leah could hear the mischievous grin in his words as Bwonsamdi called out in a sing-song voice.
“Good luuuuck.”
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The Best Times Aren’t the Best Times (Until They Leave)
The following occurs a year prior to the start of the Vytal Festival.
“I still think she’s too young.”
“Li’l late for that now Kat. ‘sides, she’s a tough kid. Ya’ got this Poppi! Just grit your teeth!”
“Rook, I know you’re tryin’a be supportive, but that ain’t helping.” Molly didn’t even look up as she said it, focused entirely on the work at hand. “Poppi, I know it hurts, but ya’ gotta stay still or I’m gonna mess up.”
Poppi didn’t say anything in response. Her eyes were tightly shut and her entire body felt tense. Of course she wanted this tattoo, she’d just never considered the logistics of actually getting it.
Rook then slid up a chair next to her and sat, taking a hold of her free hand.
“Trust me Poppi, you got this. Imma be right here the whole time. If it hurts too much, just squeeze my hand as hard as ya’ can, a’ight?”
Poppi nodded in affirmation, allowing Molly to get back to it. The buzz of the tattoo gun filled the room with the occasional whimper from Poppi. She did well with not squirming, though whenever a particularly sharp pain caught her off guard, she followed Rook’s advice and squeezed. The ordeal took well over an hour. The design itself wasn’t particularly complex, and on a seasoned client it likely would have taken half the time, though Molly made sure to take her time for the kid’s sake.
“Aaaand, done!” Molly piped up, sitting back and letting Poppi breathe out the longest breath she’d ever held.
“Hell yeah, I knew ya’ could handle it! Let’s see it then!”
Poppi was all too relieved that it was over. She sat up and turned herself to show off the ink. The surrounding skin was of course red and irritated, but on her left arm, right up by her shoulder was the logo of the Neon Demons.
“H-How’s it look?” she asked hesitantly.
“Looks dope as shit! How’s it feel to have your first ink?”
“It’s great! I-I’m a little tired now though, might call it a night.”
“No worries, kid. I’ll have Rook nab ya’ a special somethin’ to have with dinner.”
“Oh! And make sure to keep it wrapped up for now! You don’t want it to get infected!”
“I gotcha!” Poppi called back as she stepped out of the tattoo parlor. Their hideout was only about a bloc away, she’d make it there just fine. Once she was gone, Molly started cleaning up her equipment as the group talked.
“I’m still havin’ second thoughts ‘bout makin’ her go through that.”
“Kat, she wanted to go through it. I know she’s a kid, but she can make her own choices. She ain’t dumb.”
“Yeah Kat, ‘sides, I told her before that if she ever decided she wanted to stop, I’d stop. None of us said she had to get it yet.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m just worried that she’s feelin’ pressured to do things she’s not ready for just ‘cause we all did it. Ya’ know how much she looks up to us.”
“Kat, I’m gonna level wit’cha,” Rook said, placing her arm on her leader’s shoulder. “You’re right. Maybe she wasn’t ready. But I guarantee that when she’s our age, she’s gonna look back on today as one of the best days of her life. I mean, take it from a walkin’ canvas. Ya’ never forget your first ink. Ever.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
“Now c’mon, we got a celebration dinner to make, and I’m thinkin’ ice cream for dessert.”
“I want sushi!”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Kat said with a chuckle.
#[after years of name dropping them]#[the demons are finally here]#{The Unbreakable Leader; (Kat)}#{The Fluorescent Vandal; (Rook)}#{The Tenderfoot Ink-Slinger; (Molly)}#{The Wind-Carried Prodigy; (Poppi)}#{The Vibrant Teeth In The Night; (Neon Demons)}#{New Faces - New Stories; (Character Introduction)}
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Hayloft (p.2)
Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader
Summary: Your dad brings home his new coworker, Arvin Russell, telling you that he’ll be living with the two of you for a while. While attempting to keep Arvin from seeing the disfunction of your relationship with your father, the two of you grow closer than you thought. (Inspired by “Hayloft” by Mother Mother, though that’ll really only be one chapter later on so I don’t know if it really counts…)
Warnings: Abuse, drunkenness, misogyny, reader’s mother is dead, decapitating a chicken, reader is kind of emotional in this chapter
Word Count: 4.2k
A/N: My first slow(er) burn fic! Let me know what you think!
Part 1
_____________________
Work had passed fairly quickly as it always did when you had the opening shift. It sure sucked having to arrive at five o’clock in the morning but at least you got off earlier and you knew that that way you could grab groceries before your father got home and could yell at you about an empty kitchen again. By two o’clock in the afternoon, you were home again, hopping out of your truck and grabbing as many bags as you could in one go.
The loud sound of metal slamming against metal shook you and you flinched, looking between your door and the frame to see Arvin walking out towards you. It hadn’t occurred to you that his car was even in your driveway. After so many years of having busted broken down old cars sitting there that your dad had been swearing he’d fix for almost ten years, cars in the driveway seemed normal. “Let me give you a hand,” he offered as he got closer, lifting the canvas bags from your hands before you could object.
“Oh!” You exclaimed as you felt the weight suddenly taken off your own arms, “Thank you.” You dove back into the truck to grab the last two bags before slamming it shut with your hips. The two of you began your stroll towards the front door, the dirt driveway kicking up around your feet. “You’re back early.” You noted, looking over at Arvin.
He shrugged, “Yeah, uh, Wallace had me on the early shift today.”
You fumbled with the bags as you tried to unlock the door, kicking it open with your toes when it finally gave in. You walked into your home and Arvin followed, closing the door behind him. “Been here long? I didn’t see you in the driveway.”
“Not too long. I just didn’t want to let myself into your home without nobody there.” Arvin set the bags on the counter next to where you set yours.
You began to unpack the bags and put the groceries in the respective places. Arvin watched off to the side, unsure of how your kitchen was organized so he was worried he’d do more than good if he stepped in. “My daddy got the late shift?”
Arvin shook his head, noticing that his beat up old hat was still on his head despite being indoors and took it off immediately, his tousled brown curls parting messily down the middle. “No, we went in at the same time. He ‘n some buddies said they was goin’ to some bar in town.”
He watched your shoulders fall a little and you sighed, “Figures…. You didn’t go?”
Again, Arvin shook his head, “No. No offense to your daddy but I don’t like to drink the way I get the feelin’ he does.”
You snorted, turning to him with a knowing chuckle, “Let’s just say that I’m sorry in advance for whatever he says or does when he gets home, if he gets home. Sheriff Pike might end up callin’ in the mornin’ tellin’ us to pick him up.” Though it was stated as a joke, Arvin could hear the tragic reality behind your words.
Arvin then noticed the pack of beer bottles that you were pulling out of the bag. As if you could feel his eyes looking at you with worried curiosity, you glanced over at him, noticing the way his eyes flicked between you and the beer in your hands. You offered a sad shrug, “I know what you’re thinkin’ but trust me. Sometimes it’s better to have him drunk and possibly content than sober and angry there’s nothing to drink. Besides, the beer is better than the hard stuff with ‘im.”
“‘M sorry. I didn’t mean to be makin’ faces. Your business is your business,” Arvin backpedalled, giving you an apologetic nod.
You shook your head, “Don’t worry. I know how it looks. I’m sorry you gotta see all of it. I been tryin’ to keep to keep him calm but if you end up stayin’ a while, I’m sure you’ll get to see him at his worse times.”
Arvin chewed his lip as he contemplated whether or not to bring up what had been going through his mind but he had to make sure you were alright. “I-I heard you ‘n your dad talkin’ last night… right after you left my room.”
Your face fell as you realized what he was talking about, “You weren’t s’posed to hear that. I’m sorry.” Shit, this was what you were hoping to avoid.
“Are you alright?”
Gentle. Caring. His tone was something that had been long lost to you in this house and it took the words out of your mouth for a moment. It was embarrassing, the way your heart welled up with… well love wasn’t quite the right word but the warmth of being cared about. Not since after your mother had passed had you heard somebody actually care about how you felt.
You just nodded and gave a forced smile that you could tell was easy to see through but it was the best you could muster. For someone who was able to take so much shit from their father and was able to look the man who would throw things at you and grab you by the hair dead in the eye with nothing but contempt, it was compassion that made you crumble. It had been so unexpected, especially from Arvin, the stranger living in your house.
“Shit, ‘m sorry! I didn’t mean to - I didn’t mean to overstep. I only…” He stammered over his words and at first you were confused until you felt the single hot tear tracing its way down your cheek.
You were quick to wipe it away, shocked at your own uncharacteristic show of vulnerability. You hadn’t realized until now that you had zoned out on the ground while Arvin’s words repeated in your head but now a flash of embarrassment ran through you. “No, no, no. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You sniffled once before giving a small laugh of disbelief. “It’s just… It’s been a long time since anybody asked that.”
You straightened up and ran your hands through your hair, eyes closed as you thought of what else you needed to do. Thankfully, if your dad was at the bar, you had at least another four hours to just you and Arvin, all night if you were lucky, though you seldom were. That was when the feeling of dread set in. Your dad had requested chicken roast for dinner tonight and whether he came home early and only a few beers in or you had to drive him home hungover in the morning, the man would be furious if there weren’t at least reheated leftovers for him. You had to kill Patty and prep her for dinner.
“You okay?” Arvin asked again, though this time it was in reference to the way a heavy look fell over your features. It wasn’t a profound deep question like it was earlier.
Your head wavered from side to side and your lips twisted, “My daddy asked for chicken roast tonight. I gotta go out and fix Patty up.” You tried to put it lightly though it felt anything but. “I’ll be out in the coop. You’re more than welcome to clean up in the shower or do whatever you’d like ‘round the house. The radio is in the livin’ room if you wanna tune into somethin’.”
You pushed yourself off the counter and walked to the door in your kitchen that led out to the backyard but Arvin made a few steps to follow, “Is it alright if I keep you company? It don’t feel right bein’ in your house without you or your daddy here.”
You smiled at the thought of him staying with you and you nodded, continuing out the door, “Sure, c’mon.”
The hen house wasn’t very far from the back door. From there, you could see the several acres of land that your father was wasting. Your grandparents had bought this land in the late 1910’s and had started up a little farm of their own to sell locally, though your father had abandoned the farming portion after they died. It was where your daddy had grown up and then where you had as well. God, how you missed your grandparents. Your grandmother’s soft words of love and kindness but sternness and willingness to swat your butt with a wooden spoon if you got an attitude (though she would yell at your father if he ever tried to discipline you - “Now you leave that poor baby alone!”). Your grandfather had looked like a rough and angry old man from years of hard work but he had the softest heart of anyone you’d ever met. How the two of them had raised your father was beyond you.
When you approached the wired fence and jiggled the lock open, the chickens inside stood surprisingly still. They trusted you. You could see it in their little brown eyes. You were safe and warm and didn’t want to harm them. You came in for the unfertilized eggs they laid and left, oftentimes with some seed and a soft pat or two on the head. Patty, a fat white hen with black specks, walked comfortably around your feet, nuzzling her head against your leg. She was the nicest hen you’d ever had. She trusted you.
God, you were about to cry again. You bent down to pick her up and you held her against your chest, trying to look her in the eye, though it was difficult when she kept jerking it in different directions. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” you murmured low. Usually it was your father that would slaughter the hens if he really wanted the meat that badly. You had never done it yourself but he’d made you watch every time so that you knew how if the time ever came. Each time it made you sick to your stomach.
Already, you felt green. The unassuming hen that you had been friendly enough to for her not flip out when you held her was none the wiser that her life was about to end by your hand. You glanced over to the large wood round just ahead and the axe that was leaned up against it.
Your face contorted as you realized how much you disliked the placement. The way your father would slaughter chickens right in front of their friends made your heart break. It was barbaric.
You walked over to Arvin and held Patty out towards him, “Would you mind holdin’ onto her for a second?”
Though visibly confused, he took the chicken from your hands, drawing back when her wings fluttered out at the contact with the new strange man. Arvin watched as you walked towards the large round and tried to push it with all your might. “What’re you doin’?”
“I’m-” you grunted, feeling it slide slowly, inch by inch, “trying to move it where the other chickens can’t see.” You took another moment to use all your force against it before standing up straight and breathing heavily, “I know it sounds dumb cause they’re only chickens but it feels cruel to make ‘em watch, y’know?” You went back to pushing the round and Arvin approached behind you.
From here he could see the blood stains in the wood. It looked as if the blood had been washed off but the wood had been stained crimson regardless. There was also a divot where an axe had clearly been driven down many times over the years, chipping away at the wood.
Arvin’s heart actually warmed a little at your attempt to show mercy and your willingness to go out of your way to spare some chickens’ feelings. It wasn’t something he was sure he’d do himself but when he heard you say it, he realized you had a point. It was cruel to imprison a bunch of animals and then lead them out one by one to be slaughtered in front of everyone, each animal waiting their turn. “Here, take ‘er back. Let me.” Arvin stepped in, handing Patty back over to you and bending down to lift the round onto its side with much effort. The wood had to weigh at least a hundred pounds and had long since settled into the ground where it had been placed when you were a child.
Your eyes widened as you watched his biceps bulge, straining the material of his blue t-shirt. You’d never seen a man with muscles like that before and you found your eyes trailing along his arms, following every popping vein from the tops of his hands, up his forearms, and onto his biceps until they disappeared beneath his shirt. It was something you hadn’t expected to see in him. Arvin looked like a quiet, polite, hardworking young man but you never would have imagined the immaculate muscles he possessed. You found your mind wandering to what other surprises laid in store beneath all those layers he wo-
You needed to calm yourself down. If only he could hear your thoughts, he surely would be furious and disgusted with you. You hadn’t had such impure thoughts since that one time you had been messing around with Jimmy Bates in the backseat of his old car back in your senior year of high school. The two of you didn’t even go all the way but you went far enough and the guilt ate you alive since the two of you were never officially together anyways. He was just the cute boy from high school that you had pined over years that had finally given you the chance right before he shipped off to join the war.
“This alright?” Arvin asked, shaking you from your fantasy, and you snapped back into reality to realize he had rolled the wood round around the side of the coop behind the wooden wall, outside of the other chickens’ views.
You nodded and walked over to him, “That’s perfect. Thank you so much for doin’ that. I know it’s sorta stupid.”
Arvin shook his head, putting his hands on his hips, “If it means somethin’ to you, it ain’t stupid at all. Besides, now that you pointed it out, it was a little barbaric.”
You smiled up at him, one which he returned. How was this boy so damn nice? Was this some cosmic way of the universe finally giving you something good in your life? You’d become so calloused to your father’s harsh words and barked commands that you had forgotten how nice it was to feel cared about and validated. And you barely knew him.
“‘M glad you think so.” You looked down at Patty in your arms and any good feelings you’d had melted to sadness and fear. “You been a good girl, Patty. I know you struggled with layin’ eggs for a while but you were always a good girl. Never bit me once unlike some of them other hens.” You weren’t often very soft and vulnerable but you were about to take something’s life for the first time and you couldn’t help but feel the weight of that on your heart. If this were a life or death situation, you would feel better about it, but it wasn’t. The only reason Patty had to die was because your father would throw a fit if she didn’t.
You carried her to the log and gave her a little kiss on the top of the head, “Please don’t hate me but I understand if you do. Say hi to my momma for me, will you? Tell her I love and miss her.” You set her down and got her in the position you always saw your dad put the other chickens in before he chopped their heads off. Arvin handed you the axe with uncertainty but watched on as you struggled to bring yourself to finish the deed.
You held her down and you could tell by the way she was flailing that she was panicking now. Patty was well aware of what was happening. “I’m sorry!” You choked, tears welling up in your eyes as her panic began to turn into your own panic. How did people do this? Why was this so freaking difficult?
Tossing the axe slightly in your hand, you readjusted the handle and just as you went to swing, Arvin piped up, “I can do it.”
You looked over at him, the afternoon sun reflecting the tears in your eyes and making the color of your irises stand out in tragic beauty. “I-I- Would you really not mind?” You breathed out in relief.
Arvin stepped forward and you handed the axe out to him, “I don’t mind.” You held onto Patty until Arvin could position her just right as well. He had no idea what he was doing - he’d never had to slaughter a chicken before. He had heard that all you had to do was cut their head off though and then he’d heard the rumors of them running around like crazy even after their head hit the ground. How hard could it be?
Once he had the hen pinned down where he wanted her, he looked up to see you chewing on your thumb, brows knitted in discomfort. It wasn’t the first chicken you’d watched get slaughtered but it was far from something you enjoyed observing. Arvin signaled to you with a nod before raising the axe above his head and you shut your eyes tight, flinching at the sound of the old metal head thudding into the old wood.
**
You had the carcass sitting in the sink while you pulled off the blood soaked feathers, depositing them into the trash bin by the handful. This part was easier for you, something you’d done many times in the past. “Thank you for doin’ that. I’m sorry I’m such a baby.”
Arvin sat at the kitchen table behind you, “You ain’t a baby just cause you don’t like to kill things. I’d say it’s probably rather normal.”
The time was inching closer to four o’clock now and the sun was beginning to hang ever so slightly lower in the sky, the precursor to sunset. It was warm outside and a cool spring breeze blew in through the open window above the sink. You snickered as you pulled another handful of feathers out, “Yeah? That mean you ain’t normal?” You looked over at him with a playful glint in your eye but your smile fell when you saw an uncomfortable look cross his face, almost like he’d seen a ghost.
“I ain’t never said I liked killin’ either.” Arvin attempted to match your joking tone but it was pretty evident there was a weight behind his words.
“Hey, I‘m sorry. I was only jokin’.” A pang of guilt washed over you but it was only that. A joke. You hadn’t imagined teasing him over something like killing a chicken would set him off, especially since he volunteered to do it for you, but apparently you were wrong.
Arvin sniffed and scratched his nose, “I know.” After a moment of awkward silence, he stood, “Let me give you a hand. What do you need done?”
You scanned his face once more to make sure he was really okay but you decided to drop it when you saw his insistent look. You shook your head, “I got it. It ain’t much after I get this all gutted and cleaned.” You picked up the mostly featherless carcass by the wings and plopped it back down into the sink.
“Well ‘m sure there’s vegetables or somethin’ else that goes with it, right? Let me start cuttin’ those up.” His persistence was adorable, making your heart flutter in the most wonderful way. The idea of a man actually being helpful was unknown to you before Arvin. Your life had been filled with your dad’s drunken bossings since you were twelve years old. You couldn’t remember the last time a genuinely kind voice offered you anything more than a smile on the street, not that you took that for granted. Arvin was just different though. Noble and helpful and kind.
“You really don’t have to-”
“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that but I really do want to help. So what can I do to make things easier on you?” He took a few steps closer to you until you felt the beginning of what could have been sparks if he stepped any nearer, like when you hold two magnets a few inches apart and you can feel the energy between them, that hint of attraction, but it’s not quite close enough to pull them together.
The blush in your cheeks at his simple gesture made you break the eye contact with a nervous laugh of retreat, “Okay, fine. If you’re gonna be so insistent,” you drew out with a teasing drawl, “you can cut up veggies. There’s potatoes over there and carrots and zucchini in the fridge.”
Arvin’s lips turned up in a small smile when you finally resigned your stubborn ways and he went off to find the vegetables where you had directed him.
Needless to say, when your father came home from the bar to find you and Arvin talking over a song by the Platters playing on the radio with Arvin cleaning up the dishes while you tossed together the vegetables and the seasoning, he was less than pleased.
“What the hell is going on here?” His slurred speech made your eyes widen in fear. He was supposed to get home later like he always did. But then you found yourself chiding your irresponsibility. Why the hell would you take that chance? You knew better than to let Arvin help out and now you were gonna pay.
Arvin sensed the way you tensed up beside him and watched as you spun around to face your father with haste, “Just finishin’ up dinner now. Should be ready by six so you got more than enough time to take a sho-”
“Why the fuck is he doin’ the dishes?” You father was leaning against the wall, clearly relying on the structure for support. This wasn’t the time to test him, not with Arvin here. It was times like this when he’d start throwing stuff at you.
Before you could say anything, Arvin piped up firmly but respectfully, “I offered, sir. It’s no problem at all.”
Your dad pointed at Arvin, “A man ain’t got no place with his hands in a sink of dishes. You leave that shit to her and she’ll just grab you a beer.” He stumbled over his own feet before catching himself ungracefully.
Arvin’s jaw set tightly and you gripped the countertop with white knuckles behind you. Times like this, you weren’t even sure what to say anymore. No amount of standing up for yourself got you anywhere with him. You never made any headway with your dad’s sexist views on gender roles. It was pointless. The only thing to do was try and work your way to supporting yourself so you could get the hell out of dodge and never look back.
Arvin’s voice surprised you, “A man’s place is helpin’ out the women in his life when they need, not leavin’ ‘em to do all the housework themselves.” You nearly choked on your own tongue at his words. It was a bold statement for a man to make, especially to the head of the house that was being so gracious as to host him free of charge, but he didn’t back down. It appeared like the jab was lost on your drunken father but Arvin continued with a slightly less accusatory comment to diffuse the situation regardless, “I grew up helpin’ my grandma with all the house chores so I really don’t mind at all.”
You watched the way your dad eyed Arvin and then you before scoffing and grumbling incoherently as he shuffled his way into the living room. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I don’t want you gettin’ kicked out ‘cause of me. You didn’t have to say nothin’.”
Arvin glared at where your father had disappeared and nodded, “Yeah, I did. You don’t deserve all the shit he gives you.”
You suddenly found yourself avoiding his eyes and twisting your lips. He was right and you were well aware of that fact. The abuse your dad put you through was uncalled for at best. The fact that Arvin had actually taken the time to not only notice the same fact but acknowledge it and stand up for you was something you never thought you’d hear someone do. It made you uncomfortable. You’d been fighting this battle by yourself for so long that letting somebody even know it was being waged was enough to make you want to sink away. Even so, a part of you wanted to let Arvin keep standing up for you. It made you feel weak after having to stand up for yourself for so long but also validated.
Your eyes flicked up to meet his for only a moment before turning back towards dinner that sat in a roasting pan on the stove, “Thank you.”
______
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Conclusions
This is super-de-duper late and kinda short but here it is.
(y/n) plopped her plate down at the table with a goofy grin as she poked Glen in the side and told him to ‘scooch’ so she could sit between him and Daryl.
“someone’s in a good mood,” Maggie commented before bringing her fork up to her mouth.
“That’s ‘cause it’s Peach Night, Bitches!” came a gleeful response as her friend began digging into her own meal; a hearty squirrel stew with string beans and a generous portion of—you guessed it– peaches on the side.
The four didn’t always eat together, but it happened often enough for entertaining conversation to be easy amongst the group, and it was happening more and more often these days seeing as Glen and Maggie were rarely ever apart and a similar phenomenon was beginning to occur between (y/n) and Daryl. The Prison group noticed this about a week after it started and ever since a select few had taken it upon themselves to try and get Daryl and (y/n) together. So far, they’d been unsuccessful, but that night was different. Maggie wasn’t sure how, but she could just tell.
For the most part, dinner conversation went on like it did every other night, but Maggie couldn’t help but notice the archer across the table from her kept shifting his gaze between his plate and the woman beside him. After a few minutes more, he sucked the stew off his spoon and began using it to ferry his own peaches onto (y/n)’s plate.
The woman paused mid-sentence to look at him.
“…and you know, Mags, we really should start—What are you doin’?”
Daryl shrugged, having finished shoveling the canned fruit onto her plate, “well you like ‘em, don’t cha?”
“I thought you said you liked ‘em, too.”
He scoffed, “I only said that ‘cause those peaches were the only thing you wanted to talk about all freakin’ day. You damn near burst into song when we found ‘em on that run last week; you like ‘em, now you got more. Quit yer bellyachin’.”
(y/n) let a small, fond smile slip onto her face as she bumped his shoulder with her own.
“Thanks,” she said.
She got a disinterested grunt in return, but anyone could see how red the tips of his ears were.
Maggie squinted at the two, looking back and forth between them before she finally slammed her hand on the table with a triumphant grin and loudly announced, “you two are havin’ sex!”
(y/n) paused, fork-full of fruit halfway to her lips while her companion beside her began to choke on his own food.
From her left she heard Glen mutter “A little louder, Maggie, I don’t think the walkers outside the fence heard you,” as he looked around at the other tables of people around the room who stopped to stare at their table after the outburst.
He was promptly ignored as his wife was pointedly daring the accused party to deny her statement with a fixed stare.
After a beat (y/n) lowered her fork, and with the straightest face she could manage, she turned to Daryl and said, “we are? Daryl, Sweetie, why didn’t you say somethin’? I would have put my fork down.“
The man snickered between coughs but kept his gaze fixed to his plate.
“I’m serious,” Maggie insisted, “you’re a thing, you’re sleepin’ together.”
“Have been for about a month, thanks for sharin’ with the class, Mags.”
Maggie blinked, eyes turning owlish as she opened and closed her mouth a few times, simply flabbergasted that they just admitted to it. She thought that if they were trying to keep it secret, they would at least try and deny it a little bit.
“We’ve been tryin’ to get you two together for forever now, why didn’t you ever say somethin’?”
Daryl spoke up then, pink-cheeked and surly as ever, “It wasn’t any of yer business. Just ‘cause you an’ Glen like makin’ yer relationship front-page-news doesn’t mean everyone’s gotta.”
(y/n) rubbed his back in soothing circles as she added, “an’ it was easy to find time to be alone when you just kept, ya know, givin’ it to us. Plus, I thought it was funny how you guys were tryin’ so hard.”
Maggie pouted at that, but Glen began to chuckle, “fair enough,” he said through bites of stew as he elbowed his friend in the stomach, “so how’d it start?”
“Ya don’t gotta answer that, (y/n),” the archer informed as he put his head in his hands.
(y/n) ignored this as a shit-eating grin began to form on her lips, “He’s been takin’ me out on his hunts tryin’ to teach me how to shoot the crossbow. Remember that day we brought back a buck? I bet him if I could shoot it ‘tween the eyes he had to give me a kiss.”
The table erupted into laughter, and after a few more jokes the conversation drifted back towards more familiar topics, but still, Daryl was more quiet than normal, and (y/n) could feel it. After Glen and Maggie had said their goodbyes and turned in for the night, she turned to him, leaning her chin on her hand and leaning far against the table to try and catch his eye.
“You upset with me for tellin’ them about us? We agreed we’d do our own thing at our own pace and let the others come to a conclusion on their own. Not my fault they came to the right one.”
“It ain’t that.”
“Good,” she joked, “for a second I thought you might be ashamed of me or somethin’.”
He rolled his eyes at that and began to elaborate knowing full well at this point she wasn’t going to drop the subject until she knew what was bugging him.
“It’s just everyone’s gonna know now, they’re gonna look at us different. They’re gonna watch us. I hate havin’ eyes on me, it makes me itch,” he began chewing on his thumb; a nervous habit of his that (y/n) found absolutely adorable.
“I dunno, I think if anything, we’ll have fewer eyes on us,” she assured, reaching to take his hands in hers.
“You think?”
“Yeah. A will-they-won’t-they situation is much more entertainin’ to watch than a couple that’s already established. Once word spreads around and the new-gossip shine’s rubbed off it people will look somewhere else, I promise you.”
Daryl’s eyebrows furrowed as he processed her words, turning them over in his head while he admired how small and delicate her hands seemed in his bigger, callused ones, “Yeah, guess yer right. Come on, we got the first watch, right?”
(y/n) grinned and nodded as their gazes met. She was just about to get up when Daryl suddenly took his hands from her grip and took a quick look around. Just before she could respond his hands were on her cheeks and he was pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, and then he was up and halfway out to the blacktop like nothing happened.
She gasped, faux scandalized as she scurried up to follow him, “Daryl Dixon, was that a public display of affection? Is that going to be an everyday thing now?” She gripped the back of his vest in one of her fists to try and get him to face her again, but all it did was serve as a sort of tether to drag her along behind him.
“Not if you keep makin’ a deal of it,” he threatened weakly as the couple walked out of the building and into the quiet Georgia night.
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Commitment
in which Harry likes to daydream and you burst his bubble.
“Don't mess this up, love.”
What was partially intended to be words of encouragement are merely taken as added, and honestly unnecessary, pressure. He realizes how it may have come off only after he had said it; only after you cock your neck and side eye him from your spot on Anne’s living room floor.
He doesn’t mean to be overbearing. He doesn’t mean to, quite literally, be breathing down your neck. And though you’d beg to differ right now as you mumble at him to shut up, he really doesn’t mean to add any pressure.
Because it’s only a game. It’s just a friendly game amongst family; lighthearted and something to do while everyone digests dessert. Except he’s winning. His team is winning, beating Gemma’s only by a point, and it would just eat him alive watching that smug grimace pop up on his cousins face if you got this question wrong.
“She hit it!,” he yelps, and Anne instinctively hushes him, “s’fair, g’on and let her answer it.”
He’s practically squirming in his spot, eyes in slits as he taunts Gemma from the opposing side of his mother’s sitting area. And he’s so jittery that each time he jiggles his knee, it juts against the top of your spine. But seriously, he can’t help it, and as you choke out an answer he feels like he might actually explode.
“Well fine,” Gemma huffs, “you guys win.”
She’s rolling her eyes at how exaggerated he can be as he literally leaps, taunting Gemma for being a sore loser before he’s showering you in praises. His joy at winning a quiz round during an after dinner game is comparable to that of winning a grammy, and dramatic as it may be, Anne is absolutely eating it up.
“Hope your kids get her brains.” his cousin jokes, to which, Harry’s smile only doubles.
“I could only get so lucky, yeah?”
All it takes is a very haphazard, nonchalant remark about kids to have him like this; musing at a future he’s constantly fantasizing about. Even a bit of a blush crawls onto the apples of his cheeks as he steals a glimpse of you, trying to imagine what your eyes would look like on a baby with his smile. He’s far gone, for sure, wrapped up in a favorite daydream.
“Talking about babies?” Anne’s practically singing the topic back, it seems to be her favorite as of late.
She can notice Harry’s off again, in that place, the one where he’s bemused by a concept as he completely neglects existing reality. His smile is dopey and the only thing that lures his attention somewhat back to the small group of family sitting around seems to be the word babies.
“Oh no,” you laugh, “don’t get him started.”
Not that it matters, anyways, because he’s already gone and gotten started well before you opened your mouth. He’s got a bad habit of letting his thoughts get the best of him; imagination tends to rule his thought process before it completely consumes him.
Which is, of course, what happens. Because now everyone’s turned in for the night, wrapping paper has been discarded and gifts have been adoringly tucked away before everyone said their goodnights.
But Harry was here, eyes trained on you as you sorted out a few things in your travel bag, muttering under your breath in frustration. He’s not sure how long he’s been like this, staring at you while he dreamt up a very colorful future. It’s been long enough, he’s sure, because you’ve caught him staring a few times. Each time his smile was dopier than the last.
“Got something to tell me?” you laugh, catching him again as you dig up a pair of socks.
“No,” he sighs sweetly, “s’nothing, really.”
“Okay.”
It’s not exactly the answer he was hoping for, nor the one he was really expecting either. His unconvincing, sing-songy hum was supposed to be an invitation for you to dig a little deeper. That was the plan. Clearly it was a shitty one considering you’re elbow deep in your overnight bag, your back turned to him again as you dig for a hairbrush.
An octave higher than normal, making it obvious he’s angling, he caves, “Unless you really wanna know.”
It’s rhetorical because, honestly, either way he figures he’s going to tell you. If he doesn’t there’s a good chance he’ll explode. He’ll be stuck like this for the rest of the night, his legs jumpy and face contorted in excitement. Really, it’s weird you didn’t ask sooner considering he hasn’t been able to sit still or break the smirk that’s starting to make his jaw sore.
“What’s got you all,” and your nose scrunches in adoration when he literally starts squirming, “`wiggly.”
The impulsive wobbling and jittery-ness is that of a child, almost. And honestly, he’s got no idea how odd it might look. He doesn’t care. Surely his big idea is what has him like this, and keeping it to himself is making him grow restless.
“Dunno,” he shrugs, “liked all that baby talk at dinner.”
And what he receives from you is a breathy chuckle, “I figured.”
“Yeah?”
A subtle hum in response is so misleading for him. Because what does that mean? Considering it means anything at all and, knowing you, surely it means something.
And he wants to ask, really that was the entire point of him bringing it up. Of course, he doesn’t. You don’t give him the chance to, either, because as quickly as the conversation started is as quickly as it fades out. It’s only a matter of seconds before you’re back at the bag, dragging out a sleeping ensemble.
“I wasn’t done.” He gripes, nudging the back of your thigh with his foot.
He’s wishing you’d give him a little bit more of your time. It’s hard to talk to you when your shirt is halfway over your head, covering your face and contributing to his impatience. Can’t you see how giddy he is? Thinking about a baby has got him buzzing, he wants to get you in the same headspace.
“M’listening,” you assure, “keep going.”
He almost lets it out in one breath, “Just had me thinking how we’d make pretty babies.”
It really isn’t anything groundbreaking. It’s not like this is the first time a conversation like this had come up. He can recount the few times baby was on the brain, a handful of those times being brought about mainly by two finished bottles of wine.
This is much different. His intentions are motivated by sincerity, not a $40 bottle of red. He’s asking you sober, with a little bit of butterflies in his belly and a child-like grimace.
“Wanna, y’know,” he wriggles, “start makin’ all these pretty babies.”
Initially, he’d gone into this conversation with his spirits high. He might’ve been riding on a surge of confidence laced with a bit of excitement, a few nerves too. It quickly disappears, almost like it never occurred, as soon as he hears you chuckle to yourself. Any other time he’d be thrilled to hear it. He loves getting a laugh out of you, even goes out of his way sometimes to do it. But this really wasn’t one of those times.
“Wha’,” if the somber expression on his face wasn’t telling enough, his underwhelmed tone of voice gives him away almost instantly, “wasn’t looking t’make you laugh.”
“I know,” and you’re quick to wipe the smile off your face, seeing how disappointed he looks, “just- Harry a baby is a big step.”
“Know tha’.”
“And we’re not married,” you add, “we aren't even engaged.”
“Married,” he reiterates, “wha’ does marriage have t’do with this?”
You’ve known him to be a lot of things; creative, generous, kind. The list could go on. One thing, though, you’ve never known him to be was stupid. And surely, he was smart enough to find the link between a child and a marriage. It wasn’t hard, if it were too intricate you’d have never mentioned it in the first place.
To him it may as well have been rocket science, because his brows are completely knit into one while the corners of his lips taught up in disinterest. Marriage. He didn't want to talk about marriage and he wishes you’d never brought it up. And, honestly, you’re starting to wish the same.
“I don’t know,” your sarcasm isn’t taken kindly by him, “everything?”
“How do y’figure?”
Not only has his energy completely shifted, but so has the tone of the conversation. He’s visibly put off, unamused and even a bit agitated. For what reason remains unknown to you. But his frown is prominent, the corners of his mouth have even started creasing a bit. And he’s not sitting at the edge of the bed, he’s fully stood up, very impatiently waiting for you to answer his question.
“I just,” you huff, “I don’t think I could have a baby without a ring first.”
And that answer just isn’t what he wanted to hear, “Why?”
“That commitment is important to me, that’s why.”
Anne is about a few rooms down the hall, is sister just across and a few of his cousins just beneath them in the living room. With that in mind, you’d like to think he’d leave this argument for when the two of you wouldn’t have to take into account the possibility of family overhearing, when you were in the privacy of your own home. The car ride back to London, at the very least, would have been uncomfortable but private.
Of course, he doesn’t seem to care that his mother could be overhearing them bicker. He doesn’t mind the risk, it’s evident in the way his voice is beginning to grow.
“Wha’ difference does it make,” and, so badly, you wish he’d just lower his voice, “think m’not already committed?”
“Do we really need to fight about this,” you’re hoping that keeping your tone hushed and soft will be a silent inkling to save this for another time, “right now?”
“Yes!” and to no avail, because he’s still fucking yelling, “Yes, we do.”
“Harry, what’s the big deal if we get married before having-”
“I don’t want t’fucking get married!”
It really wasn’t supposed to come out like that. But it did, impulsively, and blunt. Perhaps, maybe, a little more harsh than something like that should have been. He almost immediately realizes his delivery was shit, it was apathetic.
An ice-like, uncomfortable tension thickens in the room even though it’s a little less stand offish now. Regardless, it doesn’t matter, because the mood is still off-putting and his he’s still a little red in the face as he does what he can to cool off without putting his foot in his mouth for a second time tonight.
Now he’s in his childhood bedroom, a little bit of guilt starting to sneak up on him. It’s becoming more prominent when he can make out a few tears pooling at your waterline, despite how stoic your face is and how hard you’re forcing yourself not to cry.
Especially since Anne’s knuckles are raking at the bedroom door.
#harry blurbs#harry imagines#harry one shots#harry concepts#harry writings#harry drabbles#harry x reader#harry x y/n#harry x you#harry angst#harry fic#harry fanfic#harry fanfiction#harry styles blurbs#harry styles imagines#harry styles one shots#harry styles concepts#harry styles writings#harry styles drabbles#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles angst#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction
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AD INFINITUM
I — AD IDEM
→ SYNOPSIS: They got to feel the ‘end of the world’ on their own skin—they’ll live to see another day, together. Alternatively, Atsumu and Osamu go on a journey of self-discovery, forging new bonds and strengthening their own, as they navigate through a post-apocalyptic world riddled with dangers in hopes of reuniting with their parents.
→ listen to... YIRUMA — RIVER FLOWS IN YOU
“ask not the sun why she sets—why she shrouds her light away...”
Earthquakes weren’t uncommon.
They occurred regularly, sometimes like clockwork—most of them were small, somewhere around 2 or 3 on the Richter scale—you’d be barely able to feel them if you planted your hands firmly against the ground. Everyone was used to them—yet the one that brought doom upon the entire nation was virtually unpredictable, happening between two ‘planned’ ones and absolutely throwing any effective evacuation plan out the window.
It was one of the many around the world that almost shattered the continents, rattling the globe itself to the core. Something of a chain reaction, the seismologists said, that triggered every other natural disaster you could think of: tsunamis, landslides, volcanic eruptions.
A 10, kind of like the highest setting in terms of power levels. The most effective way nature could use to wipe out humanity.
The first day was what everyone calls ‘the beginning of the end’, where reality hits you in the face and you scramble for safety only to realize that nothing is safe, except for the underground shelters—yet they’re stuffed, some exceeding full capacity as everyone is trying to survive.
Survive.
It’s probably a weak word, compared to what everyone is feeling. The self-preservation instinct went crazy in every living organism as fights erupted everywhere, tearing families apart and destroying every bit of decency humanity had left—massacres at every step, every corner, every blink.
It would be later described as ‘«The Exorcist», but make it ten times worse’ by the eventual survivors. The few that remained, the few that held onto that sliver of hope with their teeth.
With every collapsing building and each shockwave obliterating everything in its path, life expectancy got lower and lower. Somehow, the masses that huddled together lasted longer than the aristocracy, with their fancy equipment and private housing.
The second to seventh day was a blur—mostly dying people, scavenging for essentials, trying to find the remnants of your family. On the eighth day, some sort of parasite invaded certain target dead bodies, preventing them from rotting in the scorching heat that settled after the eruption of a seemingly inactive volcano in mount Adatara.
‘Undeads’ started rising and they quickly became a problem because of their ability to spread both diseases—similar to rats during the European Black Plague—and infect others with the mysterious parasite through biting, scratching or wounding in general.
Sendai, along with Tokyo, Hiroshima, Fukuoka and Sapporo, became epicentres of high-risk areas. Anyone within a radius of 100 km was advised to leave immediately, if they could, and head towards a decontamination camp—Niigata, Nagoya, Osaka, Kagoshima or Hakodate.
The Miya twins took that advice—or, at the very least, tried to.
They were in Tokyo when it happened, waiting for their match. Who were they playing against? That was the last of their concerns when the rumbling started, shaking the entire building—normally, everyone panicked (not that something else was expected, no matter how organized you are). The more fragile parts of the gym collapsed suddenly, before anyone had a chance to react, and Osamu and Atsumu found themselves outside, pushed by the crowd—but all alone. Where was everyone? Did they not get out? They probably have—Kita most likely steered everyone clear of the falling debris.
They didn’t have time to worry about that. They’d meet somewhere, sometime.
Confusion overtook them. What were they supposed to do? The rumbling didn’t cease, nor did it falter in the slightest, so the only option left for them was to continue getting pushed by the crowd and see where they end up.
It wasn’t great. If anything, their days were fuzzy—no Internet connection, no signal, no way to communicate with anyone. The streets ended up empty by the time they reached Niigata and the deserted buildings creeped them out in a weirder way than they would have in normal circumstances. They were too late, they realized—far too late for their liking, but since they had to go on foot all the way from Tokyo, they supposed it couldn’t be helped. Atsumu complained about the heat, the humidity, the cold nights, the scarce water supply, the even scarcer food ration—everything he could think of, while Osamu groaned and put up with it, as he was used to his twin’s antics. His annoyance didn’t go unnoticed, though—when the blond realized that whining won’t get him anywhere (and he was losing energy over it, too), he stopped. All he said were little comments over the state of the world, cracking some jokes here and there and trying to make his way-too-serious twin smile for at least a few seconds—and he succeeded at some point, when he heard Osamu snort in front of him, even if his back was all Atsumu could see.
Everything was in shambles—none of them expected anything else, but the only thing they could seek solace in was the other.
Such was the truth.
Miya Atsumu only had Miya Osamu. Miya Osamu only had Miya Atsumu.
They were alone in a world that wanted them dead and they refused to give up.
They’d hold onto each other until their last breaths.
“A told ya, we need to stop and eat. We haven’t sat down since we passed that mall in Iiyama!” Atsumu huffed, tugging on the tattered sleeve of his brother’s tracksuit, which prompted the silver-haired man to groan and turn around—his eyes were tired, slightly unfocused, with dark circles under them as he glared.
“Shut yer trap, ‘Tsumu. We almost reached Suzaka, and from there we have 10, maybe 20 minutes until Nagano,” Osamu muttered, shrugging his twin’s hand off his sleeve. “Quit yer whinin’, we can rest then.”
“Yer gonna collapse and a ain’t carryin’ ya all the way ta Nagano,” the blond warned, scowling. With a stomp of his foot, he stopped in his tracks and plopped on the ground, refusing to budge even after Osamu’s harsh gaze. “Ya ain’t scarin’ me with that shit. Sit yer ass down and let’s eat whatever the fuck ya found.”
“At least help me set up some makeshift camp, ya pig,” the grey-eyed man groaned, giving in to his brother’s insistence. Truth be told, he felt the fatigue catching up to him, realizing that he couldn’t go further than Obuse and it would actually be a good idea to rest. Atsumu wasn’t the brightest in many things, but—even he had to admit—he was an emotionally intelligent cookie. Muttering an ‘sorry for that’ under his breath, Osamu lit a little fire with whatever flammable stuff he found lying around as Atsumu took out the blue tent they found under the rubble of a sports store in Tokamachi.
“So what do we have?” the blond asked, zipping up the flaps of the tent and sitting next to his twin, who was trying his hardest to not drop the tin cans containing their dinner. Incoherent mumbles fell from Osamu’s lips in an attempt to answer and Atsumu only sighed, gingerly plucking the utensils from his brother’s hands and taking care of the food himself. “Just rest, dumbass. A’ll wake ya up when it’s ready,” he reasoned when Osamu whined something about ‘doing it himself’—his eyes closed a second later, a soft snore escaping him as his head bobbed up and down, making his twin puff a laugh through his nostrils.
“A’ll stay watch tonight, but ya gotta do the rummagin’ next time we go lookin’ for food,” Astumu explained as he fed his brother some canned soup, smiling gently at the sleepy state he was in—he could barely sit straight, but the smell of food suddenly gave him enough energy to eat. A slight nod was the only confirmation he needed—he patted the grey locks, settling down with his own can of soup. “Could have been worse,” he mused, swirling the cheap liquid in the can. “We could have been dead.”
“Guess what we have is better than nothin’,” Osamu reasoned in his sleep-laced voice and Atsumu watched him put the can down and stretch. “A’ll take over after a little nap, ‘Tsumu. Ya need yer rest too.”
“Since when did ya care so much about me, huh?”
“Since ya decided ta cook for me, even though ya suck ass at cookin’.”
“Fair enough. Now get ta sleep, else a’m makin’ ya take over watchout duty.”
“As if. Try not ta scream like a girl when ya see another Undead again, yeah?”
Atsumu grunted, looking to the side. With a last laugh, Osamu lied down on the blanked in the tent, falling asleep instantly. His blond twin smiled gently, watching his chest rise and fall peacefully—he turned his face to the still-burning fire, the heat hitting his face welcome against the crisp cold of the night.
Don’t worry, ‘Samu. A’ll watch over ya, like a always have.
taglist: @risjime;
#[ ♾️ : ad infinitum ]#[ minty’s kitchen treats — series ]#haikyuu!!#miya atsumu#miya osamu#apocalypse au
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Trick or Treat, Cont. || Charleson, Bronwyn, Lirim, Aedan, Rory, & Cynthia || October, 2020
Lirim: Lirim tossed his phone onto the table, smiling apologetically at his son. Their first outing with Charles. His first, that is. Bronwyn was another story.
"He said five's fine," Lirim called to Bronwyn. Paint was much more manageable than makeup, in his opinion. His son's whiskers, made of his mother's eyeshadow, would survive the next few hours. Aedan wouldn't care or much notice. His ears were free. When was he going to develop a tail?
Bronwyn: “Five it is!” Bronwyn called back. She was deep in her makeup drawer looking for a tube of eyeliner that seemed to have disappeared. “Why didn’t I draw the whiskers on with eyeliner, they’re goin’ to smudge. Oh! Marie and Lydia have asked us to stop by their houses. No one in this city will have better treats.”
Lirim: "You won't go touchin' your face, will ya, Aedan? Some settin' spray and you're ready to hit the town."
Lirim perked, looked over the mass that was his son's curly hair. "Oh really? Haven't seen them in ages." He hadn't seen much of anyone outside of the art gallery, so no surprise.
A thought occurred to him. Shit. "Guess that means I'm seein' Mason again."
Bronwyn: “Aye, darlin’, it does. Ha!” She returned to the room a few moments later with the eyeliner and her setting spray. “But don’t worry, ev’ryone will be on their best behavior. Includin’ him.”
Lirim/Aedan: Xavier's uplifting words rang in his memory as reminder. He didn't have to be afraid of him. Not anymore. Just confounding that anyone spent any amount of time with that demon.
He didn't have room to judge, considering his favorite Atlas, but he would.
Aedan was about having his fill of this face touching. The squirming had begun.
"Patience, puppers!"
Bronwyn: “I’m almost done, lovey.” Bronwyn made quick work of touching up Aedan’s whiskers before telling him to close his eyes for the setting spray. “There, all done!”
Lirim: "Ya know he's gonna have a fit when ya try and take that off." Oh well. It was just one night. His son was certainly no artist, putting up with the smell of makeup was easier than paint, and it was for a good cause. He didn't have whiskers and he wanted them.
"Alright, Toto, all done. Ready to meet Dorothy?"
Bronwyn/Aedan: “It won’t be so bad. Just one wee little makeup wipe and it’ll come right off.”
Aedan gave his mother a skeptical look but the excitement over the candy he would soon have won out.
“Yeah!”
Lirim/Aedan: "I shoulda gone as the Big Bad Wolf, Miss Riding Hood."
"Wolves are good!"
And Aedan wouldn't hear otherwise. "You're absolutely right. He just had an image issue." Bronwyn was given a look.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled and nodded. “Absolutely. An image issue and questionable manners. Daddy should’ve gone as the Big Good Wolf.” That last added with a teasing look.
Lirim/Aedan: His parents were given a look. The look of a child aware but unable to articulate. Instead, going on about how he wanted a candy apple on a stick.
"You got it, Toto."
Bronwyn: “I think—and I’m no’ positive or anythin’—but I’m pretty sure Auntie Lydia is makin’ candy apples with red caramel.”
Lirim/Aedan: Aedan's eyes couldn't have been brighter.
"Oh boy, Toto's gonna need a leash."
And off their son ran across the house screaming.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. “Oh, aye. I probably shouldn’t tell him there are also goin’ to be cookies.”
Lirim: "Shhh. He'll be in a sugar coma before eight."
Bronwyn: “Eight?” she chuckled. “Aren’t we bein’ optimistic. My money’s on seven.”
Lirim: "That's better than eight. What ya wanna bet?"
Bronwyn: “Hmmm...” She tapped her chin. “Dinner.”
Lirim: "What ya want?"
Bronwyn: “Shrimp and grits with an ungodly amount of cheese.”
Lirim: "Homemade or restaurant?"
Bronwyn: “Homemade. What do ye want if ye win?”
Lirim: "I want... to paint you."
Bronwyn: “Paint me or paint me?”
Lirim: "I mean paint on your body in my studio."
Bronwyn: “It’s a bet. What do ye want to turn me into?”
Lirim: "We'll have to see. Been a long time."
Bronwyn: “Aye, it has.” She smiled and kissed Lirim’s cheek. “Ye can turn me into anythin’ ye like.”
Lirim: "Maybe I've some ideas. In the nude, of course."
Bronwyn: “Well that goes without sayin’. What’s a little nudity after ye’ve impregnated someone.”
Lirim: "Oh?" He laughed. "Speakin' of 'fore I get ahead of myself, how's the Viking?"
Bronwyn: “Still tall, stoic, and handsome. He got a kick out o’ my costume.”
Lirim: "They don't do Halloween in Iceland?"
Bronwyn: “Iceland kind of does a wee, Torsten doesn’t do it at all.”
Lirim: "Makes sense, I guess." Lirim looked in the direction of their son. "And he's good with Aedan?" Hundredth time asking. "He should... be here. He's gonna have a lot more Halloweens."
Bronwyn: She nodded. “Aye, he’s good with Aedan. I asked him to come with us but he’s in Iceland at the moment, takin’ care of some family business.”
Lirim: "Do ya want Aedan to call him dad?"
Bronwyn: “I want Aedan to call him whatever feels right to him.”
Lirim: "Ya'd think I'd be used to it. I mean he already -" He'd stop right there. "Anyway, Charles should be here any minute."
Bronwyn: She kissed his cheek again. “I love ye, Lirim Vivaldi. Ye know that? There’s no timeline on gettin’ used to it.”
Lirim: "Love ya too, Mama B. Ya know he calls ya that when we're alone? Totally picked it up from Lucien I know it."
Bronwyn: “He does?” Bronwyn positively melted at the sweetness of it all. “That’s adorable! And he absolutely did and I’m no’ surprised at all. I love bein’ Mama B.”
Lirim: "He asked about Lucien a few days ago. Didn't realize how often they were together."
Bronwyn: “Aye, the magic of teleportation. I’ve been wantin’ to learn it, I feel bad havin’ Vincent go back and forth so often.”
Lirim: "Can't be easy. I mean, that's why it belongs to familiars, and... demons."
Bronwyn: “Ye’re right. Avalbane is over three hundred and she can’t do it.”
Lirim: "Shit. What's she got over ya, though? Spells wise, I mean."
Lirim turned to the foyer mirror and adjusted his hat.
Bronwyn: “Sheer volume o’ spells. Decade upon decade of experience. That spell she used to help us with Aedan? It’s so obscure she found it on a stone tablet.”
Lirim: His smile softened. "Just had a conversation about that, actually, with Xavier Atlas." He watched for her reaction.
Bronwyn: She didn’t quite frown, but there was a definite tightness to her smile at the mention of that man.
“Were ye indeed,” she said as casually as she could. “Does he get his magic from stone tablets as well?”
Lirim: "I imagine if Xavier Atlas were reborn today, he'd be that bookworm child that turns into a mage. Or a mad professor. Or a politician. Can't really pin which."
Bronwyn: “Or held in a federal prison for tax evasion.”
Lirim: "I mean," he laughed, "they're not saints, but they're hungry, Atlases."
Bronwyn: “That’s definitely one way to put it. Do ye see him often?”
Lirim: "Nah. First time in...years."
Bronwyn: “Was it a good visit?”
Lirim: "I needed it. Been meetin' up with a few people I lost." He gestured to the front door. "Charles included."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn reached for Lirim’s hand and gave it squeeze. “Well for that, I’m glad. It’s nice to see ye returnin’ to yer life, spendin’ time with people ye enjoy. Ye’re like a flower bloomin’ after a long winter.”
Lirim: "Only a druid would say that," he laughed. He felt like he'd been doing more of that lately.
Bronwyn: He had and it had not gone unnoticed. It was such a welcome sound.
“It’s true! Ye’re our angelic flower.”
Lirim: Lirim shook his head, rubbed his cheeks with both hands. "Alright, Ridin' Hood, ya all set to go?"
Bronwyn: “All set. I’ve got ev’rythin’ we can possibly need in my basket.”
Charles/Rory: Charles gave a single nod, indicating that Rory could, indeed, be the one to ring the doorbell. He did so with great enthusiasm, before Charles guided him gently back.
Lirim/Aedan: Of course. The doorbell was piano keys, after all. This didn't have to be a child for someone to go to town on it.
"Someone's playing music!" called his son.
"No, I got it!" his father laughed, opening the door less than a moment later.
"Hey, fam!"
Bronwyn: Bronwyn would appear at Lirim's shoulder almost instantly, greeting their new arrivals with a radiant smile.
"There they are! Come in, come in! Look at ye, ye look great!"
Charles/Rory/Cynthia: Charles was all smiles for his friends, tipping back his pointed hat to more easily press a kiss to each of their cheeks.
Rory and Cynthia both were happy to see Bronwyn, Dorothy and a little Tin Man stepping forward for hugs they knew were coming.
"Hello, hello! Rory, Cee, this is... Mr. Lirim Vivaldi." He'd leave it up to the man himself to decide how he wanted to be addressed.
Lirim: "Hi!" The old saying of loving only your kids was relevant to Lirim; he didn't feel like a natural around other people's children and doubted he ever would. But these were Charles'. He got on a knee to shake their hands. He then called to Aedan to greet them.
Bronwyn: The children already knew her very well; they'd both be kissed and given a good squeeze that stopped just shy of mussing their costumes. Their father would be given equal treatment.
She smiled as Lirim greeted them, taking the opportunity to grab her camera from her basket and start snapping pictures.
"I can't get over those costumes! Ye're all so precious I could eat ye right up. Smile for the camera!"
Charles: Charles was not nearly so averse to being photographed as his husband, but there was no need to capture his ridiculous witch's costume for posterity. With a wry smile, he nudged his children gently toward where Aedan stood. "Let's get one of the kids together. Following the yellow brick road, and all that."
He had a sunny smile for Bronwyn and Lirim's son. After all, he did not share Lirim's opinions on other people's children. He'd certainly have chosen the wrong bloody profession, if he did.
"Nice to see you again, young man. You've gotten so big!"
Lirim/Mason/Aedan Mason lagged behind, still warding and locking down the townhouse just a few feet away. His hooded masked figure cut an intimidating silhouette compared to the others. By design, given the city. This was his city and his people, but this was his family, and a priority. He would be watchdog tonight. No doubt with Charles' ability, danger would not survive twenty yards.
Aedan began explaining his costume, as though it were required. Toto for Dorothy! With a bark as real as his dark brown ears perked tight with excitement.
Lirim adjusted his son's curls and returned to his feet. "He really has." The naphil stilled at the sight of the demon, taking a breath. A nod of acknowledgment.
Bronwyn: There was every need to capture Charles' witch costume for posterity and that was precisely what Bronwyn was going to do.
"Aye, let's! Ev'ryone move in closer and give me a big smile!" She snapped a couple of photos of the kids and a couple more of Lirim and Charles. "Mason!" she called. "Come see the cuteness!"
Charles: Charles was not the least bit concerned about the evening. Nor did he believe himself, Bronwyn, and Lirim incapable of defending against any unlikely danger. But he welcomed his husband's presence, all the same. He smiled fondly as Aedan went into the details of his costume. They really were an adorable trio.
"Are we ready to begin? We're following your lead, here."
Lirim/Mason/Rory: "Little terrors in disguise!"
Rory looked back to his father. "Nah uh!"
Lirim locked the door behind them with a flick of his hand. No one around to notice. "Start here and go counter-clockwise, then Coverdale?" he looked to Bronwyn for confirmation.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn mapped the proposed route in her head and nodded. "Sounds good to me! Ev'ryone stay together now, and if ye hear a verra cranky poodle, just walk on by. She only barks if ye give her attention and if ye give her attention she tries to bite ye."
Charles: Charles laughed openly, adjusting his hat as it slipped. "She sounds delightful. I'll keep a wary eye. Do you lot want to leave a bowl of candy out for any kids that come by?"
Lirim: "Last time I did the whole cauldron was gone!" Lirim laughed.
Bronwyn: "I'm convinced that kid who thinks he's James Dean and his mates took the lot."
Charles: "There's always one."
Lirim/Mason: "Should I?"
Mason was already off with the children to the nearest house on their side of the street.
Bronwyn: "We can, if ye like. It's still early, there's a chance bargain bin James Dean won't show up for another couple of hours."
Charles: "I like to, when no one's around to answer the door, but it's your bowl."
Lirim: "Out of that giant school? Not even a maid?"
Lirim unlocked the door with another flick, glanced at his son and ran inside for a jack-o'-lantern bucket, filling it with tiny bags of Reese's Pieces.
Charles: "In Cameron, or wherever else. There's always someone at the school."
Lirim: "Cameron?" The bucket placed. Lirim picked up the pace to join his son.
Charles: Charles followed closely behind, catching a speeding Rory as he returned from the door with chocolate in his once-empty bucket.
"Careful! Mhm. My husband has a house there." For now, anyway.
Lirim: Charles was given a quick glance. "Do you see it as a home, despite being a school?"
Charles: "I do. It's been my home for a long time, now. Well, our home. It'd just be an old house, without everyone else."
Lirim: "Funny, what we put stock in." He flicked his wrist back at the townhouse behind them. "Raised there. Was in stasis after my folks; lived with my Mema. Then it was mine again. Thought about gettin' rid of it, but there's too much in it. Don't have it in me."
Charles: He nodded, glancing at the house briefly, before turning back to watch his children sprint off to the next house. He buried the impulse to ask them to slow down. "I understand that. I might've sold the old place, if we hadn't needed it. And then the idea for the school took root in my head and I couldn't dislodge it. I'd never part with it, now. Means too much. And not only to me. I'll likely pass it on, though. When the time comes. To someone I trust who shares my vision."
Lirim: Lirim nodded, watched his son, his son's mother, the demon.
"Someone like that exist, or still lookin' around?"
Charles: "I imagine it'll be one of my staff. Possibly one of my students, when they're old enough and experienced enough. I'm not opposed to passing my legacy along to my children, but I suspect they'll forge their own paths." He snorted softly, mostly to himself. "Perhaps we need one more."
Lirim: A statement which put a smile on the naphil's face. They were indeed different.
"Got the parental itch for more, huh?"
Charles: Charles lifted a shoulder. "I wouldn't call it an itch, but I'm certainly open to the concept."
Lirim: "Do they all feel like your children?"
Charles: "Yes and no. I love them. And I feel deeply responsible for their wellbeing, of course. I am. But it's... different."
It seemed a poor word to describe the depth of devotion he felt toward his own children, but he couldn't think of a better one, presently.
Lirim: "Never taught anyone anything until Aedan. Can't relate." He adjusted his coat, face contorting with thought. "I take that back. I mean, I walk people through what I do in the studio, but that's -" he waved away his words.
"Anyway."
Charles: "I think I've always wanted to be academic. Teaching or learning. Teaching feels more useful." Less selfish. "Would you ever consider teaching art?"
Lirim: "People gotta learn, someone's gotta teach." But that being said, he scoffed. "Hell no. Probably hang myself bein' asked the same questions all the time. But! That's why people like you exist."
Charles: Charles laughed, a bright sound that carried on the early evening air. "It's not so awful. But, perhaps you're right. 'Those who can't do,' and all that. We should catch up with the children."
Lirim: Such sound paired well with Charles' emotion.
"I get the sayin', but I don't get how that applies to someone like you."
Charles: "Someone like me?" He raised an eyebrow, casting a half-smile at Lirim as he began walking just a bit quicker, slowly narrowing the distance between himself and his family.
Lirim: Bronwyn had gone ahead, probably for his old neighbor. Still, he didn't want her to feel alienated from the conversation. Not that he'd felt anything of the sort; he was thinking too much.
"Ya know. A genius."
Charles: Charles gave a soft little snort and shook his head. "I know geniuses; I'm not one. I'm merely studious. I've spent more than half of my life in a classroom. More than that, I suppose, if you count being on the opposite side of things."
Lirim/Mason: "Just didn't wanna leave the classroom?"
Mason glanced back at that statement, expression well hidden behind his mask.
Charles: He gave a soft laugh, head tilting ever so slightly at his husband. "I suppose not."
Mason: "Why him?" Mason whispered to Bronwyn.
Bronwyn: “Why him what?” Bronwyn whispered back, snapping another picture of the children. “Also which him?”
Mason: "Your him. Why him as the father?"
Bronwyn: "The real question should be why me as the mother."
Mason: "Not even the fuckin' question. Of course you."
Bronwyn: "I was originally a surrogate, remember? He picked me."
Mason: A growl of response. He hadn't appreciated that, either, but such was in the past.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nudged him. "Hey now, why the growlin'?"
Mason: "I don't like the idea of ya bein' used."
Bronwyn: “Mason.”
Mason: "I know."
Bronwyn: She squeezed his arm. "No one used me. I offered o' my own free will and I'd do it again."
Mason: "Does he remember the other one?"
Bronwyn: "We both do," she said softly. "And fuck him right to hell."
Mason: "The kid remembers the wolf?"
Bronwyn: “Oh, never mind I thought ye were talkin’ about Lirim.” She shook her head. “No, we don’t think so.”
Mason: "Has he asked why y'all don't have ears?"
Bronwyn: Another head shake. “No’ yet. He thinks ev’ryone has them.”
Mason: Mason looked back to Charles. With no expression to give with a mask, his arm opened, offering warmth instead.
Charles: Words weren't necessary, and in this instance facial expressions were superfluous as well. Charles understood the offer for what it was and hurried to accept, closing the distance between them more swiftly and pressing himself against his husband's side. There was no skin available to kiss, so he settled for grabbing the hand that wrapped around him.
"Looks like they're getting on well."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn couldn't help but smile at them. They looked so happy; she didn't need to be able to see Mason's expression to see that.
"Aren't they just? They're so sweet," she said, snapping another photo of the kids. "This is a good bondin' activity for them."
Lirim/Mason: "Really glad he's able to have this. Sooner rather than later he's going to be with more of his people. Just need to set a date."
"Away with the druids?" Mason's question directed to Bronwyn. Charles' hand given a squeeze.
Charles: "It is," he agreed, with a nod. "They ought to spend more time together. It'll be good for all of them."
Charles turned his attention toward Lirim, still keeping pace with his husband. "Oh?"
Bronwyn: She nodded. "Yes to both. No' away as in away, but away as in goin' across the pond to learn with some other wee Druids."
Lirim: "Not like there's an angel academy. I want him with his people. He just happens to have more than one set of people."
Charles: "That's wonderful. I'm sure he'll enjoy himself. You'll both be going with him?"
Bronwyn: "It'll definitely give us an excuse to drop in on my family in Scotland more often. My grandda Owen loves Lirim's art."
Lirim/Mason: "Definitely goin' with him. I wanna see everything."
"They aware of everything he is?" Mason asked.
Charles: "Mm. That'll be lovely for both of you." He glanced to his husband, though the face he loved was hidden by that mask. "We should visit Scotland, after the house is built."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Mostly, aye. They know he's a Druid and they also know he's no' only a Druid, but I figured it was best that they hear the specifics from both of us in person."
Mason: "Your gran'mama gonna be there?" Of all those in her family, that woman he could trust. He didn't think highly of the half-angel among them, but that little boy running about with his son was a part of Bronwyn. Under his gray wing of protection.
Charles: "Mm. Such conversations are best had face-to-face. I'm glad you'll be seeing your family, soon." He only wished he had more family for his own kids to know.
Bronwyn: Another nod. "Aye, she never misses a chance to see Aedan or Lirim. Always asks about ye," she added with a smile over at Mason.
"I am, too. I always enjoy visitin' home."
Lirim/Mason: Lirim simply listened. What he felt from Mason was palpable like a humid summer afternoon. Forced trust through others was never real trust. This they could both agree.
"Next time, call me," Mason said, adjusting the hard plastic mask. Too long since he'd laid eyes on the woman that harbored his secret.
Bronwyn: "Aye, I'll do that, and I'll also remind ye to get her some flowers for deprivin' her of yer company for so long."
Lirim/Mason: "She tell ya s'what she wanted?"
"I didn't know he'd met your family," Lirim laughed politely.
Mason quickly brushed his fingers over Charles and Bronwyn's arm, walking ahead to check on the children. Rory and Aedan standing still, negotiating over some undesirable candy.
Charles: Charles kept pace with the remaining adults, but his gaze did skate frequently toward the children.
Bronwyn: "Years ago," Bronwyn said with another nod, smiling after Mason. "Back before I adopted Lucien, when I was...goin' through a wee patch."
Lirim: Lirim cast her a quick look, one of mild confusion, before nodding. "Mm. Feels like yesterday we all met."
Charles: "Does it?" Charles laughed softly. "Feels like it's been a century. I suppose that happens when everything you think you know about the world gets turned on its head." It was as though he could divide his life into two clean hemispheres.
Bronwyn: "I'm with Lirim. It feels like Aedan was still a baby five seconds ago. Feels like I was meetin' Lirim ten seconds ago. Time is a right old bastard."
Lirim: "When I'm with y'all it goes by like that," he snapped his fingers. "When I'm alone time stands still. Great for paintin'," he chuckled.
Charles: Charles pulled Lirim into a brief half-hug. "We should do this more often. Not Halloween, obviously, but the rest."
Bronwyn: "The kids would love it if Halloween came more often," Bronwyn laughed. "But, aye, we should. It'll be good for them and good for us."
Lirim: Lirim was pleasantly caught off guard by the random bit of affection. His smile blossomed.
"Absolutely. I'd love to get some paint on both of ya."
Charles: He lifted an eyebrow, chuckling. "On? As in a living canvas? Or do you want to see me struggle to form a decent stick figure?"
Bronwyn: "I personally would love that."
Lirim: "Now I wanna see the stick figure, but I mean literally on ya."
Charles: "Trust me, you don't. But my skin is at your disposal, sir. I've never been painted on."
Lirim: "I dunno what's stopped me, but it won't stop me now."
Charles: "Good. I'm looking forward to it."
Bronwyn: "It's settled then. Lirim will paint ye and then ye can wow us with yer stick figure paintin'."
Lirim: "What'll ya be doin' while I'm paintin' and he's stick figurin'?"
Charles: "An excellent question. I don't want to be alone in my artistic pursuits."
Bronwyn: "Bakin' probably."
Lirim: "So we get the smell of fresh baked bread mixed with acrylic and oil? Tasty."
Charles: "Sounds like a party. I've never been able to resist baked goods."
Bronwyn: "I've been wantin' to make some potato bread. Found a recipe that looks promisin'."
Lirim: "I'm gonna end up usin' brown and yellow paint and forget everything else."
Charles: "I love potato bread. Now, I'm starving." He was going to have to enact a dad tax on those sweets. "Rory! Cee! Have you gotten any Paydays?"
Mason: Mason looked back, wriggling a small PayDay - all sweets were small these days, weren't they? - before tossing in Charles' direction.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed. "I'd be curious to see what magic ye can create usin' only yellow and brown."
Charles: He made a valiant effort to catch the candy, but it tumbled out of his grasp. With a sigh, he bent to retrieve it. Still good. "Thanks, love."
Lirim/Mason: 'Ya didn't play catch as a child,' his husband guessed, smiling through his mask as he turned back to the children.
"Challenge accepted," Lirim grinned. His pride as an artist on the line, he must! Already had ideas.
Bronwyn: "Oh yay!" she chuckled. "I'm definitely makin' potato bread while ye paint in hopes that ye turn Charles into a really beautiful artistic potato."
Charles: 'I did not,' he confessed, popping the little candy into his mouth and tucking the wrapper into his pocket to dispose of, later. He flashed a quick smile. 'I was more of a tree-climbing, bug-catching boy.'
With a snort, he shook his head. "Oh, yes. I've always wanted to be a potato. Dreams do come true."
Lirim/Mason: 'Of course you were. For science.'
"Not a potato! Maybe a uh... maybe a glorious sunrise," Lirim smiled.
Bronwyn: She just could not stop laughing. The mental image she'd conjured of Charles painted like a potato was tickling her pink.
"Aye, that would be lovely. Really anything ye do will be lovely."
Charles: 'For science,' he chuckled at their private conversation.
Charles pressed a kiss to the side of her head. A potato, indeed. "Perhaps not the dream, but I'm willing to be a sunrise as well."
Lirim: "Could paint ya both. Sunrise and sunset. Maybe a full moon. Yellows, browns, blue, black and white..." Annnnd he was going off on his own tangent.
Bronwyn: "And I'm more than willin' to be a sunset. Go crazy, darlin', we'll be yer muses. Won't we, Charles?"
Charles: He nodded, thoughtful. "I've always wanted to be an artist's muse."
Lirim/Mason: "No one’s ever drawn ya? Written a poem? Love letter?"
Mason picked up the pace to his children.
Charles: Charles lifted his shoulder. He wasn't heartbroken. "I've received very touching text messages?"
Bronwyn: "With that face? I'm sure there have been people who've drawn ye and written ye letters, even if they never sent them."
Lirim: "I can see that. Takes guts to give that up. Easy to make em, though."
Charles: He gave a soft laugh. "It's a flattering thought. I suppose we'll never know."
Bronwyn: "Aye, it does. I remember writin' a few letters myself when I was young and shovin' them away in a drawer somewhere."
Lirim: "Still around, maybe? My Mema had this book, had all sorts of love letters - and break up letters - from history. Went back two hundred years, I think."
Charles: "Oh, that's fascinating! Your own little piece of history!" He was delighted.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded. "Aye, they should still be in my old bedroom somewhere. My mama didn't really move anythin' around."
Her face lit. "That's lovely! Does she still collect them?"
Lirim: "Probably. Some of em got published in a book about the same thing. Y'all want a copy?"
Charles: "I'd love one!"
Bronwyn: "Absolutely, I would, too. And ye're both welcome to my letters if I ever find them."
Mason/Rory: The children kept their energy for only four blocks before becoming distracted with their sugary treasures, talking to each other, and complaining of the cold. Despite the chilly wind, Rory, for the first time, refused a piggy-back ride from his father. Not in front of company! But he would ask to make smores, and for hot chocolate with pumpkin marshmallows.
Charles: Charles gently tugged on one of Cynthia's braids, holding out a hand for Rory's empty wrappers. "Done with trick-or-treating already? We can head back, if you'd like. Or home?"
Bronwyn: "I'm with Rory, smores and hot chocolate sound really good right now."
Bronwyn bent to pin back Aedan's hair to keep it out of his eyes. The wind was wreaking havoc with those curls.
"What do ye want, lovey?"
Mason/Aedan/Cynthia/Rory: "Can I have hot chocolate?" Aedan looked to his mother hopefully.
Cynthia was ready for warmth; Rory was ready for a chocolaty feast, which also translated to home.
Mason turned his son around, patted his back. "March."
Charles: "Back it is, then." Charles would not raise protest. He was always ready for warmth, but more importantly, this evening was about the children. "Did you enjoy yourselves?"
Bronwyn: She smiled and nodded. "Aye, but ye have to promise me to drink all the tonic I make ye first, okay?" Being part werewolf, Aedan's sensitivity to chocolate was always something they had to be aware of. Luckily, it was mild enough that with the right magical precautions, it didn't hinder him from enjoying it completely.
"Did ye get a good candy haul?"
Lirim/Mason: Mason watched in mild amusement as the children spoke at once, bedding down the urge to correct what was quickly becoming rising voices as they compared candy and bargained chocolate versus everything else.
"Gimmie a Twix before ya give em all away, child," said Lirim.
Charles: Charles slipped his hand into his husband's, similarly allowing the children to enjoy themselves without scolding, on such an evening. "Are we going to the party, or turning in for the night? If not, I'll ring Ro and let her know."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed at the chorus of excited voices. Oh yes, it had definitely been a good haul this year. "Aye, a Twix for daddy and a cherry Jolly Rancher for yer mama."
Lirim/Mason: "We'll go t'the Moon if ya want," Mason said. The mask was removed once reaching their street. Placed on Rory's head, grinning at his son's scowl.
Lirim unwrapped his candy and stuffed the wrapper in his pocket. A quick cheers with Bronwyn before popping the whole thing into his mouth.
Charles: That face! He turned to kiss it, briefly. "Oh, yes. A trip to the moon is definitely in order. Perhaps for Christmas."
He spotted the empty cauldron that told of their arrival and laughed. "Gone, already! I hope at least some of the little kids got candy." Charles had a bag stashed at Mason's, just in case they were around if trick-or-treaters dropped by.
Bronwyn: She cheers-ed Lirim back with her Jolly Rancher and took Aedan's hand, continuing to discuss his candy and how cherry was clearly the superior fruity candy flavor.
The empty cauldron had her grinning from ear to ear. "That didn't take long at all!" she chuckled. "If that James Dean kid took his chance, it'll be the only one he gets. Candy's bein' handed out personally now that we're back. But first, tonic and hot chocolate. Ev'ryone take yer wrappers to the trash."
Lirim/Mason: "Make yourselves at home," Lirim smiled, dropped his hat as soon as they were in the door. Easily made a mess again with a quick swipe of his hand. "Pretty much a mirror image, right?" More colorful than the sharp white and neutral palette next door.
Something paused Mason in the doorway.
"Gonna have'ta get rid of that," he hummed, "'less ya wanna take my head off."
Lirim seemed dumbfounded for a moment before it clicked, eyes widening. "Right. Two sec." The many wards placed by - no matter. He'd assumed they'd faded, and then forgotten them completely.
"Bronnie, ya remember which board it was?"
Charles: His eyebrows vanished behind chestnut fringe for a moment. "No, we can't have that. I do prefer you with your head attached, dearest." And he'd stick by his husband's side until the wards were lifted.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn had forgotten them as well, mostly because she'd placed so many of her own.
"It's the one with the scuff mark from my high heel. Three boards to the right o' the bookshelf."
Lirim: "Got it." He'd almost got up for the kitchen, for a butter knife, before remembering his own damn abilities and pulling up the board with gentle coaxing from his hovering hand.
"There it is," he sighed. An unassuming brown bag no bigger than his palm.
"Is this really a ward, or a charm? I forget the damn lingo."
Charles: Charles gave Mason's hand a gentle squeeze. "Head safe? And the rest of your bits?"
Bronwyn: "It's a hex bag, they can be multipurpose. Let's put it somewhere out o' the way for now. I'll dispose of it properly later."
Lirim/Mason: "I'll put in the backyard." Seemed far enough, since being in the floorboard hadn't taken the demon's head living one wall away.
The children had already taken to the kitchen. Mason could hear gasps. A moment later seeing a fluffy white cat flee upstairs in a panic.
He held his hand out. A lack of static as Lirim excused himself to the back door. Fucking angels.
"Head's safe," he confirmed, stepping inside.
Bronwyn: "Don't scare Pancakes, lovies!" Well, one of them would be receiving a swipe at the ankle at some point this evening. Pancakes would require some soothing.
"Aye, verra much so. Sit, sit. What would ye like, what can I get ye?"
Charles: "Remember how it was with Frankie, in the beginning," he called to his children. "Be patient and don't harass the cat!"
He shook his head, fond, and took the offered seat. "I'm quite all right, darling. Thank you."
Lirim/Mason/Aedan: Lirim was laughing at the sight of Jude. The patient older tabby, accepting his fate in Aedan's arms, carried about with dangling legs.
"Y'all gonna say no t'some wine? What about some," what the hell was this, "pumpkin liqueur? When'd I get this? Was this you?" he asked Bronwyn.
Mason stood beside Charles for a beat, hand firm on the back of his neck, massaging. He separated long enough to find the children.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn looked at the label on the bottle. "Oh! Aye, it was me. I wanted to make an adult pumpkin spice latte. It was bloody good too. I want to try it in pumpkin pie."
Charles: "I'll never say no to wine." A statement that was perhaps a little too true. "Or pie."
Lirim/Aedan: "I do have a chocolate... mud... pie... thing. S'got some cake crumbled on top like dirt and -"
"GUMMIES!" Aedan shouted. "Mama! Can I - Can we have some?"
Bronwyn: "Let me make yer tonic first, then ye can have some. It won't take long, promise." She didn't want an upset stomach ruining his Halloween.
Luckily, she kept all the ingredients on hand and was able to get it going fairly quickly. "Do ye want me to mix it in water or in juice?"
Charles: "Sounds interesting. I can't say I've ever tried that before." But chocolate was chocolate. He reached out for the minds of his family. Where had they gotten off to?
Mason/Aedan: "Apple juice, please." Better manners around company, Lirim noted to self. That was usually the case.
The children had surrounded the cat tower and released Jude, who took to cleaning himself just out of reach at the top. The children were bored within moments.
"Put y'all's candy on the table. We'll go through em," said Mason, casting a quick glance to Lirim. Chocolate pie and red wine. This was turning into an absolute gem of an evening, Lirim thought.
Bronwyn: "Okay, I'll mix it with apple." She kissed the top of his head and got a jar. Time was she would've gotten a bowl and whisked everything together but shaking it until it was mixed was easier. And faster.
Speed was of the essence today.
A few herbs, a few mysterious liquids, and a little magic later, Bronwyn was pouring her concoction into a cup of juice and handing it to Aedan. The tonic made it take on a curiously orange color but the taste wouldn't be altered too much. It would be as if some strong, unsweetened tea had been added to it.
Charles: Charles smirked, but left them to their piles of sweets. Lectures about cavities and thorough tooth-brushing could wait until bedtime. "Can I help with anything?" he asked their host.
Lirim: "If ya wanna help me cut up some pie?" offered between grunts of effort as he argued with a corkscrew and a rather large bottle of zinfandel. Last time he tried to pull a cork via telekinesis had resulted in both a broken cork and bottle. His patience was not made for such delicate work.
Charles: "I think I may be better suited to opening wine," he offered, laughing, and stood to lend a hand.
Lirim/Mason: "He has a gift," said Mason. "If there's alcohol, he can open it. No safe too secure, no lock too strong."
"In the case," Lirim offered the bottle. Corkscrew far too deeply embedded.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn left them to the wine while she got the hot chocolate going, keeping one eye on Aedan to make sure he drank all the juice.
"If that is indeed the case, then Charles, there's a bottle o' scotch in my pantry that seems to have been welded shut. Yer help would be appreciated."
Charles: "Hilarious." He fixed his husband with a very dry expression before turning his attention to the lodged corkscrew. "Goodness." It took a bit of coaxing, but Charles really was a magician of bottle-opening. With a triumphant grin, he set bottle and cork on the table a minute later. "I'd be happy to help, Bronwyn darling."
Lirim/Mason/Aedan: "Lucien been gone that long ya gettin' your whiskey stuck?" Lirim laughed. There were only two Fera in existence which didn't frighten him to his core. Lucien was family, as much as he had fought tooth and nail.
Aedan handed his cup to his father, ready for his hot chocolate.
Mason settled between his children at the glass table, stealing another PayDay for Charles, and a swirly lollipop to bite like a heathen for himself.
Bronwyn: "It hasn't been stuck as long as that," Bronwyn chuckled, putting all her tonic ingredients away. "I was makin' somethin' with it and I'm pretty sure some caramel got stuck in the threads o' the bottle that I forgot to wipe off." That was her theory anyway.
Charles: He had to wince. Could a demon chip a tooth? He didn't know, but it just wasn't right. 'Heinous.' He smirked at his husband before plucking the candy from his hand. "Thank you." He fiddled with the wrapper.
"Bit of warm water should do the trick, then," he said to Bronwyn. "At least, that's how I get syrup bottles open." He thought idly of how perfect a stack of pancakes would be.
Lirim/Mason: Lirim glanced Charles' way, wondering what it was he was borderline yearning for. Maybe he didn't want to know. Sexual desire seemed to just exude from the two of them. Inspiring, but he was grateful to not be telepathic.
Mason watched his husband with challenging eyes, taking another slow performative bite.
'Should see me with jawbreakers.'
"Ffffriggin' hungry," Lirim sighed, catching that particular word split second. "Who wanted pie?" A few small plates had been filled. Ones for the children half size.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn grinned at Lirim. Nice save, she mouthed to him.
"I'm pretty sure we all wanted pie. I definitely do, and that hot chocolate. Is there such a thing as too much chocolate in one sittin'?" Probably, but it was Halloween! It was a day for treats.
Speaking of.
"I need to go refill the cauldron for any more kids we get."
Charles: 'You're a madman.' He shuddered at the very thought, but the lightning flash of a grin gave away his amusement. He popped the little candy into his mouth and bent to give his husband the briefest of kisses. They were guests, after all. Manners make the man.
"Not in my opinion, but I'm hardly an authority. I can fill it, if you'd like. Or start on the hot chocolate?"
Lirim/Mason: "You'll have chocolate every day, but hell hath no fury if it's spicy."
Lirim looked up at the couple, impatiently chewing and swallowing before speaking. "For serious? What about a chocolate martini? Or a mudslide?"
Bronwyn: "No no, it's fine. I'll get the candy."
She went to get the bag, only to poke her head back in a few seconds later. "Are chocolate martinis bein' made? If so I want one!"
Charles: His nose wrinkled in undisguised distaste. "Of course not. Spicy chocolate is an abomination." Charles lifted a shoulder. "I don't mind a splash of bourbon in my hot chocolate."
Bronwyn: "What's this spicy chocolate ye keep mentionin'?" Bronwyn asked the room at large. "Spicy like chilies or spiced like mulled wine?"
Lirim/Mason/Rory: "I mean I want chile-chocolate melted n'put in my mouth," said Mason. "With cinnamon."
Rory's eyes lit up. That was exactly what he wanted.
"I got a habanero in the fridge?"
Charles: Ugh. Corrupting the children. "I'll settle for whipped cream, if you have it."
Bronwyn: "There's a sweet shop near my store that has all kinds of chocolate. I'll bet they have chile chocolate."
Lirim/Mason: "Still open?" Another PayDay was swiped from the pile, now divided into three among the children. Cynthia had traded most chocolate for bubble gum.
"That pastry shop?" Lirim asked. "Oh! I got uh, Cool Whip?"
Charles: "That'll do," he nodded. All this talk of peppers had him needing a balm.
Bronwyn: "No, no' that one, although I have been meanin' to go into that pastry shop. The sweets shop is in the opposite direction, next to that maternity store I shopped at when I was pregnant with Aedan."
Lirim/Mason: Oh fuck, the memories. Both Lirim and Mason were staring, and both looked away almost simultaneously.
"Hot chocolate with cinnamon, then. Chocolate dipped peppers when home." To the delight of their son.
Plates were each given forks, and a cabinet opened of its own accord, so it seemed. A pot floating to the stove.
Charles: Charles lifted an eyebrow at that little exchange but said nothing. He finally claimed a seat and a plate to go along with it.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn noticed it as well, and though she had a clue as to the cause, she filed it away to ask later.
And there was the doorbell.
"Candy time!" Off she went to hand out treats.
Lirim/Aedan: Aedan ran off to help his mama, and Lirim only glanced over his shoulder before looking back at the cocoa powder, milk, and small jar of cinnamon. As though he'd never made this before in his life.
"Thinkin' hot chocolate and a chocolate martini."
Charles: "Do--" He chewed and swallowed a mouthful of pie before making another attempt. "Do you need a hand?"
Lirim/Mason: Lirim slowly looked back with apologetic eyes. "Aedan drinks Ghirardelli with peppermint because God only knows why. I dunno how to do it up fancy."
Bronwyn: "He knows it's the superior combination," Bronwyn said as she returned with Aedan in tow. "Don't ye, lovely? Chocolate and peppermint all the way."
Charles: Charles stood, pushing his plate closer to his family in case any of them wanted to finish his barely-touched dessert. "It's hot chocolate, my friend. It hardly needs to be fancy." He took a place beside his host at the stove. He was no cook, but warm drinks were a skill he'd mastered. Enough milk for everyone was tipped into the saucepan to heat.
Lirim/Mason: Peppermint? Rory was making a face. One Aedan had made at the idea of spicy chocolate. Mason was smiling at Bronwyn.
"I don't do fancy, but I didn't figure y'all'd want the Aedan special," Lirim chuckled.
Bronwyn: Bronwyn just chuckled, returning Mason's smile as she bent to kiss his head.
"One of us wants the Aedan special," she said, taking a seat at the table. She'd probably end up standing to get the door many many times before the night was out but in between she wanted all the time she could get with everyone.
Charles: "Oh, well, no peppermint for me, thanks. I'm a cocoa purist." He leaned against the counter while he waited for the milk to heat.
Lirim: "Purists go first, then." He looked around the room. At this blend of two families. He never would have imagined something like this years ago. Couldn't even imagine his son. Sometimes he still couldn't get over it.
"Happy Halloween, y'all."
Bronwyn: Bronwyn caught Lirim looking around and smiled. She wondered what was going through his head but judging from his expression, it was only lovely things. As it should be at moments like this one.
"Happy Halloween indeed!" she said brightly as the doorbell summoned her once more.
Charles: "Fair enough." He lifted his head in the following silence. Charles, too, was curious, but not enough to go digging. His mouth curled into a smile and he nodded. "Hear, hear!"
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Happiest of birthdays to my dear friend Trish, the amazing @couragedontdesertme! Go over and wish her a good one!
A Work of Art
"Bye Teacher Elsa! We'll miss you!"
"Bye Miss Elsa! We'll be good for Mrs. Gerda!"
"Have fun with the baby, Teacher Elsa!"
As her preschool class bustled out the door, Elsa accepted the hugs and snuggles the four and five year olds gave her, careful to direct them to the side of her bulge so that she could at least wrap an arm around the student. As the last student bounded away, Elsa swiped at the stubborn moisture clinging to her lashes. A tissue was pressed into her hand.
"Don't you start. You'll get me crying next." Trish, her co-worker and friend, grinned before opening her arms. "Come here, you. It'll be alright." Elsa sighed before sinking into Trish's embrace.
"Don't mind me, it's the hormones again."
Trish chuckled, rubbing Elsa's back. "I think it might be more than just hormones in this case." As Elsa pulled away, Trish wiped a hand across her own eyes with a sigh. "Told you I'd start. Now, you enjoy your time off, and get some rest. Best friend's orders," she grinned as she wagged a finger at Elsa.
Elsa laughed and gave Trish a mock salute.
……….
"Mama's home!"
Elsa bent down, bracing herself for the impact as Jenny rushed into the hallway and threw herself into her mother’s arms, chattering about her day as Elsa wrapped her in a hug. As she listened, Elsa was struck, as she often was, by the realization that she was the mother to this thriving, active daughter who approached each day with vigor and joy.
And soon to be a mother to two children.
As Jenny continued her story, Alarik came around the corner, beaming and ruffling Jenny’s hair. He lowered his head to press his lips to hers, chuckling at Jenny’s mortified “Ewww!”
“How are you doing?” Alarik murmured as he pulled away, cupping her jaw and stroking her cheek with his thumb.
"I'm fine." A lie- she could feel the rising heat behind her eyes once more- but Alarik did not press. He offered his arm instead, which she gratefully took, hiding her grimace as a sharp twinge shot up from her back upon straightening. Alarik, of course, noticed immediately and pressed a hand to her back, massaging the sore muscles gently.
"Dinner should be ready in a half hour. You can go nap if you want- I'll come get you."
Elsa shook her head, noticing Jenny's forlorn look. "Why don't you draw something for me, little one?" She asked, taking Jenny's hand, smiling when she was immediately tugged towards the family room. Elsa helped Jenny bring out the supplies, spreading newspaper over the table, laying down the papers and pulling out the fat markers. As Jenny started her first drawing, Elsa settled into the couch behind her, listening to her daughter's stories and watching her draw.
When her back gave another twinge, Elsa stretched out. Jenny had fallen silent, intent on her work, and the scratching of marker over paper created a soothing cadence.
Elsa fell asleep before she was even aware of being tired.
……….
It took Alarik some time- absorbed as he was in making dinner- to realize that Jenny had gone quiet. Quiet in a way that four years had taught him she was up to something. He moved the pot to the back of the stove, turned off the burner, and made his way to the family room, mentally bracing himself for whatever he might see.
He had to bite his lip to keep from bursting out in laughter.
Jenny had abandoned her paper, and had pushed Elsa's blouse up further in order to draw on her belly. She was intent on her work, her tongue sticking out as she doodled with a purple marker. Elsa's stomach was a collage of color and shapes- some recognizable, others less so. Elsa, for her part, remained fast asleep, her chest rising and falling with each soft breath, completely unaware of her daughter's activity.
"What are you doing, Eldig?" Alarik kneeled down, keeping his voice low. Jenny didn't look up from her work.
"Makin' a picture for Baby," she stated, her tone matter-of-fact. As she made a circle, a bulge pressed against the marker, and Jenny grinned. "See? He likes it."
Alarik nodded, his shoulders shaking with barely-contained mirth. After several forced deep breaths, he was able to speak again.
"I suppose he does, Eldig. Now, dinner's almost ready, so let's clean up." As he stooped to help collect the scattered markers, a thought occurred to him.
Elsa will kill me for this. Well, he might as well have his fun while he could. He offered a marker to Jenny.
"You should sign your name on your art."
Jenny's face lit up, and she took the marker, locating a bare patch of skin. "J-E-N-N-Y," she murmured as she formed each letter with large, careful strokes. Alarik smiled- he loved watching Jenny pen her name- before helping her return the rest of the markers to the bin and putting it away.
It wasn't until he was supervising Jenny's hand-washing- "You need to scrub, Eldig, to get those microorganisms washed off."- when he heard Elsa's voice.
"Jenny." Careful, measured, and calm, but the both of them winced when they heard it. "Why is there marker on my belly?"
"Papa said it was okay!"
"I did not!"
"You didn't say 'stop'!" Jenny pointed out. "You told me to write my name!" She crossed her arms and stuck out her chin, looking so much like her aunt it scared him.
"Alarik. Geatland."
"You're in troooouble…" Jenny whispered. Alarik gulped and nodded in agreement.
…………
Later that night, with Jenny finally asleep, Alarik found Elsa in the bathroom, hair undone, with her shirt once more pulled up to expose her belly. One finger traced the designs, watching the movement in the mirror. When she caught sight of Alarik, she smiled, letting her hands drop to cradle the swell.
"I sent a picture to Anna and Trish. They both loved it."
"Of course they did." He came up behind her, covering her hands with his own, rubbing her skin with his thumbs. "It's a beautiful thing. Both the art and the canvas."
"Hmmmmm. You're still in trouble for encouraging her, you know."
"I know. But it was sweet." He felt the baby press against his thumb, and couldn't hold back the excited shiver that ran through him at the sensation. Elsa smiled and leaned back into him, letting her head fall against his chest.
"It was. I just hope Jenny will still be as excited when he arrives. I think she expects him to come out ready to play."
"I'm sure it will take time, but she'll love him in her own way. That much I'm sure of." He leaned down to kiss her cheek.
"They will always know they're loved. Both of them."
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Melbourne, An Interlude (Part II)
Summary: Here’s Part I and its more detailed summary; also, Part II turned out a little fluffier/more realistic than I had anticipated--hope you enjoy, though!
Permanent Taglist: @rami-malek-trash @sherlollydramoine
Warnings: language including a slur in accordance with the time, terrible translations of French straight from the Google, lots of sex stuff so no under 18s
THANK YOU TO THE WONDERFUL @alottanothing FOR CREATING THIS GORGEOUS MOODBOARD. I SWOON.
“I swear on all things holy he thought women orgasmed through their nipples. He kept rubbing them with his thumbs, muttering, ‘Come on baby, come on baby, let go, let go,’” Kathryn said through her laughter, her tongue loose and her tone happy as she finished her fourth beer.
Last night, Kathryn had written down the location of a small bar next to the shipyard. I wasn’t sure what time to meet her, so I showed up lata in the day afta drills and kept my drinkin’ light. I was actually talkin’ to a pretty, real nice girl when Kathryn came in, dressed in stained coveralls. She had rolled the top half of the coveralls down and was wearin’ a man’s white t-shirt underneath. Her hair was piled up on her head, a bandanna tied round her hairline, a few stray pieces curlin’ out round the edges. There were some dirt smudges on her forehead and a few of the same on her hands and arms.
She looked even betta than she had last night.
I sorta expected her to be cross with me for talkin’ to the otha girl, but she sat down next to me, ordered a beer, and said hello to both of us. The otha girl just sort of faded inta the background once Kathryn and I got to talkin’.
Afta a few beers, our tongues were loose enough to turn to a conversation dat had us laughin’ and drawin’ enough attention dat we moved to a table in the corna.
It had neva really occurred to me dat women had bad experiences in bed, but the more we talked, the betta I felt about what I did. Men talked about women all the damn time, but every man’s story ended in the girl havin’ the time of her life, moanin’ and cryin’ she’ll neva be the same without his cock, and with her happy to be walkin’ crooked for a week.
“Alright, Mer. Your turn again.”
“Hmm. I already told ya ‘bout the sisters, but they were both Venuses next to the girl I went home with last week. She was a real looka and my buddies were sure she’d neva say yes. But she did. Things went pretty fast when we got back ta her place and she kinda had this way of kissin’ dat was almost more of a nibblin’ like if ya eatin’ a ear of corn. I thought it was a little strange, but everythin’ felt alright and like I said, she was a real looka. She undid my pants and was on her knees and just the sight had me . . . well, real ready. And just as I was expectin’ her mouth on me, I felt those same little bites, those kissin’ nibbles, and then I heard it. She was mumblin’ ‘nyum, nyum, nyum, nyum’ like she was havin’ a snack. I looked down at her and she looked like she was havin’ the time of her life, just up and down my dick, nyum-nyumin’.”
Kathryn was laughin’ so hard she actually snorted, tears leakin’ outta the cornas of her eyes. I started laughin’ at her reaction and because it was a damn funny experience now dat I said it out loud.
Our laughta died down, and Kathryn leaned across the table. I thought she was gonna tell me anotha story, but she asked, “When was the last time you had a proper, homecooked meal?”
I was a little taken aback and thought for a moment, not really recallin’ when.
“I can’t say I rememba.”
“Thought so. Let’s go. I need a bath, and you need a good meal,” Kathryn said leavin’ money on the table, except this time I shoved it back at her replacin’ it with mine.
She smiled and shook her head.
“You’re damn stubborn, Merriell Shelton.”
“Dat’s one of the nicer things I been called,” I replied, listenin’ to her giggle.
“Come on—I’m taking you home,” Kathryn said as she took my hand in her’s.
* * * * *
I had guessed right bout Kathryn bein’ from money because her house was the biggest one I eva seen. As we were walkin’ up a stone drive, she pointed to anotha big house.
“That’s the guest cottage. If I bring back company, that’s where we go. I’ve never actually brought a soldier home to the main house,” she said, sneakin’ a glance at me.
“I swear I’m on my best behavior, ma’am,” I assured her, smilin’.
She seemed a little nervous, and I couldn’t blame her. Who was I to Kathryn or to her granparents? I was just a poor, dumb kid from Cajun country, not really good for much otha than laborin’ and now, fightin’ Japs.
We walked all the way round to the side of the place, makin’ our way through the kitchen. Kathryn waved to the two women who were real busy, clearly makin’ dinna.
“Amanda, we’re having a guest,” Kathryn called as she led me up a set of stairs.
We wound our way through a few hallways until Kathryn finally turned the handle on a door dat led into what I assumed was her bedroom, except it was bigga than the house I grew up in. I knew no matta what I couldn’t hide my surprise as I looked round, mouth hangin’ open a little.
“I’m going to jump in the bath. Make yourself comfortable. Once I’m decent, we’ll go down and I’ll introduce you to gran and granddad,” Kathryn said as she plucked a dress outta her closet and gathered up some stuff before she disappeared through anotha door. I heard the bath turn on and I went right to imagin’ what she looked like in there, takin’ off those coveralls, slidin’ inta the warm wata and scrubbin’ away the day’s labor.
“Fuck,” I said unda my breath, shakin’ my head to get my thoughts more wholesome.
I looked round the room and noticed a door leadin’ out to a balcony. The view was enough to distract me, and I took out a smoke as I looked ‘cross the sprawlin’ lawn. As I inhaled, I coughed a little, realizin’ dat I hadn’t been smokin’ much since I’d been here. I huffed, hardly able to believe how soft I was gettin.’ To prove to myself I wasn’t, I chain smoked on the balcony til my lungs ached.
Kathryn appeared next to me and reached ova for my cigarette. She took a shallow puff, holding the smoke in her lungs for just a bit.
“I also hate smoking,” she said as she handed the cigarette back, a tiny pink smudge left on the end from her lipstick. “Something like that can’t be good for you.”
I placed my lips ova the mark left by her’s and pulled a deep draw inta my lungs, aimin’ the smoke away from her face when I exhaled. Her hair was wet but it was pinned up in a buncha little swirls. Her hair up really suited her but so far, I hadn’t seen anythin’ dat didn’t make her more appealin’. She was wearin’ a light pink dress dat showed off a bit of her chest and I couldn’t help the downward flick of my eyes. This dress didn’t cling to her quite like the one from last night, though.
Now dat I could see her in the daylight, the sun just startin’ its evenin’ path, I could see the purple marks unda her eyes. The work she was doin’ was tough, meant for a man, but the stories about women takin’ ova and makin’ sure the world still turned ‘round was intriguin.’ I’d neva really considered dat a woman would want anythin’ otha than a good man to fatten her up with babies, give her a decent house and food on the table, but women did seem a hell of a lot more chippa and bolda than before the war. It couldn’t all just be a front put on for us boys.
“You said you were lookin’ for somethin’ last night,” I said, pullin’ her outta her own thoughts.
Kathryn looked at me, a little smile playin’ on her lips, maybe because I’d just passed anotha one of those tests of her’s.
“Right now, I’m looking for dinner,” she said as her face brightened inta a real smile and she motioned for me to follow her.
We went back the way we came, and even though the kitchen was empty now, it smelled like heaven, my mouth waterin’ as we walked out and inta what I guess you’d call a sittin’ room.
Two nice-lookin’ people were settled in matchin’ chairs and I assumed they were Kathryn’s granparents.
The woman, olda but still damn pretty, looked up from her knittin’. Kathryn looked a lot like her, even sharin’ the same dark blue eyes.
“Gran, Granddad. This is Merriell Shelton,” Kathryn said, nudgin’ me forward.
“Mr. and Mrs. Taylah,” I said with a nod to each. “It’s a pleasure to be invited inta ya lovely home.”
Mr. Taylah put aside his newspapa and stood, reachin’ to shake my hand.
“Call me Clive, Mr. Shelton. It’s an honor to have you in our home.”
Kathryn’s granddad looked young enough to almost be her daddy; it was a little strikin’. He was real tan and had a real firm grip with calloused fingas, just like his granddaughta.
“And I’m Carolyn,” Mrs. Taylah said from her chair, extendin’ her hand. I took it, placin’ a kiss to the back of it.
Mrs. Taylah smiled and said, “We’ve been after Kathryn to bring a good boy home to stay with us for weeks. I see she chose well, but I’m wondering about your accent. Where in the States are you from, Mr. Shelton?”
Like granmama, like granddaughta, I thought to myself as I fixed a grin for Mrs. Taylah and said, “New Orleans, Louisiana, ma’am.”
“Parlez-vous français?”
“Seulement pour les belles dames, madam."
Carolyn giggled, her smile makin’ her look younga and even more like her granddaughta.
“Charmant, très charmant, Monsieur Shelton.”
“Merci, madam.”
“Well, Granddad. Looks like we’re chopped liver now,” Kathryn said, slidin’ her arm around Mr. Taylah’s waist. “I’m starving.”
Mr. Taylah bent to kiss the top of his granddaughta’s head and replied, “What else is new?”
I offered my arm to Mrs. Taylah and followed Kathryn and her granddad inta the dinin’ room. Mr. Taylah sat at the head of the table and Mrs. Taylah insisted I take the seat next to her.
“Je veux m'assurer que vous aurez assez à manger,” she said, squeezin’ my forearm.
“Je ne manquerai pas de vous dcevoir,” I said, aimin’ anotha grin at Mrs. Taylah.
“Honestly, Gran. You’re shameless,” Kathryn said, her eyes sparklin’ with her teasin’.
“Well, my little heathen, you’re the one who refused to learn French. I thought I’d die before I got to converse again.”
“Gran. You and Granddad were just in Paris four summers ago.”
“And she was as pretentious then as she is now,” Mr. Taylah said, his eyes sparklin’ with the same mirth as his granddaughta’s.
Dinna passed in the same easy way as my first conversation with Kathryn. By the time Kathryn brought out a small, fresh cake with homemade icin’, I was damn near full to burstin’ and also callin’ Clive and Carolyn by their first names. They were just like their granddaughta, not botherin’ with talk of the war but focusin’ on all the things to do and see in Melbourne, talkin’ about their son and his wife in the States, askin’ if I was familiar with this or dat American custom.
After dinna, we all went out on the back porch and it reminded me a lot of home. We drank what Kathryn called mint juleps sweetened with honey as we listened to the wata in the distance and the cicadas callin’ as the sun went down, the air just as hot and stiff as it is in Louisiana durin’ August.
I enjoyed the company of Kathryn and her family so much it felt like my insides had turned to jelly, my whole body relaxin’ for the first time since before I headed to trainin’. Hell, maybe since before I could even last rememba. It wasn’t like life was easy in New Orleans or like I had the prospect of anythin’ more than laborin’, enjoyin’ some drinkin’ and poker, and gettin’ up to do the same thing again day afta day.
I was so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t realized Carolyn had asked me a question.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, what was ya askin’ me?”
“I wondered if you found us to be suitable enough for you to stay?”
“Ma’am?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Gran wants to know if you’ll stay here with us for the rest of your leave,” Kathryn explained, smilin’ warmly.
Men had slowly begun to disappear from their cots as Australian families sorta adopted them, but I neva imagined any family would want to take me on, let alone a family like Kathryn’s. I was speechless and kept my eyes trained on the ocean in the distance.
Clive spoke up, the smoke from his pipe fillin’ the air with the sweet scent of fresh tobacco.
“It would be nice to not be the only man holding this place together, Merriell.”
“I—I don’t know what ta say,” I stuttered out.
“Say, yes and thank you,” Kathryn said, reachin’ out to squeeze my hand, givin’ me one of those grins dat warmed my insides near boilin’.
“Considerin’ dat Kathryn is always right, my answa is yes and thank you,” I said, lowerin’ my eyes again, afraid I might get emotional if I were to look either of the senior Taylahs in the face.
Clive and Carolyn both laughed, Clive sayin’, “Hell, son. You’re already smarter than I was at your age. It took me too long to learn to just say, yes, luv, then go about my own business.”
Carolyn retorted, “I’ve added years of joy to your life. Now, hush.”
Kathryn looked at her granparents with such lovin’ eyes. It was clear they were still in love afta all their years togetha.
Clive stood and held his hand out to Carolyn.
“Let’s have Eva air out a guest room. Say goodnight to your French-speaking sweetie, Lynnie.”
"Bonne nuit et bienvenue chez nous, gentil jeune homme," Carolyn said as she held out both hands to me.
"Vous m'honorez, madame. Je vous remercie pour votre hospitalité. Fais de beaux rêves," I said, standin’ to give her a hug.
Clive extended his hand and said, "Goodnight, Merriell. Thank you for entertaining my wife, the consummate flirt."
“Ya a lucky man, Clive. Beauty runs well-deep in this family,” I said, glancin’ at Kathryn.
The Taylahs said their goodnights and went in the house, leavin’ us alone with the growin’ dark and the growin’ crescendo of the cicadas.
“Do you want to take a walk?” Kathryn asked before finishin’ her drink, the condensation slidin’ ova her fingatips.
“Sure,” I said, swallowin’ the last dregs of my own.
We walked across the long yard toward the beach and Kathryn linked her arm in mine, just like she did last night.
“I didn’t mean for them to overwhelm you by asking you to stay with us.”
“It wasn’t the askin’ dat was ovawhlemin’. It was the kindness behind it.”
Kathryn led me down a long set of stairs dat opened onta the beach. I thought I’d seen enough sand afta Guadalcanal, but this was different. There were couples dottin’ the beach in the distance and the sun was just startin’ to sink into the wata, lightin’ up the sky in more pinks, purples, and oranges than I could describe.
Kathryn pushed me to sit on the last step. She sank to her knees and unlaced my boots, her hands workin’ skillfully. She set them to the side where she had kicked off her shoes and pulled my socks off next, stuffin’ them inta my boots.
“You have cute toes,” she said, smilin’ up at me before she began to roll up my pant legs.
I just watched her, the sun’s pink light makin’ her skin look like it was glowin’, highlightin’ just how full of life she was. I watched the curves of her cleavage shiftin’ as she moved and I had to close my eyes to refocus, tryin’ to will my cock back inta submission. I didn’t want her to know how easily she affected me.
“That’s better,” she said, offerin’ her hand to pull me up.
Afta a deep breath, I said, “Thank you,” and pulled her closa to me.
She kept her distance, though, her hands on my chest as she looked inta my eyes, understandin’ I was thankin’ her for more than just fixin’ up my pants.
“You’re welcome, Merriell,” she said softly. “Come on—after all my work, you have to get your feet wet.”
She took off, joggin’ toward the water’s edge, the foam of the waves ticklin’ my feet as I caught up to her. She was already out to her knees, the hem of her dress darkenin’ as some of the wata rose and crashed against her legs.
“Chicken!” she called, edgin’ out a little further.
I grinned and went chasin’ afta her, the cuffs of my pants just as wet as the bottom of her dress.
I grabbed her up, spinnin’ her round so fast we both nearly lost our balance. She gripped my uppa arms as I rested my hands on her waist, both of us smilin’ at each other.
“I know beaches have probably lost their luster for you, for all the boys,” Kathryn said, her eyes narrowin’ to reflect her growin’ seriousness. “But I want you to have a memory to wash away just a tiny bit of that horror. I want to kiss you, Merriell.”
I didn’t even botha with sayin’ a word. Kathryn was just a few inches shorta than me, so I only had to pull her flush against me and tilt my face down to reach her lips. One set of her fingas went straight to the back of my neck, rubbin’ along the short hair there while her otha hand came up to rest on my jaw, her thumb pressin’ inta my chin as she made it clear she was the one controllin’ this kiss.
I let her, clingin’ to her waist before lowerin’ my hands to her hips, my fingas diggin’ inta the edges of her backside.
She played with my lips, openin’ and closin’ her’s ova my top lip and then my bottom, pressin’ harder and harder til she reached out with her tongue to trace my lowa lip. I hummed, damn near moanin’ at the contact like a fuckin’ teenaga.
When my lips parted, she slowly licked into my mouth, touchin’ my tongue before curlin’ hers up to touch the back of my front teeth. She tasted just like the sweet bourbon and mint from our drink, and I couldn’t hold back. I tilted my head and met her tongue, pullin’ hers in to suck on it, pinchin’ it between my teeth.
She did moan and moved to stand on her toes, which was difficult in the shiftin’ sand. She returned my exploration and we just stood there, locked together, memorizin’ each other’s mouths.
She was right. I would neva’ forget dat moment, the sound of the wata and the feel of the shiftin’ sand, and the taste of her tongue and the press of her hands.
Neither of us wanted to stop to catch our breath, stealin’ more kisses as we tried to pause long enough to even out our breathin’. Both of her hands were tangled in my hair and I had moved my hands up to her midback to try to press her body furtha into mine. I just couldn’t get close enough.
I attached my lips to her neck, lettin’ her breathe a little, and I set a determined pace, tryin’ to to find every spot dat made her moan, shiva, or sigh.
Head to toe, I wanted to consume her.
She pushed at me so she could look up, lockin’ her eyes onta mine.
“I want you, Mer. So much I can hardly stand it.”
I chuckled, my tongue dartin’ out to wet my lips before I kissed her, this time a little sweeta.
“I was thinkin’ the same thing, cher,” I whispered near her lips.
She laughed at dat, pullin’ me outta the wata. I had to yank her back once we reached the steps, callin’ for her to rememba our shoes. She released my hand so I could reach down and grab my boots and her little slippa shoes, then we were off again, settin’ a good pace as we jogged across the long yard.
Kathryn took me up to her room the same way we’d gone the first time, explainin’, “Gran and Granddad’s room is on the other side of the house. They can’t hear a thing if I go up this way. You’ll have to remember that once you’re settled in,” she said givin’ me a wink.
As soon as we were back in her room, she locked the door and I was right there, grabbin’ her hands and puttin’ them above her head to hold her in place. I pushed her against the door and kissed her, my cock growin’ harda with every passin’ second.
I released her hands, kinda wantin’ to see what she’d do with em, and I cupped both sides of her face, kissin’ her again, before slidin’ my hands inta her hair.
Kathryn pushed at me, growlin’ in frustration.
“Give me two minutes in the bathroom to get these damn things out of my hair,” she said, joggin’ toward the door, flickin’ on a dim lamp beside her bed as she passed it.
I untucked and unbuttoned my shirt, not botherin’ to unroll my pants from the beach. I reached inta my pants’ pocket to make sure my rubber tin was still there, pullin’ it out to set it on her side table. I laid out on her bed, stretchin’, admirin’ the softness of the cova and of the pillows. Kathryn’s room looked like a fine lady’s room—the colors on the wall and around the room different shades of blue and a lotta stuff was accented in gold.
I was just about to pull out a smoke when Kathryn came outta the bathroom, her long hair down now in messy swirls of waves. Her cheeks were flushed and so was her chest, her lips still swollen from our kissin’ and still glistenin’ with a pink hue like the night I met her. She was fuckin’ breathtakin’.
Kathryn stopped dead in her tracks when she saw me on the bed, and I sat up, swingin’ my legs ova the side apologizin’, when she cut me off to say, “No. No, don’t move. You just looked . . . you looked so at home. Like you belonged in my bed. Pretty as a picture,” she said smilin’, the lust in her eyes becomin’ unmistakable.
I laughed a little, questionin’, “Pretty? Now I can assure ya I have neva, eva been called dat.”
“Then all your other lovers have been fools, Merriell Shelton,” Kathryn said ova her shoulda as she opened her balcony door lettin’ in the breeze from the wata and the sounds of the cicadas.
When she made her way back to the bed, I was still sittin’ on the edge. She came and stood between my legs, keepin’ eye contact with me. I couldn’t believe this beautiful, kind woman was lookin’ at me like she wanted to open me up and taste me from the inside.
“Take off ya dress,” I said, figurin’ from her stories she liked a man to be a man in the bedroom. Dat was somethin’ I knew I could do.
Kathryn stepped back and moved her fingers ova the little buttons on the front of her dress. Once it was loosened, she gathered dat pink fabric in her hands, slowly showin’ me inch after inch of new skin. I’m pretty sure she could hear my heart beat pickin’ up from where she stood.
Once the dress was bunched up in her fingas at her hips and I could see the dark pink cotton of her undawear, she lifted her dress the rest of the way off, tossin’ it to the side.
She tousled her hair, then stood, waitin’.
“Take off ya brassière,” I said, notin’ the little noise she made when I pronounced it in French.
She reached behind her and undid the hooks while I leaned back onta my hands, my dog tags jinglin’ a little as I moved. I sucked in a breath when she dropped her arms, her gorgeous tits exposed to me just as gooseflesh erupted across her arms and her chest, whether it was from nerves or the cool breeze, I don’t know. Her pert, little nipples hardened and I neva wanted ta pull a nipple inta my mouth more than I did in dat moment, but she wasn’t naked enough yet.
“Now ya undawear,” I said, my voice low and barely maintain’ its steadiness.
Kathryn hooked her thumbs inta the sides of her undawear and shucked them right off without much ceremony. My hands damn near twitched with wantin’ to slide right between dat dark patch where her legs met to find out if she was as wet as I was hard.
Her body was every bit as sexy as she was.
“Come here,” I said in a hushed voice.
She came to me, positionin’ herself right between my legs, pullin’ me toward her so she could whisper inta my hair, “I want you, Merriell Shelton. So fucking much.”
“I guarantee I want ya more.”
“You better spend all night proving that,” she said, pullin’ back to give me a look of challenge, her brow arched and her mouth caught up in dat wicked little smirk.
“With pleasure, Kathryn,” I returned, pullin’ her inta my arms, shiverin’ myself as my chest came into contact with her skin, my hands free to touch every part of her I could reach. At this position, her tits were eye level with me, and I buried my face between em. I couldn’t believe how good she smelled with the scent of the ocean still clingin’ to her.
“God, you smell so good,” she said, startlin’ me by echoin’ my thoughts as she rubbed her cheek against the top of my hair.
“What do I smell like?” I pulled back to ask, somethin’ I always wondered but was a little afraid to find out.
“Earthy . . . . reminds me of when the leaves change during autumn in the States. It’s like in the next breath I expect to smell sandalwood or cedar, but it doesn’t come. It’s just a hint of it, it’s just the smell of . . . you.”
I smiled up at her before returnin’ my attention to her tits, holdin’ each of them in my hands, already in love with their weightiness in my palms. I started placin’ kisses all around each of them, slowly workin’ my way in and to her nipples.
Her fingas were diggin’ inta my shoulders by the time I sucked on her right nipple, pullin’ it between my lips, my tongue reachin’ to flick around it inside my mouth. I spent some time teasin’ her on her right before movin’ to her left and repeatin’ my min’strations.
Kathryn ran her fingers through my hair, tuggin’ it to get me to look up.
She kept her eyes locked on mine as she pushed my open shirt from my shoulders. She ran her hands ova my arms and across my chest, graspin’ at my muscles before pinchin’ my nipples, hardenin’ em. I moaned at dat, and she set to work, bendin’ to kiss across my chest and pull on my nipples with her teeth before pressing her tongue to em.
She continued movin’ down, pushin’ me back to lay on the bed, but I didn’t wanta miss a damn thing. I reached ova and pulled one of her pillows out from the cova and put it behind my head—the perfect angle to watch her as she kissed down my stomach, stoppin’ to tease my bellybutton and nip at my hips.
Kathryn unbuckled my belt and opened my pants, her hand immediately graspin’ my cock.
“Oh, thank god,” she whispered, glancin’ up at me before addin’, “You’re big.”
I laughed again, tryin’ to remember when I had eva really enjoyed sex this much before comin’ and I couldn’t think of a single time.
I lifted my hips to help her finish removin’ my pants and my shorts and she stood back, lookin’ me up and down, probably with a gaze dat echoed my own when I saw her. I shifted, puttin’ my hand behind my head and spreadin’ my legs just a little more so she could see everythin’.
Kathryn ran her hands up my thighs, workin’ the muscles as they flexed under her touch. She ran her hands back up my stomach and then she reached up and touched my dog tags, askin’, “Would you mind? I just want to—”
“Forget our circumstances. I undastand,” I said with sincerity as I pulled them off and handed them to her. She laid them gently on her side table.
She returned her attention to me and ran her finga down my naked chest, dipping it into my bellybutton before circlin’ my cock. By the time she bent to take me in her mouth, I was damn near ready to come. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of anythin’ other than how good her warm mouth felt as she sucked, licked, and squeezed the base of my cock with her hand.
Then, I heard a little noise and the cool gust of her breath as she whispered, “Nyum nyum nyum,” across my dick, and I burst inta laughta so hard dat tears squeezed from the corna of my eyes.
Kathryn was laughin’ too, gigglin’ as she climbed onta my lap, bitin’ her bottom lip to stifle her laughta.
I sat up and kissed her, my hand tanglin’ in her hair as she ground against my cock, her slick heat workin’ me inta a real state.
“Need you,” she breathed in my ear.
I laid her onta her back before reachin’ up for the side table. Our hands bumped as she was also reachin’ inta her side table drawer.
Her eyes widened with surprise before she grinned when she noticed my tin. She finished her rummage in her drawer and showed me her own.
“Usually this is the rest of foreplay—convincing a guy he’s got to suit up if he wants to go the rest of the way.”
I shrugged my shoulders, “Betta safe than sorry.”
“Have you been with a girl in the last year and not used one of these?”
“Not since I left home, nah.”
“Me either.”
“Think we’re clean?” I asked.
“I do,” Kathryn answered.
“You know, you sound like one of them girls in the movies, temptin’ me to just slide it in without wrappin’ it up.”
“Is that a quote from the film?” Kathryn asked, laughta in her eyes.
“Think it might be,” I smiled as I kissed her, liftin’ her thigh to wrap around my hip, her core buckin’ against my cock.
“Can I ask you something else?”
“You’re in the position ta ask me anythin’ ya want, boo,” I said, notin’ the seriousness dat crept onta her face.
“I know this isn’t fair of me, and you’re not obligated to say yes just because you’re going to stay here, I mean you can use the guest house for company, too, sort of like—”
I cut her off with a grin, all the more turned on by the blush dat colored her cheeks as I figured out what she wanted to ask me.
“Kathryn, do you wanna be my girl?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her smile lightin’ up her face.
“There’s a reason girls don’t do the asking,” she said, still a little embarrassed.
“Well, I think you’re the kinda girl to do whateva the fuck she wants,” I said, kissin’ her sweet lips before lookin’ inta her eyes again.
Kathryn reached down to the bed and tossed both of our tins on her side table.
“Make me yours, Mer,” she said as her hips wiggled unda me.
I wasted no more time and slid into her wet pussy, my eyes closin’ at the tightness of her, at the heat of her.
She groaned at the contact, her legs tightenin’ around my waist as she angled to get me in as deep as I could go. I was slow at first, savorin’ the feelin’ of her and also tryin’ not to come.
We found a rhythm quickly, as if we’d been fuckin’ for years, and it really was like comin’ home to somethin’ ya knew, ya recognized, and dat ya always knew would mean home no matta what else changed.
I loved watchin’ her face as she closed her eyes at times when the sensation was ovawhlemin’ her. But mostly, she watched me, her eyes travelin’ my face. She seemed determined to memorize what I looked like in this moment.
Kathryn had reached above her to hold on to the slats of the headboard and I shifted our angle, movin’ up to my knees and pullin’ her hips up to meet me. I could see everythin’ from this viewpoint and I spent a few thrusts watchin’ my cock disappear into her perfect pussy, slick with her arousal.
I could feel the tightness at the base of my spine and I knew it wouldn’t be long. I reached between her legs to slide my thumb ova her clit and was happy to find it was prominent, swollen with need.
We kept up our rhythm as I circled and pressed her clit, Kathryn the absolute picture of debauchery as she groaned and panted a sweet little chorus of yeses and don’t stops.
When she came, I felt it first, her pussy clenchin’ round me like a goddamn vice before it contracted, tremorin’ as I continued to circle her clit, makin’ sure her orgasm was milked out before I let go, moanin’ her name and swearin’, a mix of English and French dat barely made sense to my ears.
I buried my cock in her as far as I could at the last of my orgasm, my body slicked with sweat as I stretched out my legs but still stayed insida her. I rested on my forearms, not wantin’ to crush her, but still wantin’ to be close to her.
I could feel Kathryn’s heart thuddin’ or it could’ve been mine; either way, I pressed a kiss to her chest, notin’ the taste of her sweat, wantin’ to savor it on my tongue. I wanted to be able to rememba every bit of her before I was gone, crouched in anotha hole, waitin’ to see if I’d survive anotha night and anotha—
“Don’t,” she whispered, liftin’ my chin. “Stay in the moment. Don’t think about that.”
I smiled at her, mystified.
“How’d ya know what I was thinkin’?”
“I could just feel it,” she said, unable to offa any otha explanation.
“Ya know what’ll fix it?”
“Hmm,” she said, her fingers lazily runnin’ up and down my spine.
“Anotha go,” I said, pressin’ my lips to her chest and movin’ down her body.
I looked up at her wide eyes and her wide grin.
“Merriell Shelton. I knew you wouldn’t let me down!”
I found myself softly laughin’ again, thoughts of foxholes, mud, ash, whistlin’ shells, and death slippin’ from my mind as I closed my mouth ova her, lettin’ myself get lost in the taste of her, just like I knew I was about to let myself get lost in this interlude with her, knowin’ I’d rememba it for how eva long my life was destined to be.
* * * * *
Horrible Google Translated French (imsosorry)
“Parlez-vous français?” = Do you speak French?
“Seulement pour les belles dames, madame. = Only for beautiful ladies, ma’am.
“Charmant, très charmant, Monsieur Shelton.” = Charming, very charming, Mr. Shelton.
“Je veux m'assurer que vous aurez assez à manger.” = I want to make sure you get enough to eat.
“Je ne manquerai pas de vous dcevoir.” = I will not disappoint you.
Bonne nuit et bienvenue chez nous, gentil jeune homme. = Goodnight and welcome to our home, sweet young man.
Vous m'honorez, madame. Je vous remercie pour votre hospitalité. Fais de beaux rêves. = You honor me, ma'am. Thank you for your hospitality. Sweet dreams.
#snafu#Snafu Shelton#snafu imagine#snafu x ofc#female reader#rami malek#rami malek character#the pacific#Merriell Shelton#merriell shelton imagine
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There’s a Beginning Here, If Only You Were Brave Enough To Grasp It
Week One of Conciliatory Theme Month for @diamondsandclubsmonth ! Flirtations/Beginnings
I’m definitely using this as an excuse to play around with some pale gamruss between working on other things yes I am.
Homestuck
Gamzee Makara, Horuss Zahhak | <> gamruss
Earth-C AU, Pale Ship, Moiralligence, Fluff, Small bit of background angst?
Horuss… had not meant to pale flirt with the Alternian Makara, he really, truly had not meant to it had just… it had just occurred without his conscious thought or effort. He was not even truly sure how it had happened, he had just…
Horuss did not even know how to start to explain what he had done to imply to the other purpleblood that he had been seeking out their attention and regards in a pale manner, he had just done so apparently.
It had not truly been his intention to fuss and worry over the other purpleblood in the manner he had upon meeting them for the first time, but Gamzee had just been so thin, so skinny and messy that Horuss had just… He just had to fuss over them.
Kurloz had brought Gamzee along to their friend group’s regular meet-up, something about wanting to get the other clown out more without exposing them to their Alternian counterparts for one reason or another and Horuss, had immediately taken to the young clown and tried to get them to eat literally everything he reasonably could. No one had really stopped Horuss, or brought the actions to his attention, not even Gamzee themself, so he had just continued with the behaviour for the rest of the night.
Thinking back on his own behaviour upon that first meeting; trying to feed Gamzee and tidy them up even the slightest amount, and the wide-eyed acceptance Gamzee had reacted to it all with. He had come on so strong, far too strong for a first meeting with someone and it was only natural that Gamzee had assumed he had pale intentions towards them.
Really Horuss was lucky that the purpleblood had not taken offense to his forwardness, he might not have been so lucky with other trolls. And Gamzee was more than within their rights to respond to them however they wished.
And if however they wished was to pale flirt with him in return then who was Horuss to stop them?
It, was not as if he was particularly unhappy about being the recipient of such intentions. It was nice to experience being on the receiving end of messages meant only for conversation and checking in on him, informing him that Gamzee had been thinking about him and just wanted to speak with him for a little while, wanted to converse and learn about Horuss and his interests and share theirs in return.
It was nice.
It should not have been nice, but it was. Horuss knew what the other Makara had done, what they were capable of and with all the warnings he’d been given about Gamzee, he was aware that allowing the pale flirtations to occur and continue might not have been in his best interest.
terminallyCAPRICIOUS started trolling clandestineTECHNICIAN
TC: yO :o)
TC: HoW YoU DoInG ToDaY PoNyBrO?
CT: 8=D I am fairing quite well on this hay, thank you for your inquiry.
CT: 8=D Hay I inquire as to how you are doing in return?
TC: oH HeLl yEaH PoNyBrO :oD
TC: I’M DoIn aLl kInDs a gOoD ToDaY
TC: MoThErFuCkEr wEnT An hAd tHeMsElF A GoOd aF DaY GeTtIn tHeIr bAkE On
TC: mAkIn aLl kInDs a dOuGh XoD
CT: 8=D So you are prospering in your current career choice then?
CT: 8=D That is mare than good to hear, I am glad that things are working out well for you.
TC: aW BrO
TC: YoU MaKiN A MoThErFuCkEr bLuSh yOu iS
TC: AlL Up aN BeIn hApPy tHaT I’M DoIn gOoD FoR MySeLf
TC: nEaR DoWnRiGhT ShAmEfUl yOu iS ;o)
CT: 8=D I suppose you could hay that, though I would neigh call concern towards you shameful by any meaning of the word, neigh at all in fact.
CT: 8=D I am simply very glad to hear that you are doing well for yourself in the occupation you hoof chosen as worthy of your time.
CT: 8=D I can only hope that it continues to treat you kindly as time continues to pass.
TC: PoNyBrO’S BeIn aLl kInDs a bLaTaNt wItH HiS AtTeNtIoNs iS He? ;o)
TC: ‘NoUgH Ta wInD A MoThErFuCkEr’s pUmPeR Up fOr hE’S TaKiN IfFiN He wAs tHe kInD Ta bE TaKiN It ;o)
TC: bUt a mOtHeRfUcKeR HaD A DiFfErEnT ReAsOnIn tA BeIn aLl uP An iN CoNtAcTiN WiTh yA
CT: 8=D Oh really?
TC: MoThErFuCk yEaH I DiD :oD
TC: I WaS WaNtIn tA KnOw iF Ya’d bE CoOl wItH Me cOmIn tA ExIsT In yA HiVe a bIt
TC: gOtS A ThInG I WaNnA Be gIvIn yA :o)
CT: 8=D A gift?
CT: 8=D You did neigh need to acquire anything to gift to me, truly you did neigh.
TC: NaH I AlL Up aN WaNtEd tOo :oD
TC: i tHiNk yA GoNnA Be aLl kInDs a eXcItEd tA SeE It!
TC: I Be hOpIn sO At lEaSt XoD
CT: 8=D I am sure that whatever you hoof decided to gift me with I will enjoy it immensely.
TC: dAwW!
TC: lOoK At tHiS PoNyBrO BeIn aLl kInD ToWaRdS Me
TC: sTrAiGhT Up mIrAcLe yOu iS
CT: 8=D Now you are starting to approach acting foolishly.
TC: It’s bEiN AlL KiNdS A TrUe tHoUgH ;o)
CT: 8=D I shall see you soon enough Gamzee.
TC: Be sEeIn yA SoOn pOnYbRo :o)
terminallyCAPRICIOUS has ceased trolling clandestineTECHNICIAN
Horuss did not really care as to listen to anyone else’s warnings regarding the more dangerous of the Makaras. What he thought and his decisions did not really effect anyone but he himself and if he wanted to be the recipient of Gamzee’s pale attentions and give the clown his in return then he would.
This was not the first time he had had Gamzee within the space of his hive, nor did he believe it was going to be the last. He enjoyed having the other within his space, it felt good to have them there, to have them so wrapped up and surrounded by things that were wholly and completely Horuss’ was a very good feeling indeed. Especially when the clown decided to stay for dinner and let Horuss feed them with things he had earned and prepared himself, that was definitely an occurrence that inspired a number of pale feelings in his chest.
He had not had the courage to bring up the flirtations and intents with Gamzee, not face to face as he wanted to he just… was not quite ready to take that final step to tell Gamzee as to what he wanted with their… relationship. He believed that they were both more than aware of what they wanted from each other, that they were being more than blatant with their flirtations towards each other but neither of them were ready to actually talk about it.
They would talk about it eventually, Horuss knew they would it was only a matter of time really, there was no need to rush either of them, none at all, they would get there at their own pace.
Gamzee arrived within the next hour, dressed in clean clothing that pleased Horuss quite a bit to see, a gift held within their hands and a small smile on their face, lips quirking more so when Horuss stepped back to invite them into his hive.
“It is good to see you,” he said as he closed his door behind Gamzee, secluding them both within the safety of his walls. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”
Gamzee nodded and moved with the confident assurance of someone who’d been in the space a number of times before and was comfortable in the space they were in, another thing that had pale starbursts firing off inside the base of his chest. Having someone else so comfortable and at ease within his space, watching Gamzee drop into the corner of the couch and immediately press their spine into it, churring a soft, content noise once they were comfortable.
Horuss blinked, shaking his head a little bit as he realized that he was staring at the clown, forcing himself to move forward and join Gamzee on the couch, attempting to settle on the opposite side of the purple blood in a near-instinctive motion before the clown gestures for him to sit closer, next to him on the piece of furniture. He swallowed once they were both seated and settled, looking down towards the fidgeting clown next to him, looking them over closely.
“You look good,” he said, watching Gamzee’s head snap up towards his, purple eyes blinking up at him curiously before they realized when Horuss had said and a flush of colour became just barely visible under their face paint. “You hoof been eating correctly, hoof you neigh? You certainly look like you hoof, which is mare than good because I GREATLY prefer when you look healthy and neigh like you are about to crumble into yourself at a marement’s notice.”
“Aw you motherfuckin smooth talker, you,” Gamzee said, head ducking and the half-formed fins on their ears fluttering slightly. “Know how ta get a motherfucker inta their pumper cavity, ain’t ya?”
“I suppose so,” Horuss chuckled lowly, raising a hand to muss through his long ponytail. “But you came around to gift me something, did you neigh?”
“Yeah,” Gamzee breathed, turning the plainly wrapped package in their hands for a few breaths before they handed it to Horuss, keeping their attention focused down instead of on Horuss himself. “I be hopin ya enjoy it.”
“Thank you,” Horuss took the package from Gamzee’s hands, carefully starting to unwrap it to reveal what was being held within.
The paper fell away to revealed a round metal tin, cool and smooth under Horuss’ hands. Opening the lid of the tin revealed a number of decorated biscuits in the shape of hoofbeasts, Horuss recognized each one’s colouring as hoofbeasts he’d shown the clown at previous points in time, either through trollian or in their day to day interactions.
“I…” he started, falling silent as he was unable to think of anything in particular to say in response to the gift.
“Do you… like ‘em?” Gamzee questioned softly, shifting closer to Horuss on the couch, a clawed hand reaching out to curl purposely around his wrist, a steady, comforting weight on his skin.
“I do,” he breathed, picking one of them up to inspect it closely, looking over the details in the frosting, the main, the hoofbeast’s face, so much little detail worked on just for him. “Thank you Gamzee.”
#gamruss#homestuck#pale ship#gamzee makara#horuss zahhak#conciliatory theme month#diamondsandclubsmonth#HELLO I'M HERE TO BE SELF-INDULGENT WITH DUMB THINGS I LIKE#Earth-C AU#Skyee Writes
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Life in the Slow Lane Chapter 3 by OvertheRainbow
She hated arguments. Mainly because she was completely rubbish at them. She couldn’t do confrontation and inevitably ended up in tears within minutes. This time was no exception. It didn’t help that her journey back to Mandy’s had been to the soundtrack of Forever FM’s “Sunday Love Connection With DJ Danny Love”. The whole thing was cheesier than an extra large Margarita Pizza, with stuffed crust, cheese bites, cheesy garlic bread and maybe a fondue thrown in for good measure. She’d held it together through Van Halen’s “Why Can’t This Be Love?” but by the time the late great Whitney Houston had finished belting out the first chorus of “All The Man That I Need”, played with “All my love always” from Leanne in Oldham to Richie in Southport, she was a blubbing mess. That it triggered her memory of John, on their first official “date”, telling her about his dedication to her, that she’d missed by moments, really didn’t help her situation. Try as she might, she found it impossible to be angry with him. Frustrated yes but angry, no. Even if he could never bring himself to fully open up and give her any more than they currently had, even if he could never actually say the word “love”, preferring to make hints and coded references, even if this “thing” was never going to work out, even if he was destined to break her heart beyond any and all repair, it was his to break. It always would be and that was that.
As she finally parked up in front of the house that never really felt like home, Kayleigh took a moment to compose herself. Steve was in his usual location, doing exactly what he always did. Rain, hail or shine. Mandy was on the front step next to a large ladder, looking exasperated, gesticulating wildly and intermittently pointing up at the Christmas lights, which had been hanging precariously from the roof for the better part of a year. As Mandy’s tone varied from a “not in front of the neighbours” whisper, to a socially acceptable outdoor voice, to a full on bollocking, Kayleigh caught the general gist of the conversation, even from inside the car. It was best summed up by Mandy’s final, very audible declaration, “You’re a useless dickhead!” Mandy never had any qualms about venting a sense of anger in her relationship. Throughout the entire tirade, Steve had remained his usual sanguine self. Saying nothing and wiping a spanner on his oil stained shirt. She’d never fully understood the dynamic between her sister and Steve. Mandy had the Kitson feisty gene. Steve was utterly passive to the point of comatose. She wasn’t entirely sure how her sister hadn’t strangled him, or died of boredom by now and yet, somehow it just worked for them. She knew how this latest incident would play out. Steve would leave Mandy to “simmer down”, then eventually fix the lights, at his own pace and in his own time. He’d give Mandy a cuddle, whisper something doubtless filthy in her ear, she’d giggle and smack him on the backside and before long, they’d be disappearing up the stairs. Kayleigh would settle on the sofa with a brew, open her iPad, load up Netflix and put her headphones on. All while contemplating yet another night alone in that tiny box room with a cross trainer, 36 pairs of shoes, a set of Babyliss Crimpers and a plastic heart shaped lamp for company. At least now she could add in another pair of shoes, yippee. Steve tapped on the passenger side window, “You gettin’ out sometime today or what?” “You fixin’ those lights sometime this year, you lazy sod?” came her terse reply as she opened the drivers side door. “Don’t you start. I’ve already had it off your sister”. “I know. I heard. I‘m guessin’ they could probably hear it in Dundee!” “Yeah well, Mandy’s got no volume control.” “She’s got more bloody patience than I’d have, that’s for sure. You said you were takin’ them down the day after New Years! They’ve been hanging up there like an afterthought ever since. They almost came down entirely after that bad weather last month.” By now Kayleigh had retrieved her bags from the car and was heading up the driveway. Steve was still surveying their “festive light display”. “I don’t know. Maybe we should leave ‘em as they are. They look like...what do they call it?… shabby chic”. “They look like shabby shit. Mandy’s right. Get ‘em fixed”, with that Kayleigh went inside, leaving Steve to resume his avoidance of the inevitable.
As she entered the hallway she could hear Mandy “negotiating” with Chloe and Alfie over the evening’s dinner options, “We’re having a roast!” “We want chicken dippers!” “I want a fortnight in St Lucia, all inclusive but it’s not gonna happen.” “It’s not fair!” “No you’re right. Unlike many others, you’re going to bed tonight with full stomachs and a roof over your heads. It really isn’t fair.” “Yeah but we won’t have chicken dippers!” “Your suffering is noted. I’ll call Simon Cowell, see if One Direction want to reform for a benefit gig.” “So, can we have them then?” “Eh...let me think about it...no.” “Muuummmm” “Chlooooeeeee. Both of you, zip it. We’re having a roast dinner. Any more complaints and it’ll be with extra veggies and no Yorkshire’s.” That appeared to do the trick and the pair retreated in defeat. Kayleigh smiled at her exasperated sister. “One of those days?” “Let’s just say it didn’t improve after you left. Sometimes it feels as though I’m tryin’ to manage three kids.” Looking at her bags Mandy asked, “D’ya get what you wanted?” Now there was a question. “I got some shoes and a couple of bits”. “Well then. Let’s see!” Kayleigh produced her purchases to much ooing and ahhing from her sister. “Those shoes will make your legs look incredible! You’ll knock John dead!” Kayleigh’s reaction, or rather lack of it, spoke volumes. “Oh no. Please tell me you haven’t gone and binned him off.” “No! Course not! We just had a difficult conversation earlier.” “Define “difficult””. “I sort of, off loaded on him. I was feeling frustrated and I did exactly what I always hate. I just let it all build up and then got stroppy with him. I don’t think he had a clue what was going on, I didn’t even give him a chance and it all just spiralled out of control. I’m ruining everything!” Suddenly Kayleigh burst into tears. Mandy immediately rushed over and embraced her sister, “Aw, sweetheart.” As she offered what comfort she could amid the loud sobs, Alfie wandered through the hall and declared, “See! Even Auntie Kayleigh wants chicken dippers.” Mandy’s response was swift, “She’s crying because I’ve just told her what’s going to happen if you mention them again!” Kayleigh found herself laughing despite herself. “Listen, I’ve got a roast on. Needless to say, our resident food critics approve. It’ll be an hour or so yet. Why don’t you have a lie down. I’ll give you a shout when it’s ready.” “Thanks Mand.” “You really do need to talk to him Kayleigh. This isn’t fair on either of you. You need to explain your feelings and try to get some answers and he needs a chance to understand you and give his side of things.” “I’ll give him a call after dinner.” “Good idea. It would be such a shame to throw it all away when the two of you just need to get on the same page.” “You’re right sis. I can’t lose him because of this. You know, talking’s always been so easy for us. We’ve never done awkward silences. Now we’ve found the one topic that’s guaranteed to be a conversation killer and it’s the one thing we actually need to talk about.” “Well, get some rest and then take on the unspeakable Wonder Woman.” “I’ll fetch me golden lasso and cuffs.” “Now that’ll definitely do the trick.” Mandy grinned and Kayleigh headed up the stairs in the hope that a quick snooze might help her formulate a plan.
“Christ! Take it easy Lewis Hamilton!” John exclaimed, as he swayed precariously in the front passenger seat. “I thought you wanted to get there quickly, Miss Daisy!” “I do! I’d just rather it wasn’t in a bloody body bag.” “Can I assume we’re not heading to Bury for you to have a long overdue booty call.” “Not unless it involves her sticking her boot up me arse.” “Well, if that’s how you like it. I make no judgement. Each to their own.” John gave Jim some vicious side eye. “Where’s your sense of humour these days?” “I’m just finding it hard to laugh at the general fuck up that my life has become.” “I thought we sorted this back at Big Bob’s. You love her, you want her, you just need to get over feelin’ awkward and you can crack on.” “You make it sound so easy”. “It is John. You keep on makin’ it complicated and you may as well forget it. Have you ever actually told Kayleigh how you feel about her?” “She knows. She’s got to.” “How? She a mind reader on the sly?” “I wrote her a song for Christ’s sake! It was all about hearts and journeys and colours and shit and I meant every word of it too. What more does she want!?” “Hearts and journeys and colours?” “Yeah, you know, she walked away with me heart, made my journey through life lonely and turned my world to colour from black and white, that sort of thing.” “You’re no Gary Barlow mate.” “That’s not what she said.” “Yeah, well she’s your number one fan.” “You make her sound like a friggin stalker!” “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe she doesn’t want theatrics and riddles. Maybe she just wants to hear you say the word.” “What word?” “LOVE! You bloody idiot!” Why does that matter so much!” “Because it’s a small word that’s about as big as it gets. It doesn’t mean “Iike”, it doesn’t mean “fancy”, it doesn’t mean “You’ll do for now until something better shows up”. It means, you’re feeling it where it matters, where it counts and not just between your legs! It says you could hurt me...maybe even more than I could ever hurt you. That’s what’s freakin’ you out. Isn’t it?” John sighed, “Yeah. Yeah it is. I’d never cried over a woman until Kayleigh. I mean, I’ve been sad before, I’ve even gone off me food.” “Jesus! When were that!?” “Oy!” “Sorry”. “I know now that she can hurt me, more than I’ve ever been hurt before, because she did”. “Now there’s a lyric. Seriously though, do you really think that by just not sayin’ it, you can somehow not feel it. Do you think it’ll protect you? Cause if you think that’s the case, I’ve got one question for you mate...how’s that workin’ out for you?” John put his head back against the headrest and momentarily closed his eyes. It was a silent answer, which somehow spoke volumes.
The rest of their journey was spent in companionable silence, interspersed with occasional instructions on which direction to take, from John. Finally, they arrived on the familiar road that led to Mandy’s house, or as John always thought, to Kayleigh. His heart and his brain were currently competing in a race to the finish that neither seemed willing to concede. “It’s up here on the right. Number 25. It might have a green gazebo.” “A green gazebo!” “Yeah. Her sister’s fella Steve’s into fixin’ bikes.” “That still doesn’t explain the gazebo.” “Fuck the gazebo! It’s not even up!” “Alright John! Calm down.” “Sorry, it’s here with the shitty Christmas Lights. Right, this is it.” “D’ya want me to come with you or wait here?” “Christ! I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t know how long I’ll be. She might kick me out before I can get a word in edge ways. Either that or I’ll be here for ages. It’ll be a feast or a famine.” “Well, let’s take it as it comes shall we? You need me to make meself scarce for a bit, I’ll find a Maccie D’s. You can text me when you want me to come back.” “Cheers mate.” “Is that Steve?” “Yeah. He’s sound”. Steve was already waving at John. John and Jim both got out to greet him, “Alright Steve?” “Hey John mate. I wasn’t expecting to see you today!” Furtively looking back at an amused Jim, John attempted a casual reply, “Well, Yeah, we, eh, happened to be in the area and I just thought I’d stop by and say hello to Kayleigh. She about by any chance?” “Yeah, she’s just back from the shops. Front door’s on the snib. Go on in.” “Thanks pal. This is my mate Jim by the way. Jim, this is Steve.” “How do mate.” “How do. Nice bike. Ya can’t wack a Triumph. John’s Dad were into his bikes if I remember rightly. He had a Triumph at one point and...aw what were it called? John! What was the name of that bike your Dad had?” John was already heading for the front door as he replied, “A Land Devil. Steve knows. I gave him some bits from the garage”. Steve replied, “That were very decent of you by the way”. “No bother”. With that John disappeared inside as Steve and Jim stood awkwardly like two spare parts at a wedding. Suddenly Steve produced a flask, “Fancy a brew mate?” “Don’t mind if I do.” Steve poured the tea into the plastic cup at the top of the flask, then refilled his Robocop mug”. “Nice mug.” “Thanks”. Steve looked up to Kayleigh’s bedroom. Jim watched his gaze and followed it upwards in the direction of a window with a heart shaped lamp at its centre. “He in the dog house again?” “How did you guess?” “She gets in a right mood when she’s pissed off with him”. Jim sighed before ruminating, “I think they just need a good talk.” “You ask me they need a bloody good shag!” For a second nothing was said as the two men simply looked at each other, in silence, before they both simultaneously broke into laughter and toasted each other with their mugs. Steve reached down into an ancient biscuit tin and brandishing it in front of Jim enquired, “Hob Nob?” With that, the male bond was firmly created.
John announced his arrival by calling out, “Hello! It’s John”. Mandy was in the kitchen up to her neck in carrots. She was shocked to see him but couldn’t deny that she was also delighted for her sister, “John Redmond! As I live and breathe. What brings you to the bright lights of Bury? Could it be a certain red head by any chance”. Offering her a kiss on the cheek John smiled, ‘Hey Mandy. You rumbled me. She accepting visitors?” “She’s having a lie down upstairs.” “Any chance I could....?” “I’m not sure if I want you to finish that sentence”. “I just want to talk to her Mandy. We need to sort a few things.” “Do me a favour. Try to sort them in a way that doesn’t disturb the neighbours or traumatise the kids.” John smiled and looked suitably sheepish. “Up the stairs, first on the right.” “Thanks Mandy”. “Oh and John, do ya want a bit of roast?” “I’d love to but me mate Jim’s here with me. He’s outside with Steve.” “He can join us too if he likes. I’ve got half a cow ‘ere.” “Thanks Mandy, you’re a good ‘um.” With that, she smiled and retreated to the kitchen as John took a deep breath, climbed the stairs and knocked on Kayleigh’s bedroom door. She’d been lying on the bed with her headphones on listening to an old eighties mix tape. She hadn’t heard the knock at the door, so when it opened and John’s face peaked in, she literally shrieked, “JOHN!” Misty immediately started barking from the back garden. Only Kayleigh could reach that octave. She pulled her headphones off and immediately jumped off the bed. John stood in the doorway, his eardrums struggling to recover. “What are you doing here?!” “Well. I remembered it’s Sunday and I thought you might like a cuddle and a Chinese....or a cuddle and Mandy’s roast...or maybe just a cuddle.” Kayleigh stood so still, that he began to be concerned about what was to come, then without warning, she threw her arms around him and promptly burst into tears. “Oh John. I’m sooo sorry. I was so horrible to you. I didn’t mean to be such a nasty cow.” “Hey, sweetheart. Don’t get upset. It’s ok. It’s ok. You weren’t a nasty cow. You don’t have a nasty bone in your lovely little body. Don’t cry love.” “I just love you so much John”. “Look at me.” With that Kayleigh pulled back and faced him, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’ve never said this to anyone before and it’s because I’ve never meant it until now. I should have said it to you weeks ago. The truth is, I probably knew it months ago...but I’m absolutely bloody certain of it now...I love you too Kayleigh Kitson. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone or anything in this world and I’m scared. I’m terrified because for the first time in my life I’ve realised that something was missing and that something was you. If I lose you, I go back to who I was before and now I know that who I was before wasn’t complete. I had a Kayleigh Kitson shaped hole in my heart and in my life and I don’t want to go back. Not now, not ever.”...and there it was. He’d finally said it.
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Column #1
Hello, what’s up doggies. Jose here. Gosh, this is my first column for y’all but I am just so darn tired. I really should have started this earlier in the week. I would like for my first column to have been better but I guess already it is pretty bad.
Wait! I can go pour myself a little Ketel One and be back in the saddle just long enough to bang out my five hundred words! That would help wake me up after that huge Mexican dinner that Emily made tonight. Man...between the beans, rice, tortillas and brew, I just feel like one big gas bubble, on the brink. But anyway, hold on. I have to go to the kitchen for a minute and pour me some diamond juice.
Hello! I’m back. Man, I just had a sip and already I can feel it cutting through all that heavy jive in my belly. Whew!
WHOAH! Alright, I didn’t say this at first but I put a little tonic in the vodka. The bubbles helped me make this massive, incredible burp just now! Oh my God it was like a huge amount of what was bothering me after dinner just came shooting right out. I feel so relieved. It was like what it must be like when the people on death row get that needle in their arm: it was the final release.
I just realized that I might get a lot of hate mail about that last line, the one about death row and comparing involuntary death to the relief I felt when I burped just now. I guess that is pretty bad and I think I could do better. Hold on.
Alright, I think I thought of something. The relief I felt after that massive burp was like the relief you feel when you’re way too turned around on liquor and you know you’re gonna puke, and then you finally do, like in an upstairs bathroom where the party can’t hear, and then it’s like immediately all better. You feel great. You even go back down and talk to people.
Man, this isn’t starting out classy at all. At first I thought I would kind of have this “Playboy” type column—you know, real gentlemen’s stuff, but with kind of a sense of hipness and adventure. Good clothes, good food, high-end electronics and digital cigar cutters, maybe a little bit of etiquette and tips on personal grooming. But here I go, talking about puke. Man, this has got to be the worst “bon vivant” column ever.
What does a real gentleman talk about, anyway? I guess a real gentleman doesn’t do the talking, but rather guides conversation in a clever yet undetectable way. Man, I ain’t no good at that. Plus, a column only has one person talking, so it’s got to be kind of self-directed.
Alright, I’m sorry this has been so pointless. I am feeling a lot better now though and I think I’m ready to get started. It’s kind of like the gassiness has all either blown out through my mouth or is just makin’ its way down through the pickle factory. Maybe it’s time to choose a topic! Alright, I think I’m going to discuss the right way to eat Mexican food and some things you should avoid. Here we go!
GENTLE READER: few things in life are so uncomfortable as the enormous “wind bubbles” one’s body creates after eating some delicious, tempting Mexican food. And just what is it about Mexican food that creates such a troublesome atmosphere within us? The answer: it is a complex system of enzymatic chemical reactions which occur when soft, starchy foods meet the digestive acids which naturally pool in our stomachs.
Oh man, I can’t write like that. It sounds too much like the regular Playboy writer. I feel so phony and additionally I think people will feel like I am just ripping him off. Why don’t I just try to write in my normal style. I think that is the only long-term solution. Okay, here we go! (and no italics this time.)
Look people, if you are going to eat a bunch of Mexican food then you are basically just screwed. You’re gonna blow up like a balloon and feel all disgusting, and you are going to hate yourself. Man, if some jerk-ass friend of yours has a dinner party and makes some cheesy “burrito bar,” just play it cool. Eat a full meal before you go there, so that you aren’t tempted by the hugely gassy foods. This way, you can tuck into a cold Bohemia or Negro Modelo and not worry about it reacting with your dinner, requirin’ all kinds of suspicious private walks on the driveway.
What you’ll find at one of these “burrito bar” parties is that the food is so delicious, all salty and filling, that everyone just fats up on the stuff, getting seconds and thirds of the tasty cheeses and beans. They stuff themselves on tortilla chips and tortillas, plus nice Spanish rice. Then there they are, sitting like powder kegs lined across the couch, trying to ask each other to change the channel from C.O.P.S. to the ball game, but they can barely get more than one or two words out at a time because these real acidic tomato sauce flavor hiccup-burps keep punchin’ back on up their throat. And do you know what the flame is, that will ignite the fuse of their esophagus?
It is a beer. Man, if you were to take the contents of one of their stomachs after that big dinner, and just pour it in a steel mixing bowl and then pour a nice Mexican beer all over it, you’d get one of those little volcanoes like you made as a kid, all with baking soda and vinegar. Now imagine that happening inside a little bloody balloon, and you’ll know what’s goin’ on with your stomach next time you eat Mexican food. You can see why the stomach is so distressed. Play it cool and just just do some tequila shooters (tequila-salt-lime), maybe dip a chip or two with the hottest salsa they have (hot salsa thins the blood, which is excellent for you). Then you will escape the pain of a terrible Mexican food party.
Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best first column a guy could write. I mean, I really wanted this to be about like jet skis, night vision Ray Bans and the double-stitched pebbled leather interior that you can get in the new Hummer. I looked back over this and it’s all just about farting?! Man, I wish I hadn’t signed a year-long contract, goddamn it. Next time I go to negotiate I am definitely not going to get all torched first and then just repeat what anyone says to me right back at them.
Until then, Gentlemen,
-=Jose=-
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