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haikyuuuuuhypeeeee · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3

⚠WARNING: Mention of previous characters' deaths

• ────── ✾ ────── •

You have no idea how you got here.

Here, being in front of the lone coffee shop on campus, on your way to meet the stranger who’s had the misfortune to get Hajime’s old phone number and receive your sad ramblings meant for no one else.

And you, the author of those sad ramblings, written in moments of weakness, are going to sit with this stranger and….

You haven’t gotten that far yet.

Honestly, you’ve been more incredulous at the odds of this meeting even happening.

What the hell am I doing???

You really have no explanation, not even for yourself. The time is 9:58 and in two minutes you’re going to walk into the cafe and meet with a stranger who is going through a traumatic life experience similar to yours.

Ok, so you can explain what you’re doing. But the why is what’s escaping you. And frankly that should scare you more than it is currently doing.

Especially seeing how you haven’t told your friends what you’re doing. You bugged off lunch (much to Oikawa’s annoyance) but didn’t tell them why. Not only would Oikawa throw a fit but he, Mattsun and Makki wouldn’t understand your reasoning for meeting a stranger you met only a few hours ago.

They really wouldn’t understand why you don’t have a solid reason for meeting this stranger.

Put all the red flags together and you would find yourself locked in your apartment with no means of escaping under Oikawa’s watch.

To be fair, you are meeting them in a public place and you have no intention of going anywhere with the stranger. You’re just going to go have a cup of tea, shoot the shit, and then leave.

Yeah, it’s definitely doable. And not at all crazy.

You take a deep breath before walking inside the shop. It’s a bit crowded - the weekend mid-morning rush makes the employees hustle behind the counter to fill orders. All of the tables are full, leaving no space for two strangers to sit and….

Oh, this was a bad idea. A really bad and stupid idea.

Your phone rings in your pocket. You pull it out and nearly jump at the caller ID.

Your brain points out that it’s not Hajime but the stranger you’re meeting. You pick up the phone quickly. “Hello?”

“Heya, how’re ya doin’?”

You hope you’ve schooled your expression into nonchalance but you can’t help your eyebrows jumping hearing the clear Kansai dialect through the phone.

Besides the surprise at the unfamiliar drawl, you’re pleased to hear a clear and strong voice on the other line. Nothing creepy or weird or anything your brain was trying to convince would be the case.

“Hi.” You reply into the phone. You can hear background noise from his end, which assures you again that he must actually be here.

“‘M over in the corner with the baseball cap.”

Your eyes move to the corner immediately and zero-in on a figure sitting at the table there. It’s a man, wearing a dark long-sleeve shirt and a dark ball cap. And he’s staring straight at you.

You hang up the phone and walk over to him. You spot a coffee cup on the table in front of him and watch as he takes his hat off and sets it on the tabletop. His silver-grey hair is messed up from the hat but that’s the least of your concerns at the moment.

No, what has you almost faltering in your steps is the exhaustion that lies deep on his face. The bags under his eyes are heavy and stark against his pale skin. His mouth is drawn in a small frown and with his eyebrows furrowed slightly it makes him look troubled.

You recognize his weariness. This is a man who is burdened to carry an intangible weight.

However this man still meets your gaze and gives you a small, tired smile. The small gesture brightens his face considerably but doesn’t completely erase the empty look. But you feel your nerves settle when he smiles at you.

“Hi,” he says when you approach the table.

“Hello.” You sit in the chair opposite of his and shrug your jacket off. “It’s busy, thanks for grabbing a table.”

“No worries.” Hearing his calm and measured tone in person relaxed you more than you realized and you felt some tension release from your shoulders. “‘M here all the time and I figured they’d be a bit busy on Saturday. D’ya want me to grab ya something from the counter?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” You shake your head to emphasize your point.

“Nah, I insist. Coffee? Tea? Fancy mocha drink?”

“Uh,” you’re startled by his insistence but relent. “A tea, please. Jasmine if they have it.”

He nodded before standing and making his way to the register, letting you fully settle in your seat and try to still comprehend what the hell you are doing.

Mid-inner freak out (oh god, what if he drugs my tea, what am I doing?!) a cup materializes in front of you. Osamu comes around with another cup for himself and sits in the chair across from you.

“They had Jasmine and it smells amazin’.” He shifts in his seat and takes a sip of his coffee. “‘M not a big tea drinker but that smells like it would calm ya down real good.”

You send him a smile before lifting the cup up. The smell of jasmine tea was soothing and the taste was even better when you took a small sip. “It’s my go-to comfort drink. I’ve probably had a few more cups than normal in the past few months.”

The sympathetic look the stranger sends you makes you purse your lips, realizing too late what you said. You look away, cursing to yourself. Great, way to go and make it awkward now. It’s quiet for a bit, now awkward by your weird ~fun fact~

“My name’s Miya Osamu.” You look up at the man and see a rueful smile on his face. “I probably shoulda told ya my name earlier. ‘M a first year student at Sendai University.”

You blink. Of fucking course you didn’t know his name. You never thought to ask when texting him earlier. You met up with a LITERAL stranger for tea and coffee.

“Wow, I’m sorry for being so rude!” You hurriedly say. “I should’ve asked AGES ago. But my name’s L/N Y/N. I’m also a first year student at Sendai.”

“Huh.” Osamu (not The Stranger) says. “What a weird coincidence.”

You nod. “Yeah, um are you not from around here? I can tell by your dialect.”

Osamu hums. For the first time you see his face fall and set into something more stone-like. It’s a subtle difference but it’s there nonetheless. “Hyogo. Came to Miyagi for school and had to get a new number.”

“Oh.” It’s a dry answer that you really don’t know how to reply to. “Do you like it so far?”

He shrugs. “It’s not bad. Pretty far.”

You nod. “Yeah, it is.”

You both lapse into a silence that is neither comfortable nor relaxing.

Oh my GOD this is so awkward! Why did you agree to this? Why did you think this was a good idea?! Yeah sure, he’s not a freaking weirdo serial killer, you can check that off your list. But you didn’t think about what you would actually TALK about!

“Do ya wanna talk about Hajime?”

Your reply to his question is to spit your tea across the table.

You look up to meet Osamu’s concerned gaze. Neither of you move before you both reach across to grab napkins from the dispenser.

“Are ya alright?”

“Oh my god I’m so sorry!”

In your haste to clean up your tea the napkin dispenser gets knocked to the ground, and the napkins explode out like an explosion of white confetti.

“Ahhhhhhhh!” The napkins springing up startle you so much that your knee knocks into the table hard, almost upending Osamu’s coffee.

“Argh!” You lean down to clutch your knee as it throbs painfully but your head collides with the table instead. “OUCH!”

“Are ya alright?!” Osamu asks frantically.

You exhale deeply. “Yep, I’m just a klutz. Fuck, that hurt my head.” You wish you could keep your head down and disappear. But you look up, your face bright red with embarrassment, and meet the concerned look from Osamu.

“I’m ok,” you reassure. “Really.” You look around at the mess surrounding your table and catch a few people gawking. Good lord. “Besides my pride taking a beating, I’m all good.” You stoop down to grab the napkins scattered around, wincing at the waste. Osamu also bends down to help.

“It looked like a pretty hard hit,” he notes.

“It’d be worse if I had something in my head worth keeping safe.”

Osamu smiles at your quip, a little half-smile. It’s nice.

Soon you both stand back up to throw out the napkins. Osamu grabs the bunch from you, letting you sit back down. You try to cool the fuck out and you will your face to not resemble a tomato when he comes back.

“Are you sure yer alright?” Osamu asks again.

“Yes, really.” You nod. “I’m sorry if I spat tea on you. I was just really surprised.”

Osamu tilted his head. “From what I said?” You nod. “Why?”

“I mean,” you start. “It mainly just caught me off guard. I’m not used to it, like just talking about him.”

“Do ya talk about him at all?”

You want to nod, but thinking about it you honestly don’t remember the last time you were able to tell someone about Hajime. Not his passing, but just talking about the person that he was.

“Oh.” Osamu pauses, looking at you considering. “Well my old therapist said it’s good to talk about this stuff, so I figured that’s what ya wanted.”

You don’t know how to reply to his simple explanation. Because you do want to talk about Hajime. You want to so badly. You want to tell the world how amazing he is, how he makes the world a better place just by existing, how strong he is and how much lighter you feel when he’s around

Or, how it was.

But you haven’t been able to talk about him. Every time you tried to talk outside of group therapy with your friends, Oikawa shuts down and Makki and Mattsun get uncomfortable. Your therapist is always able to handle anything you throw at her, but it’s not the same as just talking about a friend to someone.

So maybe Osamu is right about just talking about Hajime.

“He has hair like a porcupine.”

Osamu gives you a look of confusion before you continue. “Our friend Oikawa used to call him prickly, and we’d tease him when he’d bristle up and say he looks like a porcupine.” You laugh at the memory of Hajime bristling up, constantly egged on by Oikawa. “It wasn’t even bad hair, it was just so sharp. It was weird.”

Osamu doesn’t say anything for a second before he bursts out laughing. “Atsumu had weird hair too - dyed bleach blonde. Thought it made him look badass.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

You wrap your hand around your cup of tea, hesitating. An obvious question hangs in the air but for the first time since sitting down Osamu looks a bit lively.

“Was Atsumu your brother?”

The lightness on Osamu’s face is extinguished when he nods at your question. “Yeah, he’s a pain in the ass but I love him.” He pauses, looking down at his coffee cup. “Well, he was.”

You can feel the pain radiating from that one word. You understand the horrid dread that comes when you realize you’d been speaking about Hajime in the present tense. Even more so when you have to admit it out loud.

You look at Osamu and frown upon seeing his withdrawn expression. You feel immense guilt, knowing that you’ve contributed to his change in mood.

You’re desperate to lighten the mood and bring that smile back to Osamu’s face. You search through your memories, trying to find something funny. A thought crosses your mind and you feel a small smile grace your lips.

“There was one time that my friend was determined to roast smores on Iwa’s head.” You giggle at the disbelieving look on Osamu’s face. “Yeah, it was the stupidest idea he’d ever concocted. We didn’t even get one marshmallow on his head.”

“We?” Osamu asks, his voice lifting in amusement ever so slightly.

“Of course.” You reply, a smile spreading over your face at the memory and at Osamu’s content face. “I too was curious if we could do it.”

Osamu snorts, shaking his head as he brought his coffee to his mouth. “That idea would have intrigued Atsumu for sure. He was all about the far-fetched plots to piss off everyone around him.”

You smile, leaning forward in your chair. “Oh yeah? Wanna share some notes?” Osamu’s face brightens slightly at your words and he begins to talk, more animatedly than before.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: So nothing bad happened with Y/N meeting the stranger (besides her being a clumsy klutz, where are my fellow klutzes at?) Thank you for reading, I hope this chapter was a little soft respite from the initial angst~

Taglist Open! Please send an Ask with the request to be added to It’s [Not] Okay Fic & SMAU (bold cannot be tagged): @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @roro-707 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @cerealfrdinner797 @ara-mitsue @gray-444 @tanakasimpcorner @rintarovibes @jellien

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ryuichirou · 3 years

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Can you make your top 10 aot characters that have a good development? Like Eren and Reiner are considered to be the best characters as 'characters' themselves

Anon… dear Anon, you’ve been waiting for like a month I think, I’m so sorry. I took this ask waaay too seriously lol, but yeah, I can’t postpone it for any longer…

I know you asked for top 10, and this is a numbered list, but I wouldn’t call it a proper ranking, so the place doesn’t really matter all that much. Otherwise this list would’ve taken even longer, I’m very serious about lists, it seems lol

Before I start I want to mention (just in case): I feel like “character development” isn’t always about becoming better at something. Sometimes you can become “worse”; sometimes you can get “better” and then fall back to your old ways. It’s just how the character changes, and the trajectory of that change can be very different for different characters.

1. Eren. I can talk about Eren for hours and hours, and I have talked about him a lot, so I’ll try to be quick this time.

Eren’s journey is very interesting and enjoyable to read. He’s such an unusual main character. So aggressive at first, unlikable to some (not to us lol we adored him since day one), loud and stubborn. But it’s super cool to watch this hurricane of a person, especially as he gets calmer, starts controlling his emotions little by little, learns more stuff and understands the situation around him better.

I think I’ll talk about how perspective and knowing a bigger picture change the way character acts a lot in this post, but Eren is an ultimate example of this. He got every single thing: past, present, future, drilled in his head at one fucking moment. He didn’t get a bigger picture, he got the biggest 5d picture with special effects. And he had no one to share that with: he had to deal with it himself, knowing that he himself is the reason for everything that’s happening. It makes my head hurt to even think about that lol It’s cool and unnerving to watch Eren, who’s used to be such a fireball of a character, to just get… quiet and apathetic. We don’t know what he’s thinking about, we don’t know what’s going on anymore, even though his emotions were always the most obvious thing about him. It’s almost scary.

And the interesting thing about it is that nothing really changed about his feelings, at least I think so. Ultimately, the only thing he wanted is for his friends to be happy and live long lives, and who knows, maybe he saw that the “freedom” he was initially seeking for himself doesn’t really exist. This is up to debate and definitely not for this post though lol

2. Reiner. Ohh Reiner. He was one of the characters who wasn’t all that interesting to me personally at first, but as he got more and more complex and emotional, I fell in love with him more and more. This isn’t a numbered list, but he is definitely one of the best written characters. And what’s cool about him is that we see the reason for him being the way he is throughout the story: why he wanted to become a hero, why his mental state got so bad, why he was conflicted, why he got so depressed and why he was able to take responsibility for his actions. I love it when the story breaks its characters, and Reiner is certainly one of the most broken ones. His lower point (when he almost killed himself + cried and asked Eren to kill him) was very beautiful and painful to read, because we know why he feels that way and we know how smug and brave he was at the very beginning of the show/manga. And we know that it was all a lie, which makes everything even tastier.

And as much as I love broken characters, I’m kind of glad Reiner found strength to continue fighting and to take responsibility for his actions (to some degree, at least). Not only he saw a bigger picture, he actually learned how to live with it. I’m so happy they discussed the Marco incident with Jean, and that after Annie told that it was her who took his gear, Reiner stood up and said that Annie was following his orders. He also apologized to Annie for everything he did to her and Bert.

Basically, Reiner went from wanting to be a hero to acting like a hero, then to being an actual hero to Marley and feeling like shit anyways, then to just being a human being, something like that. And that scene with his mom hugging him and being happy for him being alive is actually a very sweet and satisfying moment. Especially considering how much Reiner wanted to die lol

3. Zeke. I’ve talked about it in one of the replies about ch137, but I love how Zeke went from “I shouldn’t have been born” to “maybe small moments of happiness make everything worth it” at the very end of his life (what a cruel irony to realise that just before you die). Not only the character develops and changes, our view of him changes as well: I think Zeke was universally hated when he first appeared, but then he became more fun (dude’s too charismatic), and then he became sympathetic and vulnerable. All of this was always inside Zeke, but it was hidden since Zeke is a lying snake. See, Zeke is smart, but he’s super sure that his views are the only valid ones and that his idea of freeing Eldians is the only solution. His views are surprisingly black and white: I suffered, Eren suffered and our dad is bad. And no one challenged his beliefs until they walk through Grisha’s memories with Eren in ch120-121, and then he realized that Eren didn’t suffer at all and their dad is actually just a person who really regretted being a horrible father to his first son. I love that he got some closure with Grisha because he held that grudge for his entire life.

4. Grisha. He has a rollercoaster ride of a development lol: at first he was an innocent boy, then he became an angry boy, and then he kind of calmed his anger down for some time? But after learning what actually happened to Faye, his emotional wounds got open and all that rage blinded him again. And then, after being outed by Zeke, he lost everything, but had a harsh realization that by being driven by his anger only, he completely forgot not to be a shitty dad. He basically had a second chance in life, with a much better perspective about what’s going on, but now he has his younger son’s ghost haunting him and telling him to do thing he never thought he’d do. At different points of the story Grisha feels both like a mastermind behind things and like a pawn who doesn’t have a choice even if he just wants to live a peaceful and happy life with his wife and kids. The irony of him killing a bunch innocent kids when this whole story started because he got his little sister killed? Delicious. Oh, and I really love the fact that he realised that he screwed up as dad and apologized to Zeke. He loved his kids a lot: Zeke, Eren and Mikasa too (he called her his daughter after all).

5. Erwin. Way more interesting than people give him credit for. He’s mostly adored for being a badass, but he also has his own flaws that he had to deal with. He’s like a moth that’s drawn to the light, but right after burning himself and dying he kind of did “the right thing” that he had to do as a commander. Now, for me it isn’t really about Erwin ending up doing “the right thing” to be honest: we would probably adored him is he ditched everyone and ran to the basement because his selfish desires ended up being more important to him. But that scene where he confessed to Levi that he really wanted to find that basement and just told him everything about his capricious and selfish childish desires, talked about how he lied to everyone including Levi basically just to prove his dad’s point… it was beautiful, because it was basically “I have to do it, haven’t I? But I really don’t want to”. His character development is interesting in a sense that at first he was getting gradually more and more psychotic about his dream, doing crazy things even when he knows it might not be the best choice possible (like him risking his life instead of staying behind), but at the very end he stopped to think and… well we know the rest lol

6. Armin. I remember people saying that Armin is just a narrator-like character who is here to explain thing (I probably thought so too at first), but this is so unfair. It’s easy to make someone like Armin into this trope, and to leave him being a very one-dimensional dreamer who’s smart but naive. And Armin is so much more than that. Throughout the story he has a lot of “I should have been the one who died” moments, and I love that this is such a prominent issue for him, but he still got over it somehow. Armin was kind of lost at the beginning, but found his role. And wow, he had to go through it again after he was chosen instead of Erwin, because the burden on his shoulders just got 100 kg heavier lol He also got less naïve and more cunning with time and got much better at emotional manipulation, I think. While preferring a dialogue over violence, Armin still isn’t pure, and he acknowledges that constantly, especially after his first kill, and things got even worse since that point, which definitely changed him. But his violence-loathing (kind of…) core is still there.

Armin ended up playing a much bigger role in the story than I thought he would be, I really love it. He has his moments of weakness, but he still pushes forward and takes responsibility and does his best. Oh and let’s pretend that the Annie thing never happened, it doesn’t contribute anything to his character anyway.

7. Jean. I think Jean is the first character who starts showing character growth, and I believe his development is the reason he was Isayama’s favourite for some time. Tbh, I don’t find Jean annoying even at the very beginning: yeah he’s selfish, but he’s self-aware about it, he’s a realist. And he’s still a realist, but his conscience wouldn’t let him just have an easy life while everyone else’s suffering. I always feel like Jean is a spoiled mamaboy, so it’s great to see him showing that he can put others before himself. He also had an inner conflict similar to Armin’s: is it right to kill innocent people if you have to? Is it ok to kill not-so-innocent people because they’re against you? I really like this theme in SnK just in general.

8. Gabi. It’s no secret that I adore Gabi lol, and I think her character development is great. She was in her element when we first met her: she was confident, she was doing her best and succeeding, she knew the world around her so well, and then Eren took everything from her. People like to hate Gabi for killing Sasha and for being aggressive on Paradis, but I think it’s great that she didn’t have an overnight change of heart. It’s great that Isayama showed us her shock and her raw emotions, it’s more than natural for a child with her upbringing, even if it’s messed up. But I love it when stories take characters that are great at what they do, and they take them out of their element, to show them at their worst: lost, angry, broken and confused. I love that she understood everything herself and not because Falco told her “hey they’re people too” that one time. She had to go through this hell to figure everything out, and I think it’s great.

9. Historia. Historia was one of the least interesting characters for me (and for a lot of people, Yams included) at the beginning, and tbh I think it’s brilliant: we never saw anything in her; she was just a waifu material who’s nice to others. It felt fake and boring, well, because it was indeed fake and boring, and to this day I cannot believe that that was the entire point. I love how Ymir made Historia realise that she needs to think for herself, but what’s interesting about all that is that after Ymir left, she almost came back to her old habits. Which is also a development, and a very interesting one. The end of S2 was a high point for her (when she told Ymir that she isn’t scared of anything when they’re together), and then there was a very low point (when Ymir left), and then a high point again (when she remembered Ymir and Frieda and decided to act upon her own desires). She’s one of my faves now because of all that… It’s sad she didn’t have a bigger role post-timeskip, but I still appreciate her story for what it is.

10. Oh god this is so hard to pick one and this post is already so long… can I just give you a bunch of quick honorable mentions?

Annie (who was a loner that couldn’t really trust anyone but ended up showing her vulnerable and emotional side), Hange (started out enthusiastic and eager to learn more only to meet more pain and disappointment, crumbling under the pressure, but ultimately remembering her amusement with titans), Levi (granted it’s very subtle, but him going through Kenny’s death, Erwin’s death and his promise to him, realization that he’s been killing people all this time and other stuff fascinating and huge leaving a mark on him), Ymir (who got hurt and decided not to trust anyone anymore and to act selfishly, but ended up sacrificing herself anyway lol)…. God, these short description sucks, they can’t describe them properly. Also there are so much of them that I think have good development, and I’m 100% missing someone… but I think I’m done for now. Katsu I’m sorry for making you read all this.

That you for this ask, Anon <3 and sorry again for being so late

#replies #snk meta

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edie-k · 3 years

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Looking Out (Romione, PG-13)

Title: Looking Out

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: Ron/Hermione, implied Harry/Ginny, Harry & Hermione friendship vibes

Summary: Harry Potter is always going to look out for his best friends - even if it means an awkward conversation or two.

Notes: I think some of this story was inspired by too many “he looked at me” TikToks. A big thanks to cheesyficwriter for her beta help on this. And I swear, I don't lowkey hate Harry but if you have read my last few pieces and think that, I don't blame you. Not owned by me, characters are not mine. Hopefully, you all get zero Harry/Hermione vibes from this. Hermione is just a little sensitive to be perceived as uptight and Harry does not want to think about Hermione in any way BUT uptight.

Link to AO3

“Stop!”

Harry tapped his fingers on the wooden table and glanced at the closed door.

“Ron! Quit!” He heard Hermione’s muffled voice shout from the other room. Ron responded but it was too mumbled for Harry to understand. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Go. Now,” Hermione stated and he heard Ron’s low chuckle before the door swung open and the two of them strolled into the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Apparently I have drawn the short straw and I will be fetching the pizza,” Ron sighed.

“Oh.” Harry furrowed his brow further and frowned. “Can you do that?”

“Yes!” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “Harry, he’s had you completely snowed this entire year. He is quite capable of managing Muggle money now, he’s just been pretending to be incompetent.”

Ron shrugged. “The only downside of having you home for good is that I’m busted. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Margherita, please,” Hermione requested.

“Piles of meat, you’ve got it,” Ron replied and gave Hermione a kiss that lingered long enough that Harry almost looked away. Before he could, Hermione put both hands on Ron’s chest and pushed him away.

“Get going! You know what it’s like if your sister gets here after practice and there’s no food!”

Harry heard the front door close as Hermione pulled out the chair across from him and picked up the copy of The Daily Prophet she had been reading that morning at breakfast. “Didn’t you already read that this morning?” he asked, glancing up from the training manual he was reviewing.

“Mmm,” she said. “I got down too late to really read it in-depth, just scanned it. I wanted to go back and read this feature on a new non-profit that’s a combined effort of a Muggleborn witch and a Squib.”

Hermione settled into her reading and Harry tried to resume his reviewing. After a few minutes of silence, Hermione broke the quiet. “Harry? Is there something on your mind?”

“What? No, I’m fine,” he said nervously.

“Then why are you looking at me every thirty seconds?”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Another minute of quiet reading went by before Hermione spoke again. “Really, Harry. What’s going on?”

Harry let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, look, this is awkward. Ron’s my best friend. But so are you.”

“I’m familiar with our dynamic,” she replied, an amused look on her face.

“If you ever need my support or me to talk to him or something… I don’t want to but I would do it. If he’s bothering you or-”

“Bothering me?”

“Yeah.” Harry squirmed in his seat. “Like earlier.”

“What, you mean the pizza toppings?” asked Hermione, looking confused.

“No,” said Harry. “Just… you know.”

“I do not know.”

“Earlier when you were in the kitchen.”

“Harry,” said Hermione, the frustration clear from her face and tone. “Stop dancing around and tell me precisely what is going on.”

“You were telling Ron to stop bothering you and he wasn’t!” Harry blurted out.

“What?” asked Hermione, looking completely bewildered. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were!” Harry insisted. “I heard you tell him to stop and quit twice before you came out here.”

“I don’t - oh,” Hermione stopped abruptly and then her cheeks turned pink.

“And you told him again as he was leaving. Look, I’m not, it’s fine if you don’t want him... touching you all the time and if he’s not taking the hint, I would very awkwardly tell him to -”

“No,” Hermione interrupted. “Harry, that’s just, that’s flirting.”

“Huh?” asked Harry, looking in her direction. “But you don’t flirt!”

“Of course I do!” Hermione insisted.

“I have never seen you flirt,” insisted Harry.

“Well I do,” she stated indignantly.

“Since when?” demanded Harry.

“For a while but I suppose it was a bit more blatant after Ron’s birthday in sixth year,” she replied, blushing a bit.

“He was still dating Lavender!”

“Oh, and you weren’t flirting with Ginny while she was with Dean? It wasn’t as though we were snogging! It was just…little comments. Brushing hands. Lingering glances. That type of thing.”

“No way,” said Harry.

“We typically didn’t do it in front of you.”

Harry stopped for a moment. That response sparked a whole slew of other questions in his mind but he shook his head and kept to the topic at hand.

“So Ron’s not bothering you?”

“No, my boyfriend, that I have been separated from for ten months, is not bothering me,” she replied, rolling her eyes yet again. “On the rare occasion that I’m not in the mood and I want him to actually stop, I say, ‘Ron stop’ and he always does.” Harry recognized that voice as her standard no-nonsense tone.

“How is that different from what I heard?”

Now Hermione gave him a look that he did recognize - the one that she used when she thought one of her friends was being an idiot. “The tone should be a big giveaway.”

“So what’s the flirting sound like?”

“It sounds like what I said earlier.”

“It was too muffled for me to get the full context. Please Hermione?”

“I’m not doing it for you!”

“How am I to know the difference?”

“You don’t need to!”

“Hermione. I feel like such a git. I was really just trying to look out for you and instead, I accused my best mate of treating you terribly when I know how much he loves you. I just don’t want to make that mistake again.”

Hermione just shook her head.

“Come on! Do it for Ron. Ron can’t know I doubted him and I’ll just feel better when I know the difference!”

Hermione exhaled sharply. “Fine. I say ‘Stop, Ron.’”

The words were spoken in a light, giggly, and sultry tone that belonged to someone else but came out of Hermione’s mouth.

Harry stared at her.

Hermione stared back.

“What the hell was that?”

Hermione now gave an angry snort that sounded exactly like her.

“No, really,” said Harry, shaking his head. “I don’t know who that was but it wasn’t you.”

“Just because you haven’t witnessed it before doesn’t mean it’s not me.”

“Hermione, outside of last year, the amount of time we’ve spent apart is measured in weeks at most. There can’t be an entire chunk of your personality that I’m missing.”

“Well apparently there is.”

“So you’re just an entirely different person with Ron when I’m not around?” Harry asked.

“No,” insisted Hermione. “I’m the same person but with some additional traits that you aren’t familiar with. I know there are things that Ginny sees that Ron and I don’t…” Harry grimaced. “Not - oh gross, you know what I mean.”

“Apart from that, Ginny sees the exact same things you two do,” Harry proclaimed.

“That’s impossible. I was there at the end of our sixth year. Ginny had fun Harry and we got the other version.”

“Well, damn Hermione, I’m so sorry that I wasn’t a delight to be around when I was being hunted by - ”

“Ugh, Harry, now you’re being impossible. The whole thing with Ginny at that time was brand new and fun. It’s the same thing with Ron and I. It still feels new to be open and vulnerable with him in a way I never could before and it’s fun. All I meant was that Ginny makes you happy in a way we don’t but it’s the same with Ron and me.”

“Except I don’t try to be some sort of weird sexy version of myself.”

In that moment, Harry realized just how much he had matured since he was 15 and that he was definitely getting better at recognizing other people’s emotions. Because after only five seconds, he realized that he made a terrible mistake with no clear path to redemption.

“Hermione, I don’t mean it’s weird like, weird-weird. It’s just for me, you aren’t or you, um…”

“Not only do I have pizza, I found this one wandering about so I brought her in. Looks rather ragged, figured we should feed her up,” said Ron, bursting into the room with two pizzas and Ginny trailing him, rolling her eyes at his lame joke.

It was a close second for the happiest Harry had ever been to see him.

Ron set the pizzas on the table and looked between Harry and Hermione, who were still glaring at one another. “What’s going on?”

Hermione turned her gaze from Harry to Ron and her eyes darkened. She crossed the room in three steps, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him down to meet her lips. Harry looked away from the two of them while also carefully avoiding Ginny’s eyes. He could feel her staring at him with questions written across her face.

Hermione let the hand gripping Ron’s collar trace down his chest to right below his belt before she grasped his hand and turned. “Upstairs now,” she ordered, pulling him behind her. Ron followed her wordlessly, looking gobsmacked but ecstatic.

“What the fuck was that?” asked Ginny, watching them go, amusement in her voice. Harry opened the pizza box, ignoring the question.

“Harry?” asked Ginny, now looking more curious.

“I’m really not sure,” Harry said. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Uh, okay,” said Ginny. She watched Harry grab two beers out of the icebox. As he slid one across the table to her, a thump and a moan came from overhead.

“Ugh, did they not do a silencing charm?” said Ginny, crinkling her nose.

“In fact, I wouldn’t put it past her to have used an amplifying charm,” said Harry. “I believe I may have offended her.”

“Oh Ron, don’t stop!”

“Correction,” said Harry. “I am now certain that I offended her.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Ginny shook her head, taking her wand and silencing the kitchen.

An hour later, Ron came back in the kitchen in his flannel pajama bottoms. He shifted the leftover pizza into a single box and closed it up before opening the icebox and grabbing two beers. He pushed the door open with his elbow and started to back out but stopped short when he saw Harry and Ginny still seated at the table.

“Harry,” Ron said with a lopsided grin. “I have no idea what the two of you were talking about before I got back but thanks for looking out for me, mate.”

#romione fanfic #ROMIONE #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #hermione granger #Harry Potter #trio friendship #hp fanfic

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lovely-ateez · 3 years

Text

Cold Ice & Warm Hearts~

ꕥPosted: 12/24/20

ꕥGenre: College!au, Christmas Imagine, Fluff

ꕥPairing: FemReader! x Jongho

ꕥWord Count: 1.8k

ꕥWarnings: None

ꕥA/N: I’ve been watching a shit ton of ice skating videos lately so this is the result lol

Ice skating was my favorite part of the holiday season without a doubt. I was always able to skate more around December since I had a month off from college, which was fantastic. Not to mention that more people would skate than usual, meaning the more people I could teach to skate, feeling pride swell in my chest as I saw them improve.

I was recently gifted a pair of beautiful white ice skates by one of my friends as an early Christmas present. Although the holiday was right around the corner, she said she just couldn’t wait to give them to me, knowing how much I needed new skates.

“You’re completely wearing out your old ones,” She told me, “These will treat you much better.”

Although I very much loved my old pair, I had to admit she had a point. The laces were tearing and the soles were wearing down, making it very difficult to skate without having to stop and adjust them every few seconds.

Tonight I was walking to the outdoor skating rink only a few blocks from my apartment. I lived in a relatively busy city so I expected many people to be there, but I never minded that. It made me happy to see so many enjoying it.

As I walked with my ice skates, my mind wandered. It had been a few months since I last skated and I had been dying to get back. I was slightly nervous; however. I always was if I hadn’t skated in a while. Part of me worried that I would fall as often as I did when I began or forget how to skate all together.

I sat on the benches next to the rink to put my skates on when a deep, attractive laugh caught my attention. I turned my head to the right of the rink, observing the young man it came from. He was about average height and had one of the most endearing smiles I had ever seen. His dark brown hair swayed in the wind as he slightly picked up speed. His long, tan jacket looked warm and for a brief moment I had to refrain myself from thinking about how it would feel to cuddle up next to him.

He was surrounded by four other men, some obviously more skilled than others, but he, himself, wasn’t bad at all. He could skate relatively well and I wondered if he grew up skating like I did. Or maybe he was a natural talent?

His build was strong. I could tell that even with the several layers he was wearing. He certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes, to say the least.

One of the men near him stumbled and fell, the others laughing while the man wearing the tan jacket helped him up, a slight smile on his face but still expressing concern.

He seems kind.

I shook myself from my thoughts and tied the soft white laces of my skates. There were more people on the rink than I expected and it made me smile. Maybe some would find passion in it like I did.

I stepped out on the ice and made several strides, feeling silly for being nervous before. Ice skating was so ingrained in me that I had no reason to be. I moved to the rhythm of the Christmas music playing overhead and felt the world fading away. My worries, fears, stressors—all of it—melted from me as I made laps around the rink, occasionally adding a spin or two.

I was only slightly aware of the people looking in my direction and the gasps in awe being directed towards me. Because honestly, it didn’t matter. I never cared much for the compliments. Sure they were nice, but I skated for myself. To improve myself, not to impress others. Although, perhaps tonight I had a motive to impress a certain man. Only perhaps.

I slowed down to look at the sky above me. The lights surrounding the rink only a slight distraction from the twinkling stars.

How gorgeous.

Smiling to myself I leisurely spun around, eyes still locked on the sky. I didn’t need to constantly look at the ice to keep my balance. It took some practice, but it became second nature to keep my balance no matter where I was looking.

“Miss?”

The slight disappointment I had from being interrupted only lasted for a few seconds until I saw the man I had been admiring in front of me. I blinked a few times, his handsome features up close catching me off guard.

“Yes?”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but where did you learn to skate like that?”

A wide smile spread across my face at his question, “I grew up skating. I practiced nearly every weekend.”

He nodded, “That’s impressive. Think you could teach me?”

“Teach you what exactly? You seem to have a good grasp on skating already.”

He chuckled and looked down, confidence faltering for only a moment, his gummy smile emerging, “Okay if I’m being honest, that was my best attempt to ask if you’d like to skate with me.”

I raised a brow and looked over to his friends who were giggling in our direction until they were caught off guard by my gaze, quickly averting their eyes.

“Do your friends have anything to do with this?”

“I mean, I suppose a little. I wanted to approach you so they encouraged me. It wasn’t a dare or anything like that if you were wondering.”

“That’s cute of them.” I cocked my head for a moment, “I don’t mind, but are you sure you can keep up? I can’t promise I’ll slow down for you.”

“I can certainly try.”

I nodded and skated off, not waiting for him to join by my side, but knowing he would, and he eventually did.

“So,” I began, “May I have your name?”

“That would probably be useful information, yes.” He laughed, “I’m Jongho. What’s yours?”

I introduced myself and he nodded, a slight smile still on his face.

“You’re really attractive, you know that?”

He flushed, “Wow. Are you always this blunt?”

“Usually,” I shrugged.

“I admire that. I am too, most of the time.”

“Yeah?” I skated slightly ahead of him, turning around and skating backwards, still facing him, “You give off the vibe that you would be.”

His eyes became playful, “What other vibes do I give off?”

“Hmm. You look strong, so maybe you work in construction? Or some other profession that requires physical strength,” I raised my hand to my chin, “Also, I feel like you play an instrument. Maybe you sing? Either way I think you’re musically inclined.”

“You’re wrong with the profession. I’m a college student but I’m on a dance team so it requires strength. Plus I just like working out. You were right about the singing, though. It’s a hobby of mine.”

Jongho once again smiled, but it quickly disappeared and his eyes widened. He reached out towards me grabbing my arms and pulling me close.

“What are you-”

A little girl skated past us at a fast speed, right where I had been before.

My heart was racing, almost to the point of not being able to form words, but I had to thank him, “Oh my gosh thank you.”

“Hey it’s no problem.”

I noticed how close we were, my hands placed on his chest with his arms locked on my back. All at once I felt as if my breath had been taken from me as I looked into his dark eyes. I felt myself being drawn to him, unknowingly leaning in closer.

And then he let me go, skating away from me, “Are you gonna catch up?”

I brought my hands to my cheeks, feeling their heat before shaking it off and skating next to him.

Jongho looked in my direction when I reached his side, “Your cheeks are awfully pink, darling. Are you feeling cold?”

His cocky voice and the pet name caught me off guard and I looked anywhere but him, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Oh don’t get shy now. What happened to the blunt and confident girl I met earlier?”

“She’s blushing right now. And feeling nervous because she thought you were going to kiss her.”

He titled his head, “Did she want that happen?”

“She might have...” I bit my bottom lip and nodded, “She did.”

“Well you’ve gotta take me out to dinner first.” He laughed, “But, I might make an exception for you. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

I noticed he stopped skating and I stopped as well, curious as to what he might want.

“I want to go on a date with you.”

I narrowed my eyes, “You aren’t a player, are you?”

“No, not at all!” Jongho raised his hands in defense, “I just think you’re really beautiful and I’d like to get to know you better.”

I giggled at the compliment, feeling shy, “In that case, I agree to all terms and conditions.”

“Come here, then.”

I skated slightly closer to him, placing my hands on his warm cheeks as I felt his hands rest on my hips.

“I haven’t kissed anyone in a hot minute.” I confessed.

“That makes two of us,” Were his last words as he placed his lips on mine. His lips felt so warm and inviting and only until that moment did I realize how badly I had wanted to kiss him. I pulled him closer to me and kissed him harder, leaving me breathless. Too soon we pulled apart, eyes finding the other’s.

Jongho’s gummy smile appeared and I felt my heart skip. The cheer of several men brought me back to my surroundings.

“Yeah,” Jongho rubbed his neck, looking in their direction, “They’re a bit crazy but you get used to them.”

“I’d like to.”

His eyes warmed and he took my by the hand, “So when are you free? I know a great restaurant that just opened up a week ago. We’ll have to hurry though, Christmas is right around the corner and I’m sure we won’t be able to get in for the next few days.”

“Oh yeah? How about this Friday?”

“Perfect.”

“What’s your favorite flower?”

I furrowed my brows, “Why?”

“Well if you think that I’m going to show up at your place without bringing you flowers, you’re sadly mistaken.”

I bit my lip again and looked down at the ice, “I tend to like peonys.”

“Noted.”

We exchanged numbers and said goodbye far too early for my liking, but his friends began to complain about being hungry, and he caved.

Watching Jongho walk away I decided to head back home. Originally I planned on skating for a while after, but I couldn't seem to concentrate with all the butterflies in my stomach.

Not even halfway back to my apartment I received a text from Jongho, making me smile.

‘Don’t forget our date!’ He wrote.

‘I’ll be looking forward to it :)’

The butterflies in my stomach returned. Feeling childish with these new emotions, I skipped the rest of the way home with a smile on my face. All but holding my breath for the next time I would see him.

#ateez #ateez fluff #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez senarios #ateez au #ateez jongho #choi jongho #jongho #ice skating #ice skating imagine #kpop imagines #kpop #kpop imagine #imagines #christmas imagine #atzinc

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

Stircrazy (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Stircrazy Rating: PG-13 Length: 2300 Warnings: Angst Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set November 1991. Summary: Javier grapples with his feelings after Reader was shot.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @beccaplaying @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow@plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts@synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper@awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @u-wakatoshii @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen@arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque@theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou@yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie @jaime1110 @katlikeme

Javier couldn’t remember a span of time in the past five years where he hadn’t looked up from his desk and seen her sitting across from him.

He knew where she was — logically, he knew she had been in the hospital and now she was home resting. All her shit was still on her desk, right where she’d left it that grim day. He knew she’d be back, but it still didn’t sit well with him to see an empty desk.

She could’ve died. There was so much fucking blood and she had looked so frail laying there, bleeding out on the blacktop.

He’d seen death. He’d caused death.

Javier wasn’t certain he could’ve coped with her death. If her desk was vacant because she was gone. He’d tear the whole fucking drug industry apart with his bare hands.

It shouldn’t have gotten to him as much as it had. Steve was worried, like any friend would be, but Javier was devastated.

And clearly it was obvious that he was fucked up, because he’d already had to sit through half a dozen meetings with the director. They could tell he was off his game. Wouldn’t anyone be if they’d seen their partner almost die?

At least he tried to convince himself that he’d feel this same way if it had been Steve instead of her.

The second the clock struck five, Javier was on his feet and pulling his leather jacket one.

“Hot date?” Steve questioned, tucking his pencil behind his ear as he looked up from the report he was combing through.

“Nah,” He shook his head, keeping his face as neutral as possible as he met Steve’s gaze. “It’s been a couple days and I thought I’d swing by and check out—“ He nodded his head towards her desk.

Steve’s brows rose upwards, “You know, Connie asked me to check in on her today. These files can wait until Monday.” He stood up and tossed the pencil back on his desk, grabbing his own jacket. “I’ll come with you.”

Javier tried to mask his disappointment — because there shouldn’t have been any. This weird feeling he felt for her wasn’t a welcome one. But seeing her like that had uncorked the bottle of emotions he felt and he didn’t know how to stuff it all back in.

He cared about her and he knew it went beyond the lines of friendship. If Steve hadn’t shown up when he did that day — he might’ve confessed his stupid fucking infatuation, right there as she bleed out in his arms.

But he was the same fucking idiot who hadn’t called her in three days. He’d been there when she got discharged and then—

“You good Peña?”

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah.”

The ride over to her apartment was unnecessarily tense. Useless chit chat about work, the bullshit meetings with the director, and where Javier was headed after they left her apartment.

In the stupid scenario he’d come up with that morning, he’d pictured himself unwinding with her on the sofa, watching telenovelas and… nope. He wasn’t going to let himself go down that path.

Whatever he felt was just his brain over-compensating from the shock of it all. There was no them, beyond being friends and partners.

It wasn’t like she’d called him over the past three days. It clearly wasn’t like that for her.

Steve leaned against the wall beside her apartment door, while Javier knocked at it. It took her a minute, maybe two before she answered — and the look on her face made it worth it.

“You asshole!” She shouted with a laugh as she swung the door open. “You gave me a fucking heart attack.” She hobbled forward without hesitation and threw her arms around him.

Javier curled an arm around her, running his hand up and down the length of her back. “Hey hobble horse.” He murmured warmly, inhaling deeply as he savored the moment.

“Oh, fuck you.” She laughed, punching him in the arm.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better now,” She said as she pulled back, grinning at him. “Much better now.”

Steve cleared his throat and she whipped around, “Steve!”

“Look at you up and around.”

She pulled away from Javier and moved to give Steve a quick hug too. It didn’t linger the way theirs had. And he hated himself for even comparing the two.

“I’m so glad you assholes finally decided to come visit me.” She remarked, looking towards Javier then. “I fucking miss work.”

Javier chuckled, “If I’d known you were missing work that badly, I would’ve brought you a stack of paperwork to sort through.” His brows rose upwards as he spotted the gun she had tucked into her waistband. “Expecting a different type of company?”

She bit down on your bottom lip, nodding your head towards the apartment. “Come in, we can talk.” She looked towards Steve, “Both of you. Please come in.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t think you were gonna leave me out here in the hall,” Steve offered with a good natured laugh, following them into her apartment.

“Sorry it’s a mess,” She made a face, gesturing around the apartment m. “I haven’t really been up for cleaning and shit.” She grabbed up two empty beer bottles, hobbling into the kitchen to throw them away.

“You know you’re not supposed to be drinking with the meds you got sent home with.” Steve cautioned, hands on his hips as she returned from the kitchen. “Am I going to have to tell Connie?”

Javier tensed as her gaze darted towards him warily. She was chewing on her bottom lip, trying to look unaffected as she hobbled over to the sofa, flopping down and propping her leg up on the coffee table. “The Percocet makes me feel like shit, I’m not taking it.”

“Popping ibuprofen instead?”

“Steve.” Javier warned — he didn’t know about her past, not the way he did.

She shrugged casually, shutting the TV off. “Ibuprofen does the trick.” She rubbed her hands together as she looked between the two men. “So, what compelled the two of you to swing by? On your way out for a drink and wanting to rub it in?”

Steve scratched at the back of his neck. “Javier mentioned that he’d be coming by after work so I thought I’d tag-along.”

“Oh,” She nodded, looking at Javier as he perched himself on the arm of the sofa. His teeth were clenched together so tightly, he could feel the way his muscle ticked under the pressure. “I thought he’d lost my number after I got discharged.”

“Ha. Ha.” Javier snorted, shaking his head as he drummed his fingers against the arm rest. “It’s been fucking hell at work.”

“He’s had about four-dozen meetings in regards to the shooting,” Steve admitted, sinking down into the armchair across from them. “You should be glad you’re out for the time being. You’ll get to avoid all that bullshit.”

“I’ve had two calls with the director,” She revealed with another shrug. “And I’ve got to go through a psych eval before I’m even allowed back in the field.”

“Shit.” Javier’s head snapped to look at her, his brows drawn together. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

“After the new year probably,” She chewed on her bottom lip. “They, uh… I don’t think they want me back until I’m fully healed.”

Steve whistled, “Damn.”

Javier was still staring at her, “Two months? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Unfortunately, I’m not joking.” She sank back against the sofa, rubbing at her thigh just above where the wraps were. “I’m gonna go fucking stircrazy.”

“If you took your pain pills, it would help.” Steve pointed out and Javier shot him another look.

She nodded slowly, “I’ll get right on that.”

Javier cleared his throat, “So what have you been doing to keep from losing it?”

“Sleeping until ten, watching novellas, and I’m thinking about trying a new cookie recipe every day.” She laughed quietly, “I’ve already lost it.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, “Well, stircrazy looks good on you.”

“I’m flattered.” She retorted, gesturing to her hair. “I call this the rat’s nest. I haven’t showered since I got out.”

“Why not?” Javier questioned.

“I’m not supposed to get the wrappings wet and I haven’t had it in me to do a kitchen sink hair wash yet.” She made a face, “Should’ve warned you before you hugged me.”

He shook his head, lowering his gaze to the floor, “It’s all good, baby. I think you get a free pass.” Javier was hyper aware of the fact that Steve was staring at him. “I’m just glad you’re up and moving.”

“Yeah, well… I want back in the office sooner rather than later.” She grabbed the remote again. “You wanna watch something?” She looked towards Steve then, “We can work on your language skills.”

Steve shook his head, “I've gotta get home to Connie.”

“Right.” She nodded.

“And Javier and I came in the same car,” He gave him a look, an unspoken warning.

Steve had a point. Even if it wasn’t ever verbalized.

This was a dangerous game and he wasn’t about to go down that path.

“So you did come here to rub in the fact that I can’t go out,” She snapped her fingers. “Aren’t you both real friends.”

Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and looked away, “Sometimes plans change.”

It was probably for the best that Steve had decided to tag along — otherwise, Javier had a feeling he would’ve been tempted to take advantage of the situation. To use that strange bond that was formed after a near-death experience. He had wants that were solely centered around her and he had to let them go.

He scratched at his cheek, tilting his head to look at her then, “I didn’t tell you where I was gonna go after. I’m not rubbing anything in.”

She hummed skeptically, “Yeah, whatever.”

“I think Connie’s planning to bring by a casserole tomorrow.”

“Ohh. Well, maybe the three of you could come over tomorrow and we can have dinner together or early lunch.”

Javier rubbed his thumb over the crease between his brows, sighing heavily. “Yeah, maybe. I might have plans.”

“Alright, then Steve and Connie can just come over.” She corrected with a slight edge to her voice that made something wither and die within him.

Goddammit. He should’ve just fucking called. Then he wouldn’t have to sit there feeling like an idiot for caring.

Caring too much.

Javier dragged a hand over his face before rising off of the arm of the sofa, “Steve’s right, we probably should get out of your hair.”

She frowned as she met his gaze, but it was a fleeting expression that was replaced with a grimace as she hauled herself off the sofa.

“You don’t have to get up—“

“I want to.” She huffed, letting Javier help her up off the sofa. Her fingers curled around his forearm for support, her touch like a fire that burned him.

“Just don’t hurt yourself.” Steve retorted, arms folded across his chest as he watched the pair of them.

“Not planning on it,” She retorted with a thumbs up, releasing her hold on Javier. “Thank you for coming. Both of you.”

Javier gave her a faint smile, “I’ll call.”

She nodded, looking away from him then. “Not gonna hold my breath.”

“I’ll let you know about tomorrow,” Steve told you, winding his fingers through his hair as he started for the door. “I’m sure Connie will want to come over.”

“You’re both more than welcome.” She told him, hobbling on her bad leg as she followed them to the door.

“You never mentioned what the gun was for,” Javier pointed out, stopping a few feet behind her.

“If you called you’d known,” She shot back without hesitation. “I’m not stupid. I know I should be watching my back.”

Javier sighed heavily, “I’m sorry—“

“Don’t.” She shook her head as she pulled the door open. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Javier.”

Javier lingered in the doorway, staring straight ahead at Steve in the hallway, before he turned back towards her. “I’ll call you tonight, alright?” He worked his jaw slowly as he looked down at her.

“I’d like that.”

“You have a good evening, now.” Steve drawled out, cutting into the moment and dispersing whatever new tension has formed there.

“The Past Does Not Forgive has been on every night.” She told Javier as he lingered in front of her, “I’ve been dying to hear your thoughts on it.”

Javier chuckled, “I think Esteban should cut his losses and get the hell out of that situation.”

She laughed, “Oh, he’s a fool blinded by love.”

“Aren’t they all.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing back at Steve who had propped himself up against the wall — watching them. “I should go. Take care of yourself.”

“I am.” She reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “Thank you again.”

“For what?”

“Being there.” She pulled away and took a step back, shutting the door between them.

Steve cleared his throat, “You good, man?”

Javier shrugged, “Seeing your partner get shot fucks you up.” He said dryly, “Don’t get jealous. I’d be just as torn up for you.”

He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, sticking one between his lips and lighting it up. “That’s horse shit and we both know it.”

He bummed a cigarette off Steve, lighting it up and taking a drag. “I don’t know, I think if we lost you it would throw this whole shit show on its head.”

“Good thing I’m not leaving.” Steve said a little too quickly.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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nanoland · 3 years

Text

am writing hellblazer fic asfdfsfff

title: The Cave

fandom: Hellblazer

characters: John Constantine, Chas Chandler, the First of the Fallen

blurb: John gets lost in a cave.

warnings: Depression, covid19, demons getting themselves Extremely murdered.

It was when the death toll had crested 100,000 that he’d snapped and made his way to Number 10 Downing Street with murder in his eyes and a briefcase full of every cursed artefact he owned.

“What are you gonna do, eh?” bellowed Chas, who’d been following behind him in his cab for the last half mile. He’d already tried to physically drag John into it and had received a bite on the hand for his trouble. “Chuck ‘em through the windows? That’s bulletproof glass, John! Fuck’s sake! Be reasonable!”

“Stop sodding shouting!” John shouted over his shoulder, wiping rain off his face. “You’ll spread sodding germs!”

“John, I already had it. Four months ago, remember?”

“You can have it more than once! Christ, does nobody in this city read the papers but me?”

It was fair to say that John wasn’t at his best. In his defence, he’d spent the last year sitting inside his tiny, poorly-ventilated, roach-ridden flat, vividly imagining what a respiratory virus would do to lungs that had suffered over forty years of heavy smoking, two run-ins with cancer, and the actual devil sticking his actual great big grubby clawed hand in ‘em. No fucking thank you.

Chas sighed heavily and climbed out of the cab again, slamming the door as he did. He splashed through a dozen puddles before coming to stand in John’s path, arms folded. “Listen, Conjob. I love you. Even when you’re a complete prick, which is most of the time. And I know you can do amazing things. But mate, hear me out; you cannot assassinate the British Prime Minister.”

“Someone bloody has to!” John Constantine, greatest wizard of his age, screamed at the top of his wretched, ragged, Satan-besmirched lungs.

Eventually, Chas managed to calm him down and get him home for a cup of tea.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” John grunted as his socks dried in front of the heater and the rational parts of his mind re-exerted themselves.

“S’alright.”

“How’s the bite?”

“Didn’t pierce the skin. John, you need a break. A holiday. You need to get out of town for a few weeks. Go breathe fresh country air, do some weird mystical shit with a goat, whatever it is that sorts your head out these days. But you can’t carry on like this, mate. I haven’t seen you this miserable in years.”

He handed John one of Renee’s strawberry-patterned towels. Dragging it across his face, John grunted, “Holiday? At a time like this?”

“Why not? Makes as much sense as any other time.”

“What if you come down with it again? Or Geraldine? Or Renee?”

“John,” said Chas, gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You already tried to cure me with magic. It didn’t work. At all. Just wasted a lot of chicken blood and Renee’s best spoons. Get this in your skull: there’s nothing you can do. Alright? I know you hate that, but it’s the truth.”

John swallowed thickly. “Yeah. Yeah. Alright.”

So he went home to his tiny flat, stuffed fresh socks and his toothbrush into a backpack, booby-trapped his front door, and fled London in the dead of night, feeling like one of those gits in Boccaccio’s Decameron.

“It’s called glamping.”

“Some new wizardy stuff, I’m guessing?”

Chas’s voice over the phone was distracted, like he was half-watching the telly. John was relieved; he’d wanted to hear another human speak but wasn’t feeling up to a proper conversation demanding his usual levels of sparkling charisma and staggering wit. Not right now. Not without weed, and he’d not thought to bring any.

Nestling deeper into his teak folding chair and drawing a thick woven blanket up over his knees, John said, “Nah. Not buggering about with any of that old guff until I’m back in town. Promised myself.”

“Right.”

“Don’t sound so sceptical, you git. I’ve done it before.”

“Mm-hmm. What’s your record? The longest you’ve ever gone without doing anything mystical and creepy?”

“‘Bout… hmm. Three days.”

“You’re coming up on the tail end of that right about now.”

“I know. Chas, on my word, I am going to make it to Sunday without so much as sniffing around a graveyard or wanking off a werewolf. I am on holiday.”

“Alright, alright, if you say so. Good for you, mate. So what’s this ‘glamping’ business, then?”

“It’s camping. But posh. I’m sitting up here atop a hill in Yorkshire with a tent the size of a cathedral and me chic woodburning stove and me box of white wine and feeling like the yuppiest old cunt who ever drew breath.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“It does, doesn’t it? That’s why I chose it over a nice comfy bed and breakfast. Figured I’d wake up with a cow shitting on my head and could use that as an excuse to come home early. Actually, though… it’s alright. Quiet. There’s a river at the bottom of the hill where these giggling honeymooners like to have a morning bonk but it’s far enough away that I can’t hear them unless they’re really having fun. And the weather’s been alright. It’s all surprisingly decent.”

“And you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Yep.”

“Hmph. I should have come with you. You get all weird and introspective when you’re left alone for more than a couple days.”

“I’m not alone. There’re birds. Squirrels. A few ghosts hanging out by the toilets.”

“John.”

“Ain’t gonna talk to ‘em! Mind you, one did give me a wink when I was zipping up. How’s everything back home?”

“Er – look, I won’t lie, it’s shit. It’s all shit. But it’s not any more shit than it was when you left three days ago. Not any worse, not any better, yeah?”

“Right.”

(Stupid to be disappointed. Stupid that a part of him had secretly believed that as soon as he abandoned the sinking ship that was London, things would miraculously get better for everyone, even as another part of him, on the opposite side of his brain, had been convinced – maybe even hoped – that the moment he was gone, the entire city would descend into screaming anarchy, at which he could point and laugh from a safe distance.)

“Listen, John, I’ve gotta go. Renee needs groceries. Be careful, please?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Don’t fuck about with any occult bollocks. Don’t go foraging for brain-melting mushrooms. Don’t do anything. Just stay in your tent and read your dirty books, yeah?”

“Heard and understood, Mum.”

“Bastard.”

“Love you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

John dropped his phone onto the grass and stared up at the sky. A herd of thin grey clouds drifted past. Off in the distance, he could just make out the shape of a barn – or was it a church? Either way, there were sheep next to it.

A squirrel scurried down a nearby tree trunk and then up another one.

Yawning, he scratched his chin. (Getting scruffy. Hadn’t shaved in two days now.)

“Should prob’ly do some reading,” he mumbled to no one.

A few minutes passed.

He dangled his head back behind his seat and sang quietly: “First produced my pistol… then produced my rapier… said ‘stand and deliver’, for he were a bold deceiver… mush a-ring dum-a do dum-a da…”

Heaving a sigh, he stood up and walked around his tent to dispel pins and needles, then went inside to read his book.

“I am not bored,” he muttered fiercely, staring down at pages that might as well have been blank.

“Oh, but you are, John.”

England’s greatest wizard jumped up, wielding his novel as though it were a club, and dealt a devastating blow to empty air while screaming something along the lines of, “Raargh die die die!”

Then he waited for a moment to see if the voice returned. Tried to determine whether he could sense anything. Nope. Admittedly, that didn’t mean much these days. Lots of beasties and bastards out there had learned how to hide from him.

“Either I’m hallucinating or someone’s pissing me about,” he concluded, placing his hands on his hips. “Chas, mate, I’m sure you would agree that either constitutes a fine reason to leave this fucking tent.”

And leave he did.

He went caving.

The BBC had published an article a couple years back calling the UK’s cave systems its ‘last true wilderness’. He and Chas had had a good long laugh over that, Chas suggesting that John take the caver quoted on an expedition to Faerie or maybe direct him toward any of the two hundred portals to Hell between Plymouth and the Orkney Islands.

But the article had stuck with him. Perhaps it was the obvious love the caver had for his hobby, the clean and simple joy he got out of crawling around in dark, damp holes. John was always drawn to people like that, and not just because it sounded smutty.

(Imagine if he’d loved something clean and simple; gotten into bird-watching or carpentry instead of magic. Would have saved him a lot of hassle.)

Idly, one evening, he’d poked around on the internet – now that, that really was the last true wilderness – until he’d found a map listing all the cave systems in the UK, along with a guide to which were popular, which were dangerous, which were good for a family holiday, and yes (inevitably), which had been the scenes of grisly accidents.

(Wikipedia said that historically there’d been only 136 fatalities ‘associated with recreational caving’ in the UK and that, statistically, it wasn’t a particularly dangerous hobby. Hadn’t stopped him from having vivid dreams about bodies wedged in tiny tunnels miles below ground, cooling and rotting and bloating, except how could they bloat when there simply wasn’t enough room, what happened when…

Anyway, Chas had eventually rescued him from his maudlin musings and dragged him to the pub.)

And while his memory was a messy old thing, especially these days, that just happened to be the sort of useless information that tended to hang around in his head for years, like the words to every song in Sweeney Todd or the rituals required for an exorcism spell that didn’t actually work, doing nothing but taking up space.

There was a cave only a few miles from the campsite.

When he arrived, he beheld a clumsily painted sign nailed to an oak tree next to the entrance:

CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC UNTIL SPRING

NO TRESPASSERS

HAZARDOUS! ENTER AT OWN RISK

He lingered at the cave’s mouth. Though it was big enough for him to stand up in, it made for an unassuming sight. Squirrels played in the old oak with three sets of lovers’ initials carved into it that stood at its left and the pathway leading up to it was strewn with weeds and wildflowers.

“Am I really this stupid?” he pondered aloud, before correcting himself: “Am I really this bored?”

After five minutes’ internal debate, he decided that yes, he was.

He took a step towards the narrow crevice, before stopping himself. No. This was ridiculous. What was he thinking? Shaking his head, he turned and walked away.

Three hours later he was back, now with a good pair of leather boots (stolen from an arsehole in a nearby village), a Power Rangers backpack (given to him by a kid in exchange for a cigarette and some magic tricks), a cheap flashlight, two cans of lager, and a packet of crisps (paid for with the last of his cash).

“Off we go, then,” he said, and marched into the dark.

Like a well-fed leopard on a low-hanging branch, the First of the Fallen lounged across his throne of vertebrae, long black hair dribbling off his broad shoulders and pooling on the ground. Though he was wide awake, his eyes were closed. This, combined with the corpses of three supplicants dangling from nearby steel hooks, would hopefully discourage anyone from bothering him for the next few hours.

“My liege?”

Shit.

He kept still. Said nothing. Perhaps they would go away.

“Um… my liege, I’m terribly, monumentally sorry to disturb you, but…”

With a wave of his claw, the messenger exploded into red mist.

When, ten minutes later, a second messenger summoned up the courage to approach him, he realized that it must be very serious indeed.

“You have five seconds,” he said cordially, holding them up by the neck.

“Con… constantine!” they croaked.

Brightening, the First set them down. “Indeed? What’s the little bastard up to this time, eh?”

“Nothing, my liege. He’s dead.”

A few minutes later, a fourth corpse hung from a hook and the throne of Hell was empty.

To the First of the Fallen, caves were still a novelty.

Confined spaces, in general, were still a novelty.

At 13.6 billion years, he was only slightly younger than the universe. While solid planets had come into existence around the same time, he’d not actually visited one until the emergence of homo sapiens and his subsequent quarrel and falling-out with God – a mere 300,000 years ago.

Cast from Heaven, naked and freezing cold, he’d stumbled into a rocky cranny by the shoreline and wedged himself between its slimy walls. That was his earliest memory of ever being ‘indoors’. No surprise, then, that he avoided such places when he could. He had built no castles in Hell; his throne sat atop a mountain beneath an endless red-gold sky.

But right now, it wasn’t the cave that had his attention, dark and chilly and, yes, slimy as it was.

“Stupid turd,” he grumbled, glowering at the corpse. “Ow!”

He’d bumped his head on the cave ceiling again. It was too low for the average human to stand upright, much less an eight-foot primordial being.

Constantine stared at him, blue eyes blank and glassy. His body was unmarred save for the dent in the left side of his scalp, which had stopped leaking some time ago. As far as the First could tell, his nemesis had simply tripped and fallen onto an unfortunately positioned, unfortunately sharp rock.

The First spat on his tie and snarled, “Pathetic! What the fuck are you even doing here, eh? And – God’s hairy bollocks, when did you last bathe?”

His soul was still dangling off him, like drool from a dog’s mouth. Heaven, obviously, had no interest in him and the First hadn’t yet authorised his admission into Hell.

Because he wasn’t ready, dammit.

He’d not been expecting to welcome John home for at least another thirty years.

“Always have to make it difficult, don’t you?”

When he reached down to take hold of the soul – such a grubby, tattered thing – it bit, blazing gold for a sliver of an instant before he snatched his hand back. Stuck his index finger in his mouth until the sting abated. Fumed.

He tried again, grasping it firmly, as one might a snake. It thrashed. He gave it a disciplinary shake before opening Constantine’s mouth with a claw and forcing it down his gullet.

Coming back to life was never enjoyable. Constantine spasmed and gurgled, legs and arms contorting as pink foam gathered at his lips. The First, bored, sat down beside him, reclining against the cave wall with one knee crooked. Surveyed their surroundings. The ground was – oh dear – littered with crisp crumbs, an empty foil packet, two cans, and dozens of cigarette butts. How foul.

“Disaster in your wake, as ever,” he commented, tutting.

Constantine groaned, eyelashes fluttering.

Belatedly realizing that he wouldn’t be able to see in this subterranean gloom, and very much wanting to afflict him with the identity of his saviour, the First snapped his fingers. A dozen lit candles appeared across the cavern, hovering ghost-like in mid-air.

“Urgh… fffu… whu… oh, Christ Almighty.”

Watching him sit up, the First assumed a lordly expression, tilting his head. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

Unhealthily pale skin and facial muscles stretched and twisted to an indeterminable end.

Then John Constantine set his jaw.

Growled: “I’m on holiday, you bellend.”

And passed out.

He awoke to the smell of slightly burnt waffles.

Better than burnt flesh, which was what he’d anticipated after His Infernal Bloody Majesty had popped in for a fag and a chat. Certainly better than sulphur.

“For you,” the First of the Fallen purred.

A white plate – averagely-sized but rendered absurdly dainty by the dimensions of the clawed fingers holding it – was set down in front of him.

He frowned at its golden-brown contents. “The catch?”

“No catch. I was peckish. I imagine you are, too.”

“Come on. Not in the mood. Did you piss on ‘em? Did you mix a baby’s blood into the batter?”

“Honestly, John.”

Scratching his chin, he reviewed the facts. Still in the same sodding cave, albeit far better illuminated than the last time he’d been conscious. Alive, but with that unmistakable stiffness that he’d come to associate with having recently been dead. Cold. Irritable.

Hungry.

His archenemy’s smug smile was almost enough to make him spit the first bite back out. Instinct borne from months of extreme poverty forced him to swallow instead.

“Tastes like shit,” he remarked, wiping his lips. “But I suppose you usually have minions to prepare food for you. Where’s the syrup?”

A regal sigh, before a bottle appeared beside the plate. He emptied a third of it and spent the next few minutes in delicious, sticky silence.

There were, as ever, consequences to allowing the First of the Fallen centre stage. The moment the big smelly git realised that John really wasn’t in the mood for banter, he waved a hand and conjured up a thin hardback with Into the Underworld: The Amateur’s Guide to Caving in Britain on the front.

As John rolled his eyes and stuffed another waffle into his mouth, the First cleared his throat and read: “‘According to the National Speleological Society, the minimum number of people required to safely embark on a recreational caving expedition is four – at least one of whom should have prior caving experience.’ Did you know that, John?”

John chewed sullenly.

“I did. I’d wager that most people do. At least, I’d wager that most people know that going caving in groups smaller than two – going caving alone – is wildly inadvisable. Caves are dangerous, John.”

Where were his cigarettes? Had the bastard nicked them?

“And… let’s see – ah! Here we are. ‘There is a great deal of commercial equipment available to a first-time caver, some of which is necessary, some of which is not. Two items, however, that are absolutely non-negotiable are a helmet and a helmet-mounted light.’ Do you have either of those, John?”

“Do I criticise your fucking hobbies?” he exploded, knowing better, knowing it would only encourage him. Sugary crumbs flew everywhere.

“You do, in fact. Often. And quite understandably. My favourite hobby is murdering your friends, after all.”

John threw the plate at his head.

He’d had a good sense of direction even before he’d learned how to see psychic residue coating streets and walls, left behind by previous travellers. Always scurrying around in places no kid should; subways, sewers, dirty basements, any haunted house his greedy little eye fell upon.

When he’d reached sixteen, burgeoning schizophrenia had muddled him up now and then. Occasionally, it’d even left him standing in streets he didn’t recognise with no earthly idea how he’d got there. PTSD had compounded the problem.

Even so, at fifty plus, he didn’t make a habit of getting lost. Meds, practice, and years of experience meant that he could walk from Chas’s house to Saint Paul’s with a blindfold on.

Long story short: This was embarrassing.

“I’m fairly sure we’re going in circles. That stalactite is very familiar.”

And he certainly wasn’t fucking helping.

(The floating candles, following them like ducklings, were. John’s torch had broken when he’d tripped. Still, he didn’t need the First of the Fallen for light. Could conjure it up himself, no bother. It just made sense to avail himself of a primordial being’s infinite magical resources before dipping into his own, far more limited stockpile.)

“Do you know the way out?” John asked, not breaking his stride.

“I do.”

“Will you tell me where it is?”

“I will not.”

“Then shut up.”

In his defence, John hadn’t thought the cave was big enough to get lost in. It hadn’t looked it from the outside.

But he’d wandered, then crawled, down at least a mile of twisting, increasingly narrow tunnels before getting himself killed. He’d kept meaning to stop; said to himself five times, ‘Okay, Conjob, this is getting stupid, let’s trot our arse back to civilisation’. Then he would notice another crevice wide enough for him to squeeze into.

“Curious place for a holiday,” the First of the Fallen commented after bravely keeping his tongue still for an unprecedented five minutes.

“Curious times we’re living in, innit?”

He hummed in agreement. “Are you really not here for any particular reason? Not – I don’t know – trying to find a missing child abducted by the fae? Searching for a wicked spirit who’s been cursing the local shepherds? Treasure-hunting, perhaps?”

“No.”

“You’re just here.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“I told you. I’m on holiday. Taking a nice long break.”

“John. We’ve known one another for some time. I am familiar with the ways in which you ‘take a break’. You either go to the pub or you go to several pubs. Attempting to reconnect with nature is hardly your style.”

“Being oblivious to current events – especially shit ones – is hardly your style. Been too busy shaving your chunky arse to pick up a newspaper lately?”

“Print is dying. Besides, you try managing an entire dimension. See how much spare time it leaves you. Honestly, I’m run off my feet most days.”

“So quit.”

“Don’t be silly. What else would I do?”

“I dunno. Could be a camgirl. You’ve got the legs for it.”

“Stop trying to change the subject. Why aren’t you at home?”

John stopped walking and spun to face him. “There’s a plague, you gormless, oblivious prick. I can’t go to the pub. I can’t meet up with me mates. I can’t visit people’s homes to perform exorcisms. I can’t do anything but sit indoors, on my own, for months on end, just watching everything get worse, and that… and that’s not an option. Not for me. I crack too easy. So I got out. Before I killed someone. Now, for the last time, shut up and let me concentrate.”

He bent down to tug off his shoes and socks.

Telepathic magic tended to work best when you were naked. But sod that. Not with the First of the Fuckheads watching. Waffles or no waffles, he did not deserve a treat.

“Oh, is this what we’re doing now? Marvellous! I do love watching your quaint party tricks,” he oozed with a mocking round of applause as John dropped to his knees.

Ignore him.

Taking a deep breath, John let his awareness expand.

It was hard, with the First standing right there. His presence was staggeringly heavy, weighing on the ley lines like an iron ball on a lace hammock. And so alien; elements found nowhere on Earth, bones and muscles formed before Earth had been a glint in God’s eye.

John sneered into the darkness. Piss on that. On him. This was child’s play. Buggered as his brain might be, John Constantine wasn’t going to falter at the sound, scent, or sensation of a mean-spirited old cosmic relic.

Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.

Seven years ago, three people came this way. A family. A woman; her sister; her daughter. They were having fun. The sisters had done this before; the daughter had been begging to come along for years. Afterwards, they were going for pizza. It was a good day.

Two years ago, four people came this way. All friends from work. Well – ‘friends’. One was the company CEO, the other three wanted promotions. Everyone but the boss was miserable. One was arachnophobic.

Eight months ago, a… sheep? Yeah. A sheep. Barely more than a lamb. It was lost. There was a storm and it came down here looking for shelter. Went too deep. By the time the shepherd found it, it was half-starved.

“John? What are you-…”

Ignore him.

Ten years ago, another family. Fifty years ago, a frightened child running from a monstrous father. And others – a hundred others – a thousand. The cave had a rich and storied history. Almost against his will and entirely against his better judgement, John followed its threads through the rock layers, chasing faded ghosts, brushing up against magic so ancient it had fossilised.

“John!”

Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore-

His head was ringing. His blood was on fire.

Fuck, I’ve gone too far, too bloody deep, fuck, oh fuck.

“Constantine! Heed me!”

His eyes snapped open.

“Ah,” he said.

“Precisely,” said the First of the Fallen, who was holding him up by his coat collar like a jizz rag in need of a bin.

The cave had changed.

It was brighter, thanks to a small, well-constructed fire in its centre.

The walls were covered in paintings. Deer. Hogs. Great red and brown bulls.

A woman sat in the corner, wrapped in furs, adding detail to what might have been a fox. She didn’t seem to have noticed them.

“Did you mean to do that?” the First of the Fallen queried.

“In thirty thousand years, a monk will come down here and find them. He’ll be horrified, believing that they’re the work of… well, me. So he’ll leave and return with water in buckets and scrubbing brushes. As he lies on his deathbed, he will be firmly under the impression that this great good deed will grant him entrance into Paradise.”

The First of the Fallen paused for effect, then added, “Alas, he will be mistaken.”

Without looking away from her work, the woman spoke several words in a language miles removed from any contemporary tongue John had ever heard.

“The young lady says she doesn’t mind spirits wandering her caves, but requests that we don’t chatter while she’s trying to concentrate.”

Crouching next to freshly-etched cow and her calf, feeling uncharacteristically dazzled, John said, “Ask her if I can take a picture. Ask her!”

“Homo neanderthalensis, John. She won’t have the faintest idea what you mean.”

Rolling his eyes, he fished his phone out of his trenchcoat pocket and waved it at her. When she deliberately ignored him, he shrugged and took the shot.

The flash won her attention. She stood – revealing a faded seashell necklace and a long, curving scar across her left thigh – and approached them, limping slightly. John held out the phone to show her the picture and, after a resoundingly unimpressed inspection, she uttered a terse sentence.

“She’s unsure why the sickly-looking spirit thinks shrinking her beasts in any way improves them,” said the First of the Fallen.

The woman raised her head (hard to tell how old she was; younger than him, definitely) and looked John in the eye, squinting. Another few sentences followed, some of which sounded like questions.

Sarcastic questions, unless he was mistaken.

“She asks if you shrink them because large beasts frighten you. She speculates that, if the only beasts you can bear to approach are scrawny ones, it’s no wonder that you yourself are such a measly creature. She says that she too was scared of bulls when she was a child, but that her mother taught her not to be. She wonders why your mother failed you in this regard. Should I tell her your mother died in childbirth, John?”

“Stick your head up your own arse and choke. But ask her name first.”

Tossing back his thick black hair, he scoffed. “Why? What does it matter? She’s a primitive, doomed creature and she’s not even really here. This is just one of the cave’s memories.”

“Christ – are you jealous I’m talking to her more than I’m talking to you? Because that’s fucking inane. This is a one-in-a-lifetime type deal. I’ve never spoken to a legit bloody Neanderthal. I speak to you all the blasted time, more’s the pity.”

Yellow eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’ll kill her.”

John laughed. “You said it, squire; she’s a memory. You can’t kill her. She’s long dead. Now shut up.”

He wasn’t able to learn her name. Still, via pantomime and pointing, he eventually managed to convey his desire to find a way out of the cave – or so, at least, it seemed.

She took a bundle of sticks from beside her fire, lit them, and walked towards the nearest inky-black tunnel.

“See?” he said to the First of the Fallen as they followed her. “Politeness. All it takes.”

“Don’t act like you have any real idea what’s going on. She could be leading you straight into a trap. You’re aware, I’m sure, that archaeologists generally agree Neanderthals practised cannibalism? Ten muscular relatives might be waiting right around the corner with clubs and a cooking pot.”

“For fuck’s sake – I have literally stood and watched you slouching on that colossally pathetic bone throne of yours and nibbling the edge of someone’s pelvis like it was a turkey drumstick. Loathsome bloody hypocrite.”

“That doesn’t remotely count as cannibalism, John. That was a human pelvis. I’m not a human. I’m the prototype. A species of one. Which, I suppose, means it’s technically impossible for me to commit cannibalism. Hmm. What an interesting philosophical notion.”

Walking a short way ahead, bare feet soundless against the rock, their new self-appointed guide said something.

“What was that?” John whispered.

“‘If you must burden my ears by bickering like children, you could at least do it in a language I can understand’. Then she called us a rude word.”

Then the First of the Fallen spoke several sentences in his usual bored, drawling cadence and, to John’s surprise, she laughed.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” the First of the Fallen said, innocently.

“I’m serious, bastard. What’re you saying to her?”

“Nothing important, John, really.”

More than once after that, he caught her glancing back at them and snickering.

The artist and the twisting stone galleries through which she led them – it couldn’t possibly have all been hers; the monk had destroyed the work of generations – were insufficient to keep John’s mind from straying back to important matters.

“Hey. Ponce. What’ve you done with my cigarettes?”

The First of the Fallen had plucked them from his trenchcoat pocket while he was unconscious. When it came to his sorcerer, he’d learned, you always wanted a bargaining chip to hand.

“We’re in the company of one whose lungs are as yet unsullied by the Industrial Revolution, Constantine. Are you really planning on exposing her to second-hand smoke?”

It was a prospect John, it seemed, hadn’t even considered. Obviously angry with himself for that (oh John), he snapped, “No! I was – it’s – look, she can’t get lung cancer, can she? She’s dead. Doesn’t matter what she breathes in now.”

Smothering a smile, the First of the Fallen said, “Oh? So the fact that she won’t actually perish upon inhaling your fumes is all that matters, is it? Never mind her comfort or dignity, I suppose; as long as you don’t have to clean up another corpse.”

Nostrils flared. Fists clenched. Blue eyes gleamed with something hotter and even more violent than divine wrath.

“Like you give a shit about her,” John growled.

So much in this miserable world reminds me of Heaven. The grass. The sky. The beauty. You alone remind me of the time before Heaven; that bizarre, unpredictable time when there were no rules, no beauty, only feelings, only sudden bursts of light, fierce and erratic, cutting through the void.

“Or anyone,” John continued, gathering steam. Nicotine withdrawal, the First of the Fallen suspected, was kicking in. “Remind me, what was that you said the day we met? ‘To be mortal is to be stupid, proud, conceited – and ultimately pathetic’. You showed your hand, idiot; you loathe us all. Ergo, any taunts that depend on you concealing that are a total bust. Forget about the ciggies. If they’ve been anywhere near you, I don’t want ‘em.”

For years, the First of the Fallen had secretly hoped John had forgotten his, in hindsight, ill-considered words.

(He’d meant every one of them, but at the time he’d been trying to come off as a Gentleman Devil, the quintessential Man of Wealth and Taste, affable and urbane, not a bitter, angry old monster.)

Should have known better. John was so foolishly protective when it came to humanity as an abstract concept, even while his attitude towards actual humans tended to be far more variable. He’d probably been furiously gnawing on that phrase – ‘ultimately pathetic’ – like a dog with a bone for thirty years.

Thirty years.

Was that really all the time they’d known one another? John Constantine, his Constantine, He Who Was Most Hated… a mere thirty year acquaintance?

“What’re you laughing at?”

“Heh. Nothing, John. Reminiscing, that’s all.”

“About what? Poor old Brendan?”

Brendan, Brendan. Who -? Oh yes. John’s friend. The one who’d sold his soul. The catalyst, in fact, for their meeting. Pity the bastard was in Heaven; he’d have liked to thank him.

“You see these?” said the artist, holding up her torch to illuminate a painted wolf pack. “My grandfather did these.”

“What’s she saying?” John demanded.

As the First of the Fallen translated, he gazed dispassionately at her.

The first time he’d encountered a human, they’d looked much the same. Small. Unremarkable. Clad in skins and hardened from a life exposed to this planet’s weather (he personally hated weather and had made sure there was no such thing in Hell).

Mind you, the ones he’d run into while naked and terrified and still injured from being swatted down to Earth like some insect had been much less hospitable. They hadn’t known what he was; only that he was wrong. When he’d tried to approach their campfire, they’d thrown stones at him. Slaying them all hadn’t even occurred to him. Father had said that they were precious and at that stage, he’d still given a toss about His rules. Instead, he’d slunk away.

Catching food wasn’t a problem. He was faster than any buck or bird. It was loneliness, not hunger, that drove him to try again, and again, and again. In time, they grew used to him. Even showed him kindness. They had an extraordinary capacity for that. (For all that it was so often conditional and withdrawn the moment one became too strange or too frightening.)

But he’d never grown used to them. They were, at heart, creatures of community. And he simply wasn’t. He was a species of one. The prototype. He’d always been alone but for God’s company, and adjusting to life as a member of a tribe had proved impossible. Their norms, their traditions, their complicated etiquette – it had all bewildered him, then intimidated him, then irritated him. That, combined with his ageless body and supernatural strength, had driven an inevitable wedge between them, and he’d returned to the wilderness to wander alone.

He considered telling John that story.

(Why not? He’d told him everything else and the idea that his nemesis might have an incomplete view of him was, for some reason, concerning.)

Then he considered John’s likely reaction. The curled lip. The scornful snort. “What, you looking for pity? ‘Boo-hoo, my rotten childhood turned me into a git’? Hah! Jog on, squire.”

No. John’s hatred was a hard-won prize. John’s contempt was to be avoided at all costs.

“You realise most people aren’t allowed down here,” the artist said, glancing his way. She was shorter than John, who himself was slightly shorter than the average man; her eyes were level with the First’s navel. “Only elders and those who’ve earned the right. There are grave penalties awaiting any who sneak in.”

“Really?” he replied, interested only in John’s furrowed brow and silent, aggravated attempts to work out what they were saying.

“Yes. Because this place is important. Sacred. When I was young, I spent years dreaming of being allowed to venture this deep. I don’t know the ways of spirits – but I’ll not pretend it doesn’t rankle that you spend more time studying your sickly friend than your surroundings.”

“You’re still young. Compared to me, everyone is.”

“He doesn’t even seem to like you very much. Why are you travelling with him?”

“I don’t know. Why do urine and semen come out the same hole?”

“‘It’s none of your business’ would have sufficed. Are you always this rude? Is that why the sickly one doesn’t like you?”

“No. No, he dislikes me for other reasons.”

“Well, well, well. Hullo,” came John’s voice, and they both realised that he’d stopped walking.

Turning, the First of the Fallen spied his nemesis standing with his hands in his pockets, studying a man dressed like a thirteenth-century peasant.

“Eh? Where did he come from?” the woman asked.

In quavering tones, the peasant said, “Are you angels?”

The First of the Fallen laughed. “John! He’s asking if-…”

“Just because I can’t speak Neanderthal doesn’t mean I don’t know sodding Middle English. Give me an ounce of credit. I’m only a cocking wizard, after all,” John snapped, before addressing the new arrival: “No. Just travellers.”

The peasant’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. I thought maybe God had sent me angels. I’ve been requesting them for several days.”

John shuddered. “Bad idea. Trust me. You don’t want to mess around with that lot.”

“But I need guidance. Protection.”

“From what?”

Eyes wide, the peasant took his hand and clutched it. “My friend, can’t you see? I am being pursued.”

“By who?”

“By demons.”

(to be continued)

#hellblazer #john constantine #chas chandler #first of the fallen #fanfic #my fic

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royalcordelia · 4 years

Text

The Secret of Distance (2/?)

Summary: Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn’t easy, but they’re more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story).

Notes: If you want to be tagged when the next chapter is posted, I can do that! I’ve seen others do that, and wanted to throw it out there.

~~*~~

Gilbert had grown so accustomed to the rattling of the window on the side of his face, that as the train slowed to a stop, he roused from his sleep. Around him, passengers shuffled on tired feet down the aisle of the train, but Gilbert squinted tiredly, adjusting to his surroundings. Where was he again?

Outside the train, a sign was lit up by electric lights: “Welcome to Toronto, Ontario.”

Oh, that’s right, he thought to himself, I’m going to medical school. At 4:30 in the morning it seemed. As he grabbed his trunk, his brain felt like it was trudging through mud. He’d left PEI on a ship to the mainland, then situated himself on the train for a fifteen hour trip. And he had kissed Anne.

That woke Gilbert up. He had kissed Anne at exactly noon yesterday, and she had kissed him back. He kissed Anne. She tasted the way he expected sunshine would taste if you could jar it like honey. She fit perfectly against him when he pulled her close, drawn to him as strongly as he was to her. Soft hair framed her face, feathery tufts that grazed his fingers when he held her cheek. He’d never forget the sight of her, so beautifully grown, yet so breathtakingly Anne . The thought was distracting enough that he didn’t realize his footsteps had slowed to a halt in the middle of the path.

He might’ve stood there forever, burning the memory of Anne’s kiss into his mind, but a drunkard rambled past him, colliding with his shoulder. Gilbert stumbled on his feet, righting his coat on his shoulders with a bristled frown. He needed to find his new apartment before he was swept away into whatever unsavory things happened at four in the morning.

From one of his hidden inside pockets, he pulled out a note in Miss Stacy’s familiar script.

Gilbert,

Emily couldn’t get you into a boarding house because of your late admission. She does, however, know a young man who has an extra room in his apartment. He’s agreed to let you board with him, and will leave the door unlocked so you may let yourself in. You’ll find Ronald Stuart at 293 North Sunset St - the right hand apartment.

Good luck on all your endeavors! I know you’ll exceed beyond our expectations.

Your Exceedingly-Proud Educator,

Miss Muriel Stacy

Gilbert didn’t know much about this Ronald Stuart, but had sent the young man a letter telling him when to expect him. Part of him was glad he wouldn’t be living under the supervision of an owner of a boarding house, like Anne certainly would be. If he found this Ronald Stuart agreeable, they could become close friends and enact their own rules, answering only to themselves and to each other.

The house on 293 North Sunset St. was a sizeable place built of bricks the same color as the PEI roads back home. Gilbert snuck as quietly as he could up the creaky stairs leading to the door of his new apartment, before twisting the door knob. Stubbornly, it refused to budge.

Gilbert peaked at the house number, then his note, then tried the door again, this time with more strength. Maybe Ronald hadn’t gotten his letter in time? Maybe he’d forgotten to leave the door unlocked.

There was nothing to do about it. He rapped his knuckles hard enough on the door that the noise likely could be heard by the next door neighbors. Even so, the door remained closed. The chilly August air was beginning to sink into his bones. Gilbert knocked again, more aggressively this time.

“I hear ya, I hear ya!” came a voice from inside the house. Gilbert took a step back from the door, steeling himself for whatever would come once the door opened. A shadowy figure appeared behind the curtains before the door swung open.

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Mr. Stuart?”

The fellow before him was a tall one, lanky with hard angles. His dark hair was a mop upon his head where long, straight hair stuck out in all directions. Long eyebrows quirked back at Gilbert, who clenched his jaw.

“Gil?” the man answered back. Gilbert cocked his head. No one called him Gil. Not even Bash or Anne.

“Yes, that’s me. Gilbert Blythe. The door was locked, otherwise I’d have let myself in.”

Ronald ran a hand through his hair, tousling it into an even greater mess. He stepped aside and let Gilbert enter the space.

“I was real glad was Dr. Oak reached out to me about you coming to stay,” Ronald explained with a yawn. “The last fellow who stayed here graduated last spring, and I’ve been having trouble paying for the whole apartment myself. It’s not much, but it’s plenty for two men to share.”

Gilbert pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to his new roommate. Inside was the first of four years’ worth of rent payments. Bash had promised to send Gilbert his share of the farm’s earnings in plenty of time each month for him to pay his debts.

“That reminds me, this is for you,” Gilbert said. Ronald only tossed the envelope on a nearby table and leaned against it, tired eyes examining his new roommate.

“You drink?” he asked. Gilbert couldn’t tell if the man was offering or judging.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head.

“You snore?”

Gilbert frowned. “...Not...that I know of?”

Ronald shrugged and headed up the stairs.

“We can talk in afternoon. I’m going back to sleep. Your room is up the stairs on the right. Mine’s on the left. There’s one more empty room, for guests I guess, if you ever have any.”

Gilbert bit the inside of his cheek. Would the people from home ever come all the way to Toronto just to see him? Adjusting his cases in his hands, Gilbert took a deep breath.

“Alright, thank you.” But Ronald had already gone.

Outside, the street echoed silence around, giving it an eerie stillness. If he hadn’t been so tired, he might’ve felt the weight of being so far away from home and his family. But exhaustion prevailed in numbing his thoughts, and he found his bed without any welcoming ceremony. Laying fully dressed on top of his blankets, Gilbert fell deep into sleep.

~~*~~

“You a novelist or something?”

Gilbert looked up from the kitchen table and found Ronald in the doorway. He must’ve looked like some sort of writer, with pages upon pages of inked words spread across the table in front of him. A mug of coffee steamed at both places and at the table, and Gilbert nodded down to it. Ronald accepted it appreciatively, sipping it with a satisfied smile. In the daylight, and perhaps after bathing, the man seemed to have a sophisticated air about him that came solely from his looks and not his attitude.

“No, I’m just writing some letters home. There are a few people who’d want to know I made it here in one piece,” Gilbert replied, somewhat nostalgic for home. His gaze found the opening line of the paper in front of him: My Anne...

“Where is home, anyway?”

“Avonlea, PEI.”

“That far away, eh? No wonder you wandered up to the house so early this morning. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of Avonlea, though.” Gilbert nodded politely, not sure how much Ronald Stuart wanted to share about himself or how much he wanted to share in return. “I’m Ron, by the way. I apologize that I’m not terribly friendly before seven in the morning.”

Gilbert chuckled and shook his head.

“I guess I didn’t realize the trip would be over sixteen hours. Sorry for waking you up.”

Ron got up from the table, grabbing some bread from the breadbox and shoving a piece into his mouth.

“What made you want to come here, anyway?”

“Ah, my teacher from home knows Dr. Oak. I was initially intending on attending the, uh...well, the Sorbonne in France, but I changed my mind.”

The expression on Ron’s face told Gilbert he was not convinced.

“Yeah right, you just weren’t accepted. That or you can’t speak french.”

“No, I was accepted - or as good as, anyway. I just chose not to go.” Gilbert paused. “But you’re right, I don’t speak french very well.”

Ron’s jaw dropped.

“I didn’t take you for an idiot, Gilbert.”

Gilbert straightened his shoulders, crossing his arms defensively.

“It’s a long story, one that I’m sure would make perfect sense if you were to hear it.” He paused. Would this Ronald Stuart be convinced that genuine love was more valuable than an educational opportunity? “But to tell the truth, I’d like to just write these letters and get them sent out before the post is collected in a few hours.” Ron held up his hands in surrender and trekked back up to his room.

Returned to silence, Gilbert tilted his face to the sun pouring in from the kitchen window. He wondered if Anne was enjoying the same warmth on her first day of school. Picking his pen back up, he continued to write.

My Anne,

I cannot think of a more wonderful way to start a letter. It does my heart such good knowing that wherever you are, you might be anticipating this specific correspondence. I’d like to begin this particular letter by informing you that I have made it to Toronto safe and sound - albeit at four in the morning! I haven’t been a train for such a long period of time since I traveled with my father. Should you still desire to be my penpal (though I hope you’ll want to be a much more than penpals) you’ll find my complete address on the envelope. North Sunset street is just as beautiful as it sounds.

Have I beat around the bush with enough formality? I may as well jump right in.

Anne, what a fool I’ve been. I’ve had sixteen hours to compose the perfect way to reveal to you in extensive detail all the ways I’ve been a fool, but I fear I don’t have your gift with language, so you will just have to tolerate my inadequate explanations. As Diana might have informed you, I never received your letter, and for the sake of clarity and fairness, I’m going to assume that you never received mine.

I want to eradicate every doubt in your mind. Anne, I never had any real, genuine feelings for Winifred. I have learned the hard way that there is a vast difference between enjoying someone’s company and genuine love. When you love someone, you don’t just enjoy their company. You ache until the next moment you see that person, yet they’re always with you - in your mind, in your heart. The extent to which I adore you and take pride in your existence is so overwhelming that I wonder why I thought I could ever settle for anything else. Is it bold for me to hope you feel the same way? I truly do love you, Anne.

With all that disclosed, I’m certain there are times when I made you feel like I didn’t care for you at all. For that, I hope you know how very ashamed and sorry I am. You won’t ever feel like that again, I promise. If, in our separation, you grow doubtful or lonely, I’ll be on the first train bound for Charlottetown.

As for follow up questions:

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, when in heaven’s name did you start to have feelings for me? Most days I was certain I’d never win your heart, but then I’d catch you looking across the classroom and think maybe it wasn’t so hopeless after all.

Did you receive the letter I left you in your room? You never said anything, so I wondered. Oh! And what did your letter say? I’m so bitter that it disappeared.

Are you well? How are you adjusting to being away from home? I know Green Gables was so precious to you. How is Queens? Do your new classmates adore you, yet? I’m certain they do.

I’m sure I will have more questions the more I fondly remember each encounter I’ve had with you, but for now, I won’t bombard you.

As for me, I’m better now that I’ve arrived to Toronto and have unpacked all my things. My roommate, Ron, is a peculiar brand, and it’s still unclear as to whether or not he is - as you’d say - a kindred spirit. So far, I have my doubts. We’ve known each other all of eight hours and he’s already called me an idiot. But we have our own bedrooms, and there’s more than enough space for the two of us, so I can’t complain. Class begins tomorrow, but I’ve some final paperwork to complete. I hope to explore the campus and learn all the hidden nooks where a medical student might read and daydream about his love back home.

I still have to write to Bash, and I want to send this as soon as possible, so I’ll conclude here. I miss you terribly already. Yet, how thankful I am that we got the time we did.

Know that I remain always

Yours,

Gilbert

(PS: My roommate called me Gil at our first meeting. I’ve not decided if I like it yet, but maybe if you call me by that name, I’ll warm up to it.)

(PSS: Is it too much trouble if I ask you to enclose a picture of yourself, or something that I can keep on my bedside table that will remind me of you?)

Gilbert had just folded the letter up and sealed it, when Ron came back into the room. In his hand was a picture frame that Gilbert recognized immediately.

“Who’s this?” Ron asked.

Gilbert snatched the frame, eyes icy.

“Were you going through my things?”

“I was just leaving some clean linens, and I saw it on your table. Not trying to pry, but I’m...curious.”

Gilbert peered down at the frame, and felt a wave of homesickness sweep over him. It was a photograph he’d had taken shortly before Hazel had come to live in the house. It had been difficult to find a photographer who wouldn’t fall prey to their prejudices.

“It’s my brother and my niece,” he explained. Ron seemed to sense the thin ice he stood on, so he nodded.

“She’s sweet,” he commented, nodding down at Delphine’s bright eyes.

“The sweetest,” Gilbert agreed, pushing away the photograph when he felt his throat close up. They were silent for a few moments when Ron fixed his eyes on Gilbert.

“Why didn’t you go to the Sorbonne?” he asked evenly. Gilbert matched the serious gaze, unashamed of his choices.

“I would’ve had to marry a girl I didn’t love, and leave behind the one I do.”

Ron’s face didn’t change, but the lack of judgement was slightly promising.

“Family and love, huh? Wish I could relate.” Then he spun on his heels and headed toward the front door. “Well, I’m off.”

“Oh, uh, bye?”

The tense, awkward air in the room evaporated when the door slammed behind Ron. A long exhale left Gilbert’s lips and he grabbed a clean sheet of paper. This letter to Bash continued much like his letter to Anne’s had, full of apprehension about Ronald Stuart and anxiousness about the impending start of school. He’d exhausted all of his mildly uninteresting topics before he added:

I do have some news that might interest you. Anne and I are...well, I don’t know for certain what we are. Courting? Yes likely. More than friends? Absolutely. Together? In every way a man can be together with his love across 1000 of distance. I ended things with Winifred and ran like a madman through Charlottetown to see if Anne would give me one last shot. She did. Thank god, she did.

My courtship with Winifred actually ended two weeks ago, as poorly as you can imagine. But I did right by her in every way I could, and respected her enough to be honest that I could not be with her if it’s Anne that I so greatly adore. Not that I said Anne by name, but Winifred knew. She made me promise not to tell anyone until she could safely leave Charlottetown, which is why you are just hearing about this now. Though I regret having humiliated her to the point of returning back to France, I feel so much...lighter, happier. Knowing that Anne cares for me the way I care for her leaves me feeling confident I made the right choice. I think Winifred will see that one day, too.

I miss you, Bash. Delly too. The more I’m here, the harder it is to imagine that I’ll be living without you. I can barely remember what it was like when it was just me - without my brother, without the laughter of the baby. There’s a room here for guests if you ever want to visit, but I’ll come home when I can. Something tells me if I stray from Avonlea too long, something vital in me will starve.

I love you all. I hope the harvest is going well.

Your brother,

Gilbert.

With both letters sealed and addressed, Gilbert stepped out onto the new streets, drinking in the Toronto sun as he made his way toward town.

#anne of green gables #anne with an e #shirbert #shirbert fic #shirbert ff #tessa writes #catch this on ao3 too!#this chapter called for a lil bit of exposition because gilbert is in an ENTIRELY new place #but i love ron so far he's so annoying #you may recognize ronald stuart as the brother of one christine stuart #muhaha

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stetervault · 4 years

Note

Hello! Do you do rec lists? Would you be willing rec some Steter fics that aren't the most common/popular ones? If not, no worries!

Technically this isn’t a rec-finding blog lol but I do make rec lists sometimes if someone asks and I have the time and I feel like it. Here are some (I think?) less known Steter fics, oldies that people may have missed or forgotten (Idk how well I succeeded, I just picked a bunch that have significantly less reads/bookmarks than the really big fics):

Fear (Doesn't Mean I Can't Fight) by azerblazer

Peter is the damsel in distress, the Sheriff is the hostage, random unnamed hunters are the bad guys.

Stiles has a bat, a hoodie and a willingness to do anything to protect those he's loyal to.

Bring it on.

A Lean and Hungry Look by kototyph

The woods aren't the only place you find wolves.

You're Mine, Valentine by orphan_account

In which Peter decides to court Stiles, and does so by leaving him hearts.

Bloody ones.

Zodiac by Green

"You know, Taurus and Libra make a good match," Peter says with a sly smile.

Stiles looks away. "Yeah. I looked that up, too."

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

He Is A Villain By The Devil's Law by neglectedtuesday

Stiles’ lungs are burning, blood is pumping through his veins and he’s pretty sure that if he stops running then he’ll just keel over into the gutter. But God does he feel alive. The sirens are wailing, loud and clear. Just one more block. One more block. Stiles ducks down an alleyway, the bag full of bank notes swinging behind him. It hits his side with a dull thud. The alley smells like cat pee and yesterdays trash so Stiles breathes shallowly through his mouth. He continues walking down it until he reaches the end. It opens out onto the street. He stops just shy of the exit, waiting. He waits a bit more. Then he kicks a can lying idle on the ground. He whips out his burner phone, punching in a number.

“Where the fuck are you?” Stiles growls, “Where’s my goddamn getaway car?”

“Change of plans Stilinski, you’re gonna have to get away on your own. Also ditch the phone.”

Fascinated by lemonstiles, migratoryslashfan

Stiles pontificates over Peter's naked body.

Night-blooming Flowers by imriebelow

Peter always gets what he wants. Stiles learns to live with it.

None of These Things (Are Happening) by Horribibble

After years away, Stiles returns to Beacon Hills just in time to put Isaac's insides back where they belong.

It's cute how people think he's trustworthy.

Peter can smell the violence inside him, the urge to do something grand and possibly cataclysmic. It’s there—mixed with a balance and natural calm, but in the undercurrent, it’s there. He has seen things beyond the scope of Beacon Hills’ petty horror show. He has learned things.

The Terrible Things We Do (For Love) by rospeaks

Being a demon, he’s seen some of the pretty nasty things that humans are willing to do for love. Things that, were he still alive (and human), would make him hesitate to be in a relationship with anyone lest his partner start getting some funny ideas. That said—

"This seems a little desperate for a kid your age," he says to Stiles.

Spin, Sweet Clotho by ChuckleVoodoos

Oh, it’s a beautiful thing to watch, the way they dance around each other, spun in sugar and glittering glass. Like a fragile little fairytale, a tender rosebud just waiting to unfurl. It makes Peter sick.

Because love is a fairytale, and his dear darling nephew does not deserve a happy ending.

whisper by tricksterity

Stiles was tired.

He was done of people pushing him and his pack around. They’d already lost so much and he was damned if he’d let them lose anyone else, especially to this psychopath who had no reasons for what he did other than he liked it.

And that’s when the whispers in his mind grew louder.

Remember Darling, All the While by Sang_argente

It was fire, ice, electricity. It was the first kiss, the last kiss, and every kiss inbetween. It was lips parting, tongues sliding, hearts beating.

Impress Me by ToAStranger

Their new English teacher has gone missing.

Falling Upward by moonstalker24

There is nothing quite like flying. There is a calm and a peace found in the sky that cannot be found on earth. All the chaos of the world is below you and there is no sound save that which the propeller makes as the engine turns it. You are free and unfettered and the clouds are close enough to touch; all you need do is stretch out your hand to grasp them.

Stiles takes Peter flying after he gets out of Eichen House.

Sweeter Than Gingerbread by taylorpotato (Stetallison)

The saying goes that lovers who commit suicide together start their next life as twins. Perhaps that's why Stiles and Ally feel the way they do about each other.

The Shadow Effect by Mysenia

What was the fun in being a twin if you couldn't trick a person or two?

Deep under by Sashaya

There's a reason Stiles knows so much about drowning. He'd rather not remember why...

All the World's a Stage (but the light design is subpar) by BonesOfBirdWings

Peter Hale is a successful Off-Broadway actor, and Stiles is a stage lighter who literally falls into his life.

Peter smiled at him. "Thank you, Stiles. But should I take this to mean that you don't want a meatball sandwich from Banh Mi Saigon?"

Stiles' mouth dropped open. "You - I - Yes, I want! Oh my god, you do the best apologies! Can you piss me off more, please? I accept all future apologies enthusiastically!"

Peter chuckled. "I'm sure that won't be a problem, dear boy. I've been informed that I'm an asshole by a very reliable source."

Stiles beamed. "But you have good taste in food, so things balance out?" he ventured.

Peter threw back his head and laughed. Stiles' grin brightened in answer.

The D.C. Backroom Deal by septima_sum

Stiles is a regular prostitute with moderate life goals – until his current client makes him an offer he can’t refuse.

Strange Duet by BelleAmante, thiliart (thilia)

The past three years have been a series of shocking, or not so shocking, successes for 2018 Tony award winner and two time Grammy nominee, Stiles Stilinski. You don’t typically find classically trained opera singers singing alternative folk rock to crowds at Coachella. Nor do you find indie singer/songwriters winning best actor awards at the Tony’s for their Broadway debuts. Stilinski has made it his lifetime habit to defy and exceed all expectations.

-or-

A Steter fic loosely based on Phantom of the Opera

Hold Me Down by sneksonaplane

Waking up in Peter Hale’s bed was weird. Waking up in Peter Hale’s body was even weirder. Stiles had been disoriented and confused when he’d found himself in a plush, king sized bed in an unfamiliar bedroom instead of in his own room (and seriously, why did Peter even need a king sized bed? Why would anyone need a bed that big?) It had all come back to him when he’d glimpsed the body he was inhabiting, one that was shorter but more defined than his own, and older, and kind of hot.

The one where Stiles and Peter swap bodies, Peter relives his adolescence, Stiles suffers, and then suffers a little less when he discovers Peter's fetlife profile where he's listed as a submissive seeking a daddy.

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night by Guede

This is a ghost story. It’s not straightforward.

Put My Faith in Something Unknown by Twisted_Mind

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, suspended between thought and action, unable to feel. At some point, he becomes aware that there’s a hand on his face. A warm palm cradles his jaw, and a thumb brushes across his cheekbone tenderly.

The Rest of Our Lives by mia6363

“I don’t know, as a kid I watched a lot of movies, you know? And at first I figured like… I’d be on some great adventure that would take me away from it all, you know? Like Indiana Jones comes around and is all, ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, come with me we’ve got to go save the world.’ Then… you and… everything happened… then I just… I figured I’d die before I was eighteen.”

Enemy Action by pprfaith

Once is chance, twice is coincidence and three times is far too many bodies on the ground.

Buy Me a New Pair by Julibean19

"I don't practice law much these days."

"And why is that?" Stiles asked, wondering why a handsome and presumably successful lawyer wouldn't want to continue working.

"I've been drawn away by more pleasurable pursuits," Peter said, lips quirked upward as he spoke.

Tale as Old as Time by wynnebat

The one in which Lydia's got better things to do than be Belle, Stiles is a much more likeable Gaston, and Peter is a beast but not quite beastly.

The clothes make the man by FeelingsDusk

The trick to sneaking into a building where you shouldn’t be is to make it seem to all eyes like you should. Stiles has been doing this since he was a little older than toddler and he wanted to get back his Batman action figure from the evidence room in his dad’s Police Station.

(Spolier alert: just like back then, Stiles gets caught.)

Smile Like You Mean It by NinaRooxx

After sulking about the changing weather over the autumn, Stiles notices that despite the weather getting colder, Peter’s wardrobe isn’t changing at all.

Swing by ShippersList

Stiles wants to fly.

Angels, Devils, and Peter by Triangulum

Everyone has an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. They give advice, help guide their human through life. They tempt, they listen, they offer help. Everyone has one of each. Everyone except for Stiles.

Stiles and Peter are murder husbands.

love and madness by sinequanon

Peter and Stiles haven’t seen each other in months when the alphas ask them to meet up to look over an abandoned house. Now, they’re going to be seeing a lot of each other for quite a while to come.

Not This Again by RebaK1tten

There's a rumor that the last episode of the show will have Peter getting killed, again. Perhaps to give him a redemption arc or something.

A Light at the (Near) End of the World by ladyoneill

The world he grew up in has ended in a supernatural war that devastated the human population. A survivor, Stiles lives a solitary, quiet life in Wales until there's a knock on his door.

Through Space and Time by MaroonDragon

When Stiles pulls the body of Peter Hale into his ship, he doesn't expect him to be alive. He also doesn't realise he might have gotten more than he bargained for.

His Color by SushiOwl

“Darling, have you been carrying a throw-away comment I made in your mind for almost four months?”

Stiles’s face felt like it was one with fire now.

After You by FlyAwayMeow (rjaejoo)

It’s true that sometimes what you want the most, you can’t have and that you’ll miss what you once had all along when it’s finally gone.

After breaking his engagement to Chris, Peter heads to New York to start over. He meets Stiles, a young author at his publishing house who helps him piece his confidence back together. When tragedy strikes, he discovers how to finally let go of his past and have the family and future he's always wanted with the pieces already in his life.

Looking After You by Slayer_of_Destiny

Can Peter be a chance for Stiles, can Stiles be a second chance for Peter? When Peter offers Stiles a relationship will the younger man take the chance with the werewolf?

Maybe We Both Are by lavenderlotion

The first time Stiles lets his fingers brush against Peter he wasn’t expecting the response he got. They were sitting on Stiles bed researching something. Or, they were researching. Now they were just talking. They did that a lot these days, just talked. They also ate together a lot. Or got coffee.

these words bear my scars (paint your love on my skin) by WindyRein

One day butterflies and childish codes change to I'm sorry you're meant for a murderer and he won't realize for years how much that changed his life.

Before you let go (and the light takes you in) by Issay

Stiles makes one last errand - goes to leave flowers on all the other graves. Fuck, so many graves. The grief is as endless and as inescapable as the sky.

He goes home and there is a thing wearing his father's face, waiting for him in the kitchen.

The Lady of Lightning by kiranightshade

"Those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside"

Can You Use Lube For That? by AlreadyBoss

“You think your what is haunted now?” Surely he'd misheard. There was no way-

“My vibrator,” Stiles answered with alarming sincerity.

Well. He hadn't misheard after all.

Pianist Envy by Bunnywest

Stiles is the piano player.Peter can think of other things he'd like to see those hands do.Shame the guy's straight.

Everything You Deserve by Areiton

You think about it. More than you should, you think about it. About what would have happened, if you had bitten Stiles instead of Scott.

Home by Ragga

Don't be like him, they would say, and then add, or else you get burned.

Unable to bear the whispers any longer, This One left. He forsook those who forsook him, left him bear his scars alone, the scars he bore for his herd. It was better to be alone, stay off the currents, than swim with those most undeserving of his loyalty. So mote it be.

That is, until he met That One.

Lord Peter by Therapeutic_Steter

Peter rung out the rag before gently placing it on his mother’s head, reaching over to feel his father’s equally flushed features.

“Such a good boy,” his mother said, patting his arm with what little strength she had remaining. His father smiled softly at him even as his fell unconscious. Peter pushed back the lump in his throat, smiling shakily for his mother before venturing out into the living space.

knit me together by nezstorm

Peter asks Stiles to stay the night after a really awful day.

Warriors by CinnamonLily

Peter is ten years old when humans discover Azure, a planet not unlike Earth. From there on, he wants to learn everything about their new neighbors and the planet itself. It takes him over twenty years to get to Azure, but when he does, it's so worth it. His anthropologist heart is happy, and a new acquaintance in the form of an Azurian called Stiles might just make the rest of him happy, too.

#teen wolf #steter #rec list #fanfic rec #ask #anonymous

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skullrock · 4 years

Text

the partners, chapter two - Steve x Reader

chapter two: there is a light that never goes out

series summary: you and Steve are police apprentices at Hawkins Police Station in the fall of 1986. you get along famously, but there’s something Steve is hiding, and there is an unknown evil lurking in Hawkins. [friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff]

chapter summary: You and Steve grow closer; you and Steve are called in to investigate a death

warnings: swearing, panic attacks, mention of death

word count: 3.3k

a/n: things are heating up boys!! next chapter will really kick off the cop stuff. if you haven’t seen it, here’s the Spotify playlist that goes with the series, and you can catch up here. enjoy!

---------

The rest of the week rolls by without many incidents. By the time Friday comes, you’re beaming with excitement.

“We’re still on, right?” You ask him Friday morning, bouncing on your toes.

“Y/N, for the fifteenth time, yes,” he laughs. “I’m not bailing.”

He kind of wishes he could – he hasn’t been able to sleep. He can’t stop worrying. What if this is a mistake? What if you get hurt? What if this all backfires? He can’t let you know this, though, and he’s been grinning through the week.

“Great, do you know where I live?”

“Three streets away from me, Oak Street, the big white house.”

You tilt your head. “How did you—”

“You’re the only person in town with a Walter Mondale sticker on their bumper,” he replies. “I saw your car in your driveway.”

Steve had moved out of his parent’s house about one week after securing the position at the station. His parents had graciously gotten him an “apartment,” which was in fact a nice house in a good spot in town. They paid his rent as a form of gratitude that he was “getting his life together”. He hated that idea, truly, but was happy to be able to live on his own, only worrying about groceries. He was a lot happier now that he was on his own – specifically that he was not living with his father. He did see his mother though, and pretty often, because she would bring him a lunch every few days.

“Creep,” you say, smiling. “Then I’ll see you tonight.”

“Y/N, we have an eight hour shift ahead of us.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you all day and then tonight.”

---------

Steve pulls up around 6:30, and he’s sweating bullets. He honks once, then waits. He finds himself checking himself out in the rearview mirror, and then quickly jerks his head away. It must be some kind of knee-jerk reaction, Steve thinks, picking up a girl feels like a date.

You come out of your house and lock the door, then bolt down the steps to his car. He can feel the energy radiating off of you.

“Hi,” you say as you slip inside.

“You look nice when you’re not wearing a uniform,” he jokes.

“Funny. I was going to say the same about you.” You buckle up and he sets off for Mike’s house.

“Now that you’re hanging out with my friends, am I going to hang out with yours?” he asks.

You deflate slightly. “Well, that’s the thing,” you say quietly, examining your nails. “I um. I don’t really… have any?”

He looks over at you, forehead creasing at your body language. “You don’t have any friends? That’s gotta be bullshit.”

“I did,” you explain. “But then I went to college and I lost touch with people from high school. And then I came back and I lost touch with people from college. So, I really don’t…” you sigh heavily. “Hang out with people.”

He swallows hard. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. If I knew –“

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not your fault or anything. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” You smile and lightly punch his arm. “Since I managed to crawl into your life.”

“Well, you’ll really like the kids,” he says. “Let me give you the rundown.”

He begins to explain all six of them. Dustin Henderson, his best friend, has a bit of a lisp and some disease that “makes him like Gumbo? Gumby? Whatever.” Mike Wheeler, party leader, bit of a drama queen, loyal friend. Lucas Sinclair, funny one of the bunch, dating Max, the redhead, is emotionally mature despite his comedic exterior. Max Mayfield, redhead extraordinaire, metaphorically adopted sister of Steve, super intelligent and strong. Will Byers, “you already know him,” kind and quiet, has been through a lot, deserves the world. Then there’s El.

“El is… different.”

“How?”

“Well…,” he sighs. “She… comes from a bad home. She was… she comes from a bad home. They did bad things to her.”

“Oh.”

“But she’s really great. I’m trying to teach her how to read before she and Will go back to Maine for school. She’s dating Mike, they get along pretty well. She’s really smart, just behind since she never got to go to school.”

You nod. “They all sound like phenomenal kids.”

“They are,” he replies thoughtfully. “Sometimes they’re a pain in the ass, but they’re my pain in the ass.”

You pull into the same large house on Maple Street that you had a few days before and hop out. You’re feeling a bit antsy – so is Steve.

“Wait,” you say. “Doesn’t Nancy live here?”

“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, but we’re cool. We still talk to each other. And she’s probably out with Jonathan anyway.” He clears his throat, and you reach out and squeeze his arm. “I’m okay,” he laughs. “Come on, let’s go.”

The kids remember you from the other day, and your friendship with Steve helps convince them that you’re a good person. You get along together immediately, laughing and joking like you’re all old friends. Steve beams and Dustin nudges him, making Steve shove him.

“We’re watching The Goonies tonight,” Lucas says, producing the VHS.

“What’s a goonie?” El asks.

“It’s like, a silly person,” Steve explains. “Like Mike.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “We can’t start yet, Robin isn’t here.”

You nearly choke on the soda you were drinking. “Robin? Robin Buckley?”

As if on cue, the door to the basement opens and Robin comes down. You jump up and shout her name. She looks at you, confused for a brief moment, then smiles widely and bounds over to you.

“Oh my God!” you both shout as you embrace. You try to ask each other questions, but they all come out at the same time, making you both laugh.

“Are you going to tell us how you both know each other?” Steve asks, brows drawn together, but smiling, nonetheless.

“We were in band together!” Robin exclaims. “I thought you died or something, you never called!”

“I lost your number when I moved to Indianapolis,” you explain, squeezing her hand. “But I’m back now. I’ve been back for a few months. I work with Steve, at the station.”

Robin snaps her head over to him and glares, making him sink in his seat.

“None of us knew,” Max pipes up. “That Steve works with someone, I mean.”

Robin closes her eyes and shakes her head. She looks back at Steve with a we need to talk kind of look, then turns back to you. “Well, you’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

As the night goes on, you grow more and more comfortable with everyone. You sit and talk to Robin while the rest of the gang plays Monopoly. You could mirror the movie to how the kids act – it’s like they are the Goonies. You watch as they all bicker, Max shoving Lucas over stupid jokes, and El grabbing onto Mike, leaning into him. You watch as Will and Dustin barter with each other, and as Steve calls them all out for “cheating,” which is code for “I really suck at this game and need to explain why I’m losing.”

Your eyes focus on Steve while he explains something to El. It makes your chest swell. It feels like the only thing you can focus on his Steve. How bright his eyes are while talking to his friends, how his brows flit together then part as he laughs. And his laugh. It’s the only thing you can hear, and the sound rings in your ears. He looks up at you and smiles, then goes back to looking at the game board. You snap out of your trance.

“Oh, ew.” It’s supposed to be said in your head, but you say it out loud.

“What?” Robin asks. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah!” you say after a moment. “Yeah, sorry. I just got a little, uh, sidetracked. So, um, are you planning on going to school anywhere?”

Soon enough, it’s one in the morning, and the kids are getting tired. You are, too, and you yawn loudly.

“Let’s go, sleepyhead,” Steve says, holding out his hands to help you off the couch. You take them, swallowing the electricity in your stomach.

“You should come by more often!” Dustin grins.

“Yeah, we need more girls around,” Max says, and you smile back at her.

“You’re welcome in the party anytime,” Mike declares, and the others agree.

You could almost cry at how nice they are. “You guys will never know how… how much…” you sniffle. “How much this night has meant for me.”

“Okay, okay,” Steve says, rubbing your back. “Time to go, buddy.”

“You guys are the best!” you say through tears, and Steve shushes you gently, guiding you upstairs.

“Steve!” Dustin shouts, and bounds up behind him. Steve rolls his eyes and tells you to head out to the car.

“You better bring her around again.” Dustin squeezes his arm and Steve rolls his eyes once more.

“We mean it!” Will says. “She’s cool.”

“You guys don’t even like me this much,” Steve huffs, to which Robin replies, “Yes, because you’re a dingus. Y/N is cool.”

“Goodnight!” Steve groans, continuing upstairs.

He unlocks the car and you both get in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes shining, “for taking me out.”

“Of course,” he hums. “Next time it can just be us, without kids and Robin.”

Your stomach flips and you ignore it again. “I’d really like to.”

You both make conversation as you head down the darkened streets. You think the town at night is beautiful and serene. Steve thinks it’s eerie and threatening. He really didn’t like going out at night much anymore, and he typically had to talk himself up if he was leaving somewhere past 9 pm. You notice the change in his energy, how he is suddenly gripping the steering wheel a bit too tight.

You begin to ask him if he’s alright, but a deer scampers across the road. It’s not very close, and maybe required just a slight brake, but Steve throws his arm out to pin you to your seat and slams on the brakes. The car slides to a halt and you slam back against the seat; thankfully Steve threw his arm over you, or you’d probably have a severe case of whiplash.

When the car stills, you look over at him, eyes wide and heart skipping. He looks like he aged 50 years in ten seconds. His eyes are huge, jaw clenched tightly. A crease on his forehead. His body is stiff and he is leaning forward, almost like he’s about to fight. He looks, quite honestly, like death.

“Steve,” you breathe. “Are you okay?”

Steve throws the car into park. He squeezes his eyes shut and blinks a few times, eventually relaxing in his seat. Although his body is relaxed, you can hear how his breathing is a quick staccato, not slow. He runs a hand through his hair once, twice, three times. It sounds like he’s drowning, and his eyes are filled with tears when he looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. “I’m sorry – I thought –“

His eyes can’t focus. They run around in his head, back at the road, to you, to the steering wheel, to his hands, to the road again.

You realize he’s having a panic attack.

“Hey, hey,” you coo. “Look at me, Steve.”

He faces you, but his eyes are still moving rapidly, and his breathing is becoming quicker. You see him swallow hard.

“You’re safe,” you say, reaching out and taking a hand. “It was just a deer. You’re safe. I’m here.”

He nods stiffly. “No – I know that – I just thought….” I just thought it was a Demogorgon. No big deal. He clamps his eyes shut again and you see tears fall.

“Steve, look at me. Focus on me, okay?”

He nods lightly and does, and you see his pupils focus in on you.

“Breathe with me, alright? In and out.” You exaggerate your breathing, deeply in through the nose and out through the mouth. He tries to keep up and pace himself, but it takes a few tries.

“You’re doing great,” you say quietly, and squeeze his hand. “Can you pull the car over for me?”

He does as you ask, eyes scanning the road ahead. His bat is in the trunk (he figured he should hide it before you see it), and he considers getting out to grab it. You pull him back to reality.

“Look at me.” His eyes meet yours again. “I’m going to teach you something, okay? It’s based on your senses. Can you tell me five things you hear?”

He blinks. “I hear the engine… I hear your breathing… I hear the radio… I hear my breathing… I hear my heart beating.”

You nod. “Okay, good. Four things you can see?”

“Uh….” His eyes flick back to the road and you gently pull his head back to look at you.

“I’ll focus on the road, okay? Just tell me four things you see in the car.”

“I see you… I see my hands… I see the steering wheel… I see the light from the stereo.”

“Three things you smell?”

“My cologne, your perfume, gasoline.”

“Two things you can feel?”

“Your skin and the seat under me.”

You smile. “This one’s tough. One thing you can taste.”

Steve pauses. “Coca-Cola?”

“Perfect,” you say, squeezing his hand again. “Do you feel better?”

He does; he’s not fully grounded, but he’s feeling better than he did a few minutes ago. He can breathe normally again, and his body is a bit more relaxed. He nods and you let his hand go.

“You’re okay,” you repeat. “You’re safe.”

“I’m okay,” he breathes. He reaches up and wipes his eyes, laughing slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize.” You don’t really know what just happened, but you know whatever he’s going through must be tough. “Your feelings are valid. It’s okay to feel that way, Steve.”

Steve sighs heavily, and after a few minutes, he puts the car in drive.

“Don’t take me home,” you request. “I can walk.”

“What? No way. I’m taking you to your house.”

“Steve,” you say. “Sometimes you need to take care of yourself before you take care of others. I can walk, dude, it’s only 15 minutes, max.”

He wants to refute your claim. He wants to believe he’s strong enough to just take you home and forget about it all, but all he wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep until the afternoon. He just wants to forget. So he pulls into his driveway and shuts the car off. He sits there for a few moments before finally saying, “I’m sorry I ruined tonight.”

“Steve.” You can’t help but to laugh. “I haven’t been this happy in so long. I don’t care – I don’t mind that you got… spooked. And we don’t ever have to talk about it again. I don’t care what happens as long as I’m with you.”

The corners of his mouth perk up. “Oh no, Y/N. Don’t fall in love with me.”

You roll your eyes and nudge him, smiling. That’s the Steve you knew.

You reach into the center console, finding an old receipt and a pen.

“Here,” you say, scribbling. “Here’s my number.” You shove the receipt towards him, and he takes it.

Steve writes his number on the bottom of the receipt and rips it off. “And here’s mine. You better call me when you get home. Like, the minute you go through the door.”

“I promise.”

You both get out of the car.

“I really did have fun,” you say. “I hope I see you soon.”

He nods. Part of you wishes he would say it back, but you understand. As you’re walking off, he calls after you.

“Y/N!”

“Yeah?”

He licks his lips. “Thank you.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile and salute, continuing off into the night.

---------

You awake Monday morning at 1 am to your phone ringing. You quickly sit up in bed and grab it.

“Hello?”

“Y/N.” It’s Steve. “I need your help.”

Your eyebrows knit together, and you look at your clock. “Are you okay?”

“I….” He huffs. “I’m trying to make danishes for everyone at the station? But everything I do is wrong, and there’s flour everywhere—”

“It’s one in the god damn morning!” You exclaim. “We have work in seven hours.”

“Yeah,” he says, like you’re the idiot. “Why do you think I’m making them now?”

You close your eyes. You want to be annoyed, but it’s honestly hilarious. “Okay, Steve. I’ll be there in a few.”

You arrive and knock on the door, and you’re greeted by Steve. He is covered in flour, and he looks nearly as stressed as he was Friday night.

You gawk at him. “What—”

“Just – come in,” he insists, grabbing you and pulling you inside.

Steve has a really nice house. Or apartment, or whatever he wants to call it. He takes you through the living room, then dining room, and into the kitchen, where there is even more flour. It looks like a bomb went off.

“So,” he starts, pacing around the kitchen, creating tracks in the flour-covered floor. “I’m trying to make these, right? And it says to put flour and butter into a blender. And so I did. And like, it’s fine, it’s going great, but then I guess I added too much flour, and now it’s everywhere. And this fucking dough is supposed to chill for 6 hours and we have work in 7.”

“Where is your recipe?”

He hands you a sheet of paper and you scan over it.

“Steve,” you groan. “Are you even following this?” You look up at him. “How did you even manage to mix the yeast and water correctly?”

He leans on the counter and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t think I did.”

You burst into laughter. You can hardly keep yourself upright. Your ribs and jaw hurt, but you can’t stop. Steve seems annoyed at first, but then starts laughing with you.

“No matter what, you couldn’t have these done in the morning,” you say, wiping your eyes. “Why did you think this was a good idea?”

He shrugs hopelessly. “I just wanted to be nice, and I couldn’t sleep.”

You both resolve to cleaning up and starting again. You would make the dough and let it chill, and then continue making them that night.

You watch from afar, giving Steve tips and reading the directions out for him. He’s not super helpless when someone is directing him. When it comes time to fold the dough, though, he’s doing it wrong.

“No,” you say, jumping up and coming behind him. “You fold like this.”

You take his hand and help him get the technique right. After a few moments, your cheeks start to burn, and you feel that same chest-swelling feeling that you had at Mike’s house. You slow your movements and Steve follows, until you completely stop. He turns back to look at you, and you notice how close you are to him.

Suddenly, the phone rings. Steve drops the spatula he was using and hurries off into the living room, looking paler than usual.

“Hello?” you hear him ask. There’s a long pause before he says, “Do you want Y/N to come too?” Another pause. “Okay. We’ll be right there.”

He comes back into view and looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Who was it?” you ask, heart beating fast.

“It was the Chief. There’s a dead body at Rimborn Steelworks.”

--------

tags (message if you want to join!): @harrington-ofhawkins @wolfish-willow @gothackedalready

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #my fics #the partners #god this is so long rip to everyone who chooses to read it all #chapter summaries are so hard wtf

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the-black-birb · 4 years

Text

Rekindle [Futakuchi Kenji]

Pairing: Futakuchi Kenji x Reader

Summary: Futakuchi gets a phone call from an old triend and soon finds himself in over his head.

A/N: Had to write this bc @miyulovestowrite 's smau had me thinking ab the futacoochie 😔✌ I never intended this to be this long but it looks like it's gonna be multiple parts!!

I listend to Katelyn Lapid's "When Somebody Love Me" and Death Bed by Powfu when writing this so that's?? The inspo

[Part 1] / Part 2 / Part 3

Without a doubt, most people that met Futakuchi Kenji would agree he had an awful personality. Whether it was in conversation or on the court, he was particularly skilled at provoking people just enough that they couldn’t quite call him out on it, but they still left with a bad taste in their mouth. His actions were almost always for his own benefit, he was rather selfish, and there was positively sour. This was the general consensus of Futakuchi Kenji, and he worked everyday to live up to his reputation.

Among all the people he’d met, you were the exception.

Even when he was bitter and angry, your soft hands would cup his cheeks and tell him everything was alright. When he was fuming, you’d press yourself to his chest, all love and warmth, and relax into him. Your presence was a lullaby, calming him and helping him. No matter how little he deserved it, you’d stand by his side no matter what. When rumors and voice engulfed him, wondering why you’d ever choose him, you’d be cradling him in your and pressing soft kisses to his hair promising you were the only one for him.

Your unwavering confidence in him was one of the reasons he’d never deleted your number from his contacts after the two of you split ways. It wasn’t really a conscious decision he’d made, but since Futakuchi had never held any ill will to you it had never really occurred to him that it might be strange to keep an ex’s number saved.

His memories of you were almost exclusively positive. Even his low moments and your rough patches were illuminated by the comfort you’d always provided each other. He kept all his photos of you and on the occasion that he found them while browsing his camera roll, he’d always smile fondly (one time, his teammates had seen and thought he was possessed).

Despite the impact you’d left on him, Futakuchi hadn’t spoken to you since the two of you broke up. Although you’d initiated the conversation, the end was entirely mutual (or so he told himself). You were going to college far away and he wanted to keep playing volleyball as well as attending college and you were certain it simply wouldn’t work out. Although it stung a bit, Futakuchi couldn’t bring himself to harbor any anger towards you.

You’d always been like a guardian angel to him, looking out for him and yourself. He couldn’t get mad at you for simply wanting the best for yourself.

While his friends insinuated it was quite possibly the most mature Futakuchi had ever reacted to, well, anything, he’d been more focused on seeing the path forward. If you were going to move on with your life and make yourself better, he couldn’t disappoint you by wallowing over a relationship that was long gone.

And so, despite the immense impact you’d had on him, Futakuchi hadn’t thought about you in years. He’d decided to focus on the now, his volleyball team and his job, before he’d let his thoughts drift back to you.

But he’d never forget you. Every time he got irritated, he’d remember your touch, lingering on his shoulder. Every time he drank chamomile tea, he’d recall you treating him after every game. Each time his friends teased him on his bachelorhood, he’d think about your hand firmly in his. There were traces of you everywhere, even if he’d never admit it.

Yet he thought of all places, his mind would be clear of you in a volleyball stadium. Even when you wore his jersey and visited practices, volleyball was always his before it was yours together. When he continued to college, he was able to clear his mind of everything except the sport when he needed to. Even today, sitting next to his intimidating best friend and watching the old freak duo play each other, he hadn’t a worry in his mind except the outcome of the match.

Until his phone started ringing.

Even worse, it happened while that (“snotty-ass” as Futakuchi called him) setter was up to serve, just as the whole gymnasium quieted down. He was so concerned with the eyes drawn to him; he didn’t even take the time to look at the caller ID before he picked up. Instead, he muttered a quip “what?” to his mystery caller as he briskly left the stadium, finding someplace he could speak in quiet.

“Kenji?” the caller said.

His heart dropped.

“Is that you?” It was a female.

Even four years later, he’d recognize your voice easily. It was just as gentle as he remembered, if not for the specks of tension he could sense. You sounded scared.

Not really sure how to react to his ex, possibly the person he’d come closest to ever being in love with, called him after four years of radio silence he found himself breathing out a shallow “Yeah.” He swallowed his worries. “It’s me.”

Futakuchi was at a loss for words. Should he be excited? Concerned? Angry? No, never angry. He couldn’t be angry with you, no matter how much he tried. Instead, he was silent, waiting for you to speak.

“How’ve you been?” you ask and although your voice is light and you’re doing everything in your power to sound nonchalant, he can hear the nervousness in your voice. Whenever you were anxious, your voice would pitch up and your words would become so slightly forced. It was barely discernable from your normal cheering speaking voice, but he’d spent enough time listening you to know something was amiss.

“What’s wrong, [F/N]?” he only assumed you’d call him if you absolutely had to. You chuckled from the other side of the phone and he could picture your nervous smile, like the first you’d confessed to him (he thought you were joking, it took three more times for him to get the point and two times after that for him to finally ask you out). So clearly he could see the way your cheeks glowed, always giving away how you were feeling.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you assured him, betrayed by your tone. “I just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”

“[F/N].”

You grumbled at his stern tone. Of course, he saw through you, but what could you do about it? You at least wanted to attempt to be polite, but all sense of social norm was lost to Futakuchi. Concise and to the point, he hadn’t changed a bit.

“I need a favor,” you admitted. “I’m sorry I can’t ask anyone else I just-”

“I’ll do it.” Futakuchi was just as startled by his response as you were. He wasn’t sure what had taken over him, but in that moment, he was confident enough in his own stability to know whatever it was you needed, he could sacrifice some time for you.

You chuckled from the other side of the line and for a moment, Futakuchi pictured himself in his bedroom with you under him, his hands tickling at your sides as you laughed and protested. It sounded so familiar, yet so far away. “You don’t even know what I’m asking of you,” you reprimanded him.

“So tell me,” Futakuchi resolved, as if it was the easiest answer in the world. He heard your breath hitch before you spoke, nervousness clear. He’d do whatever he could to hear you relaxed and stress-free.

“My brother’s getting married,” you explained. Futakuchi remembered him; he was two years older than the both of you but far less intimidating than you. While he was an awfully sweet dude, Futakuchi had walked all over him in high school (because he let him!). “It’s a month from today and my mom’s pressuring me to bring a date. So, come with me?”

As much as he relished at the idea of seeing you dressed up and at his side, he knew there was more to this. “Why me?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically soft. It had been four years since you’d last spoken, yet you called him up on a Saturday noon for a date like nothing had changed between the two.

He heard you moving over the phone, likely shifting position to sit comfortably and think over your words. He gave you time to figure it out, because he always. Futakuchi’s subtle talent was his patience for those around him who were quieter, like you and Aone. He didn’t come off as someone with that sort of resilience but you knew otherwise.

Finally, you were ready to speak. “You’re the only one I can ask,” your voice choked up and suddenly Futakuchi felt bad for asking. “I just… there’s no one else that knows about my family.”

Oh.

Suddenly, he was sitting in your bedroom, cradling you in his arms. It wasn’t often, but every few weeks when your mother was out of the house and your brother was away at college, you’d breakdown. But Futakuchi had always been there to catch you. Your parents had divorced long before he met you, but he witnessed the scars it left behind. He listened to you on countless sleepless nights, rambling about how it always felt like your fault. He’d even met your father, picking you up from his house one weekend when your mother had work.

Yes, he’d seen first hand the intricacies of your family. He knew what subjects were taboo and who he could joke around with. Most importantly, he’d seen you grow past what your family had taught you to become your own person. He was certain by now you’d have found someone else to share all of this with. After all, any guy or girl would be lucky to have you.

But it appeared you haven’t.

“I know it’s a month away,” your voice was strained. He prayed you weren’t crying, the thought of it making his chest tighten. “But I’m helping my brother prep and I don’t know how my friends would react and…”

“Calm down” Babe. The word was caught in his throat, almost thrown out instinctively. He imagined all he’d do to comfort you, gentle running his fingers through your hair and pressing kisses to the top of your head. How he wished he could hold you like that.

“I can go with you,” Futakuchi promised. “It’ll be okay.” He didn’t know if that was true, but he desperately hope it was.

“Thanks, Kenji,” you sighed out. Relief flooded Futakuchi’s chest as he realized you had finally released all your tension. Your voice was vulnerable, but finally truthful. “We should probably meet beforehand to get our stories straight. Are you free next Saturday?”

Futakuchi gulped hard, a million different emotions mixing in his chest. He wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to feel. It all felt far too casual for a rekindling with his old flame.

There was a part of him that felt like he’d always see you again. He didn’t know why, he simply knew it to be true. You were too important to him to be gone forever. But he’d always imagined it to be a shared glance across a coffee shop, or passing you in the grocery. He’d never in his wildest dreamed pictured you choosing to reach out to him. Yet here you were, fear lacing your voice right beside resolve.

“Saturday is good.” He didn’t know if it was but he was sure he could cancel plans. “Does two in the afternoon work for you?”

Your sigh of relief from the other side of the phone had him sighing alongside you. If you were in this together, it’d be okay.

“Two is perfect. I can text you my address?”

Futakuchi had no idea what he was getting himself into.

“Sure, I’ll pick up lunch on the way.”

But he knew you, and he wouldn’t let go of you a second time.

#futakuchi kenji x reader #futakuchi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu futakuchi x reader #haikyuu futakuchi Kenji x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu futakuchi #haikyuu futakuchi kenji #futakuchi #futakuchi kenji

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gerbiloftriumph · 4 years

Photo

The Three Adventurers: To Comfort a King

(also on ao3)

Based on The Three Adventurers crossover webcomic by @captmickey: More specifically, based on this picture.

When Link and Guybrush come to Daventry to throw Graham a surprise birthday party, they themselves are surprised by events that occurred when they were separated. But they won't be kept apart no matter what. Fluffy, friendly, sickfic, comfort fic with mild hijinks ensue.

1/1, 6k

~*~*~

Something felt wrong.

The weather wasn’t helping: Daventry’s castle town was saturated. Rain skimmed off rooftops and splashed in puddles beneath drains. Dark clouds weighed down the sky, making it gloomy even in the middle of the afternoon. It would make sense for everyone to be inside, staying dry and safe and happy. But something felt wrong. Tense.

Some deep knight’s instinct made Link reach for his sword hilt. This didn’t feel like people were waiting out a monsoon. This felt lonely, completely still and silent but for the rain dashing against window panes. No candlelight in the windows, no murmured conversation behind doors. The baker’s shop especially drew his attention. Some sort of accident had befallen it since Link’s last visit several months ago: there was a big wooden board nailed across the front windows, like they had been broken. The glass must have already been swept up, and very well at that since he couldn’t see any glittering fragments nestled in the cracks between the cobblestones.

Unless it had been broken into and the glass was all inside.

Don’t jump to conclusions, he scolded himself. Still. He warily stepped around the tree growing in the courtyard, searching the shadows, trying to pin down what was sparking the unease in his chest.

“Aaaah,” Guybrush yelled. Link instantly sprang forward, sword half drawn, before realizing it was a cry of disappointment and not a warning of attack. “Aaah, those alchemists aren’t here!” Guybrush walked out of the empty shop, leaning his elbows on the railing in front of the door. “I wanted to talk to that old guy. He’s got the only rubber chicken supply for miles.”

“No one’s here,” Link said, knocking gingerly on Amaya’s door, not expecting an answer: the forge was clearly cold. No smoke rose from the blacksmith’s chimney. “Where do you suppose they are?”

“Probably the castle. I bet they’re afraid of flooding. This rain is no joke; that river we passed was looking pretty sketchy. Summer in Daventry, eh?”

"Monsoon season is only in July, Graham said. And only for a week or two at that, normally.”

“July in Daventry, eh?” Guybrush swung himself down the shop stairs, boots sloshing up a wave. “Shall we go on to the castle, give him the shock of his week?” He grinned.

No one in Daventry was expecting the pair of adventurers. They’d been coming to throw Graham a surprise birthday party. He was turning twenty-two, and that seemed like an important marker. Double identical digits and all. But they’d missed his birthday by several days at this point. They had been inescapably delayed.

By a side quest involving a cat stuck up a tree.

Link had insisted they dig up bait, use it to catch fish, trade the fish to a traveler for an empty bottle, find a farmer with a cow to fill the bottle with milk (the farmer first requested they clear his field of wolves, a dangerous task that took some more scheming), and then use the milk to tempt the cat down. The cat hadn’t been appreciative. It had nearly taken Link’s finger off with a swipe of its claws. Once they’d left, both with a healthy amount of scratches and bites and a half empty bottle of milk, Guybrush had asked why they hadn’t just tempted the cat down with the fish in the first place.

Anyway, the delay had taken a few days. Travelers with empty bottles were scarce on the road, apparently. So, now they were late.

It would definitely be a surprise, then.

Link patted his pouch to make sure their chosen birthday present was safe. He hoped Graham would like it. It was possibly sentimental gooey nonsense, but it was their sentimental gooey nonsense. “You’re right. I’m sure they’re at the castle. Let’s go.” He squeezed the end of his hat to clear some rainwater, but it didn’t help.

~*~*~

The castle gates were shut tight, the drawbridge high. The rain fell endlessly, rivulets pouring down the battlements and rushing into the moat. The water was swollen, pressing against the banks. It looked like it was going to spill onto the road if this kept up for too much longer. The moat monster eyed them with curiosity, nosing just above the waterline. Link wondered if it would sweep out on the road with the overflow, too, and what merry hell it could raise if it got into the main river.

“Don’t suppose there’s a doorbell on this side of the moat,” Guybrush said, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them.

“Generally, castles don’t have those.”

“Neither do ships, to be fair. We’ve got a voice activated alert system on my ship, though.”

“Do you really?” Link was impressed—it sounded high tech.

“Yeah. Bet Graham does, too. It works like this.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and roared so loudly that Link jumped half an inch off the ground, “OI, ANYONE HOME?”

“Oh. Is that all?”

“All you need.” He drew in a huge gulp of air and yelled again, “WE’RE HERE...” he paused and glanced at Link, whispering hastily, “what’s the polite lingo for a king, again?”

“Seeking an audience,” Link whispered back. That usually was what people said when they wanted to talk to Zelda.

“HERE TO SEEK AN AUDIENCE. WITH THE KING. WHO IS GRAHAM. CAN GRAHAM COME OUT TO PLAY?”

They waited. For a long time, there didn’t seem to be any movement from across the moat, though the monster playfully flicked its tail beneath the water and sent a little wave skimming over the edge to douse their boots. Finally, a shaken sounding voice called back, “Who goes there?”

“I go where I like,” Guybrush yelled.

“No, I mean. Uh. Who are you, exactly?” The voice was flustered.

“Guybrush Threepwood, Mighty Pirate.™”

“And Link of Hyrule.”

“Not a pirate,” Guybrush added helpfully.

“Oh, it’s you two. Right. You were here for the coronation. Back again already? Um. Now...now isn’t a good time.”

“’Course not. It’s raining. But if you let us in, it would be a better time.”

“How did you even find out?” the guard asked distractedly. “They’ve only been back two days. We haven’t even told anyone yet.”

Link glanced at Guybrush, that little nervous thrill at the back of his neck rousing, a twitch in his fingers begging him to go for his sword. Some sense that something was wrong. “Told anyone what?” he asked.

“And Bramble’s pregnant, and this has all been very hard on her, and she doesn’t want to go back to the bakery right now, and who could possibly blame her after what happened to everyone?”

“Look, it’s raining very hard—”

“And the Hobblepots are absolutely destroying the kitchens. Number One is going to have a fit when he realizes, even if Muriel is helping King Graham.”

“Can we just—”

“And Muriel probably wouldn’t even allow you to see him, you know. He’s probably too drugged to even talk.”

“I’m sorry, repeat that?”

The guard hesitated. “Um.” They could see his helmet bobbing over the crenellations as he paced. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to tell anyone.”

“We’re not just anyone,” Link pointed out.

“Um. I mean.”

“Look, anyone could hear us from out here, right?” Guybrush said.

“Sure.”

“And you don’t want anyone to know whatever happened, right?” Guybrush continued, pacing a little to match the guard’s movements.

“That’s what Number One says, at least for now.”

“But if you let us in, then we’ll be inside, right? And then when you tell us, anyone won’t also hear. Because we’ll be inside, and anyone won’t be able to hear us in there.”

“I suppose?”

“And we’re not anyone. We’re Graham’s friends. We’re supposed to know. Whatever it is.”

“Um. I think that makes sense.” The guard seemed all the more uncertain. Whatever had happened must have been very serious to make him this befuddled. Or maybe he was always like this and Graham should hire better security. “I think that’s right.”

“Yes, it is. Now, let us in.”

“Of course, Mr. Threepwood, right away.”

While they waited for the guard to scurry around to the drawbridge crank, Guybrush muttered, “Also, I’m really sick of being wet.”

“You’re always on the ocean.”

“Not in it, though. Come on, he’s dropped the bridge. Hurry up.”

They scurried across, bubbles from the moat monster pursuing them. Unease nagged at Link, but he dared not speak until they had more of an idea about what was happening. The guard met them in the courtyard. He looked even more rattled up close. His armor wasn’t just damp with rain, but properly disheveled. It even looked like pieces were on backward. He smelled like wet pancakes, syrupy and pathetic.

“I mean, you’re his friends,” the guard babbled, wringing his hands. “It might help if he can see you.”

“Might help?” The apprehension was growing and growing. “Inside, now. And tell us what’s happening.”

“Hang on, I need to close the gate. The goblins might come again. He says it’s safe, at least I think he did, it’s all so jumbled, but…no one wants to leave it to chance, you know?”

“I don’t know.” Link was starting to get angry. “Can you just please tell us already?”

“Graham was kidnapped. With the villagers. A week and a half ago. By goblins. He just got back with everyone not two nights past. He’s really sick—he fainted almost as soon as he got to the castle, and he keeps screaming—nightmares, I guess—so Muriel drugged him to make him sleep. I really need to close the gate. Wait here.” And he vanished into the rain, leaving the two adventurers standing stunned and still and silent.

~*~*~

People had been tracking water into the castle, probably from running around in a panic. The plush carpet just beyond the doors was soggy under their feet. They wandered forward in a daze, damp carpet squishing behind them for a few paces until it dried out.

“I can’t believe it,” Link said, voice hoarse. “We’ve got to see him. Can you imagine? Goblins. I can’t imagine getting taken by bokoblins.”

“That’s because they’re about as smart as rocks,” Guybrush said. “I don’t know the goblins around here. They must be clever. Or Graham was daydreaming again. Easy to drop a sack over his head if he’s thinking about candy.”

Link elbowed him. “Be nice. This is serious.”

“I know,” he said. There was a glint in his eye, and his shoulders and jaw were tense. He had a sharpness to him, like a cutlass half drawn and ready to slice if someone looked at him wrong. “Come on.”

The hall was quiet. Candles flickered against the monsoon gray light, barely holding the darkness away despite it technically being the afternoon. A royal guard hurried past, clutching a tray. A teapot and cup were precariously balanced on top, and he was fiercely muttering under his breath about the state of the kitchen. He glanced at the visitors dripping rainwater on this once-dry section of carpet and frowned. “Dare I ask what you’re doing here?”

“We seek an audience with the king.”

He laughed bitterly and started reciting: “The king has been a little tied up lately. I’m afraid he’s indisposed to see anyone—the recent unexpected demands on his attention have been slightly overwhelming, so we’re feverishly requesting a safe delay in all visitations. Perhaps you can leave your contact information at the gate and we shall attend to you whenever we’re available again.”

“Yeah? The audience with the goblins was a bit rough?” Guybrush said.

The guard froze, teapot rattling on the tray. “Who told you.”

“Well. For starters, your speech wasn’t that subtle. Also the guard on the gate told us.”

“I’m going to kick Number Two out of the castle.”

Link stepped forward. “Sir, if I may. You might remember me. I’m Link, of Hyrule. The royal family there has had all sorts of trouble in its history, so I have some experience in matters like this. Also, I know Graham—uh, sorry—King Graham well. We used to travel together. He’ll want to see us as soon as he knows we’re here.”

“Did Number Two tell you how sick he is?” the guard asked suspiciously. “He might not even be awake to see you right now. You should probably just go away.”

Guybrush leaned forward, plucked the lid off the teapot, and inhaled deeply. “Steeping chamomile? And based on the temperature, it’ll be just perfect to drink by the time you get upstairs with it. He’s awake, or you’re hoping he will be. May as well let us come find out.” He glanced airily around the hall. “I seem to recall enough of the layout of this place from when we were here for the coronation. It wouldn’t be hard to find the way on our own.”

“I could probably have you escorted to the dungeon,” No1 said uneasily, “for…uh….”

“For obstructing tea, yes. But that would put a delay in your delivery. It’s getting colder as we stand here, you know. I’m sure if he’s sick he’ll want it hot and good. And the sooner he gets it, the happier he’ll be. If I know royalty, you want to keep them happy. It would be easier to go up together, wouldn’t you say?” That sharpness in his grin was starting to look like a shark’s—someone he loved was being threatened, and he wasn't going to stand back and let it happen, not if he had any say. He practically vibrated with urgency. “Also, there’s too much lavender in there.”

“Now, see here, you…” the guard hesitated again, sensing that sharp desperation, looked at his tray, looked at them, thought a moment, then said, “If you happen to follow me, I’m not going to stop you.” He started walking, muttering, “And lavender’s our main export anyway, I can’t help the amount they put in.”

~*~*~

There was another guard standing watch over the bedroom door. It looked like no one was taking chances. Bit late for all the caution, Link thought, but they’re doing their best.

As it turned out, though, the guard on the door wasn’t even going to be their last opposition.

No1 pushed past, bumping the royal bedchamber door open. Through it, the adventurers could just make out a shape huddled in the bed, and then they heard the most horrible, aching, sharp cough from Graham—it was the sort of ripping cough that made them flinch, that you could feel in your own throat. They started forward, anxious, but an arm shot across their path, blocking them. The door swung shut behind the guard, Graham’s agonized cough muffled.

“Oh! Lady Alchemist!” Guybrush swept an exaggerated bow. “Been a while. Love to chat. Bit busy right now. Got things to do, people to see. Could you just—”

She glared. “You can’t go in there.”

“You can’t stop us.” The joking edge vanished from Guybrush’s voice again.

“Do you wanna get sick? This is inappropriate anyway, seeing a king like this.”

“We demand to see him,” Link said.

“Yeah? And why should I let you do that?” It was amazing how a little old woman could threaten when she wanted. She bustled her way forward, puffing herself up. She was almost of a height with Link when she stood up on her toes.

From behind her another voice said: “Muriel. It’s okay. They’re his friends, remember?”

“Chester, you have the worst memory of all time, but you remember these two?”

“I remember anyone who tries to buy my whole rubber chicken supply out in one go with a lousy brass coin that doesn’t even have any value in Daventry.” Chester stuck out his hand for Guybrush to shake. “Nice to see you again, even in these circumstances. No, I still don’t have any inflatable cutlasses for sale.”

A friendly response at last. A memory stirred: kidnapped with the villagers. “We heard a little bit of what happened. Are you okay? Were you part of it?” Link asked.

“That we were, that we were. Nasty little things, those goblins. If it hadn’t been for him,” Chester thumbed at the closed door, and they could just make out another hacking cough, “we would have been in a lot more trouble. I’m not sure anyone would have come back.” He glanced down the hall, and whispered, “I think there was something intentional going on. Someone had it in for him.”

“Do you think they’ll try again?” Link wasn’t a stranger to assassination attempts. Keeping Zelda safe was a full-time prospect sometimes. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the stress of having another royal friend at risk.

“Not in the same way,” Chester said. “These guards,” he gestured at the one standing nearby, “are all puffed up since they got caught flatfoot, but they’ll smooth out. It won’t happen twice like it did, I can promise that. If I know who did it, and I think I do, repetition isn’t really his style, not if he can go bigger and better. Creativity’s the word. Besides, I think Graham’s got some ideas about opening up diplomacy talks with the goblins to prevent anything like this happening again. But I think there’s someone you’d rather hear all this from instead of me.”

“No,” Muriel said sharply. “I don’t care that they’re friends. That’s not a good idea for him, or them, and you know it.” She looked to the guard, like she was going to ask for help with chasing these two off. “Clear off. Maybe later you can see him. Right now is not appropriate, and I will have you chased out of this castle if I must.”

Guybrush opened his mouth to start arguing again, but Link gently touched his shoulder. She had precedence over them in this situation. That guard would listen to her, and chase them out, and then they would be much further from their goal.

“You’re right,” Link told Muriel. “We shouldn’t go through that door.”

“Just so,” she said, eyeing him a bit suspiciously, more than surprised that he was giving in. “So, shoo.”

“Oh, Muriel,” Chester sighed. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“It would hurt them after I was through with them,” she snapped. “Go on, shoo.”

Link dragged Guybrush down the hall by the hand, steering him into one of the bedrooms down the corridor once Muriel had turned her back.

“Come on, I could have turned on the charm and gotten us in there,” Guybrush complained. “Now we probably won’t get to see him for days and I’m not willing to wait that long.”

“Look, I promised we wouldn’t go through the door,” Link said. He reached into his bag and withdrew his grappling hook. “Didn’t say anything about a window.”

“Aaahhh.”

~*~*~

On reflection, Link realized, this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe they should have tried to persuade Muriel after all. Or maybe if they’d started screaming, Graham would have heard them and ordered them in (unless the tea had been drugged to make him sleep, or he didn’t actually want them to see him like this after all). Now, Link and Guybrush were dangling off the side of the castle, clinging to the grappling hook rope, rain making everything slippery and hard to navigate.

“Are you sure this is the right window?”

“Got to be,” Link said. He used his elbow to swipe some of the rainwater out of his eyes. “I did the calculations. It’s gotta be it. This time.” (They’d already tried two other windows, both of which had led to empty bedrooms. One of them might have been where the Hobblepots were staying, based on the array of random junk everywhere that seemed to belong to Chester, but luckily the two alchemists were out doing something else. Probably still standing guard in front of Graham’s door. Presumably the Feys and Miss Blackstone were staying elsewhere in the castle, because no one screamed when the adventurers poked their noses over the windowsills and swatted them down.)

They could make out the warm flickering glow of a lit fireplace in the window above them, which at least matched what they had glimpsed through the door of Graham’s room. They just had to get there without sliding down the rope and falling fifty feet to the treetops. Guybrush was dangling near the bottom of the rope, finding it difficult to get purchase on the slick castle walls with his boots. “They’re going to think we’re invaders and shoot us down,” he muttered. “They’re going to think we’re goblins back to finish the job we started.”

“Be quiet and climb,” Link said, glancing nervously side to side in case there were a few royal guards taking aim at them from the balconies or parapets. No one was.

Except…Royal Guard Number One was looking down at them.

He had opened the window and was leaning against the sill, staring down. His chin was propped on his hands, but with his helmet on, there was no way to tell if he was enjoying this or furious.

Link slid down the rope a few feet in his frozen panic, knocking into Guybrush, who yelped and locked the rope tighter around his leg so they wouldn’t fall, and the two of them grinned guiltily up at the royal guard.

He sighed heavily (they could hear it over the rain, he was so loud and flustered), gripped the rope, and started to heave them up.

~*~*~

The room beyond was cozy, the large array of candles keeping the gloom (and perhaps those nightmares the guard had spoken of) at bay. Graham, eyes closed, was propped up against a pile of pillows in bed, slipping slowly at the delivered cup of tea and wincing at every swallow. No1 hoisted the two embarrassed adventurers over the windowsill and they fell to the ground, sloppy and squishy with rainwater. Graham looked up when he heard them, and his face—drawn, pale—lit up with a huge smile. He put the teacup down on the bedside table amongst a dizzying array of cups and pots and vials and bandages and tissues and ingredients brought by the Hobblepots.

“Number One said you were here,” he said, nodding toward the royal guard. His voice was raspy. “I kind of expected you to come in the door instead of the window, though.”

No1 took off his helmet and shook the rainwater off it, fluffing the uniform’s feather back up and putting it in front of the fireplace to dry. He bristled his moustache, but it looked more like he was hiding a smile instead of annoyance. He helped the two adventurers to their feet, insisted they wait for a second so they wouldn’t drip water everywhere, pulled some towels from a pile neatly folded by a large copper tub shoved in the corner, wrapped them up, and then let them go. Immediately, they rushed to their friend’s side. Link grabbed Graham’s hand out of some desperate instinct, squeezing hard. Graham squeezed back as hard as he could—which wasn’t particularly hard.

“I’m so sorry we weren’t here,” Link said. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? What happened? We don’t have the details. Oh, Graham....”

He looked absolutely awful. His bedhair, usually pretty hilarious anyway, was a tangled mess from tossing and turning in his sleep. His eyes were ringed with dark exhaustion, making it look like he’d been punched, but they were bright with a lingering fever, too. Link could feel the weakness in his friend’s trembling fingers. Graham was swimming in some ridiculously oversized nightshirt that more or less swallowed him up. It gaped here and there on his thin frame, and they could see the edges of bruises beneath it on his arms: bruises that, even partially glimpsed, looked uncomfortably like fingerprints.

“A kidnapping,” Guybrush said, shaking his head. He grinned mischievously, “Or was it a kingnapping?”

Link’s ears flattened, and the sheer look he shot Guybrush could have knocked a moblin over. “You’re going to end up right next to him nursing a black eye instead of nursing the flu,” he hissed. But Graham was laughing, and Link subsided, though he was still too annoyed to perk his ears up again. He was wary of pushing it if Graham wasn’t ready to talk yet, but he was desperate to know, to help in any way he could. “Are you...is it...are you up to telling us what happened?”

“No, I don’t have the energy to get up. But I can be down for telling it.”

Link dropped his head into his hands and moaned, “I can’t stand being around you two.”

“I can’t stand either, so it’s okay,” Graham said, patting Link gently on the shoulder.

“Aaaargh!”

“You can’t be mad at him,” Guybrush said. “He outranks you now—his hat’s shinier than yours.”

“Yes, my crowning achievement,” Graham agreed. “But that doesn’t make you beanie-th me.”

“Ahh, you’re fedorable when you’re being humble,” Guybrush said, “but you don’t need to downplay your escapades.”

“I’m not that far ahead, really,” Graham said.

“You’re going to make me sick,” Link sighed.

“If you hang around me much longer, you will be,” Graham said, and the laughter faded from his scratchy voice. “I heard Muriel. I’m glad you’re here, absolutely, but...she’s right, you know. You shouldn’t be in here. I’m not safe to be around, I think. I might give you this.” He gestured vaguely at his throat. “You don’t want it, believe me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not going anywhere.” Guybrush sat down so hard on the bed that Graham bounced. “Now. It’s time for you to tell us one of those stories you like to tell. But only If you’re ready.”

And so, after a pause and a sip of lukewarm tea, Graham began. The day had begun in frustration in the throne room and had ended in fear in a goblin cell. He kept rubbing his wrists, remembering the bite of ropes, until Link held his hands again.

He told of huge caverns, of stalactites dripping water into secret pools, of glowing salamanders scampering through the shadows, of mushrooms in every color casting off glittering spores. He told of sharp spears and heavy padlocks, of giant rats and whispered escape plans. There were costumes and stories: Cinderella and Rumplestiltskin. Porridge, sweetycakes, and frogs. Friends and enemies, and some people that might have been both in equal measure. Shrouds of stone armor, unbending bars and sharp bolt cutters, stolen beds, stolen people. The goblin king, his courtiers, and the book written by a former friend that had incited the goblins and started it all.

He talked for a long time, his voice wavering in and out. Sometimes he had to stop and take a breath, drink tea, rub his aching throat. He sank lower into the pillows, looking more worn out, but he stubbornly refused to sleep no matter how often they suggested it. Whenever these breaks happened, Link and Guybrush sat a little closer together and waited with him in comforting silence. They offered to at least give him a proper long break and finish the rest later, but he wanted to tell the story. Wanted to explain it from start to finish. “It helps,” he said. “Even if it hurts a bit.” He choked down another cough and sipped at a fresh cup of tea No1 had brought. No1 had also silently brought Guybrush and Link their own mugs, unasked and unexpected. They had crowns painted on them. The lavender tickled their noses, and the trio drank in quiet but good company.

At some point, Muriel and Chester came in to prep medicine doses. She saw the adventurers huddled together and took a step back, startled and angry, and she opened her mouth start yelling, but Graham cut her off, hastily saying, “Ahh, Muriel, you remember my best friends, right? I’m so glad they’ve come to visit. Link, Guybrush, meet Muriel and Chester Hobblepot, the greatest alchemists in the country.” He gave her a pleading, sopping kitten sort of look, breath held in nervous anticipation.

She deflated with a weary sigh—the look she gave them told Link and Guybrush they were destined for a sickbed next. “He should be sleeping right now,” she warned them.

“That’s what we told him,” Link replied, relief tinging his words now that he knew his position on this bed was secure. “He says no.”

“We’ve been over this,” Muriel said. She reached for a cup that Graham had been especially careful to avoid and tried to offer it to him. “You were supposed to drink this an hour ago. You can’t avoid your dreams forever.”

“I can definitely put them off,” Graham said, crossing his arms so she couldn’t force it on him. “Muriel, please. Just a little longer. I don’t want to sleep. It’s not...it’s not the nightmares this time, honestly. I’m just trying to explain things. I think straightening everything out, talking through it...it’s going to help the nightmares stop. Please.”

She pursed her lips, then sighed and stepped back. “Fine. This once, fine. But I’m going to swap those bandages out now anyway.”

Guybrush half stood. “Oh. Should we leave?”

Graham grabbed his sleeve. “N-no, please don’t. I’d like...please don’t go. I didn’t tell you this part, but...um. To make sure I wasn’t smuggling anything, the goblins would...literally shake me down. Upside down. And they’ve got hard hands.” Graham slipped up his nightshirt sleeve, and showed off some of the half-glimpsed fingerprint-shaped bruises. “These are mostly faded. It’s my legs that are...badly bruised. My own weight against their hands. That’s all.”

“This makes them heal faster,” Muriel said, plucking a jar from the tray. Link reached for it automatically, as curious about healing potions as ever. The jar felt icy cold in his hands, almost frosted over despite the warmth of the room. “Green ice scale,” she told him. “Good for deep soothing.”

Guybrush let Graham lean against him while they reapplied the icy goop and rewrapped the bandages so the bedsheets wouldn’t stain green. Graham shuddered, his shoulder pressed hard against Guybrush’s as he flinched away from Muriel’s touch. “It’s so much colder than it was last time,” he muttered.

“I think you just weren’t paying attention the first time,” Muriel replied.

Link stuck a finger in the jar and studied the gel. “Good for burns?” he asked.

“Plan on fighting a dragon soon?” Chester said.

“Fire arrows can have interesting consequences.”

“I’ll get some together for you. It’s a good snack on a hot day, too.”

“I’ll, ah, keep that in mind next time I’m in in the Gerudo Desert, thanks.”

Guybrush was staring at Graham’s bruises. It was almost possible to make out individual handprints in the colorful marks on his shins. “Those are nasty.”

“Just don’t poke them,” Graham said. “They were worse, if you can believe it. How much longer, Muriel?”

“Oh, a week, maybe. This knocks the heal time down, but doesn’t erase ‘em. I could go global if I had something that just erased ‘em.” She picked up yet another little pot from the hoard she had gathered, whisked off the lid, and offered the contents to Link and Guybrush. There were tiny little white leaves in it, crisscrossed with green veins. They smelled like extreme mint, like you could flavor an entire moat’s worth of lemonade with one leaf. It made Link feel a little nauseous. “You’re going to want this. Put it under your tongue and it’ll melt. One an hour. I’ll give you both your own bags of it, but start with this for now.”

After she left, the story picked up where it had left off, details untangling like knotted ropes, until Graham started to reach a rough conclusion.

“As for me getting sick. It’s probably not hard to guess. Muriel thinks...I mean, the stress alone was hard, but my cell was always wet. The rainwater kept finding channels down. It was one big puddle most of the time. And there wasn’t a lot of food to go around after the porridge ran out, and I couldn’t let Bramble go hungry, or the Hobblepots, or Amaya. It…it wasn’t….” He coughed, a hacking wheeze that rattled his chest. “I’m lucky. It could have been worse. I could have gotten like this before escaping. But...but I couldn’t let that happen. I think I didn’t let myself get sick until we were free. Everyone was depending on me, you know.

“But...but it was hard. To be alone for so long. In the end, Bramble and I found the goblin king together. I told him a story about what it means to be afraid. What it means to get too much responsibility too fast, to not know what you’re doing, and how friends are the only way to push forward and keep going. And that, a story about friends, was a story he liked, and in that place where stories hold more sway than kings, it was enough, and he let me, let all my friends, go.”

Link and Guybrush glanced at each other. Link breathed deeply: “Graham. The reason we’re here. It’s not because of what happened...we didn’t even know until today. We were here for a different reason at first. This...this isn’t the way we would have wanted to do this, but...” He and Guybrush leaned cheek to cheek together and shrieked “Happy birthday!” so loudly that No1, who had actually not been listening at all, almost fell out of the rocking chair. Link shoved his hand into his bag and withdrew a small wrapped box with a crumpled bow pasted on top.

“It isn’t much,” Link said apologetically. “It’s late. You had your birthday...” his voice faded.

“In that cell, yeah,” Graham agreed. His eyes were sparkling with excitement, though, and he spoke lightly. “It wasn’t that bad. I sang to the salamanders, and Wente made me a special sweetycake, somehow. But, guys, you didn’t need to do this.” He took the proffered gift all the same and slipped off the rumbled ribbon.

“It’s an engraving we had done,” Guybrush leaned forward, watching as Graham extricated a charm and chain. “I think it’s kinda cheesy, but Elaine and Zelda thought it was clever. They helped with the design.”

The charm itself was styled like a piece of eight, with two crossed swords and a bow and arrow printed on top—clearly tiny little renditions of their weapons of choice. Graham ran his fingers along the edge, finding a little latch and flipping it open like a locket. It contained an image of the three of them, arms flung over shoulders, apparently mid-joke and laughing together.

Link said, “We thought...well, it’s your first birthday as a king, and we were worried you might, y’know, get too busy and distracted and...maybe forgetful. Zelda said that’s normal, for a newly responsible royal. But we thought that together we did so much, and even if we can’t be here in person all the time for you as a king, we...well, I guess it’s sort of silly after all that happened, when you really did need us and we weren’t there for you then to help protect you and Daventry and all, but—”

“But you’re here. Now. And that’s all that matters to me. It’s perfect. I love it.” He pulled the chain over his head, and the charm rested against his chest. Graham bit his lip. “It’s probably too late, but...I mean, I’m definitely contagious, but...”

He didn’t have to finish saying it. His friends launched themselves at him and grabbed him in a tight hug. They stayed together like that for a long time, regret and gratitude and everything held in silence. They could handle anything when they were apart, but they were stronger together, and they reveled in it.

(Later, Link’s throat started to ache and Guybrush started coughing, but they both agreed it was worth it. Muriel just sighed and ordered more soup.)

#captmickey #King's Quest #kings quest #King Graham #the three adventurers #chester hobblepot #Muriel Hobblepot #this post is protected by the royal guards #monkey island #legend of zelda #ch2 #fic'ing #tcak

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shijiujun · 4 years

Note

hello im new to writing fics. i was wondering how your cope when you write something that flops? like has that ever happened to you?

Heya!!! Oooh okay that’s a loaded question but it’s an important one and while I don’t have much advice to give, let’s do this:

*If you want more advice I suggest following the account AO3 Comment of the Day! They’ve got some cool asks that are answered really well about writing and etc.

1. Firstly, yay that you’re writing fics!! Regardless of whether you think your stuff is good or not, kudos to you for wanting to write and contribute to your fandom! You’ll get even better with time and the more fics you write, so welcome to the world of fic writing!

2. “Something that flops”: The argument is that you should not find value of your fic in the number of kudos or comments (or the lack of it) it gets, and of course it isn’t! But it still sucks when you see little or no engagement on your fic, but also I guess there are a few factors to why a fic isn’t getting as many kudos or likes, e.g. it’s a niche topic you’re writing about, maybe the fandom has been a little dead for a while etc., but once again it’s still healthy to not tag the value of your writing to the kudos/comments, maybe people are still new to the fandom and haven’t gotten into the fandom on AO3 yet (this one is about timing) etc. you get, really, it’s tough to do and it might be unfair but in the long run I do believe that fic writers first and foremost write for themselves. And somewhere somehow people will be interested.

3. Not every single fic you write, you write at your 100% - Don’t be too hard on yourself! You provided your efforts for free, and sometimes you write something nonsensical, or can’t be bothered to check every line to make sure you didn’t write uranus as ur anus but you know! Definitely some fics will do better than some others, that’s for sure.

As for how I cope:

Honestly I’ve been quite lucky? I write for two small fandoms, so firstly you have to adjust your expectations and set thresholds for like the number of kudos/comments etc. you are expecting to get - For me as long as I hit like a minimum number of 100 hits I’m good my expectations are pretty low because I tend to obsess over why people aren’t reading a particular fic for example etc. out of IDK a terrible, misplaced sense of narcissism but I AM GETTING OVER IT!

Another thing is I don’t think of myself as a good writer so - If you hit, leave kudos and oof the best, leave a nice comment on my fics, you have my eternal love. When I upload something I erm... don’t usually go back to read it because I get embarrassed, but it makes a world of a difference if your mindset is - I’m new at this, I still got so much to improve on, people who support me even if it’s one of you THANK U and people over time will be drawn to your writing cuz it’s good

If you define ‘flop’ by the point above, then yeah I’ve had one that flopped before but I honestly didn’t think of it as flopping XD It was just 1. A niche pairing 2. The fandom is kinda half dead 3. Honestly was a work that was slightly below average - But I put it up anyway because I wanted to get it out of the way and honestly I don’t really think much about it (so yes, one way to cope is like: oh that flopped? cool let’s never talk about it or look at it again, thanks MOVING ON)

I also cross post on Tumblr (for certain fandoms and shorter fic lengths) and I am also fond of self-reblogging, but there’s nothing to be ashamed about that to be honest!

If no one champions your work and you can’t expect them to, then you’ll have to champion it yourself because you’re you own biggest supporter. It’s pretty cathartic actually, I recommend self-reblogging your own work so more people see it!

Also if you think about it, attention is double-edged sword - Lesser attention means emotionally you don’t feel like you’re obligated to put up certain fics or topics, or ensure they’re at a certain quality and honestly you really can write anything you want. More attention will of course on one hand motivate and fuel you to write even more (and I do think readers should at least drop a kudo or a short comment if they really like the fic) but sometimes it might hinder your writing process a bit.

Do what makes you happy! If writing fics and it ‘flopping’ gets to you after you tried the first one, take a step back, take a break, and then try again. Fic writing is fun like that. If a halfway through your draft you feel like throwing the whole thing away? Just slot it in an Archives folder on your laptop and think of something new or rewrite it.

I’m really not a good person to ask XD but I’ve been quite happy these past few months so!! <3 In fact, my issue is not really if a fic flops or not but IF SOMEONE STEALS MY SHIT!!! I don’t dare to check because if I don’t check and don’t see it I don’t have to fight but I got a feeling it’ll come sooner or later.

#fic #fic writing #asks

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softforcal · 5 years

Text

Bro Code : Prince!Cal

Summary: When Prince Ashton’s younger sister comes back to the kingdom for the summer after being at uni for years, Calum realizes maybe the ‘bro code’ isn’t so great after all

Warnings: lil smut

Prince Cal Moodboard

OC Moodboard

Word Count: 11k

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

Calum had known that Ostara would be coming back to the kingdom for the whole summer, and he’d thought he’d be prepared to see her. He’d never not been prepared before, but, when his eyes landed on the blonde standing in the kitchen, he realized he had not been ready for the sight in front of him.

They hadn’t seen each other in years. She’d gone off to boarding school and straight to university after. Calum had always figured that she’d stayed away on purpose, after all, the younger Irwin had never been a fan of being a Princess.

When Ashton had told his friends that she’d be coming home for the kingdoms centennial celebration, the boys had been surprised. However, when Ashton mentioned that, in part, it was due to his parents deciding it was finally time for Ostara to begin courting all the princes who would be in the city for the celebration, it made a bit more sense.

Calum had scrolled through her insta and had been shocked to see how much she’d grown, how much she’d changed. He’d had to admit to himself that she got hot. Long blonde hair, pretty green eyes, honey coloured skin and an adorable splatter of freckles across her little, upturned nose, she was still the girl he’d grown up with, but she’d glowed up in a big way.

Seeing her in person was entirely different.

Somehow, she was even prettier when not contained by the four sided walls of an instagram post. Which didn’t quite make sense to the young prince. But as his eyes scanned up her body, taking in the cute floral yellow skirt and the little white crop top, he couldn’t breathe.

She turned and seemed to notice him for the first time, an easy, dimpled smile appearing on her face, “Calum!” she exclaimed, setting down the bag of chips she’d managed to steal from the palace pantry. She moved around the island table quickly, throwing her arms around the tall prince who immediately embraced her, breathing in the scent that he’d all but forgotten, and not realized how much he’d missed.

As he set her down, he opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a loud “there she is!” as his friends walked into the kitchen behind him.

“Leave it to Cal to find the only girl in the house.” Michael teased, pulling Ostara into a hug and away from Calum, whose body mourned her of its own accord.

“How’ve you been?” Luke asked, getting his turn next.

“Busy.” Ostara answered, which was so classic that it made Calum smile.

“Busy bee.” Ashton said, finally getting a turn to hug his little sister.

She grinned against his shoulder and the other princes in the room watched the happy reunion, “when did you get in?” Ashton asked when he set Ostara down.

“A little while ago, I would have messaged but… well, thought you’d enjoy the surprise.” she shrugged, hands settling on her hips to look at everyone, “shit, you guys got tall.”

“It wouldn’t be such a shock if you actually came home for Christmas.” Ashton said, jabbing at her ribcage as Ostara swatted his hand away.

“You know why I haven't.” Ostara tutted, “besides, I face time you like every day.”

Ashton opened his mouth to say something when a servant entered the kitchen, “Princess Ostara you’re needed in your parents office.”

Ostara groaned and Ashton chuckled, “good luck.”

She brushed past him and grabbed her bag of chips, glaring at her brother, “ha ha.”

They watched her leave, Calum’s gaze drawn down, and once she was gone everyone turned to look at Ashton who held up his hands, pointing at the hot blooded males around him, “if any of you say it-”

“Your sister got hot.” Luke stated.

Ashton shoved at Luke who chuckled and moved away.

“What’s the deal with Ostara and your parents anyways?” Michael asked, opening the fridge to grab a beer.

“They have this whole thing about her finding a suitor, it’s very old fairy tale of them if you ask me.” Ashton said, pushing past Michael to find something to eat. He settled on an apple, taking a bite.

“Shit, I heard about that.” Luke said, “my mom mentioned it to me a few days ago.”

“How did that come up?” Calum laughed.

“I think they’re hoping if they force us to date she’ll calm me down or something.” Luke said. Calum could feel his blood go cold.

Ashton froze, turning to look at his friend, “force you to date? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I thought I mentioned that.” Luke shrugged, “doesn’t mean much to me. She’s your little sister man, I’m not that much of a dick.”

-----

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date with Luke?” Calum asked as soon as the blonde entered the kitchen.

Ostara rolled her eyes, walking past Calum who was all but guarding the fridge, a beer in his hand, “can you even really call it a date? It’s a parentaly forced hang out.”

“Did they teach you words like ‘parentaly’ at your fancy university?” Calum grinned.

“Yes.” Ostara snapped but she was grinning, “what are you drinking?”

Before Calum could answer, she grabbed the bottle from his hand, taking a swig and making Calum chuckle, “and now you drink too?” he mused.

“A lot has changed.” Ostara pointed out, looking at the beer, “this is good.”

“Yeah, which is why it’s mine.” Calum said, trying to grab the bottle back but the smaller girl danced away.

“Pretty sure this is my palace Hood, which makes this my beer.” she took another drink, “when did this place become such a frat house?”

“Ash invited us for the summer, besides, you have the whole extra palace anyways.” Calum pointed out.

“Yeah, my extra palace.” Ostara pointed out, “which I usually get all to myself and Ashton, except now it’s run rampant princes.”

“You say that like its a bad thing.” Calum smirked, going to the fridge again to find another beer to replace the one Ostara had taken.

“It is when princes are the thing I’ve been avoiding for years.” Ostara said, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Why is that?” Calum asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he studied the younger Irwin.

“It just feels weird, the expectation, and all you princes are the same-”

“Ouch.” Calum laughed, “I assume you mean like Luke.”

“Well he has been the one in the tabloids recently.” Ostara pointed out.

“We’re not all like him, you know that.” Calum said, “was the date that bad?”

“Don’t call it a date, and yes.” Ostara said, lifting herself up to sit on the kitchen counter, she kicked her legs absentmindedly, “did you know that he has this compulsion to check out every ass that walks past him?”

“Yeah he does that.” Calum chuckled.

“And you don’t?”

He grinned, “no.”

“So you weren’t checking out my ass when I left the kitchen yesterday?”

Calum’s heart thumped, had she caught him?

“I’m kidding.” Ostara laughed, “god, lighten up, I’m still me Cal.”

He took a deep breath, studying the little mischievous glint in her green eyes that had been there since they were kids, “sure you are.”

-----

“Two days in a row, starting to think you’re stalking me Hood.” Ostara said when the prince entered the kitchen.

“We both just like the kitchen, that’s not a crime.” Calum shrugged, “you’re dressed up.”

“Had another ‘date’.” Ostara said, grabbing ice cream from the fridge. She sat up on the kitchen counter, the place that Calum was already viewing as her spot.

“Was it as bad as Luke’s?” Calum snuck a glance at her from over his shoulder as he reached into the fridge.

“Hmm, comparable.” Ostara said, sticking a spoon into the frozen dessert which she proceeded to lick clean.

“What was wrong with this guy?”

“Prince Shawn is nice-”

“He’s a softie.” Calum rolled his eyes, “definitely not your type.”

Ostara scoffed, “oh yeah? And what’s my type Hood? If you’re such an expert.”

He shrugged, “just… not prince Shawn.”

------

“So this is what? Five days in a row of dates?” Calum chuckled when Ostara entered the kitchen, setting her purse on the counter before finding a banana to eat as she lifted herself onto the table.

“Like I said, you’re a stalker.” Ostara groaned, kicking off her high heels which Calum dodged, grabbing a beer that he passed to her.

“I’m starting to think you’re just picky.”

“And what about it?” Ostara shrugged, “so what if a girl’s got taste?”

Calum smirked, “nothing wrong with that.”

“Hey aren’t you getting pimped out too?” Ostara asked, biting into her banana, “when are you ever going to tell me about your shitty dates?”

“I don’t have shitty dates.”

“Yeah, cuz I never see you going on any.” Ostara teased.

“I’m just… I don’t know,” Calum sighed, “not a fan of the whole PR dating thing.”

“Right, and I am?” Ostara rolled her eyes.

They both knew why Calum could get away with no pr relationships, the same way Ashton could. They were the eldest sons. The only reason Luke got wrangled into it was because he was the third child, just as Ostara was the second. They would never have a crown, unless they married into it, and they were good candidates for royal courtship. Royals married royals. That was known.

“Do you really want to hear about my bad dates?” Calum asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Yes!” Ostara exclaimed.

“I have one later tonight-”

“You have to tell me all about it when you get back.” Ostara stated.

“Hmm, not sure when it will be over-”

“Then give me your number, text me.” Ostara suggested, pulling out her phone.

Calum shrugged, taking her phone and punching in his contact info, “there.” he said, handing back her phone. He watched as she corrected his name from ‘Cal’ to ‘his highness’ and he couldn't help but smile.

Ostara put her phone away, “I can’t be the only one with a shit love life around here.”

Calum chuckled, “at least you’re not Luke.”

“Yeah, you’re right, that would be worse.”

---------

Calum’s knee bobbed up and down, his eyes fixed on the brunette who was going on about all the parties she’d been to in the past month. Gnawing at his lip, Calum tried to remain focused, but for some reason, his eyes kept straying away from the puffed up lips, protruding fillers and bodacious bust that every princess seemed to have. He wondered if they all went to the same surgeon.

The small buzz of his phone captured Calum’s attention and the girl followed his eyes, sighing, “do you need to look at that?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, one sec.” Calum mumbled, picking up his phone to scan the screen. It was his friend group chat, the one with Luke, Ash and Michael.

Someone had sent a picture of Prince Liam and it looked like the other boys were tearing the guy to shreds. Calum quickly tried to get caught up in the convo, realizing that Ashton had originally sent the picture with the caption ‘future brother in law? I think the FUCK not.’

As if he hadn’t already been distracted by Ostara this entire date and now his friends were discussing her possible suitors? And Liam was not the kind of guy Calum wanted Ostara to be going out with. Sure, out of his gang of friends, Liam was… suitable, definitely better than others, but it just didn’t sit right with Calum.

“Is something wrong?” the brunette asked.

“What?” Calum looked up.

“You’re frowning.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah.”

Calum took one last look at the phone, eyes scanning a text from Michael that read ‘fuck that guy’ and then Calum turned off his phone, “sorry.”

“You seem distracted.” the brunette mused.

Calum sighed, “yeah, sorry-”

“I’ll get the cheque.”

Calum opened his mouth to argue but then stopped. It was true. It he didn’t want to be at that table with that princess. He wanted to be back at the palace, preferably in the kitchen, preferably with a blonde, preferably last named Irwin, preferably female-

His thoughts were cut off by the waiter who had returned with the bill, Calum pulled out his wallet, throwing some bills on the table. He stood up, mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ before he all but ran from the restaurant.

Calum made it back to the palace in record time, going to the kitchen immediately.

It was empty. Calum’s heart sank in his chest.

He pulled out his phone, looking at Ostara’s contact for a few moments before he began to type: ‘Back from my date.’

The little messaging bubble popped up almost immediately and Calum’s heart lurched in his chest while he waited.

‘We’re at the firepit, come join.’

Calum sighed. He’d been hoping to catch her alone. It was almost a ritual by now, one on one talks in the kitchen about bad dates. He didn’t really feel like disclosing the information about the bad dates with the guys. He didn’t want to have to share his attention. To hide the fact that his eyes would want to be on Ostara and no one else. It was something he’d already began to notice, the way he felt he had to act differently, to control himself, whenever Ostara and the boys were in the same place.

He couldn’t be open about how much he enjoyed the younger Irwin.

He knew Ashton would not be happy about it.

Hell, if Luke thought dating Ostara would be a shitty bro move, that meant something.

Calum sighed, grabbing two beers from the fridge absentmindedly, then he walked outside towards the firepit.

The sound of voices greeted him as he came around the corner, eyes landing on the group of people all lounging in lawn chairs around the firepit. Ashton noticed him first “where’s your date?” he called with a grin.

Calum rolled his eyes, going to sit by Luke who had pulled up a chair for him. “This for me?” Luke asked, taking the second beer from Calum before he could respond. The beer had been for Ostara Calum realized, but he wasn’t about to fight it, especially not in front of Ashton.

“So spill.” Ostara said, making Calum’s attention flicker to her for the first time. He’d been avoiding looking at her, but he figured he was allowed to address her after she’d asked him a direct question.

But now he had to figure out how to explain why the brunette had not been a good date. He had to come up with a reason that wasn't the truth: that she wasn’t Ostara.

“Uh, she was just really-” he thought about it, was trash talking another princess in front of Ostara a good idea? “We just didn’t vibe.”

“Isn’t this the girl who gave you a handy at the last banquet?” Michael asked, popping some chips into his mouth.

“That chick!” Luke said, snapping his fingers, “she’s a fox.”

Calum could feel his skin heating up, hot against the cool night air, and not because of the close proximity of the fire. “Yeah, that’s her.” he admitted, throat feeling thick as he swallowed and avoided looking at Ostara. He’d only half forgotten about that, he’d been very high.

“You guys vibed okay that night.” Ashton pointed out.

“Did her technique get worse?” Michael asked in confusion.

“She didn’t- we were in a restaurant.” Calum stated, taking a deep breath.

“So?” Luke grinned.

“Yeah, wouldn’t be the craziest place you’ve ever-” Michael began and Calum groaned loudly.

“Shut up Michael.” Calum commanded.

“You guys are so mean to him.” Ostara tutted and Calum offered her a half smile. She could feel how uncomfortable he was and Ostara had been raised to navigate awkwardness like a professional, so she easily changed the topic and Calum thanked god for her, “what are you guys wearing to the ball on Friday?”

“Velvet.” Luke answered immediately.

“Oooh!” Ostara leaned in, “what colour?”

“Red.”

“Wow, you really like to stand out don’t you?” Ostara teased.

“He’s six foot four, he always stands out.” Michael stated.

“I’m six’ two at best.” Luke insisted.

“Liar.” Ashton laughed.

“What are you wearing?” Calum asked before he could help himself, curiosity getting the better of him.

Ostara’s green eyes met his, “a lady never tells.”

“Fucking tease.” Luke muttered, earning a shove from Ashton.

Calum tried not to look at Ostara but she looked so cute, bundled up in an oversized red flannel. She looked so relaxed, so comfortable, so happy. He realized he had been staring a moment too long and tore his eyes away, looking instead at Ashton who was chatting with Michael about whether or not Michael would ditch the ball all together.

Calum’s heart was thumping in his chest and although he appeared to be listening in on the conversation, his brain was occupied with other thoughts.

He’d told Ostara that not all princes were like Luke, and yet it had just been made painfully clear that in some ways, they were. He regretted letting the brunette princess give him a handy under the table at that banquet. But, as much as he hated to think it, above all, he regretted the fact that it hadn’t been Ostara who had been the one to do it.

------

The days leading up to the ball were tense for Calum. He’d pretty much accepted the fact that he was a terrible friend and a terrible person.

He’d accepted the fact that he was lusting after his best friends sister.

He’d tried to avoid her at first but that had proved to be impossible, they both just loved the kitchen too much.

And then there was the fact that all any of them wanted to do was lounge by the pool. Calum couldn’t just stay in his room all day, that would have been boring and suspicious. So he found himself sitting in the shade with Michael, trying not to look at Ostara as she did her morning laps or tanned on a floaty.

It was very uncomfortable for him, fighting the ever incessant urge to sneak a peak even though he knew what negative effects it would have on him, in certain places in particular.

It didn’t help that Ostara was a happy, chatty girl who was always ready to ask him how his day was going any time they bumped into each other somewhere on the grounds. Calum didn’t want to be cold, but he didn’t want to be too warm either.

So he’d made an impulsive decision. Something that would keep him out of the palace for a while. He’d decided to go dye his hair.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and it was a good reason to avoid Ostara after. When she’d caught wind of what he was doing she’d messaged him ‘send me pics!’ and he’d replied with ‘hair reveal at the ball’ a text that he had stared at and hated himself for hours afterwards. But, he had justified not seeing her for three days and of course Ostara had respected his want to ‘drop a big reveal’ and had purposefully been avoiding him to not ruin the surprise. Which only seemed to make him adore her even more.

Getting ready for the ball was a chore. The four princes all had custom suits and they dicked around, drank, and chatted while getting ready in Ashton’s room. Try as he might to get involved in the conversation, all Calum could think about was what Ostara would be wearing.

Calum downed a shot, feeling the pleasant buzz wash over him. He was not about to go to a ball sober and he knew he was playing with fire. He knew that with lowered inhibitions, he could end up in high water fast, but he just couldn’t find it within himself to go to the event without being at least slightly tipsy.

He’d been mentally preparing to see Ostara dance with other princes.

He hoped that this time, he’d be ready for the view.

----

Again, Calum was wrong. Seeing Ostara jump from prince to prince hurt his soul. Watching hands that were not his caress her waist, covered in a soft looking, baby pastel yellow silk dress, made Calum’s fists clench at his sides. The way she smiled, looking so graceful and so princess-like… it was making Calum’s head spin, or perhaps that was the glass of whiskey in his hand?

Calum noticed prince Liam noticing Ostara and somehow his blood got even hotter. Especially as Liam began walking over when the song ended. Liam was upon Ostara within moments and although Liam may have missed the small micro expression that crossed her face as she turned to look at him, Calum didn’t.

He drank the rest of his drink, clenching his jaw as he set down the glass. By the time he looked up again, a new song had started and Liam had Ostara pressed to his chest.

“Look at that douchebag.” Michael stated from next to him.

Calum said nothing.

“One of us should go save her.” Michael continued, “Ashton looks pissed.”

Calum looked over at Ashton who was busy dancing, but his eyes were on his sister and Liam. “i’ll do it.” Calum stated, moving forward immediately.

He maneuvered through the crowd, eyes on his prize. His tattooed hand reached out on it’s own accord, tapping the prince on the shoulder, “wait your turn mate.” Liam said.

“Nah.” Calum responded, “think I’ll cut in now.”

Ostara’s hands were already moving from Liam to Calum’s broad shoulders and Liam didn’t try to fight it, sighing loudly before removing himself completely. Calum watched him leave and then turned to finally meet Ostara’s gaze.

“Your hair looks amazing.” she stated, “and thanks for saving me.”

“Was wondering if you were gonna come and say hi earlier.” Calum admitted.

“I wanted to! But my parents said I had to dance the first six dances for appearances or something.” Ostara frowned.

“So this is your last dance then you’re done.”

“Have you been stalking me again Hood?” Ostara laughed.

Shit. He had to stop just saying what was on his mind.

“Your dress is nice.” he said, changing the topic. It was just as silky under his touch as he’d imagined it would be. Ostara’s hand gave his a little squeeze, her fingers dancing over his shoulder and sending electricity running through his body.

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

She could feel his breath against her face and with their chests all but pressed together, she could also just imagine that his heart was racing as fast as hers was. His eyes were a deep, beautiful brown and she was finding herself lost in them.

And the hair? Yeah, she was feeling it.

They both just looked at each other for a few moments in silence, Calum’s gaze flickered down and Ostara’s heart lurched in her chest. They were so close, it would be so easy to-

The song ended and Ostara caught movement of her brother walking over from behind Calum, so she pulled herself away, feeling her skin flush as she looked down.

“That Liam guy is a fuck.” Ashton stated, “thanks for stepping in Cal.” Ashton said, patting his friend on the back.

“Don’t mention it.” Calum said stiffly.

“Gotta talk to my sister about her choice in men, give us a sec.” Ashton said.

Calum didn’t question it, turning and leaving without so much as another word. He made his way to the bar where Michael caught up to him, “what the fuck was that?”

“Vodka.” Calum said to the bartender, leaning against the table top instead of looking at his friend, “what was what?”

“You and Ostara were dancing pretty fucking close don’t you think?”

“Lower your voice.” Calum hissed.

“I fucking knew it!” Michael said, voice low but still full of the arrogant ‘i told you so’ tone.

“Knew what?” Calum continued to play dumb, handing a bill to the bartender in return for his quick drink.

“You’ve been weird since Ostara showed up.” Michael said, “I thought maybe it was just because there’s a girl or whatever, but it’s because you like her, isn’t it?”

“Yes Michael. I have a big, fat crush on Ash’s little sister.” Calum said sarcastically, shooting his drink.

Michael laughed, “fuck man, you’re in so deep.”

He was. Calum knew it. And if Michael noticed, then it was only a matter of time until Luke or Ashton noticed, and the former had a big mouth so as soon as the cat was out of the bag with one, it would be game over with the other.

Calum turned around, leaning his back against the bar. His eyes searched before his brain registered what he was doing, finding the gorgeous blonde just as she slipped from the ballroom.

“Don’t even think about-” Michael began but once again, Calum was already moving, chasing after the Princess like a lost puppy.

His pace quickened, eager to catch the girl before she disappeared into one of the many rooms in the palace, never to be found again. Calum remembered playing hide and seek as children, Ostara had always managed to disappear, not that the boys had ever actually looked. Hide and seek had been more of an excuse to get her to piss off at the time, but not anymore.

He heard her heels clicking against the marble floor and followed the sound, turning a corner just as she slipped from view. Calum groaned, running down the hallway to follow, “Ostara!”

She turned and looked at him, “Calum?”

He caught up to her finally, not sure what to even say. All he knew was that his heart was racing, from the running or the booze or maybe the beautiful girl standing in front of him giving him her full attention.

Calum realized in that moment that his fears of losing inhibitions while tipsy were well merited. His hands reached out and cupped Ostara’s face, eyes searching hers momentarily for a reaction in case he was going bat shit crazy and she didn’t want him to kiss her.

But when her eyes went to his lips, he knew that he had the green light.

He moved forward, pressing his lips against hers. Ostara’s hands found his chest as she moved closer, kissing back immediately. Calum’s tongue swiped across her bottom lip and Ostara’s mouth opened eagerly, tasting the liquor on his tongue. His teeth teased her, nipping into the lipstick stained kiss.

Ostara’s hand moved from his chest to his shoulders and then to his neck, locking him close to her as if she never wanted to let go. One of Calum’s hands left her face, going down to the small of her back, teasing just above the cute bum he wanted to grab so badly.

His grip tightened and Ostara smiled against his lips, happiness contagious as Calum laughed slightly, eyes opening to look at the beautiful girl in his arms. Her fingers played with his hair, tugging slightly as he brought his lips down on hers again.

His hand slipped lower, finally grabbing her ass as she moaned into his mouth. The noise made Calum groan too as he felt his pants getting tighter, the front of their bodies rubbing against each other in an effort to do the impossible and get somehow even closer.

“Ostara!” Ashton’s voice rang out in the hall and the couple jumped away from each other. Ostara’s eyes widened as she looked at Calum immediately wiping at his mouth to get rid of the lipstick covering his face. Likewise, Calum brushed at her mouth which was also smudged with red.

“Shit.” Calum muttered as the sound of footsteps got louder.

“You need to go.” Ostara whispered.

“What?”

Ostara’s small hands grabbed at the front of Calum’s suit, dragging him to a door to a side room, she shoved him inside before he could argue.

Calum stared at the closed door, heart racing in his chest.

“There you are!” he heard Ashton’s voice, “what the fuck happened to your mouth?”

“I wiped my lipstick by accident cuz I’m dumb.” came a quick and easy answer.

No argument from Ashton on that subject.

“What’s up? Im going to go fix this-” Ostara continued.

“Mom and dad said if you want to leave you have to say goodnight to a few people first.”

“They said six dances and I’m done-”

“Yeah but they still want you to say bye.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there, just gotta head to my room first-”

“I’ll come with, need to talk to you about that Liam guy.” Ashton stated.

Calum’s heart sunk as he heard retreating footsteps. He was so screwed.

----

He’d gone back to his room immediately after to take a cold shower.

He’d paced, eyes flickering to his phone obsessively, waiting for a text that never came.

He’d considered going to her room, sneaking out in the dead of night to go profess his adoration like some prince from the fairy tales, the type of guy she deserved.

Sleep had been difficult to come by, and every time he closed his eyes, images of her danced across his vision like a bewitching goddess demanding his devotion.

At six AM Calum rolled out of bed, pulling on sweats and a plain white t shirt. He set off to the kitchen, hoping for some coffee to get his day started.

Calum was rubbing at his eyes when he entered the room, groaning then removing his hands, he stopped in his tracks. Of course Ostara was in the kitchen.

Standing over a pan with an egg in it, dressed in the tiniest little matching white and yellow starred sleeping shorts and crop top Calum had ever seen, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, she took his breath away.

Her green eyes moved up to meet his and her skin immediately flushed all pretty and pink.

“Hey.” Calum croaked, voice low and sleepy.

“Hey.” she retorted. Silence settled over the kitchen and then: “coffee?” she pushed forward a french press that was half full.

“Yeah.” Calum shuffled forward, grabbing a mug then pouring himself the drink. Ostara tried not to watch the beautiful way his tattooed hand wrapped around the white ceramic, all large and perfect-

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Uh…” Ostara laughed, blush returning, “not great, you?”

“Not great.” Calum smiled, leaning against the counter next to her while she cooked, “cute outfit.”

He was enjoying making her blush.

“Oh my god.” Ostara groaned, setting down the spatula she had in her hand so she could cover her face.

Calum smirked, “what?”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

She peaked at him through her fingers, “that! Being cute.”

“If you don’t want to see me looking like this, maybe you should close your eyes.” Calum suggested.

“What?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“No.” Ostara laughed.

“Your loss.” Calum shrugged, sipping at his coffee.

Ostara groaned in exasperation, turning the stove off before she looked at Calum one last time, closing her eyes. Calum set down his coffee and Ostara said “now what?”

“God, be patient.” Calum tutted, squaring his shoulders as he turned to her fully.

He studied her for a moment. Taking in her pretty pink lips, the dimples already showing as she smiled with excitement, her long lashes, the way strands of blonde hair had escaped her bun to frame her face.

His hand came up to brush one of the strands behind her ear and Ostara flinched slightly, one eye peeking open at him, Calum laughed, “eyes closed.” he whispered, caressing her cheekbone with his thumb as his hand came to cup her face.

Ostara let out a shaky breath, following his command. Once Calum was sure her eyes were closed, his thumb that had been on her cheekbone moved down to her lips, brushing the bottom one, pulling it down slightly, “so pretty.” he whispered.

Ostara’s heart was racing in her chest, body anticipating the warmth that Calum’s mouth would bring, the electricity that she knew would erupt over her skin like wildfire.

Being completely at his mercy was torturous, her hands fidgeted at her sides, not knowing what to do with themselves while she waited.

The first kiss was soft, a mere brushing, a tease. Ostara moved in for more immediately and Calum pulled away, she could hear his smile, “eyes closed.” he reminded her as if he could read her mind, knowing that she was dying to look at him.

His thumb stroked her cheek as he kissed her again, lips moulding against hers as he finally allowed her to melt into the kiss, her fingers going down to the waistband of his grey sweats to pull him closer.

He enjoyed cupping her face. It felt right. It felt intimate. It showed everything he was feeling but unable to verbalize. It proved how much she meant to him. How much he cared. His need for her to feel safe and protected-

Music flooded through the kitchen and for the second time in a day the pair pulled away. Luke always walked around blaring music from his phone like an obnoxious prick, and he entered the kitchen moments later, stopping to look at Calum and Ostara who acted innocent, standing a few feet away from each other, Calum sipping on his coffee while Ostara grabbed a plate to put her egg on.

“You two look suspicious.” Luke stated.

“Says you, why are you even awake, its early.” Calum fired back.

“Touche.” Luke sighed, “have another PR date thing.”

“You mean you’re cheating on me?” Ostara said in mock shock.

“No baby, I would never.” Luke stated, sounding offended.

Calum’s jaw clenched at the pet name.

“I’m going back to my room.” Ostara announced, “you two have fun.”

Calum tried not to look at her bum as she left the room but it was so cute and perfect in her little star shorts, besides, Luke was looking too which pissed him off… but, Calum knew he wouldn’t get caught.

Luke turned back to look at Calum, “at this point Ashton should be thanking god that I’m a good friend, because she’s cute as fuck.”

-----

The noon sun was hot and piercing, the royals only leaving the air conditioned comfort of the palace to hang by the pool. Luke was still not back from whatever errand his family had sent him on, which left Calum, Michael, Ashton and Ostara to their own devices.

Laying in the sun, Ostara was reading, while the other three tossed a ball around in the pool.

“So bored.” Michael groaned.

“This used to be so much fun when we were kids, what changed?” Ashton agreed.

“When we were kids we’d play chicken which I fucking bet you is still fun.” Michael pointed out, “fucking wish Luke was here.”

Ashton’s gaze shifted to his sister, “Ostara get in the water.”

“Hmm?” she asked, having not been paying attention.

“We’re playing chicken, come get on my shoulders.” Ashton commanded.

Michael and Calum looked between the siblings, “I’m not going to shove your sister-” Michael began.

“It will be fine.” Ashton assured him, waving his hand, “Ostara get in here or I will drag you in.”

Ostara sighed, closing her book, she knew Ashton would follow through with the threat.

When she stood up, Calum got the nicest view of her cute little pineapple print bikini. The girl had a thing for prints, but she always made it work, and Calum’s heart was soft as fuck.

She waded into the pool and Ashton approached, bending down so his sister could get onto his shoulders, “I hate you.” she stated.

“You better fucking win or I’m disowning you.” he warned her.

Meanwhile, Michael had gotten on Calum��s shoulders and everyone had gone to the deep end of the pool to make it easier.

“Michael-” Ashton began.

“If I touch her chest I’m dead, I know.” Michael said, “it’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is the fact that you have like forty pounds on her.” Ashton pointed out, “okay, three, two, one.”

The chicken fight started and everyone began to laugh as Michael and Ostara hesitantly pushed at each other. It was obvious that the two most dominant, competitive guys where Calum and Ashton, both of whom egged on their partners to “fucking push him already!”

Calum felt kind of bad, just kind of, when Michael managed to shove Ostara into the water. She came up sputtering, slicking her hair back as beads of water rolled off her glistening, sun kissed skin, a massive smile on her face as she laughed.

In that moment Calum knew he had to calm the fuck down, or he wouldn’t be able to get out of the pool. Calum’s heart was racing and Ostara stated “again!”

Before Calum could object, she was scrambling onto her brothers shoulders to fight Michael once more.

Calum tried not to look at her, tried not to notice the glistening water droplets adorning her body like jewels, jewels that he would buy her, jewels he would bathe her in if it meant he could even so much as hold her hand.

Calum let Ostara push Michael into the water and when Michael surfaced a flurry of curses left his mouth as he shoved at Calum, “fuck off! You let her win you asshole!”

They gave up after that, Ostara once more leaving the pool to continue tanning. Once Calum knew he had calmed down enough, he joined her, laying next to her on the large beach towel. He didn’t say anything, staring up at the cloudless sky, just enjoying the feeling of being close to her.

A few minutes later Ashton sat between them and guilt panged through Calum’s chest.

“Don’t you have another date soon?” Ashton asked.

“Fuck what time is it?” Ostara shut her book quickly.

“Two thirty.”

“Fuck.” Ostara jumped up quickly and ran to the house, Calum frowned.

----

Calum paced outside the restaurant.

He’d taken one look at the outfit Ostara was wearing as she ran from the palace and he’d been blinded. The short, red silk dress had practically knocked him off of his feet, and he’d be damned if he let her slip through his fingers to whoever she had a date with that day.

Calum knew he was about to be the biggest dick in the entire universe.

He knew he was overstepping… probably.

But as seemed to always be the case with Ostara, he couldn’t fucking help himself.

Calum took a deep breath and entered the restaurant, stopping as the hostess immediately looked at him in shock, “I’m here to meet people, Ostara Irwin?”

The girl nodded, “follow me.”

The restaurant was high class and the hostess led Calum to a booth in the back where Ostara was sitting with a Prince that Calum recognized immediately.

“Calum!” Harry grinned as Ostara said “Calum?!” in shock.

Harry even stood up to give the younger prince a hug, “been a while mate, how’ve you been?”

“Good.” Calum said, “You?”

“Been great.” Harry smirked, sitting down, “you joining us?”

“I’m sure he’s not-” Ostara began but Calum had already sat into the booth next to her.

“Suppose you’re here to chaperone for Ashton? Knew that guy didn’t like me.” Harry chuckled.

“He’s got high standards for his sister.” Calum stated.

“I get that.” Harry nodded, “what’s your poison mate?”

A waiter was waved over and Calum and Harry both ordered shots to lighten the mood, even though Calum knew that not even the light of god himself would persuade Calum to be even remotely inviting.

After about ten minutes of Calum being cold, Ostara stated “Harry, I’m just going to talk to Calum for a second, need to call my brother and tell him not to be such an ass.”

“Take your time pet, I don’t mind.” Harry said warmly, confidence oozing off of him.

Ostara turned to look at Calum who stood up and let her lead him to the hall that led to the private bathrooms. “Okay, listen here-” Ostara began but Calum grabbed her hand and pulled her into one of the private bathrooms, not wanting anyone to witness the altercation.

He locked the door behind them and finally turned to the fuming blonde, “you can’t just crash my dates! You are not my big brother and you’re sure as fuck not my boyfriend either.”

“Let’s change that.” Calum stated.

“What?!” she looked taken aback for a moment.

“I said,” he grabbed her face, looking into her eyes, “let’s change that.”

She wanted to be angry. She did. But damn it if she didn’t understand where he was coming from.

Her heart was racing as he looked into her eyes, waiting for a reaction, waiting for acceptance or rejection.

Ostara’s fingers tangled in his dyed blonde hair, dragging his mouth down on hers.

Their teeth clashed but neither cared, too enraptured in the intense passion that had surrounded their hearts, burning hot through their veins as they grabbed at each other, desperate for contact. Calum pivoted, shoving Ostara against the door as his hands pushed up at the red silk dress, fingers dancing over every new milimeter of exposed skin.

His thigh pressed up between her legs and Ostara moaned into his mouth, setting Calum’s heart racing impossibly faster.

His digits made contact with something lacey and he groaned into her mouth, beginning to drag down the flimsy material of her thong but Ostara grabbed at his wrist, tearing it away as she pushed at his chest.

Calum removed himself, breathing heavily as he looked at her, taking in the red smeared lipstick that covered the area surrounding her mouth yet again.

She was flushed, back pressed against the door, eyes slightly hooded as she stared at him, chest heaving, dress still shoved up to her waist. Calum snuck a glance down, satisfied that the lacy thong was black, but it just made him want to grab her again. She pulled down her dress, tearing her eyes from him as she looked at herself in the mirror. “Fuck.” she cussed, wiping furiously at her face.

“Here, let me-” Calum stepped forward.

“I’m on a date Calum.” Ostara stated, shoulders falling in defeat, “and you’re my brothers best friend-”

Calum stopped moving, looking at Ostara.

He watched her remove all the lipstick from her face, not saying another word as she left, shutting the bathroom door behind her to leave Calum to his thoughts.

It was obvious to Harry as soon as Ostara returned that something had happened, after all, a girl doesn’t just spontaneously remove her pretty red lipstick that matched her dress perfectly.

“So you and Cal huh?” Harry grinned.

“Fuck I’m so sorry-”

“No, it’s fine love, don’t worry about me, but I am a little surprised that you’re going on dates when you two are obviously-”

“We’re not together.” Ostara stated.

“Hmm.” Harry looked her over, “could have fooled me pet.”

“He’s my brothers best friend-”

“So he should be well suited, doubt your brothers gonna be mates with assholes.” Harry mused, leaning back in his seat as he studied the obviously conflicted girl in front of him, “and if he doesn’t like it then fuck him.”

“It doesn’t work that way-”

“You’re a princess, he’s a prince, this is the only way this sort of thing works love and we both know it.”

----

“Okay, so do you live in this kitchen or what?!” Ostara practically screamed as her eyes landed on the familiar strong shoulders hunched over while Calum grabbed a beer from the fridge.

“I was here first this time.” Calum stated, still looking in the fridge, “how was the rest of your date?”

“I-” Ostara began but stopped when Ashton and Luke entered the room, “okay there are so many fucking rooms in this palace, why is everyone always in the goddamned kitchen?!”

“What’s got your panties in a knot?” Luke said, moving away from Ashton who tried to shove him.

Calum’s heart clenched and Ostara laughed at the irony that was lost on everyone but her and Calum. He had her panties in a knot. Or at least he had the hour before. “You know what, I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Its like five.” Ashton stated.

Ostara left the room, “I don’t care!”

----

Before Ostara even opened her door she knew who it would be. She’d been expecting Calum to turn up, they obviously had unfinished business and Calum had been on edge all day.

As the large door swung open to reveal Ostara standing there in a black, long sleeved, sleeping button up with with cartoon pumpkins on it, Calum hated himself for still thinking she was the prettiest girl in the entire world. It brushed her mid thigh and Calum couldn’t tell if she was wearing shorts underneath, his hands twitching as they itched to reach out and discover the answer.

Ostara didn’t say anything, simply moved to the side to let him in and close the door.

“We need to talk about Ashton.” Calum stated.

“Do we though?” Ostara groaned.

Calum looked her up and down, “you don’t want to talk about this?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Are you serious.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

Calum sighed, hearing his own words back at him, he realized how suave he had been that morning. Crossing his arms over his chest, Calum made a big show of closing his eyes.

“I still think we should talk about this.” Calum said.

He waited for an answer that never came.

Instead, Ostara grabbed his hands, pulling slightly to make Cal give in and uncross the arms that had been protecting him from what was to come.

Holding his hands at his sides delicately, Ostara swung them a little, looking up at the beautiful Prince whose eyes were still closed. He looked composed, the only thing betraying his inner anxieties was the rapid beat of his heart, the artery in his neck fluttering as he breathed in and out.

Ostara studied his pretty throat for a moment, stepping closer to allow his smokey smell to wash over her. She was a lot shorter than him, and she could just reach his neck with her lips, so that’s what she did.

She pressed a kiss to the skin just above his racing artery and Calum sucked in a breath, hands tensing in hers.

“Eyes closed.” she breathed against his neck, causing a shiver to run through his body. He swallowed thickly, adam’s apple bobbing in the most endearing way. Ostara kissed his throat again, parting her lips to allow her tongue to taste his skin, again, his heart beat faster.

Her teeth grazed the artery and Calum’s body jolted, hands tearing from Ostara’s so they could land on her ass, lifting her up before she could so much as scream in surprise. Her legs wrapped around Calum’s waist as she clung to his shoulders, about to object when his lips met hers and every word in her brain disappeared.

His kisses were hungry and desperate, tongue immediately sliding over her bottom lip before his teeth came down to gnaw at it teasingly. Suddenly she was falling, landing on the plush fur duvet that covered her king sized bed. Calum was on top of her, grinding down against her panty covered core as one hand slipped up her thigh, once more greated with lacy material.

He groaned into her mouth, excited to discover that she had, in fact, not been wearing shorts. For a brief moment he wondered if she’d planned this whole thing but he didn't dwell too long on the idea, too enraptured by the princess writhing underneath him.

His hips rocked, creating friction and pressure that made them both moaning messes in each others hands. Calum’s lips moved to Ostara’s neck and her fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on as he found the spot that made her toes curl, legs wrapping tighter around his waist.

Pushing himself up with one hand he looked at her shirt, admiring the fact that she was wearing a Halloween themed sleeping shirt in the summer. His fingers were almost shaking as he popped open the first button, then the second, then the third. With each newly exposed piece of skin it became more and more evident that she was first, not wearing a bra, and second, totally prepared for this. She was in control. This had been planned. Calum had fallen into her trap. And he didn’t mind one bit.

Once every button was undone, he teased the stripe of bare skin with a finger, paying extra attention to the area between her breasts as she watched, heart thundering with patient anticipation.

“Take this off for me princess.” he said, voice soft.

Pushing herself up slightly, Ostara wasted no time wiggling from the shirt. She already had goosebumps from his touch and she shivered as the fabric fell from her shoulders, exposing her to him for the first time as she lay back down.

One finger traced up from her belly button to her left breast, circling closer and closer until he brushed his knuckles over her nupple, “so pretty.�� he mused as she pushed up towards his hand, eager for more.

“Please Cal.” she begged, the neediness in her voice was the sexiest thing Calum had ever heard in his entire life.

He kissed her mouth, then began his venture downwards, pressing soft kisses on her neck, then her collar bones. When his lips wrapped around her nipple, teeth teasing, his right hand fully massaged her other breast. Her fingers tangled in his hair as breathy moans rang through the room, Ostara’s back arching slightly in an effort to get him to do something, anything, more.

Calum’s lips continued downwards as he slipped from the bed, getting onto his knees as he pulled her to the edge, fingers hooking in the panties that he gingerly slid down her legs. Once they were discarded on the floor, Calum placed Ostara’s thighs on his shoulders, hands going to her hips to hold her down as he briefly enjoyed the view.

“Close your eyes.” he stated, “want you to feel all of this.”

Ostara’s breathing was ragged as Calum took a teasing lick, her right leg jerking slightly on his shoulder which made Calum smirk, fully putting his mouth onto her. His tongue flicked at her clit before sucking gently, earning breathy moans that egged him to go harder.

Her nails scratched against Calum’s scalp and he enjoyed the sensation, groaning a little, the vibrations made Ostara jolt again, her grip tightening in her hair. “Calum!” she whined loudly. As a reward for how pretty she sounded, Calum brought up a finger, sliding it inside of her easily and curling.

Her body reacted immediately and Calum knew from her whimpers, and the small tremors with each harsh suck, that she was close. He chased her high, having always felt entitled to a woman's orgasm. He knew he was good with his mouth and Calum refused to feel bad about that.

Adding another finger, he began to thrust his digits in and out even faster, curling each time to hit the spot that had Ostara’s back arching, hands pulling at Calum’s hair as the orgasm rippled through her body, lasting longer due to Calum’s continued motions as she whined and moaned, putty in his hands.

When her back touched against the mattress again to signify the complete end of her high, Calum pulled away, sucking his fingers into his mouth as he stood and pulled off his shirt.

Eyes closed, chest heaving, Ostara made Calum dizzy.

Calum was about to reach for a condom when four small words were spoken that nearly shattered Calum’s very existence: “I’m on the pill.”

‘I’m going to marry this girl.’

Calum pushed the thought away, kicking off his pants and boxers. Ostara’s legs opened for him, inviting the prince to get back on top of her as he pressed a kiss to her lips, “you alright?” he asked, her fingers immediately finding their place in his platinum hair again.

“Uh huh.” she breathed, one hand snaking between the two of them to grab the base of his cock, lining it up with her, all that was left to be done was for Calum to close the distance.

As he entered her they both moaned, lips attacking again with the same passion that always seemed to be present when they kissed.

The muscles in Calum’s shoulders tensed as he remained still for a moment to be sure she was ready for him to move, Ostara’s fingers dancing along the broad expanse of skin.

Her legs tightening around his waist was Calum’s cue to move as he pulled almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward again, entering fully. Her warmth cocooned him and he let out a throaty groan, “you’re so fucking tight.”

“You’re just big.” Ostara breathed against his lips, eager for more kisses as the prince began a quick pace.

Her nails dug into his scalp and shoulder, a reminder, on top of the sinful sounds leaving her lips, that he was making her feel good.

That’s when Calum remembered that, like most Princesses, Ostara had been forced into rhythmic gymnastics at a young age. He grabbed onto her thigh, moving it up slowly in case she had lost some flexibility. He was delighted when her leg went all the way up and over his shoulder, allowing him a new angle that had him going impossibly deep. They moaned louder and Calum moved back a little, lips mourning her loss but eyes adoring the new view.

His hand moved up on its own accord, sliding across her collarbones and up to her awaiting neck that she craned for him, welcoming him, giving him access.

The ring clad fingers of his left hand wrapped around her throat, giving a testing squeeze that only further excited them both, Ostara letting out the most sinful, whiney noise yet.

Calum’s stomach lurched and he knew that if she kept it up with those sounds, he would be cumming fast.

In an effort to slow the process, Calum began to remove his grip but suddenly Ostara was grabbing his forearm with both hands, forcing Calum’s chokehold to remain on her throat as her eyes opened, staring at him, more moans left her lips and Calum could feel her fluttering around him.

She was just as close as he was and it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

All he could do was stare at the beautiful girl as his thrusts quickened and his grip tightened, chasing both of their highs with the determination of a king.

Cold rings bit into Ostara’s flesh and after a particularly deep thrust, another orgasm washed over her, taking Calum with it as they both moaned loudly, bodies awash with euphoria.

After the last aftershocks, Calum removed his hand from her throat and took her leg from his shoulder, letting it fall onto the bed as he pulled out of her and rolled onto his back next to her. Ostara immediately snuggled into his side, hand over his beating heart.

They stayed that way for a while, trying to catch their breaths.

Calum finally sighed, “do you want me to go?”

“You’re silly.” Ostara stated, voice breathy and happy. Her finger traced circles on Calum’s chest, “stay the night.”

-------

She was warm. Skin soft and beautiful under his delicate touch as Calum explored the curve of her shoulder and arm, bring goosebumps to her skin from the contact and the soft caress of his breath on her bare back.

There was a soft sigh of content and Calum smiled, “did I wake you?” he asked.

“Yeah, but it’s okay.” came a delicate response as Ostara snuggled back against Calum.

“Will you go to the ball with me next week?”

“Of course.” he could practically hear her sleepy smile.

“And I want to take you on a real date.” Calum stated.

“Hmm?”

“I want to do this right.”

Another happy sigh, “okay.”

-----

As soon as the limo door closed Calum looked at Ostara with wide eyes. They’d been papped leaving the restaurant and they both knew that this could be bad. Neither knew how Ashton would react when the pictures dropped, which they both knew they would.

Calum’s hand went to Ostara’s thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “if he gets mad-”

“We can pretend we’re just friends-” Ostara began.

They both stopped.

They both knew that neither were good enough actors to get around this.

They’d known each other their whole lives.

They’d been flirting a few weeks.

They’d fucked and gone on an honest to god date.

Hell, Calum had pretty much asked Ostara to be his girlfriend in a fit of jealousy. They both knew they were in deep, and because of this, neither of them were particularly scared of Ashton anymore which was odd.

Ostara laced her fingers with Calum’s, “it’s going to be okay.”

Calum felt it too. Somehow, they knew they could make it work.

They both felt naive and stupid. They both knew they were being very narrow minded, but there was just something about the way that they fit that told them they belonged together.

They’d arrived at the palace when their phones began dinging, signalling the likelihood that the pictures were somehow already posted.

With a deep breath and a reassuring glance, the young couple entered the palace where they were almost immediately sabotaged by Ostara’s giggling older brother, “guys have you seen twitter?” he asked, “apparently people think you two are dating.”

His gaze lifted from his phone and that’s when he noticed how close the two were standing. The smile left his face, “is… is there a PR contract you two haven’t told me about-”

“Would it be that bad if we are dating?” Ostara asked.

Ashton’s gaze hardened, turning to his friend, “you have got to be fucking kidding me-”

“Ashton-” Ostara began, moving in front of her older brother who had taken a step towards them.

But Calum spoke, “didn’t mean for it to happen-”

“She’s my fucking sister!” Ashton bellowed, finally exploding.

“And he’s your best friend!” Ostara screamed, matching her older brothers temper, “so you know he’ll treat me right!”

Ashton stopped moving forward, considering for a moment what had just been said, “there’s a code.” he spat.

“I never agreed to a code!” Ostara insisted.

“It’s a bro code, you don’t need to agree-”

“Well when it affects me, I most definitely should get a say you sexist-” Ostara began to fume.

“What is going on?” came a new voice as Michael and Luke showed up, both looking worried as the Irwin’s squared off against each other.

“Calum and I are going to the ball next week together, because we’re dating, and you’re going to accept it!” Ostara told Ashton.

“I will not!” Ashton glared.

Ostara let out a loud groan of exasperation, grabbing Calum’s hand, she turned and dragged the platinum prince out of the room.

“Can’t believe Cal backstabbed you like that.” Luke breathed.

“Hey, it’s not that bad-” Michael began.

“That’s my fucking sister!” Ashton screamed.

Michael sighed, “okay, it is a little bit bad.”

-----

Calum and Ostara spent almost the entire week outside of the palace out on cute dates that were incessantly papped. Ashton tried to avoid the pictures at first but he felt himself getting softer as each day passed and new shots of his sister laughing and looking genuinely alight with happiness were uploaded.

And fuck it, Calum looked happy too.

Michael pointed out on day four that Calum and Ostara seemed to really like each other, and Ashton couldn’t argue with it, which annoyed him terribly.

Michael and Luke were trying to support Ashton in his endeavour to remain upset, but it was obvious that everyone else supported the new, happy couple. Especially Ashton’s parents who had known Calum his whole life and were more than thrilled that he had began to date their daughter.

Ashton knew that Michael was still hanging out with Cal, and the two drank beer by the pool late at night when they thought Ashton wouldn’t notice. He couldn’t find it in his heart to be mad about it, especially when he’d almost stumbled across them and heard Calum saying “she’s really special man, I can’t explain it.”

Plus, Ashton preferred having Calum where he could see him as opposed to in Ostara’s room, which is where Calum was practically living since Ashton had made a fuss about kicking him out of one of the guest rooms the day he’d found out they were dating.

He was getting used to the idea.

He missed his best friend.

He missed his sister.

The night of the ball arrived and Ashton was at the bar with Michael and Luke when the happy couple arrived. Entering the ballroom, the two walked hand in hand, looking at each other and giggling as if nothing else mattered in the whole world.

Ashton was surprised when prince Harry approached the two of them, from what he could see it looked like he was congratulating them? Ashton had a weird hate on for Liam and that included his friends, Harry being one of them, so seeing the fact that Harry seemed to be excited and supportive made Ashton’s blood boil.

Had he really stooped lower than the notorious British playboy?

Ashton groaned. He was making the whole thing about him. He knew he was being selfish and he couldn’t shake the fact that Calum had broken the bro code, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t toyed the idea of chasing after Calum’s sister at one point in time…

Ashton sighed. He was definitely in the wrong.

He spent a solid half an hour watching his sister and her new boyfriend.

The soft touches, the lingering stares, the never ending smiles and giggles… it was sickeningly sweet. Ashton loved it. He hated that he loved it.

His sister did deserve to be happy and Ashton knew that. He just wished it was with someone else.

Ashton looked for a good moment to approach but never found one. The ball ended and Calum and Ostara disappeared. Ashton knew he should wait until morning to find them, but the guilt was already eating at him, and soon he found himself outside of his sisters room.

He knocked and waited.

A minute later the door opened to reveal his sister in sweats and a hoodie that looked somewhat haphazard and Ashton couldn't help the fire that burned through him momentarily, eyes shifting past her to Calum who was pulling on a shirt.

“I came to apologize, but I don’t know if I can do that anymore.” Ashton stated.

“Calum go to the bathroom.” Ostara said.

“What?”

“You’re bruising my brothers ego, go away real quick.” Ostara explained.

Calum sighed and trudged to the bathroom, out of sight. It helped a little, Ashton had to admit.

“You know, maybe I shouldn’t give you my blessing.” Ashton stated.

“No take backs.” Ostara insisted.

Ashton sighed, “but why Calum?”

“Why is he your best friend?” his sister countered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hate it when you’re logical.” Ashton groaned, “fuck, fine, you two look good together. I should go talk to Cal-”

“Talk to him in the morning.” Ostara said, stepping in front of her brother to block his way.

Ashton narrowed his eyes at his sister, “you two disgust me.”

“You’re the one who showed up here at like midnight-”

“You’re the one who chose to date my best friend-”

“Well you’re the one who made the stupid bro code-”

“I didn’t ‘make the bro code’ you silly, and besides, you’re the one who made Cal break the bro code-”

“Oh I ‘made’ him break it?” Ostara scoffed.

Calum listened to the siblings bicker, smiling to himself as he waited for the sound of Ostara’s bedroom door to close. When it did, he peeked his head out of the bathroom to make sure Ashton was gone.

“Thought he’d never leave.” Calum mused.

“Are you questioning my ability to fight my brother?” Ostara asked, opening her arms for Calum whose hands settled on her waist.

“I think I used to.” Calum admitted, “but not anymore.”

Ostara grinned, “so I’ve proven myself?”

“Uh huh.” Calum chuckled.

“Good, because if I was a wimp we’d still be in big trouble.” Ostara pointed out.

God, he adored her.

Part of him always had, and he knew that now.

He was exactly where he was supposed to be, and for the first time, Calum was prepared for whatever the future with Ostara might bring.

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metellastella · 4 years

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Mao Mao Pride Week Prompts, Part 2

A continuation of the prompts put out by @maomaosmother Previous batch here: https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/621726687992872960/hello-everyone-happy-pride-month-to-all-of-you

4. Who I am

Mao said, “You know how some people like B.C. marry the other sex and have children to ‘fit in’?”

“Yes.” Snugglemagne said. “It’s something that’s crossed my mind once or twice, to be honest.”

Mao started in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, to continue the throne. Hard to imagine committing to someone you weren’t drawn to, but …” he shrugged. “Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad?”

Mao rubbed his chin. “I don’t think a lot of people would agree with you there. But. For my own part. A good number of Mao members choose celibacy, because of our offered teachings. Would that not simply be a form of celibacy, just on one side, not the other?”

The king thought about it. “Well, it does seem to make it more manageable, when put that way. I’ve been visited by groups of nuns traveling from their covenants, and they don’t seem to be worse off for it. But, obviously it’s easier for women than men.”

“There are friars, too,” Mao pointed out. “Wanderers. Tending to the poor. Stand-up characters. I felt lucky whenever I’d run into one. Camped out with a few of them in my time. Nice fireside chats.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Both of those genders we just talked about . . . and we in the clan tend to think of all of it, more of as an option. Not a core part of who I am.”

“Hm.”

“How about yourself?”

“I’m with your battle partner on this one, Mao.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

The cat chuckled. “It was kinda cute on nights when he’d pick up a partner and I wouldn’t, and he would get all anxious on my behalf, and, say, ask if they should go to a different floor and not the next room so I wouldn’t feel more ‘lonely.’ He just doesn’t get it’s not that big a deal. He never has.” he shrugged. “And, heh, I have more than enough training to block out distracting sounds from my mind, and I sleep really deeply. But, I appreciate his being concerned over me anyway.”

“I guess I might think of it a little less as a central tenet than he does. After all, I haven’t been actively courting anyone since you both got here, or a little before that, either.”

“So, nothing to do with me?” Mao quirked an eyebrow.

“Heh, unfortunately not. I’ve experienced ‘love at first sight’ before, but for your particular case, it crept up slower. Sometimes that’s just how it is.”

Mao opened a gloved hand. “Right! That’s kinda like the point I was going to make about marrying someone the spouse wasn’t drawn to. Think of the reverse! At least among us siblings, no matter whom we’re drawn to, or how strongly, we tend to seek the same sex a lot, anyway, because it’s just much less hassle and worry, you know? Somewhat because we have warrior duties that take precedent over having children and domestic life, somewhat because we’re wielders, when mixed-magic-and-non-magic opposite-sex pairings can be complicated. We do have, not only the magical blockers to consider, but we’d like to have more wielder children if we’re going to pair up and take that risk in the first place. My sisters would be … I guess a word for it might be … embarrassed? Or frustrated …? To go through an entire pregnancy and not ‘gift’ the world with a wielder. A new dragonslayer! It’s not just outside pressure, either! The bond between a wielder child and parent is just … unfortunately more satisfying than not.”

Mao paused, examining the non-magical animal’s face.

The lion carefully guarded his expression at that. It really didn’t sound like prejudice. He seemed apologetic enough. But it felt that way.

Of course, he could never understand it fully.

If Mao was looked down on for being the weakest … what gauntlet must a non-magical child born into the clan go through??

Maybe it was sheer, pure benevolence on the womens’ part to do what they could to prevent that.

But that in itself was kind of hard to think about.

Mao didn’t get any hint as to his thoughts.

Another animal might have given into an angry or irritated expression, but the king’s diplomatic and political training paid off.

Not finding anything amiss, Mao resumed. “Sometimes, we just want to let off steam. We seek the same sex. Sometimes, in the past, despite being drawn to both sexes, I’m not really all that attracted, but I want the option anyway. The ‘option’ concept goes both ways.”

“I . . . guess I understand that, though I still have a hard time picturing being intimate with someone I wasn’t drawn to first. Despite my idle musings on the possibility.”

5. Obstacles

“What?” Mao’s sister asked. “Just because I’m up for fun, you think I’m any less controlled than you, little brother? Conscious decisions are just as fun. Get over yourself.”

His ears went all the way down. “I … I’m so sorry,” his green eyes got bigger than ever. “So sorry! I always thought you were so impulsive … How could I think so badly of my own kin…”

“Aww, it’s all right, Mao,” she backpedaled. “Oh my gosh, stop taking everything so seriously.”

But he looked genuinely grieved. “I don’t have any room to talk,” he looked at his own gloved hands. “Was it my Ego defense mechanisms kicking in? A blind spot? Or … I mean … the others don’t approve of your actions either. Was I just emulating them? They don’t care as much about my actions. Is it because I’m a man, and you’re a woman? Is it prejudice?”

“Really Mao, stop stressing over it. The elders have their penalties in place for both men and women! The social aspect of it … it is what it is. All people have got their personalized hurdles in life. Like the athletes! Tiring, sure. But. Everybody’s just gotta buck up and jump over them.”

“You think maybe that’s a reference to real bucks?” the badger wondered. “Man, imagine catching an antler to the chest.” His voice faded, losing its joy. Did the lion spot him trembling? “Think of facing an even more massive caribou or wildebeast! All antlers, all business. All genders. I mean even a bare-headed female moose with her mountain of muscles is nothing to sneeze at. I do feel sorry for any one of them who might consider themselves male, though. Antlers are hard to fake. All those dudes and dudettes are WAY scarier than predators. Preds like to make out like they’re hot stuff! Psh!” the animal shook his head. “Many bovine species outweigh them several times over … ”

“Didn’t stop me,” the black cat said confidently.

“Yeah, yeah,” the badger waved his paws dismissively at the magically strengthened animal.

“I guess in that case the phrase ‘buck up’ might be slightly sexist,” she hummed thoughtfully. “Deer can definitely jump hurdles, though. Way higher than bears could. Like horse jumping! I wonder if their sports earn more money because the audiences like them better? It’s more graceful, they have more natural ability? Higher stakes, too. Their legs are very slender even though they’re strong … it’s very easy, with their massive weight, to totally shatter their bones if they land wrong. Even just racing, not jumping. The same isn’t true, for, say, greyhounds. Their welfare isn’t as endangered. Enough money flows that there are always magic salves on hand, but bone still takes pretty long to heal after the initial injury. But, because they’re so graceful and skilled, they’re drawn by the money rewards. Bears, who usually do it more for status and reputation, are trundling, bumbling, and clumsy by comparison. Even though they’re half-predators. How did they ever manage to make any kills in the old days? I guess a diet of mostly fish didn’t favor their developing grace and speed, as with canines and felines.”

The badger crossed his arms. “With the other type of ‘hurdles.’ I guess even though I admire you in a lot of ways, I don’t envy you outright being a woman. I can lie about attractions and pretend that I’m never drawn to men, if the situation demands it. There is no ‘closet’ for presenting as a woman. That’s tough, though you’re a wielder, so that offsets it a lot.”

“It’s not like being an average woman. Not nearly! Even if I didn’t have powers though. Being drawn to men is a whole lot harder than my stuff, too,” she disagreed.

Snugglemagne thought it was sweet how they seemed to be mildly arguing over whom to support more.

6. LGBT+ Safety

“There was the phenomenon of ‘male daughters,’ in the ancient world,” the lion said. “They were as perfectly ordinary legal designations as a birth certificate nowadays.”

“Oh?” Mai perked his ears, interested.

“Yes, I’ll give you some material on it. They lived like men did, and inherited wealth like they did. They were treated as men in pretty much every way. No having to conceal for safety concerns, like the mess in some places in the modern world. It was just obvious, and pedestrian, to that culture and those individuals. They weren’t harassed because they looked different, nor was a body seen as gender role ‘destiny.’ The approaches and conceptual framework to this issue have varied so much from place to place, and time to time.” “Can’t wait to read about it.”

The sister made a face. “Oh yeah, that’s Mao, always holed up with his scrolls. I’m more of a party girl.”

“Same,” the badger said.

“I told him …” Mao sighed. “I told him that you all seek the same sex often too. But it’s different for guys.”

“Why?” the lion asked.

“Remember what I said about the ‘lower’ position,” the badger reminded him flatly. “Actually, among most adventurer circles, at least, it’s totally OK for a pair of guys to get jiggy with each other, as long as neither does that. It’s called a warrior bond.”

“The warrior bond was something B.C. and I considered,” Mao said quietly. “Out on the road, you never knew whose nose you’d run into. Subbing is not something you can conceal. With animals who aren’t nose-blind, there is no ‘closet.’ We’ve been to places where birds could do things on the sly. But that’s a rarity. Everywhere else, there are predators, or heavyweights, or wielders who’ll take a piece out of your hide for it. Of course I’d have zero problems defending us if necessary. A random group of anti-heroes or bandits just nosing around for trouble in general didn’t have any chance against me, either. But. Just not worth the hassle. Not to mention I’d want to break the nose on whoever it was. All it would take is one good pop.” He made a lighting-swift motion-retraction with his fist.

The smiles on both the badger and the bigger cat faltered. They looked at each other in concern.

Mao either pretended not to notice, went on because he wasn’t about to soften his feelings on the matter, or was so absorbed in his own reflection that he really didn’t see them. “And I’d enjoy it too. I always did.” He glanced up at them, expression unreadable. “I won’t apologize for thinking it. In fact, I still do. Being a wielder, though, fanning those thoughts is not a good idea. I had to learn that through trial and error.”

“That’s not healthy for anyone,” the badger shook his head, “wielder or not. You’ve managed to avoid growing more of a … like … you said Blue mentioned … a ‘martyr complex’ over it? Right?”

Mao sighed in aggravation.

“Yeah. I was in the throes of that before. Anyway. For other normal or lesser powered people, the warrior bond provides safety.” Next: 7. Marriage 8. Self-Acceptance V Click below V https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/622003595371544576/mao-mao-pride-week-prompts-part-3

First chapter of the fic here: https://metellastella.tumblr.com/post/617045879413719040/piercing-the-swordsman-chapter-1

#maomaosprideweek2020 #mao mao heroes of pure heart #mao mao snugglemagne #snugglemao #badgerclops #mao mao sisters #fanfiction #LGBT Pride Month #piercingtheswordsman

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nosleepstillweak · 4 years

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cruller

My favorite type of donut is a cruller. Pity the man that begins his own love story with a monologue about his favorite pastry, but I feel like there’s something to be said here. It’s not like your traditional cake or long john or eclair. A cruller is in an avenue all its own. For one, it just looks cooler. Who doesn’t like a twisty donut? The dough is shaped into this endless spiral that flakes beautifully in the oven. Furthermore, the consequent increase in surface area also leads to the creation of these little pockets that are the perfect space for the outer glaze to nestle into. Top the whole affair off with a flawlessly reduced jelly filling and it’s like eating ambrosia. This opinion definitely isn’t mitigated by the fact that a literal goddess is the one to serve me these treats every morning, yet I still face opposition.

“You’re just a fucking weirdo, Jason.”

These are the words of my donut-apathetic comrade, Malachi. He’s a bit of an old-head, if you were to ask me, but sometimes the bluntness of his responses are in my best interest. As of late, he has been the staunchest--and sole--opponent of my onset infatuation with the owner of our newly discovered cafe destination.

“These twists taste like garbage. Admit it, you just have a thing for Donut Girl.” A key indicator of his disdain is the fact he continues to call her “Donut Girl,” even though her name-tag would lead me to believe that she actually goes by Sadie. Then again, given my previous history with “Pizza Chick” and “Gas Station Lady,” it’s fair to say that I haven’t necessarily made the best name for myself when choosing my romantic interests in the wholesale industry.

“Unsubstantiated opinions on Sadie aside, you can’t tell me that this isn’t a damn good donut.” I mean, he could, but he’d just be a liar. I take another bite in between sentences. “Plus, I don’t think you saw the way she looked at me this time. That was definitely some sort of signal.”

I can’t say that I’m not offended by Malachi’s responding scoff. “Yeah, a signal to round up all the idiots. I can’t believe you’re twenty-three years old and you still crush after women like you’re in a teen drama.” He scowls at me as I finish off the last of the half-dozen with a smile on my face. “Those donuts literally taste like sugar-coated metal.”

“Oh, heaven forbid they contain the slightest hint of high fructose corn syrup.” In traditional old-head fashion, Malachi is the type to complain about foods nowadays being too sugary; he gets a headache from eating a rope of black licorice. “Gather ‘round, folks, Old Man Malachi is mounting the soapbox again to preach about the dangers of processed foods--”

“Oh, fuck you, I’m leaving.” He, rather dramatically, snatches the coat off the back of his chair and storms out of the bakery. I can’t wipe the grin off my face when I remember that we literally work at the same office and will see each other again within the next ten minutes. What I find to be less amusing is the fact that he left me the entire bill, including his cinnamon-free cinnamon twists and extra-large black coffee. In lieu of my irritation, I take the situation as just a form of preparation: true love isn’t cheap.

“Here’s your bill.” A slip of paper slides across the table and then I’m blindsided by the sight of an immaculate Sadie smile. Now that’s priceless. I can’t describe it in words, but it’s just so… damn. By the time I’ve regained my senses, she’s gone off to help the next customer. I glance over the receipt, fishing through my wallet to produce the proper total and a hefty tip. My eyes widen when I catch something hastily scrawled at the bottom of the slip: a phone number. Next to a poorly-drawn smiley face, but that’s beside the point; the Sadie of Sadie’s Bakery just gave me her phone number. As I get up to leave, I even catch a glimpse of her smiling softly in my direction. I more than happily return the gesture. Malachi will come around eventually, but this train is definitely already in motion.

***

I have to hand it to Malachi because the first few weeks of my relationship with Sadie did actually feel like a teen drama. Our initial correspondence was nothing to write home about. I’d pick up a cruller every morning at the bakery and we’d chat for as long as it took for Malachi to spitefully gulp down his coffee and claim that we were running late for work. In between breaks at the office, I curated a myriad of internet bakery memes. Then, at night, I would bombard our text conversations with dancing donuts and cake icing videos and pretend to not absolutely lose my mind whenever she responded with a laughing face emoji. This continued for a while until I had to stage a self-intervention from giving myself diabetes. Sadie was surprisingly understanding and even offered to make me a sugar-free batch; had Malachi not physically taken my phone and responded with “no and goodbye,” I would have accepted.

In spite of his continued opposition, the train kept on moving. Sadie was actually the one who asked me out; I know, the misogynists are quaking in their boots. After she made the first move at the bakery, I wasn’t super surprised that she proposed the idea of dating one morning when I stopped by to pick up an office order. That being said, her delivery did not keep me from turning completely red and whooping at the top of my lungs in the otherwise moderately quiet cafe. I honestly still don’t know why Sadie got so embarrassed; she literally owns the place. All that being said, Sadie and I were officially a couple. Now, I just have to let Malachi in on it so he can be a supportive best friend and help guide me through my new--

“Jason, I love you, man, but this seems like a terrible idea.” Okay, ouch. This hadn’t been the first time he’d ever said these exact words to me, but for some reason, they hurt more this time around. “This is so sudden! I seriously worry that you’re getting ahead of yourself. What do you even know about this Sadie girl anyways?”

“Uh, well, for one, she runs the best bakery in town.”

“Debatable. Dinah’s Breakfast Cafe has killer pastries.”

“Unlike Dinah, Sadie’s smart and funny.”

“And you learned this from your 2 A.M. meme conversations?”

“Okay, either way, look me in the eyes and tell me she’s not beautiful.”

“Do you really want me to call your girlfriend hot?”

I throw a straw wrapper in his face and pout, genuinely upset. “That’s not the point and you know it.”

“Look, dude, I can understand that your initial feelings may be strong, but I just don’t wanna see you get hurt again. Physically or emotionally.” Malachi fixes me with a serious look and I suddenly feel like sinking back into my chair. “Especially after Gas Station Lady, I was hoping you’d make a little bit of a better assessment of things. I mean, like, do you even know how old she is? Friends? Family? Does she have any past relationships? Who’s to say that she isn’t hanging out with one of her ex-boyfriends right now?”

That last comment was a low blow and more than a little melodramatic, but I suddenly feel like I don’t know enough about Sadie to defend her. Now that I think about it, maybe everything is moving too fast.

“Just… be careful, man. Maybe reconsider. Again, the last thing I’d want is for you to get hurt.” Malachi shoots me one last sympathetic smile before walking out of the breakroom. Maybe there’s some truth to Old Man Malachi’s words. I stare at the cruller in my hand for a moment. When I finally move to take a bite, something inside leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The jelly filling doesn’t taste quite the same as before.

***

After that awful conversation, I decide it's best to have a heart-to-heart with Sadie. Our text conversations dry up for a couple of nights and I try to avoid the bakery as much as possible to give myself more time to think. However, as it turns out, the inevitable conversation didn’t end up being as painful as I thought it would be. Sadie actually laughs when I tell her that I don’t know anything about her; she says the same could be said about me. We spend the rest of the evening making donuts together and giving each other a basic autobiographical rundown.

Sadie Marissa Jenkins II is a first-generation British--it was at this point in our month-long relationship that I finally noticed the accent--immigrant who’d moved here in order to pursue her studies in culinary arts at the local university. She lives with her older sister, and her dog named Muffin, and she prefers riding her bike to taking the metro. She spoke of no past relationships and is in fact not currently cheating on me with another man. I was quite happy, and a little smug, when reporting my findings to Malachi.

“If you think she’s the one, then knock yourself out.” He’s speaking very nonchalantly for a man who’s wrestling with a stapler. “She actually gave me a free coffee this morning, so maybe she’s worth keeping around.”

“So free coffee is all it takes to get Old Man Malachi’s blessing?”

“Hardy-har-har.” He flicks a loose staple at my forehead. “This better work out, because I’m not picking your ass up again when you get dumped out of a pizza delivery car in the middle of town.”

“At least she didn’t run out of gas.” I jokingly shoot finger guns in his direction, snorting when he feigns a shot to the chest as he exits the breakroom. There are still a couple of crullers left over in the Sadie’s Bakery box on the counter so I help myself to one--and immediately gag. Okay, they actually do kinda taste like metal. They’re probably just stale from sitting out all afternoon. Yeah, that’s probably it.

***

I decide to lay off the crullers for a while and instead take the time to learn more about Sadie. What I learn instead is that both of us have pretty uninteresting lives, but I think it’s the thought that counts. Plus, her accent is precious and I can barely pay attention when we have midnight baking lessons at the bakery. These lessons are always followed by her getting into my car, me offering to drive her home, and us making out in the backseat instead. This goes on for several nights and I have never once complained about it. That is, until tonight, when she decides to take a chomp out of the side of my neck.

“What the--!” I instinctively push away from her and inspect the injury with my hand. My fingers come away smeared red.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Her hands hover over me as I frantically press the sleeve of my jacket to my neck to stop the bleeding. “I got carried away. Did I hurt you?” I mean, judging by the fact that I’m literally bleeding, I think it would be fair to assume that she did, in fact, hurt me. Nonetheless, I manage a smile.

“It’s fine, Sades.” Probably. The bleeding has stopped, anyways. “Honestly. I mean, it’s not like you said some other guy’s name, or something weird like that.”

“What? What other guy? When was there ever another guy?” Sadie jolts away from me like I’m made of fire. “What do you know about another guy?”

“Uh, nothing! It was just a joke.” A bad joke. “An American joke.”

“Oh. I see.” She nervously picks at the leather of the car seat, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip.

“Really, the biting thing was fine.” Probably. I lean forward and place a small kiss on her ear. “In fact, dare I say that it was kinda hot.” I don’t know what response I was expecting, but I was not physically prepared for the look that she gave me when I pulled away. Then, we were back at it again. From that point in the night on, it was just so… damn. Maybe I was just hallucinating before; I think the crullers taste just fine.

***

“You look tired.” Malachi inquires with a wink as he takes another sip of his morning coffee. To be quite honest, I probably feel worse than I look; after the whole biting incident and my subsequent flirtatious response, Sadie kinda took things into her own hands. I think it’s fair to say that what happened in that car stays in that car. Probably.

“I was just busy last night.”

“Busy?” Malachi snorts into his cup. “With Sadie?”

“Oh, shut up,” I tiredly flip him the bird, “don’t say it like that. We’re literally adults. It’s not like teenagers kissing behind the bleachers, or something.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot when you got so mature. Just eat your damn cruller.” He shoves the half-dozen towards me and I nibble at one for a bit before taking a bite… which still tastes awful. Did she change the recipe for the filling? I need to talk to her about that. “Then again, maybe you’re right. I don’t remember them wearing scarves in August in teen dramas.”

I literally choke on the bite of cruller in my mouth. Okay, so maybe the biting incident wasn’t fine. You live and you learn.

***

“Uh, hey there, Sades.” I make my way into the sparsely lit kitchen of the bakery. “Whatcha’ up to?” My real question is, why does the kitchen look like a literal crime scene? There’s donut filling smeared all over the counters; there’s even some on the wall.

“Oh! Uh, nothing, just washing my hands. Cleaning up.”

“Did you cook something?” I look around the kitchen a bit. No pots or pans. Not even a baked good. “I don’t see anything.”

“N-No, not really. I was just preparing something for a batch I was going to bake tomorrow.” For a baker, that’s a totally normal thing to do. Probably.

“Alrighty, then. Should we head out now?”

Sadie smiles, but her face still seems tight. “Lovely.”

***

“Something’s off about Sadie, man. I’ve been getting these weird vibes lately.”

“Oh, so now you see it.” Malachi rolls his eyes, taking a bite into a fresh-baked, sugar-free twist. “Did you two have a fight? Does she not like it when you burp halfway through your sentences?”

“What? No, to both.” Well, actually, that’s a hard maybe on the latter. “Nothing specifically happened, per se, but, like, the vibes were off. She was acting really strange last night.”

“What’d she do, exactly?”

“Well, she…” Washed her hands? What exactly am I supposed to say in this situation? “...actually, never mind.”

“Good. Because, if you were about to say some kinky shit, I literally would’ve punched you in the face.” He chortles as I push hard against his arm. “Look, man, relationships are weird. Whatever’s on your mind, just work it out with her. Better now than later. Regret hurts like a bitch, dude.”

I stare down at the cruller in front of me and swallow thickly. “I think you’re right, man. I should just talk things out with her.”

***

Oh, god, I was wrong. I was so wrong. Screw talking things out. Malachi was right. Regret does hurt like a bitch. I should’ve listened to him, the first time. I wish I could go back and listen to him. I should’ve known something was wrong from the random nighttime hand washing. Or from the biting incident. Or from when any human woman found me to be conventionally attractive. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s just not human. She probably isn’t, given that she’s pulling this shit. She’s literally crazy, and I fell for it.

You wanna know what was in those crullers? The jelly filling: it wasn’t cherry or strawberry or whatever other random red fruit we thought it was. It’s straight-up human remains. ...Plus a shit ton of sugar and preservatives, but that’s beside the point. That’s why Malachi thought they tasted like metal. There’s iron and calcium in blood and bones; she was just feeding us metal. People. And I ate them! Almost every day! For two months! Oh my god, what’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with me?

Malachi, or Mom, or Gas Station Lady, if you’re reading this, just know that I love you all. Actually, this is an inner monologue; you’ll never see this. Poetic cruller bullshit aside, this is absolutely crazy. Oh god, she’s back. Oh god, she has a meat grinder. Why would she have a meat grinder? This is the worst day of my life. Oh god, this is the last day of my life. I’m about to die. She’s about to grind me into bits and make me into donut filling. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. I should’ve known better, I should’ve--

Fuck, Malachi, please, don’t eat the crullers. Don’t eat the--

***

“I knew there was something up with you!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh god, he even told me that you were acting strange recently--”

“Malachi, please, calm down. What’s the matter?”

“Cut the bullshit, Donut Girl. What did you do to Jason?”

A pause. Then, she smiles. “Welcome to Sadie’s Bakery, the best baked goods in town. Could I interest you in a cruller?”

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