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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years

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15 for Anxceitmus pls - Anon 👽

I’ll be honest I’ve had a plan for this one for days but never enough time to sit down and write it. Now lets see how this goes :D

Summary: Virgil steals a taste of a cake that’s not his and ends up poisoned.

Words: 4360

Quick Taglist: @chelsvans @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @lunasfriendgabby @never-end1ng-suffering @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @thenaiads @treasureofpriam

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist || Prompt page

Piece of Cake

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts, but you have to trust me okay?” the voice says.

At least Virgil, thinks the voice says it. He can’t really tell over the noise in his head and burning fire in his lungs and screaming in the background of everything that was going on. He can’t even see really, based on the rush of white and black dots all over his vision like pin needles getting jabbed directly into his eyes as his throat shreds itself apart again and again and again.

He’s not sure what is happening, not sure when he hit the floor or how the world around him compressed into just him or why his entire body seems to be trying to rip itself apart with varying levels of success.

He sure that it hurts.

And that he hasn’t cried like this since he was kid and he fell and hit his head on the cobblestone fountain in the market and there was just...so much blood everywhere and he thought he was going to die back then.

It had just been a bit of icing.

And Virgil can still taste it on his lips between the blood and the salty tears and the vomit. The avocado taste that he hadn’t had since his mother had passed from the plague a decade prior.

The burning in his lungs is agony, like he jumped into the castle furnace and breathed in the cinders for fun. He strains his arms to tear at his chest where the boiling feeling seems to bleed from, but something is holding him down, and he screams, pleads, begs-- anything, just to make it stop. He’s sorry, he’s sorry, he won’t do it again, he swears--

It’s like a white-hot poker being driven between his ribs and twisting, like a dragon’s breath right before those sharpened foot long teeth snap him right in half, like his head had been tilted back and he’d swallowed lava.

He writhes against it, but something has his left arm and his right wrist and there’s a weight on his legs that keep him from moving despite the desperation in his motions. Every inhale moves the flames--and he can’t quite tell if they’re imaginary anymore, surely something imaginary wouldn’t couldn’t doesn’t hurt like this hurts so much so badly he’s sorry sosorrypleasejustmakeitstopplease---

Then, all at once, it’s over.

The fire reels back, flooded by a cold so icy it steals the rest of the breath he had. His limbs feel like lead and they drop to the floor of the kitchen. It’s also mercifully silent, which seems eerily impossible because the Castle is never silent ever. His vision swims like dunking in and out of the river back home when he went swimming with the older kids in the river. Far over head the gaping arches of the room fade in and out of clarity. The hollowness rings faintly in him, followed by an all-consuming exhaustion that peels away the rest of his thoughts.

“Virgil?” Someone says his name.

He almost recognizes them. He should probably recognize them.

There are faces over him, people he knows, but they’re too blurry to make out. All he wants is sleep suddenly. A deep dark long sleep.

“Let him sleep, your highness,” someone else says softer. “He’s okay now.”

And then Virgil’s eyes close and he loses consciousness.

The unfortunate truth of the matter was that Virgil had no reason to be in the kitchen in the first place. He should have been mending that tapestry that the twin Princes had mangled in spontaneous duel last week, or adding the few last details to the new tunic Prince Remus had been instructed him to prepare, or fixing the tear in Prince Roman’s riding cloak, or simply catching up on sleep that he had missed while pressing himself to finish the new Birthday outfits for the Twins Ball at the end of the week.

But as it stood he had slipped from his crafting room to the kitchen in hopes that the Head of the Kitchen would take pity on him like he had done so many times before and offer him some scraps from the feast that was going on.

Some noble had arrived in the early morning and the castle had been abuzz with energy as the King welcomed him. Virgil had already heard several rumors about it, just from lurking on the corner counter out of the way of the scurrying kitchen maids and the servant runners.

“Something about him strikes me as odd,” Patton had admitted to him between cutting up strawberries, helping a maid balance a honey bun tray, and directing a newer servant boy on the proper way to refill a spare goblet. “I didn’t like the look he gave Prince Roman at all.”

And Virgil had snorted at that, swiping a glob of honey from the empty pan before it when to the stack of dirty dishes. “You don’t like any way anyone looks at Prince Roman.” He had pointed out sucking on his index finger.

Patton gave him a disapproving look but waved off his blatant theft. “I don’t know what you mean, kiddo-- Lower Terrance! If you keep trying to pour from that height there’s a chance you’ll miss and stain the table cloth-- I know that he’s an important noble, but the way he was looking at Roman was the way a butcher eyes a piece of meat before he cuts it.”

Virgil swallowed and eyed the cook carefully. “Well, how was he looking at Prince Remus?”

“He wasn’t.”

Virgil frowned, “Wasn’t? He ignored the second Prince?” Which seemed ridiculous on all fronts. First of all, Prince Remus was royalty, and no one ignores royalty, ever. Not even if its 3 A.M. and they send for you to discuss a different pattern for the tunic you were making for them and you barely have time to put on presentable clothes much less brush your hair. Secondly, Prince Remus was impossible to ignore even if you were trying to: between his gaudy outfits and the morning star he kept looped on his belt like a sword and his voice which echoed off the cement at all hours of the day, he stood out wherever he went. His auburn hair and green eyes made him quite the talk of the castle.

Patton wrung his dish cloth between his fingers before going back to slicing strawberries. “Well not at first. He bowed and present Remus a cake. After that Remus was too distracted to really notice anything else.”

Virgil had snuck a strawberry from the pile yet to be cut and pops it in his mouth, chews, swallows and then asks politely, “What about his consort?”

“You mean Dee?” Patton slid a sliced strawberry to the side of the wooden board. Virgil had thought was entertaining that Patton had even asked. Roman didn’t take consorts, and Remus only had one: a man by the name of Dee who had the eyes like butter and a smile too soft. His hair flowed like a golden hay field, and his voice was like a fable siren’s. Virgil hadn’t heard him sing, but he couldn’t imagine that there had ever been an instance where he hadn’t been able to get what he wanted from someone.

Dee was pretty, but in a sense that it was too pretty to be real. Like a snake oil merchant come to sell wares to the naive populace.

But Virgil was biased on all fronts: Dee had always been present when Virgil had need to take measurements of Prince Remus for his new tunic, and every time he’d been summoned after that, watching Virgil’s every move like a predator waiting for the perfect time to strike. Virgil’s hands had shaken so badly he had barely been able to read his own notes later, and even if he tried to tell himself it was the stress, he knew it was because of how delightfully attracted he was to two things that weren’t open for him to even dream about. So, he buried thoughts of Prince Remus’s muscles and of Dee’s breathy laughter and pretended that they didn’t keep him awake at night.

“Dee was impassive, you know,” Patton had said, drawing Virgil from his thoughts, “I’m never able to read him.”

“Not like I can read Prince Roman,” went unsaid, but Virgil could hear it under his words.

“What kind of cake was it?” Virgil had asked instead, because he was a merciful friend and wasn’t about to bother a man about unrequited crushes while he was kick dirt over his own emotions.

Patton had wrinkled his nose. “Avocado! Can you believe it? I’ve never heard of an avocado cake before!”

Virgil blinked. He had glanced towards the end of the counter where the cake had been placed so elegantly. He had been eying it all night, letting his mouth water how good he imagined it might be, but knowing it was avocado? “My mom...she used to make those. They were my favorite.”

“Oh, I know that look,” Patton said, pointing his knife at him, “You know that cake is for the Prince. He already declared that no one but him is allowed to have it, Virge. Even if I wanted to slip you some, that would put both of our necks at risk.”

And Virgil knew that, he did. But it was a large cake. Surely, the Prince couldn’t eat it all by himself.

And frankly he knew enough about the royal family by now to know that absolutely no one else would eat a monstrosity like that. Prince Roman didn’t even like avocados to begin with and had loudly complained the last time Patton had tried sneaking it into a meal.

Was the man really going to miss if Virgil snags just swatch of the icing?

Patton lightly hit his hand. “Don’t,” He warned with that stern voice of his which revealed his years over Virgil.

“I wasn’t!” Virgil lied.

“I’ll toss you out of my kitchen, Virgil.” Patton had told him. “Because I’d rather lose your company for the next few nights than have to watch you be run through for stealing from the crown.”

“It’s a cake.” Virgil whined.

Patton gave him another warning gaze and moved another strawberry around. He had been about to say something else, but at that moment Logan, the resident mage who always chose to stay scarce when there were visiting nobles about the halls, had chosen to flourish down the servant staircase which had appropriately distracted them both. Not that Virgil had been hoping for a distraction.

But who was he to stare a gift horse in a mouth?

Logan had zeroed in on Patton, per usual, causing the cook to blush the same way he did around Prince Roman and Logan had mentioned something about a plant they were attempting to magically grow. Virgil hadn’t really been focusing on the words as much as the fact that Patton’s eyes stayed trained on Logan while he talked.

Virgil had inched down the counter, placing a finger to his lips when Terrance noticed what he was doing. He reached out with on hand and flicked just enough of the icing that he’d get a taste, but not enough to disturb the overall look of the cake. In fact, Virgil was certain no one would even know he took some if they hadn’t seen anything.

“Virgil!” Patton yelled just as he popped his finger in his mouth.

Virgil had stiffened at the sound of his name and whirled back to face a very mad Patton and a surprised Logan. The taste of avocado had hit the back of his throat, which almost made him feel great: it tasted just as earthy as he remembered it being when his mother made it, with just the right bitter aftertaste that made Virgil want more, although he didn’t remember it being quite so prominent--

“That was the Prince’s Cake!” Patton had shouted, “As in Prince Remus! I don’t care if you are in good graces with his highness! That was a stupid- stupid -stupid-- what on earth were you thinking? Virgil--!!”

And that was when Virgil had first felt the burning, like an itch in his throat that had suddenly swept him up. Patton’s voice had faded as he grabbed for his own throat, for his chest, for anything to remove the sudden agony ravaging his body. He had toppled straight off the counter in the middle of whatever else Patton had shouted, taking the cake right down with him.

Because that was just Virgil’s luck that he’d steal a lick of the second Prince’s cake and end up poisoned within an inch of his life.

And to be honest, the price for stealing from the crown in most cases is death, and since Virgil had been pretty sure he was going to die anyway he figures when he closes his eyes that was going to be the end.

He wakes up, with someone carting their fingers through his hair the way his mother used to do, before she had gotten sick and died from that plague that had taken over half their village. His head feels like someone had stuffed cotton between his ears, his throat like someone had forced him to swallow swords. He’s warm, which was a strange concept: usually the servants’ quarters are cool, even in the summer and Virgil’s blankets are never quite been enough to stave off the tendrils of chill that seep into his cot. But here and now? Oh, he’s so warm and comfortable he never wants to move again.

“--want him killed!”

“I know you do, your highness.” Another voice says, a voice that’s closer and more comfortable, “But there’s much more to gain from keeping him alive.”

“That cake was intended for Me!” There is the sound of something shattering, something ceramic, and fancy, and expensive.

Virgil tries to shift, tries to open his eyes, but it’s just so...exhausting. The hand in his hair drags slightly, before restarting softly, more gently than before.

“It’s okay, Love,” the voice over him says softly. “I’ve got you. Go back to sleep.”

Something else crashes. And another. And another.

There are more after that, but Virgil doesn’t remember them.

The next time he wakes, he’s more aware of where he is: he can feel the luxurious goose feather blanket draped over his chest, and how several of the loose feathers tickle his chin with each inhale, can feel the soft pads of fingers dancing through his hair in a way that make him want to relax and drift off again, can feel the coolness of a wet cloth on his forehead that wards off an overheating.

Its comfortable, its perfect.

But there’s never been a perfect thing in Virgil’s entire life.

He shifts, moaning with the effort to get his body to move after so long (?) of stiffness. He hadn’t realized that there had been people talking around him, until the conversation comes to a soft stop and the hand in his hair retracts slightly.

Virgil’s eyes open and he almost believes he’s still dreaming.

He knows where he is, even though he can’t believe it: he’d know the opulent bedframe and those darkened green curtains anywhere; he’d know those grey and silver blankets, and that room shape even if he should have fallen blind with everything else that had happened. He had been in that room far too many times for him to not have known.

He’s in the Second Prince’s room, lying in the second Prince’s bed, under the second Prince’s covers, and the Second Prince’s consort was sitting beside him with his hand in Virgil’s hair and another hold a book he seems to have been in the middle of reading.

“Oh,” Dee, the consort who was far too pretty to be anything other than trouble, says softly. “You’re awake.”

“He’s awake?” The sound of the Prince Remus startles Virgil, although it shouldn’t have. It only made sense that the owner of the room would also be in his own room.

What does not make sense is why that Virgil is there.

“Softly,” Dee says to the Prince without removing his eyes from where he’s staring down at Virgil with an expression that he doesn’t dare put an actual name to. The very idea of it makes the back of Virgil’s mouth sting.

Prince Remus had been across the room, perhaps staring out that large window which he did often while waiting for Virgil to respond to his summons, but he comes to the bed almost before Virgil can form another thought. Virgil tries to sit up, tries to move because this was the Prince and Virgil had already been caught stealing a taste from his cake and he was lucky they did just let him die--

Prince Remus puts a hand on Virgil’s shoulder and lightly shoves him back to the pillows, back to Dee’s side, back down. Whatever strength Virgil thinks he has disappears right out of his limbs.

There’s something strange about the Prince, Virgil notes squinting up at him. Not that there isn’t usually something strange about him; it seemed that every time Virgil was requested to his presence there was something just off about him. Virgil had thought it had been like a tease: something that would stick in his mind while he threaded his needles and cause him to shake his head with fondness. It had seemed that Remus had made a game out of it too, on the rare occasions where Virgil almost asked if he was cultivating some sort of joke, and the Prince had smirked at him and dared him to say something (which of course he never did, because Virgil quite likes his head where it’s attached to his neck, and the feel of Dee’s eyes on made him dangerously aware of his own standing).

But this sort of strangeness was not like the other times. It’s a calmness that encompasses the Prince, much like a still pond moments before a stone plunges into the depths. There’s no extra energy, no mischievous glints, smug crude joke. There’s just Prince Remus, and a seriousness that make Virgil fear for his life.

This is the Prince who could beat most of the military with nothing but his fist and his morning star. This is the Prince who could stare down an invading army and send them running home with just a single threat. This is the Prince who would challenge Death to a duel and make it out with his soul.

There’s a fresh cut across his cheek that hadn’t been there the last time Virgil had seen him, as if he had dodged a blade by mere inches and dismissed the attack as not nearly as worthy of his attention as Virgil somehow was.

“Why did you eat that cake?” Prince Remus asks.

“Re—” Dee says sharply.

The Prince holds up a hand at him, and Dee holds his tongue. “I want to know.”

Virgil suddenly feels like the blankets are constricting, tightening around his torso and his chest like a vice. His body shakes at the very idea of the cake. The mere thought of avocado makes his mouth violently taste like blood and his throat smolders with the threat of pain.

His hands go to his neck, to relive the pressure that’s not really there, but Dee is quicker. The consort catches both his wrists and pins them softly to Virgil’s abdomen with one hand and uses the other to rub tenderly rub Virgil’s cheek.

“It’s okay,” the consort says, in a soothing tone, that makes Virgil want to cry, “Shh, you’re okay now, Virgil.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Virgil chokes out, “S-sorry.”

Whatever the Prince is looking for, he doesn’t seem satisfied. He stands up again, fiercely shoving the bedframe. He takes three steps from the bed and then spins back around with a murderous expression.

“Sorry?” He shouts. “He’s sorry!” He slips his morning star from its hook on his belt and spins to swing it against the wall.

“Remus!” Dee interrupts.

“Shut up!” Prince Remus snarls right back. The sound of metal against the stone walls explodes throughout the room, causing Dee to tense up. Its violent and cold and Virgil hates it, hates that he caused it, hates that he doesn’t know why and he’s too afraid to ask.

Dee shifts like he wants to get up, wants to go to his prince and cup his face to ground him back to a reality before he does something he will regret, but in the end he stays right with Virgil. And Virgil is selfish enough that he’s thankful more than he’s guilty. The sunlight from the windows make the consort’s hair glitter gold and the black jewels around his neck that claim him as Prince Remus’s property glint harshly. His touch is far softer than Virgil would have expected, softer than the blankets, softer than a breeze on a warm summer’s day.

The prince swings four more times at the wall, deepening darkening cracks without the slightest care in the world. Then he takes his weapon and throws it across the room where it collides something else beyond Virgil’s line of vision before falling mercifully silent.

“Are you finished, your majesty?” Dee says in a tone that’s dangerous close to being chiding.

“I will be finished when I have that skamelar’s head at my feet!” Prince Remus says nastily. “That cake was intended for me!”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil whimpers again.

“And just what do you have to be sorry for?” Prince Remus turns on him, “Tell me, Virgil! If not for you, I would be dead from having boiled from the inside! Or maybe from having clawed my way right into my ribcage. Or maybe from having ripped my own throat apart? I’m sure that would have been a lovely sight for everyone to watch!”

Virgil’s heart clenches, and he doesn’t know what to say, what he should do. The back of his throat tastes like the inside of his stomach, like blood, and poison, and avocado. And the Second Prince is saying his name like it’s the most normal thing in the world, talking like Virgil had done it on purpose, sounding like Virgil had saved his life and that meant something more than fate intervening at the right moment.

Dee says, “We came so close to losing you, Virgil. It was a matter of luck that you survived. Logan said that if he had been any further away, if you had taken any bigger of a taste... you would not have stayed alive long enough for him to figure out the cure.”

They talk like it means something. Like Virgil’s life is worth something more than the tailoring services he supplies, like he can’t just be replaced with just a single royal announcement, like they think Virgil is….

“W-why?” Virgil trembles. “Why are you—"

Prince Remus kneels next to the bed, and his head dips slightly so that his black crown bows for Virgil.

“Did you really think that all these times I just wanted new clothes?” The Prince says so quietly Virgil’s breathe catches. “That I’m not capable of fixing my own holes in my trousers, or my cloaks, or that I truly cared if what I was wearing had rips in them at all? Before you came along Father had been threatening to take all of my weapons and lock me in a tower so I would stop going through fabrics so quickly.”

Dee’s fingers ghost over Virgil’s chin lightly. “And a three A.M. summons is surely the most normal thing for the royal tailor.” There’s a teasing smile on his lips, lips that Virgil thinks might be very nice against his. “Our prince was quite inconsolable when you appeared looking just as presentable as normal, Love.”

There’s something about the way he says words--“our prince”, “Love”--like they’re the most normal and natural things in the entire Kingdom.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t spent night waxing poetry to me about what you want to do with him, Dee!” The prince commands.

“I have no clue what you are referring to, your highness,” Dee says with a red blush across his ears.

Prince Remus looks up at both of them, before leaning forward on the bed. Like a magnet, Dee moves towards him as well and meets him for a smiling kiss in right over Virgil.

He’s seen them kiss dozens of times: soft kisses, warm kisses, kisses so openly filled with love that Virgil feels like he’s intruding when he looks at them. They’ve kissed while Virgil had taken measurements, when he had been taking notes for the specific requests the Prince had for him, when Virgil had been leaving to go about his duties.

Virgil has never left apart of a kiss like this. His lips are on anyone’s and the only touch he has is where Dee was still holding his hands, which had turned into him lacing their fingers together in a mangled knot. Prince Remus reaches out and takes his other hand, and who is he to deny his prince?

He feels faint, float, not really. Surely, he was still dreaming; the last wisps of the poison having their fun with him. Surely, he was about to wake up and find himself not nearly this lucky.

“Don’t scare us like that again, Virgil,” Prince Remus says, breathlessly as he presses his forehead to Dee’s and squeezes Virgil’s hand, “Not before I have a chance to properly court you. I’ll bring you a barbarians head on a stake or something!”

Dee merely smiles down at him and says “Love.”

Virgil thinks that if he died, perhaps this wasn’t such a bad place to spend the rest of eternity.

#sanders sides #greengabs #Anxceit #demus #anxceitmus #virgil sanders #Remus Sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #your author might be touched starved!#we aren't sure yet!#also might make a part two some day #alternative universe

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cardinalnuggets · 3 years

Text

Not Letting Go

Pairing: Ayna x f!mc Word Count: 1951 Rating: T Summary: Adrenaline is really great at numbing the pain. Set just after the end of FA. Prompts: "bandaging the other’s hand and not quite letting go" Tagging: @robintora @brycesgirl @heygmicheelle @saratustra4 (if anyone else wants to be added let me know!)

Of all the kisses they had shared, Kennedy was sure this one was the best. It was far more chaste than those they had shared earlier in the night, but the meaning behind this one was everything. This kiss was freedom from secrets, and from hiding. This was them being open and basking in the truth of how they felt for one another. They no longer cared what anyone else thought; only each other.

A giant weight was lifting from Kennedy’s mind with each brush of Ayna’s lips against hers, but there was an anxiety in the pit of her stomach growing and growing. There was no doubt in her mind that this was the right decision for them, but the level of scrutiny they would now face would be staggering. The invasion of her privacy since the “scandal” was bad enough, but now that they had a face and a name, Kennedy doubted they would know peace for quite a long time.

And of course, the second their lips parted, there was an explosion of noise from the press before them.

“Kennedy! Who’re you kissing?”

“Is this the woman from the scandal? It wasn’t Evelyn was it?”

“Are you two together?”

The noise was overwhelming, most of the questions nearly indecipherable. Ayna’s hand clasped tightly in hers was the only thing grounding her, the only thing stopping her from running.

“You can do this,” Ayna mouthed to her, squeezing her hand quickly in hers.

With a deep breath, Kennedy nodded and turned to the press. She raised her free hand in the air, asking for quiet. Several long moments passed before the uproar faded into background noise, each and every reporter champing at the bit to hear what ever scraps she was going to give them.

“I have a short statement to make,” Kennedy began, in a voice more confident than she felt, but she was used to running on adrenaline and faking until she made it at this point, “and time for a couple of questions.”

Every single reporter leant forward, eager to not miss a single word. It would have been an amusing sight if they weren’t all waiting to splash her private life all over their newspapers. The silence now was almost deafening, broken only by the occasional sound of a camera shutter.

“This is Ayna,” Kennedy gestured towards her with the hand not wrapped around hers and watched as Ayna gave a cautious wave, “she’s my girlfriend.” God, Kennedy thought, that feels so good to say out loud.

Momentarily, they were blinded by the flashes of cameras as each paparazzo clamoured to get the perfect shot of this “historic” moment.

“We’ve been seeing each other for some time and have decided it’s now time to let the people of Rutherland know. Although we are excited to share this happy news with you all, we would ask for privacy and understanding. We are, after all, only human. Thank you.”

The silence broke then, replaced with chaos and uproar as everyone screamed their questions at the couple standing before them. Kennedy tugged Ayna closer so they could each draw strength from the other.

Raising her hand again for silence had little effect, so instead Kennedy shouted, “If I can’t hear the questions, I can’t answer them.” That soon calmed them, and she couldn’t help the little grin of triumph that slid onto her face in place of her usual polite mask.

“You in the red skirt, you may ask your question.”

“Is she the same woman you were photographed with in the lake a few weeks ago?” She didn’t miss a beat.

“Yes.” It was Ayna that answered, in a voice so calm that Kennedy would have thought she’d done this a hundred times before.

Shooting her a soft smile, Kennedy raised her arm again before the pandemonium could restart.

“And you with the blue suit, you can have the final question.”

“Thank you. Can I just start by saying congratulations?” His voice was smarmy and Kennedy instantly regretted letting him speak. Not wanting to seem impolite, though, she threw him her signature fake-grateful smile. “Why now?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why wait until now to go public? Why not when the scandal hit? Or when it was clear that it couldn’t be easily brushed under the carpet?”

There were a hundred answers to this question, all starting and ending with Kennedy not wanting Ayna’s name to be dragged through the mud. She knew that as soon as the press figured out that Ayna was her TA, she could kiss her career goodbye. Nobody deserved that, especially not someone as kind and caring as her girlfriend.

“That was down to me, I’m afraid.” Once again Ayna spoke up before Kennedy had the chance. She turned to Ayna with wide eyes, questioning with her gaze if she was sure about this. She nodded subtly, squeezing Kennedy’s hand gently. “I wasn’t prepared for a life in the public eye yet. I asked Kennedy to give me time to adjust, which she has done. I’m in awe of her for the way she has handled this alone and respect her so much for all she has done to keep me sheltered.”

Kennedy melted hearing Ayna talk about her with such tenderness. Wrapping an arm around her waist, she couldn’t help but stare at her in wonder. As much as she was glad to be out in the open now, she was done sharing Ayna with the world for tonight.

“That’s all we have time for I’m afraid,” she announced, barely sparing them a glance as she led her girlfriend towards the embassy. The chaos as they turned their backs was unparalleled, but neither of them seemed to notice, focussed as they were on getting back inside.

“You were amazing out there,” Kennedy whispered, grinning stupidly at Ayna.

Letting out a long breath, she turned to Kennedy with a strained smile. “I think that was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No. Absolutely not.” As if to reinforce her claim, she reached behind her back to squeeze the hand resting on her back. A wince scrunched her face up as she did so and she immediately pulled back, holding her hand in front of her face. “Whoops,” was all she murmured, wincing again.

“What?” Kennedy asked, gently taking her hand between her own. She didn’t even need to bring it any closer to see how raised and raw Ayna’s knuckles looked. How had she not noticed this before? It looked so painful.

“I must have hurt it fighting Winston off you. The adrenaline must have numbed the pain.”

“Ayna!” Kennedy all but scolded. She stared at her girlfriend wide-eyed before letting go of her hand. “Go and wait in the room we were in earlier and I’ll go and find some ice or something. The swelling is only gonna get worse the longer you leave it.”

Ten minutes later Kennedy pushed her way into the room, her arms laden with an ice bucket, cloth napkins and a first aid kit. Ayna was sitting on the ottoman in front of the bed, her expression a mixture between pain and sheepishness. Kennedy hated seeing it, hated knowing that it was because of her that she was in pain. If she’d just learned self-defence from Tatum or been smart enough to see Winston for what he truly was before he could best her, then Ayna would be fine.

Shaking it off because she needed to focus on helping Ayna get better, she sank to the floor by her girlfriend’s feet, depositing her things next to her.

“Hey,” she said softly, “how’s the hand?”

“Sore,” she replied with a rueful smile, “I’m sorry.”

Kennedy looked up at her in alarm, her hands absently stuffing ice into a napkin. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

Ayna shrugged, then lifted her injured hand a little. “This.”

“You got injured protecting me. You don’t have to be sorry. You probably saved my life tonight!”

The soft smile on Ayna’s face only faltered as Kennedy gently cradled her hurt hand with one of hers and pressed the ice to the raw flesh. She hissed, gritting her teeth through the sting.

“Sorry.” It was Kennedy’s turn to apologise this time. She hatedseeing her in pain. “It’ll get better I promise.”

“I’d do it again, you know.”

“Do what again?”

“Fight someone to save your life.” Her voice was serious, and Kennedy knew she was being serious, but still there was mischief dancing in those dark eyes. Kennedy revelled in both. It was thrilling knowing that someone cared about her so much that they wouldn’t even think twice about getting hurt so she wouldn’t. But she also loved that Ayna would turn it into a joke to clear the tension from the air. She truly was spectacular.

Leaning up, Kennedy met Ayna’s lips in a lingering kiss, feeling the strain dissipate from them both. “As long as you know I’d do the same for you,” Kennedy murmured as she leant her forehead against Ayna’s

“Deal.” She smiled warmly as Kennedy readjusted herself to check on the swelling under the ice. “It might be better to make sure your bodyguard is always with you, though.”

Kennedy laughed as she reached for the bandages and began wrapping them tightly around Ayna’s knuckles. “I think you’re just as capable as Tatum is when it comes down to it,” she joked, sending her a cheeky grin, “but you’re right, I just didn’t think I would need protection around Winston. He pulled me so far away from everyone before I’d even realised he’d done it.”

“Why would you think you needed protection? You’ve known him your whole life.” Ayna’s free hand raised to cup her cheek, thumb stroking against the skin. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Kennedy. He was the only one in the wrong.”

Kennedy nodded slowly as she finished wrapping Ayna’s bandage and tied the ends together to stop it unravelling. She knew Ayna was right, really she did, but she couldn’t help but feel stupid that she’d let someone get the best of her like that. In hindsight, she could see all the signs pointing to Winston’s odd behaviour which she hadn’t thought twice about at the time. She really should have known.

“Thank you,” Ayna whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Kennedy’s hair.

“It was the least I could do,” Kennedy murmured back, cradling the newly wrapped hand in between both of hers.

She lost herself in thought then, of everything that had happened tonight, of everything that had happened since she had arrived at Vancross. So much had happened – lots good, and more bad. But sitting here quietly with her girlfriend, she knew she would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant she could feel the hope and the happiness she felt while in Ayna’s presence. That was worth everything.

“Shall we?” Ayna asked after they’d sat in silence for several minutes, Kennedy steadfastly refusing to let go of her injured hand.

“It’s been an emotional night, I wish I could just stay up here with you. Alone.” She let out a deep sigh before heaving herself to her feet. “But we should go back. People will notice if we don’t come back.”

“At least we don’t have to be apart even once now that everyone knows,” Ayna reminded her with a smile, offering her good hand.

“Hmm that’s definitely the highlight of the night.”

Hand in hand, they walked back down to the ballroom to re-join the party, not once straying from the other the whole night.

#ayna x mc #ayna seth #playchoices #i saw the prompt and i couldn't not #hope you enjoy my lovely ayna stans!#myaynafic

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ayellowcurtain · 3 years

Text

Could you please write about Robbe being a model for Sander's class at the Academy and drawing everyone's attention? Sander is trying to act cool although he is jealous when his friends flirt with him, so he asks Robbe out first chance he gets and finds out that others did too but Robbe had declined because he liked him?

A piece of pencil hits his paper, scarring the white space a little bit leaving a dent where, thankfully, Sander doesn’t have to draw any lines. He puffs, dropping his pencil on the holder of his easel under his canvas. He looks to the left, to where the pencil came from.

“He’s an actual fucking model! So hot!” Bert mouths, but Sander is sure other people heard it in the middle of the silence being interrupted just by soft sounds of pencils scrapping paper, calm breaths,, and some steps here and there, trying to get the proportions and positions right.

Sander doesn’t say anything or Bert won’t ever stop talking when they should be quiet, working on their projects.

But he’s not wrong. The boy in front of them, surrounded by all his colleagues, is a piece of art of his own. Everyone should draw, paint, portrait him because the world deserves to see someone so magical and beautiful.

Robin, Sander still remembers the name their teacher said almost an hour ago when the boy was still standing up and with all his oversized clothes on, smiling while being introduced, a lot more comfortable than he is now, sitting on a wooden chair, completely naked, clearly posing with his arms sort of hanging in between his legs, resting against his lean thighs to keep everyone from seeing him completely at all times.

Sander can’t help but look around him, noticing how some girls and boys keep their eyes on Robin for a little too long every time they need to check some detail. How Robin’s fingers keep twitching every once in a while, how he clenches his jaw when the attention starts to get a little too much.

This is all types of wrong, but Sander can’t stop thinking about kissing him. Not real kiss, just gently press their lips together, see how his lips feel, if they’re as soft as it seems. Maybe Robin would hug him and Sander would gladly carry him anywhere.

Sander puts his pencil down again, grabbing the tiny stand where all his pencils are, feeling the thin layer of the black dust he’s creating with all the sketching now stick to his tired and stiff fingers. It’s hard to focus when Robin’s doe, anxious eyes stop on him. Sander can’t not look back because he wants Robin to look at him, to know Sander is looking back, paying more attention than he needs to.

Robin tilts his head with bright, excited eyes like a puppy would when trying to imitate someone else’s movements. Sander bites the inside of his cheek, trying and failing ridiculously at not smiling, looking down to at least not be that much creepier.

“Sander!” The background whisper gets louder and he looks at Bert again, talking behind his easel so nobody else will hear him or understand what he’s saying, “I’m gonna get his number.”

“What? No, you’re not!”

“Five more minutes everyone!” The teacher interrupts them with his low, boring voice and Sander holds himself from rolling his eyes.

One hour per week will never be enough. Sander needs more time, to actually say at least a hello to the boy. And that’ll get so much harder if Bert does it too. He wants this boy to know he exists, and that he’s willing to do anything to go out with him. Doesn’t need to be a date if he’s not interested. Sander will listen to whatever Robin has to say over a boring coffee if that’s what it takes.

“Why not?” Sander tries to clean his fingertips against the back of his easel, pressing it hard, holding the wood for a second, dragging his fingertips to clean better to try and work a little more on his drawing before the class ends. He’s been working on this even in his free time, definitely spending more time than anyone else on this one drawing, for one class.

“Because…” Sander wets his lips with his tongue, focusing his attention on the little bump right on the top of Robin’s nose, making it wider and then a sharp, perfect line to the tip.

Because he has the most perfect face and body and you don’t deserve all of that. I do.

“Stop being weird! He’s just trying to help us.” Sander says instead, frowning, and looking at Bert for a second, so behind with his drawing.

“That’s even worse! Because he’s like what? In his first year? And we’re in our third! And I’ve seen you shirtless, bro. He...doesn’t even compare.”

The teachers claps his hands like he always does when they’ve ran out of time and Sander drops his pencil, jumping with the realization that the five minutes they had flew by.

He’s sure nothing in this universe compares to the boy quickly grabbing his robe from the floor, putting it back on before talking to the teacher, Sander can’t hear from where they’re standing. Bert is already throwing his things inside his bag, and when Sander looks at their model, he’s already looking back at Sander. Their teacher is talking to some students a few steps to the side and Robin is there, on his own, like he’s asking Sander to go talk to him already.

He knows how these moments go, they don’t have much time because usually everyone wants to talk to the model, to ask maybe for some tips, to look at them closely like they’re some piece of art in a museum, trying to get their details saved for the next class before anyone else can like it’s a race.

He probably gets so many numbers thrown at him so easily in those conversations. Fuck, fuck fuck!

Somehow, Sander drags himself to the center of the circle, holding the strap of his heavy bag, trying to ground himself, feeling a little bit exposed, surrounded by easels all around them, standing on that tiny stage with just Robin, wearing his robe.

“Hi…” Robin starts and Sander swallows hard not to whine because even his voice is perfect. It’s so excruciatingly soothing, a little raspy when he starts talking but Sander tries to think it’s understandable, sitting one hour, naked in front of everyone, not really talking.

“Hey…” Sander tries not to be that person, to stare at every piece of Robbe’s bare skin in search for more details now that they’re here, up close. But his eyes go down a little, watching his clavicule, his long neck, his loose hair kinda messy, seeming like a cloud above his head, “Hm, I’m so sorry for this, if this makes you uncomfortable in any way, but...would like to go get a coffee?”

He feels his eyebrows frowning, his eyes a little closed, so embarrased for once to be asking someone out so bluntly like this, in broad daylight, inside their college.

“Right now?” He asks a little surprised, and the way he sounds makes Sander look up at him, worried he really crossed a line he shouldn’t be crossing.

“No? Whatever you want, I mean. Today or any other day, whenever you’re free. I’m sorry.”

“No, hm, I want to.” Robin says softly, a little shy, and Sander melts completely, smiling without meaning to.

“You do?” He asks to make sure, hoping Robin understands he can say no and it’ll be completely fine.

“Yes. Of course.” The boy says of course more cofidently, and Sander is surprised by it, needing a second while staring at him to let those words and his tone really sit inside of him. Of course.

Sander is certain nobody else was ever this sure to want to spend time with him. Especially when they barely know each other, just spending a few hours together every week but without exchanging a word before this conversation.

“To be completely honest,” Robin starts, and Sander looks back up to at his rounded brown eyes instantly, interested in hearing anything the boy has to say, “I’ve been waiting a while.”

Sander is not really following anymore, but Robin apparently can read his mind, and he explains, “For you to come talk to me. Even better if to invite me for a coffee.”

He blinks a few times, going back to every class he had with Robin as a model, looking for signs he may have ignored that this was something the boy wanted too.

Sander just can’t believe his luck, “I’m sorry...I didn’t come before then.”

He tries again like Robbe is a warm cup of tea and Sander doesn’t know if the temperature is cold enough to drink, but still warm enough to make him happy.

“It’s okay. What matters is that you did eventually.”

#wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #robbe x sander #sobbe

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Bay/rise 17! @errorfreak88 @brightlotusmoon

Cassandra forced Hueso down the streets of the Hidden City. Any yokai that dared get too close was met with Cassandra’s annoyed wrath and, if they were truly pressing their luck, a slash from her weapon. They passed through the same rift Cassandra had come in through, and came out through the statue on the other side.

“The human world?” Hueso asked curiously, looking around. “Though there doesn’t seem to be many humans here… wonder what happened.”

Cassandra growled and yanked Hueso’s arms as far back as they could go without snapping.“Stop talking.”

“Humans are social animals.” Hueso dared speak softly. The streets were remarkably empty... “You must be awful lonely with no one to talk to.”

“I said be quiet!” Cassandra jostled Hueso harshly.

“Is that why you need me? To bring them back?”

Cassandra growled and shoved Hueso to the ground as they arrived at their destination . The Yokai was silent a moment before he made an attempt to rise.

“Listen here.” Cassandra said finally, letting the skeleton sit up. “Some… friends of mine went through a portal right here and you’re gonna bring them back for me.”

Hueso considered. “What kind of portal?”

 Cassandra blanked. “What?”

“What kind of portal? There are various types. Twelve of them to be exact.”

“I don’t know— a-a a blue one? Why does it matter!”

“Different portals have different rules. If you give me the weapon used to open the rift, I can do a ceremony to bring forth its history. Have you got the weapon?” He turned back to look at Cassandra.

 “Well, no…” Cassandra tapped her fingers together a moment before snapping again, “But it shouldn’t matter! Big Mama said you knew about portals!”

“I do…” Hueso said slowly. The name of Big Mama brought images of gore and coliseums and cruelty toward yokai, mutant and human alike. “I can read the energies they leave and locate their espíritu—“

“You can’t open a rift?!” Cassandra practically spat in his face.

“Well— no. Not without a mystic weapon…” His eyes followed the frustrated stomping of Cassandra as she stormed off.

“STAY HERE! I'll be back…”

~~~

The Shredder was waiting where Cass had left him, watching over Big Mama with cold, hollowed eyes. Cassandra touched her ring to announce her presence to the great monster and made him look up to acknowledge her.

Big Mama looked up weakly as well, her beak curling into a smile. “See? Didn't Big Mama tell you—“

“A lie.” Cassandra growled softly.

Big Mama’s eyes went to pinpricks. “What?”

“A LIE!” Cassandra repeated, charging Big Mama with a loud scream and slashing the yokai across the face with her Naginata. “You told me Señor Hueso could open a rift for me! You lied!”

“I did not lie— I— Big Mama told you—“

The Shredder pounced on Big Mama and dug his claws into the soft of her abdomen, making the Jorogumo’s words fade into agony as her wails echoed around the stadium.

“TELL! ME! THE! TRUTH!” Cassandra yelled, and through her anger she was starting to cry, “You have one more chance to tell me how to find where that rift went! ONE! MORE!”

“BARON DRAXUM!” Big Mama wailed, black oozing from her mouth and the punctures where The Shredder had brutalized her. “You-you’ve met him yes? If Hueso can tell him where to go, Draxum could open a rift anywhere! I… I promise…”

Cassandra brandished her blade and held it in front of the bigger of the spider’s many eyes. “You better be right about this.”

~~~~

Draxum didn't know how to feel. He wasn’t quite sad, but there was definitely something there. Something that made him feel almost hollow inside as he sat in the empty lair that his creations called home. They should have been back by now. Everything was awfully quiet. He could hear the faintest sounds of machines at work in the smart ones room, and he could hear the gurgle of water surrounding from every direction. The filthy, putrid sewer waste produced by the humans that Draxum still tried to hate. For the first few hours alone he had the TV on in the background so the silence wasn’t so silent, but it turned off by itself and Draxum for the life of him he wasn’t sure how to turn it back on. He hadn’t been listening to it, of course— human shows were of little entertainment to the Yokai. The droll in the background had helped to keep his thoughts from straying too far. But now there was nothing stopping them from flooding and blinding him with insecurity and anxiety and, overall, just a feeling of… well, nothing. There was nothing.

He stood up. His muscles still felt weak from his experience with The Shredder almost three months prior. His face was still sunken, his powers mediocre at best. He had to get stronger, and the constant care of Michelangelo could only carry him so close his ultimate goal. He couldn’t just sit there being miserable, feeling sorry for himself. He didn’t want to. Not when he had all the time in the world to train and an array of weapons at his disposal. His muscles needed to work, and he had the dojo to himself. There was only one sensible thing to do.

Of all the weapons available, he felt the tonfa suited him best. Strong and sturdy, built for both defense and offense and able to deal a significant amount of damage even with the slightest of blows. He took a set of them in his hands and gave an approving grunt at the weight. Then he stepped into the dojo, making sure to stretch a few times before he dared approach the first dummy he saw.

For several hours more, Baron Draxum was there training. He trained until four of the dummies lay broken and dejected in a pile and his hairless palms were slick with sweat. He dropped the duo weapons to the ground and ran his hands through his fur to try and cool himself while he trotted off to find a shower area.

Another hour passed. Baron sat once more on the couch with his mind aimless and surprisingly blank, wearing one of the robes that the big one had made just for him. He was tired, but his thoughts wouldn’t let him sleep. His creations still weren’t home. Something was wrong.

“Baron Draxum!” A loud voice disrupted the silence.

Baron groaned. Moments ago he had been begging for a break from the silence, but in just a few seconds he was begging for its return. Still, he stood to face the soldier he knew all too well.

“Cassandra.” He said as he approached the excitable youth, “Am I to assume you are the reason for my creation’s disappearance?”

Cassandra almost vibrated with excitement as she saluted the Baron, a wide smile splitting her face at the sight of her comrade.

“MASTER DRAXUM, SIR!” She shouted proudly, “I require your assistance with something, sir!”

Baron smiled. “Oh? Do go on.”

As Cassandra recounted her version of events, Baron listened intently. His ears flattened against the sides of his head as the story neared its end and, once it was finished, he was silent for the longest time.

“Master?” Cassandra asked softly, walking close enough to touch Baron if she wanted to. “Will you help me return our Foot Clan to its rightful power?”

Baron gave a long inhale and then exhaled sharply. “Yes, General. I will assist you in this endeavor. You know I hate the turtles as much as any.”

“Then… why are you in their house?” Cassandra scratched her head.

“I think the better question would be how did you find me?”

Cassandra only stared.

Draxum sighed. “I was awaiting their return. I figured this would be as good a place as any to rendezvous after I got separated from them. I have been using their kindness to heal myself from our Great Master’s feeding off of me. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Not at all, Master sir!” She saluted again.

“Great.” Baron smiled. “Then let us return to the Great Master. Together.”

~~~~

Baron and Hueso sat together with their eyes closed. Lit candles were scattered in a peculiar pattern around them. Hueso held with him artifacts from each of the turtles, retrieved from their home by Baron Draxum, humming softly and occasionally breaking his silent concentration with a muttering that neither Baron note Cassandra could quite hear. Cassandra sat back anxiously and tried her best to keep quiet despite the sharp impulses to talk stabbing her like a needle.

“I am seeing a place… not close.” Hueso said slowly. “A place separate from ours.” He gripped Leonardo’s stuffed unicorn securely, “It is there that Leonardo and Michelangelo exited the rift.”

“Go on!” Cassandra covered her mouth a moment too late.

Hueso almost lost the vision, but a moment more of meditation brought it back.

“There is an Oni there. The Oni is an ancient one similar to the Oni who created your master. He is… furious. His rage burns like cold fire.”

Hueso grabbed Draxum’s hands and started to join their minds together.

“I see him.” Baron mused quietly, “He is…”

“Not from here.” Hueso finished. “He is Oni.”

Baron opened his red eyes quite suddenly and stood. Cassandra gasped and scrambled over to get a better view as Baron Draxum held his hand out to the dumpster in front of him. Two vines came from where his feet were rooted in the ground and slowly, agonizingly, they formed into a doorway. Once the vines stopped their slow, snake-like joining that brought the frame of the door together, they spiraled down and made a strange Kanji. The Kanji for demon. Oni.

The doorway exploded into a bright pink. Like a vortex, started to draw everything into it— scraps of loose trash, water from grimy puddles, loose stones from the asphalt. Anything in its path that was light enough. Hueso’s eyes slot open and he clung desperately to a dumpster to avoid being sucked in, grimacing as the dumpster started to be dragged toward the rift as well. Baron simply dug his hooves more securely into the stone while Cassandra clung to his arm with that excitable smile she often had.

“YES!” Casey screamed, bouncing in place while looking quickly between Baron and the rift.

“Por Dios it worked…” Hueso gawked.

“Yes.” Baron made a fist, the heat of the portal starting to seep into his very being and fill him with the taste of the power he had lost months ago. The sensation was fleeting, like a wind whistling through his mane on a hot summers day, or like the faintest scent that would remind one of their childhood. It was good. It was… perfect.

#Baron Draxum arrives!#Cass and Baron are vry close #best buddies #Hueso wasn’t expecting it to work

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 4 years

Note

I am so living for your angst right now, if you're feeling up tonite, could you do something where the boys poly neglect their mate, she breaks away from them and finds someone new and despite the boys reealizing shes distanced, they try to claw their selves back in, it doesn't work? Or it can be a makeup type thing, I'll leave that up to you

Okay, so this is definitely gonna be angsty. Also, I’m using the “someone new” to basically include Michael in this. Sorry not sorry. I hope you enjoy!!

Exploring My Options (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader, Michael x Fem!Reader) fic

Warnings: angst

Word Count: 2540

They hadn’t meant to neglect you. They really hadn’t. You had been with them for so long, they’d just become too used to you. You were a constant background, and, usually, at least one of them would be paying attention to you. Not that night, however. But, then again, this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

You were used to them flirting with other women. Even sleeping with them. How could you not be? You all had to eat, and pretty, young girls were easy pickings for your boys. Just like drunk assholes were for you. You knew that they hadn’t meant to ignore you. If you brought it to their attention, there would be a flurry of looks and blame. David would probably look at one of the blondes, and there would be a quick exchange of,

“Wasn’t it your turn tonight?” Or Dwayne would apologize and stick by you until the two of you had to feed. Paul might even drag you away for some attention, some ‘loving’ of your own. Marko might tease you and tell you to cheer up. He’d say,

“Is someone jealous, babe?” With his usual smile etched across his face. It would be over as quick as it had happened, but you didn’t feel like bringing it up to them. Pointing it out. Why did you have to? You’d done it before, yet it always seemed to happen again. So, instead, you decided to see how long it would last. That had been two hours ago, and now you were starting to get pissed. You left their sides, secretly hoping that one of them would notice the fact that you had completely left. But none of them called after you. Not one of your mates seemed to care.

It made tears prick in your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away. Whatever. It was fine. It wasn’t like you had been with them for nearly half a century. If they wanted to focus more on their food, they could. The bastards.

Anger was brewing inside you with each step you took away from the four. The farther you wandered, the more it hurt. Whenever you felt a brush of fingertips or heard a voice similar to theirs, part of you sparked. But, when you looked over your shoulder and none of them were there, it was snuffed out just as quick. It had been three hours in total. You’d been away from them for hours, and none of them seemed to notice. Finally, your heart started to crack.

Could they really forget you this easily? Could they go on same as always without you there? As if you’d never been there at all? Did any of them even care about your bond?

You could feel tears brimming your eyes, and you had to quickly wipe away a stray tear. You didn’t want to cry in public, and if you started you wouldn’t be able to stop. So, you turned towards the nearest distraction. There was a live show playing right on the beach. Usually, Paul would take you. But that was only when some heavy metal band was playing. The guy on stage had a saxophone and was oiled up so much it was almost comical. But there was electricity in the air, and it was the opposite of what was settling inside your still, cold heart. So, you descended down into the sand and wormed your way into the crowd.

You were used to catching attention. It was just what happened. Usually, it’d be a drunk surf-nazi who was more content with just fucking your brains out instead of actually finding out your name. But a boy, one that you’d never seen before, was staring at you. You caught his eyes. They were blue, like two of your lovers. But not ocean or crystal like their’s were. They were dark, and almost grey. His hair was curly and brown, and his jaw was angular and square. You didn’t have a single boy like him. He smiled at you, but you didn’t smile back. Instead, you turned and walked out of the crowd.

You hadn’t meant for him to follow you, but there he was. You knew you were heading back towards the boys. You could feel their pull, your bond guiding you back to them. But, perhaps, you didn’t walk as quickly as you could’ve. You knew he was getting closer, and you only slowed just a little bit more. So, he was right behind you. A hand grabbed your wrist, but only to grab your attention. It dropped the minute you looked over your shoulder, and you saw the boy from earlier. You had been wishing for one of your boys to do the very same the entire night, and the action made you decide something. If your boys were so concerned with their meals, then you’d amuse yourself with other pleasures just the same.

“Hi. What’s your name?” He asked, and you gave him a small smile. You gave it to him, and he quickly supplied his own. “I’m Michael.” After only a short conversation, he was leading you to his bike. It wasn’t too far away from where your boys were, and you knew that they were probably close by. All on their own set of wheels. You chuckled to yourself when you saw it. It reminded you of your boys, and, for a moment, you thought that he wasn’t so different from them. “You wanna grab something to eat?” He asked, and you smiled. You tilted your head, and you debated eating him. He was pretty. Almost unfairly so. It’d be a pity to waste such a face.

You felt a mental tap, and you didn’t have to look to see where it’d came from. The boys had noticed your absence, and who you were with. You shut it out. Shut them out. If they wanted you, they should have done something about it already. Now, you had someone else to amuse yourself with.

“I already ate, but you said you’re new, right? Maybe I could show you around Santa Carla.” You offered, and he gave you a wide smile. It was petty, you knew. You were telling the others exactly what you planned on doing with this boy. He wasn’t a meal, at least not tonight. He got onto his bike, and said,

“That sounds great.” And then there was a roar of bike engines all around you. You rolled your eyes when you heard David’s voice behind you, and you gave him a flat look. He tilted his head and asked,

“Where you goin’, y/n?” He asked, and the same anger from before flared up. Oh, he had nerve. He’d ignored you, all of them had, for practically the entire night and, now, he was interrupting you? You frowned at him. David didn’t scare you, none of them did. You were their mate. The only one that had to worry was Michael.

“For a ride. David, this is Michael. I was gonna show him around.” You said, and your boys didn’t seem pleased. They had circled his bike, preventing him from driving off. Even so, he reached for your hand and quietly said,

“Let’s go.” And you gave the others a pointed look. David frowned, as did the rest. Well, except Paul. He had an easy smile on his face, but his eyes were sharp. Trained on the brunette, and sizing him up.

David called your name and raised his brows. You knew what he was doing, and you could hear his voice in your head. What do you think you’re doing? He asked. You gave him a small smile, and you tilted your head. Exploring my options. You replied, and you gave Dwayne a look. You silently told him to move his bike, and his face hardened. Dwayne stared at the other brunette, and then he looked at David. David was their leader, but you were their mate. The only girl in their pack. It gave you a certain unspoken power, to hold all of their hearts in your hand. None of them ever wanted to upset you, but that was exactly what they had done. Silently, Dwayne moved his bike to the side, giving Michael barely enough room to leave from where they had trapped him. There was a flurry of thoughts in response, but Dwayne stared at you. He knew that if they stood in your way, you’d only widen the gap that had developed between them. As angry as David had been in all of your heads, you knew that he knew the same.

It’s why Michael wasn’t dead the next night, or the night after that, or the night after that. They didn’t know what you were doing, but you were giving them a taste of their own medicine. If they didn’t want to pay attention to you, then you didn’t have to pay attention to them. It didn’t matter who you arrived with. You always left the boardwalk with Michael. He was sweet. He reminded you of when you and your boys had first started dating. He was completely enamored with you, and he followed you around like a stray dog. He begged for any scraps of attention, and his devotion would always make a smile creep across your face.

Your boys were becoming restless. David was tightening his grip even time you drifted further away. He was determined to keep you, but he let Michael have you in the meantime. He was going to wait until you got bored or hungry. A more arrogant part of him thought that it would be over soon, but that certainty became more and more fragile the longer he lasted. He was becoming angry, and he had once made a comment about ‘turning him if you like him so much’. But you knew David would like nothing less. Instead, he settled for icy glares and sharp words in passing.

Paul was impulsive. He tried to draw you back with affection. He kissed you longer and harder before you left the cave, and his attention barely left you. You were the one that always left them. He held your hand ever so tightly before he was forced to drop it, and he practically dragged you to your nest every time you came home reeking of the blue-eyed brunette. You never did anything with Michael, but it drove him just as insane as if you did. He’d scent mark you for hours, and he didn’t try to hide his displeasure when you didn’t return the gesture. He whispered,

“Why are you doing this? Don’t you want me anymore?” But you’d always assured him the same way he had assured you. You told him that he was your mate, that you’d never not want him. But you knew how empty those words felt on that side of them. How they barely helped.

Dwayne was a silent storm. He watched every move Michael made. He watched how you barely entertained them. He was silent, and he never made a comment to him. Instead, he’d kiss you before you left. Always on the forehead. It was a silent reminder, to both you and Michael. You were his. You were theirs. He’d tilt your chin up afterwards. He was waiting for the day that you would lean up, press a kiss to his lips and finally decide to end whatever game you were playing. Waiting for the same exact day that David was. He’d stare down at you, but he wouldn’t even speak to you over your mental link. When you slipped out of his grasp, he let you.

Marko could barely stand this. He wouldn’t get off his bike when Michael approached to draw you away. He’d grip the handlebars so hard you were sure one day he was going to break them. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were alight with anger. He glared at Michael, almost just as fiercely as David did. You’d heard his thoughts on multiple occasions. Just say the word. He’d thought once, and you’d given him a glare right back. He’d scowled the moment your eyes met, and he’d clicked his jaw before he’d driven off. He was the most hotheaded of the four, and he would do something you’d make him regret if he lost his temper.

They had no intention of letting you go, and they each tried to claw their way back in. They tried to win you back by letting you do what you wanted. When you failed to grow bored, they took Pauls route. They layered on the affection, even if their growing anger tainted it. Finally, after nearly four weeks, Marko snapped. He kicked over a lit barrel, spilling the flames onto the cave floor. You hadn’t even gone to the boardwalk yet.

“That’s it! I’m killing him.” He said, and he headed straight for the entrance of the cave. As if he was going to do it as soon as possible. You snatched his wrist and he ripped it right out of your grasp. It had been the tipping point for the both of you. Words had been screamed between you, and the others didn’t know whether to join or stay out of it. They decided that was their own choice to make. Dwayne ended up being the only one sticking to the sidelines as the four of you screamed at eachother. It had taken hours for the fighting words to finally be put aside and for them to get out why you were doing this.

You’d felt ignored. Not just that night but several nights for years. It had been growing. A doubt that had wormed it’s way into your heart and head. That night had just been particularly bad. That night had just been your tipping point. You hadn’t even slept with Michael, barely grazed the tip of the iceberg of what they’d done with other women. You wanted someone that would pay attention to you. Someone that followed you around like you were everything they ever wanted. You admitted it as sobs escaped your throat, and you pushed them away when they tried to hold you close. They ignored your attempts, and you were pulled into a hug by all four of them. You tried to struggle, tried to stay mad. But it was useless. Their scent always calmed you, and you’d barely gotten to hold or be held by them in the past few weeks. You relaxed and sobbed, and David held you to his chest. They each whispered soft words to you, and your chin had been lifted to press even softer kisses to your lips. Words of assurance and affection had been passed between all five of you. How you would never truly leave them, and how they only ever wanted to come back to you.

They didn’t bother taking you to the boardwalk that night, and the next time they did you’d convinced them not to slaughter Michael.

“You know, he really isn’t that bad. You might even like him.” You told them, and they all scoffed and rolled their eyes. Yeah, sure, they would.

#the lost boys #The Lost Boys 1987 #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader #marko the lost boys #the lost boys marko #the lost boys david #david the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #dwayne the lost boys #paul the lost boys #the lost boys paul #the lost boys michael #michael the lost boys #michael emerson

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dumbassbitchdisease · 2 years

Text

kind of a rant atp but i've held onto this for too long:

i always see things that i used to like in middle school that i genuinely really enjoyed watching/doing that i think about now and have mixed feelings about.

like sure, i stopped watching MLP, stopped drawing my little Sonic OC, pulled back on watching certain shows, but was it because i stopped liking it? or because i felt judged for enjoying the things that i do?

i see updates on shows, fandoms, or other things that i really liked and i get excited, it makes me want to enjoy those things again and really, what's stopping me?

sure i wrote my silly little crossover fanfics that i cringe about now, but it got me into writing! sure, i drew ponies and hedgehogs all the time, and filled up my brain with the show and all these little things about them, but it genuinely helped me improve my art - drawing side profiles and hair for example! making these one-time "i swear they're a new oc im making a story for" characters helped me flesh out the backgrounds and personalities of characters i have now! listening to specific artists, i feel the nostalgia, it's relaxing, even! having the lyrics almost flood into my brain, hearing my favorite part again, knowing when the artist takes a breath, or paying attention to the background, knowing everything about it, the instrumental, the highs and lows in their voice! it makes me think of parts of my life growing up that probably made me the Weird Kid in their Weird Group but did i care? fuck no! i had a good time! i had fun! i had anxiety then and i do now but these things made me happy! the only times i felt embarrassed to like the things i did was when other people would comment on it, my friends liked my art, my parents were relatively supportive/okay with it, but seeing friends outside of school? the ones that didn't really care? other family members? they made me feel childish for liking what i liked, but i was a child, why wasn't it ok? who would it hurt? who did it hurt? the only person that felt hurt was me, it was a blow to the stomach to see people's faces full of judgment for something that didn't even concern them. it made me feel embarrassed to enjoy these things. it made me feel so dumb, lame, pathetic, whatever, it left a sour taste in my mouth where the sugar once was.

i feel like im getting really sidetracked but at the end of everything my question is: why stop liking the things you like because others don't get it? why stop enjoying the things that make you happy because of something somebody else said? will i really continue to hold onto the scraps from updates i hear from someone else because i feel like i'll get judged again? or will i start to enjoy these things again? why am i going to hold back on the things that make *me* happy for the sake of others who don't even give a fuck?

i'm older now, yeah, sure, so i have more of a mental "fuck you too" attitude when people ask me if i still really like "X" with a sneer or with words laced with judgment, looking down on me, like yeah, i like this, it makes me happy, it's my life, fuck you !!! i don't owe you shit! sorry you're a bitter little fucker that wants to tear me down so you can feel better about yourself! let me enjoy my things!

"oh you're 20, you're too old to enjoy your plushies, those are kid's shows, that's just a cartoon, do you still draw your little characters? why would you buy that book? that album? that song?"

BECAUSE IT MAKES ME HAPPY, BECAUSE IT MAKES ME SMILE, BECAUSE I LOOK FORWARD TO ENJOYING MY THINGS EVERY DAY, BECAUSE IT KEEPS ME GOING I DON'T OWE YOU AN EXPLANATION FOR THE THINGS THAT MIGHT BE SMALL BUT KEEP ME ALIVE IT KEEPS ME GOING IT GIVES ME MOTIVATION!!! i don't fucking care !!!! how dumb it sounds !!! you're not me !!!!

fuck what other people think, you keep doing the things you like, you do it for yourself and your happiness, you don't owe anyone shit

#this was really long #text post #long post #rant #just enjoy the things you like #fuck what other people think #that's part of your self love baby #love what you do #it's for your own happiness #not theirs

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

Little Bird: Chapter 44

Read on AO3. Part 43 here. Part 45 here.

Summary: Free at last.

Words: 7000

Warnings: none

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I would very much like to thank @bastila-ren, @elmidol, and @thetorturerwrites for all of their feedback and generosity. It is well-known how desperately I want these chapters to be correct. My friends are so deeply helpful and kind to offer me their time and input.

I hope you're doing okay! There's only one chapter left to go! Hang in there for me!

I love y'all so very much. Your thoughts, your engagement, your feedback always keeps me motivated and leaves me feeling blessed. Thank you thank you thank you.

“You’re beautiful…”

Hands. Firm. Strong. Pulling at your hips, your thighs, your breasts, bruising you, soothing you. A mouth. Wet. Desperate. A frenzy of kisses down your neck, your clavicle, to your sternum, above the terrified thumping of your heart. Your blood is red, his lips are red, the sheets are red, the air is red. You inhale a plea and exhale a prayer. There are two figures, but only one writhes and whines and gasps, only one works like an instrument tuned to the key of your body. Sweat. Flesh. Breath. You want to remember this. You need to remember--to remember--

“Tell me what you want…”

You, you want to whisper. But it won’t leave. Your mouth is sewn shut with thread stitched into skin, and when you try to pry it open, sound collapses in your throat.

You, you struggle to say. But your tongue is shriveled, a rotten leaf, wilting words as they crawl across it, and not a croak escapes.

You, you try to scream. But you are empty, black vines in your veins consuming you from fingers to chest to eyes, swallowing you like a locust swarm.

And you realize that it is over, that you are dying, that what you wanted never mattered at all.

Jolted from sleep, you scrambled inside the sheets, babbling nonsense as your mind snapped to consciousness. You hadn’t even realized you were truly awake until you found yourself struggling to move, bound in the braided-rope embrace of Kylo Ren’s arms. His strength stilled you, and you buried yourself in his chest, drawing in a slow, quiet breath. He was silent while you trembled. The creeping claws of your dream faded from memory.

“Sorry,” you said, words muffled against his skin, “I guess I had a nightmare.”

“Mm.” A soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’m familiar.”

“I think I died.” You wrapped your arms around him, wound your legs in his. “Did you ever hear that if you die in your dreams, you die in the real world?”

Kylo hummed, fingers skating over your shoulder. “Were that true,” he said, “I would be a ghost.”

Your chin quivered. “Oh.” If only you could have eschewed the very fabric of reality and ignored the impending arrival of the Resistance transport. If only you could have remained in bed with your former Commander forever. “When do you think they’re coming?”

His heart quickened at your cheek. “Patrol changes shift shortly,” he replied. “They’d be wise to take advantage of the distraction.”

“Oh.” You brushed your lips across his sternum, nuzzled your face in the valley of his chest. In another world, this could have been any other morning. “Then we need to get up.”

A muffled sigh. “Yes.”

Wordlessly, you each untangled your limbs free from the other and rose out of bed. You tossed your nightgown over your head, ignoring the background desire of your mind to catalogue its lasts: the last time you’d sleep in this bed, the last time you’d see this room, the last time you’d watch him in naked majesty--

No. You wouldn’t consider that. Not now. After pulling on your underwear, you glanced at Kylo, nodding to him in an agreement that there was preparation that the both of you needed to do. Holding in a sigh, you crossed the threshold of his bedroom, striding into the hall and down the steps like you were about to get dressed without any sort of pretense at all.

The house itself seemed to acknowledge your decision, whining with the weight of your footsteps. These same sounds that had once terrorized you in enslavement, signaled your illicit plans with your Commander, now mocked you in your bid to escape. A part of you had grown comforted by the settling wood that marked the path to his bed. Comforted, despite the scrape of shackles at your wrists.

You arrived in your room and threw your nightgown onto your mattress, changing underwear and getting into your Handmaid uniform. It was strange to realize this was your final performance of a routine you’d practiced for over three years. There was no more bargaining to be had with the Resistance, no returning after this gambit for freedom. Hopefully, by the time the sun rose tomorrow, you would be able to burn this damn dress, the wings and bonnet and boots with it.

But there was a piece of Gilead you would refuse to leave behind. Stuffed in the slats of your dresser was the folded slip of paper with the name and birthdate of Tera Jackson. You gazed at it, teeth worrying the inside of your lip. She had chosen her Commander over everyone, over her own freedom. She hadn’t been perfect. But then, of course, neither had you. Sighing, you shoved the tiny scrap into your sleeve. With nothing more to do, you glanced out of your window, catching the flickers of sun from the pond. You never did get a chance to feel the water on your toes.

Though you weren’t sure when the Resistance would arrive, you knew you’d prefer to be prepared than caught off guard. It was for that reason you descended the stairs and peered into room after room. Johana was typically up by this point in the day--though you weren’t sure if she was sleeping very well as of late. A rustle in the parlor room as you approached, and your pulse skipped. You poked your head beyond the threshold and spotted Johana, gazing over the heaps of untidied, useless gifts.

You cleared your throat, and she flinched. “Ah, sorry!” You paused, and she stared at you. “Um. Good morning.”

She shrugged a shoulder, looking back over the gifts. “I guess it is.”

“So, um, where are the Marthas?”

“In the kitchen.”

You took a breath. “Okay,” you said. “Could you come with me? To the kitchen.” She cast her eyes over the presents again. “I mean, take your time, you can just meet--”

“I’m coming.” Johana spun on her heel, marched past you into the hall, and leered at you when you hesitated to follow. “Well?” she said. “Don’t just stand there.”

Suppressing a laugh, you trotted behind her, at her heels when she turned into the kitchen.

Rose and Emma were in the middle of wiping down the counters when you and Johana arrived. They stalled, paralyzed from the unexpected appearance of camaraderie between the both of you. Johana crossed into the kitchen, positioning herself between them, folded her arms over her chest, exhaling. They looked at her for guidance, straightened--then looked to each other and then at you, blinking in some form of latent disbelief. Your heart hammered in your temples, sweat a film on your palms.

“Um,” you began, “good morning, everyone.”

Unsurprisingly, no one replied.

“Well, you’re probably wondering why we’re all gathered here right now.” You met Johana’s stare, spying the anticipation there. “And I guess there’s not a lot of time to explain the whole story, anyway--”

She sighed.

You bristled. “Anyway, yes, sorry.” Your voice fell, inviting them to secrecy. “Look. The Resistance is arriving soon with a transport. They’re--”

Johana frowned, narrowing her eyes. “Have you lost your mind?” she hissed. “ Why are you discussing this here? If the Commander finds out--”

“He already knows.” A twinge of dread. You ignored it. “He’s… um. He’s actually going to be helping.”

She snorted. “Helping?” she asked. “Since when has Kylo Ren ever deigned to help anyone?”

“Well.” Heat tickled your face. It wasn’t as though his agreement was altruistic. But still. “Since, um. Since they decided to help him, too.”

A pause, and the three of them looked at you. Johana’s head tilted, and she rolled her eyes.

“You really love that bastard, don’t you?”

Something--still lodged from last night--clung to your tongue. You shrugged. “They’re going to take me over the border. None of you have to join me, but if you want an opportunity, here it is. So, if you want to--”

“Yes,” Johana snorted, and stepped forward, jaw firm. “I’ll go.”

Emma and Rose gawked, mouths parted as they watched the Wife of their household align herself with the Resistance. They glanced at each other again, slow air leaving their lungs as they had a silent discussion, cocking their heads and furrowing their brows. Not that you could blame them. You weren’t sure how readily you would’ve agreed to treason without prior knowledge.

Johana turned to face them. “You really want to be left behind and grilled by the Eyes?”

Rose groaned and shrugged, glaring at Emma as if to urge her on. Resigned, Emma looked at you.

“Yeah,” she said, like she’d been outvoted. “I mean, yes, sure. We’ll go.”

You smiled, for some reason relieved. Well, not for some reason. You’d wasted so much time fucking your Commander that you’d denied them the chance at freedom for weeks. To not only offer it, but have them agree eased just a fraction of guilt from your shoulders.

“Great,” you replied. “I… I’m really happy to hear it.”

Johana crossed her arms. “What’s the plan?”

With a nod, you clapped and wrung your hands together, craning your neck toward the front door. Terrified jubilance scrambled inside your chest.

“When the transport arrives, we’ll all go outside and they’ll pile us in, and then, um, I guess--”

Loud, heavy footsteps rumbled through the floor, and you paused, head spinning to watch the hallway. Kylo Ren turned the corner, clad all in black, a shoulder holster fastened over a long-sleeve crew neck, his trousers tucked into his boots. You swallowed, a tiny grin curling at your lips--you wanted to hold out your hand, open your arms. But all you did was stare as he approached, observing the gathering of women inside of his kitchen. He stopped in the archway, his gaze wandering your figure before it drifted over the others. The air was thick and surreal. The last time you’d all been together in this room, you’d argued about butter.

You were glad that it seemed silly now.

“Hello,” Johana said stiffly, glaring at her husband.

Kylo Ren did not reply. Emma and Rose half-nodded toward him--unsure if he was still owed deference--but he did not acknowledge them, either. Instead, there was a nervous, unsolvable silence, a type of silence that could only be borne within a totalitarian society as its laws crumbled and its subjects came alive. You glimpsed the pistol tucked in its sheath under Kylo’s arm, that twinge of dread returning.

You shrugged at him. “Hi.”

“Shift change is in minutes.” He surveyed the room again, appraising your work.

“Will you get in trouble?” you asked. “Since your entire household is disappearing?”

Kylo glanced at the front door. “I’m not concerned.”

“That’s a change of pace,” said Johana.

He turned to her, jaw tense and shoulders rolling. But when he met her eyes, he exhaled. His throat knocked as he shifted on his feet.

“Moden spoke of you often.” His voice was soft. “He’d want this.”

Blinking, she averted her gaze with a scoff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“More,” Kylo said. “For you.”

Johana’s face flushed pink, her chin quaking with words you were sure she didn’t even know how to say. She sniffled, wiped the beading tears away. “Well.” Another sniffle, and she cleared her throat, attention turned toward the kitchen window. “Whatever.”

The shudder of her breath cut through the quiet--and then, meters beyond the front door, the sound of an advancing engine rolled and idled in the street. Chest tight, you looked to your former Commander. Every muscle in your body felt strained to snap.

“I guess they’re here,” you murmured.

His focus shifted from the Marthas, to Johana, to you, and he strode forward, blazing a path toward the front door. Straightening your spine, you turned to the other women for a second before following his trail.

Clouds swathed the sun, a grey overcast blanketing the sky. Kylo Ren marched past the front garden, past his Audi, through the driveway until he reached the road. You were his distant, timid shadow, perspiring at nearly every crevice you could think to name. Behind you, you heard Johana and the Marthas shuffle outside with uncertain footsteps. The door shut after all of you with a solemn click.

Parked in the street was a large, black van with a white-winged eye displayed on the side. As you drew closer, your face grew hotter. Before you could decide to turn around and run inside, the driver’s door flew open, and Finn rounded the front of the vehicle.

“Come on,” he said, urging you forward. “Come on, come on, we don’t have a lot of time. Everyone get in the van!”

Your pace slowed, and Johana and the Marthas passed you, shuffling toward the van as Finn opened the doors.

“What exactly is about to happen?” Johana paused, scrutinizing the inside.

Two empty rows of seats greeted you--along with Rey, who was seated in the passenger side. She leaned back, grinning at you and Johana with an excited little wave. Johana snorted, glanced back at you as if to say, who’s this idiot?

“Basically,” Finn said, helping Rose and Emma inside, “our first stop is a safe house, you’ll be transferred out to another vehicle there, and the driver there has a pass that will let him over the border.”

She grumbled. “You expect us to cross the border in broad daylight?”

“We can explain on the way,” Finn said, gesturing for her to get on. “Time is limited.”

Meeting your eyes for confirmation, Johana shrugged and grabbed the sides of the van, lifting into the front row of seats. Finn’s attention flipped between you and Kylo, his jaw stiffening. You turned to see, too--your former Commander stood at the mouth of the driveway, hands in his pockets, observing in silence. A curtain of stifled terror descended onto your shoulders, your chest fighting the urge to collapse. Swallowing, you looked to Finn.

“What’s going to happen to him?”

Finn groaned, and Rey scolded him.

“He’ll be a double agent,” she said. “But we have to iron out the details later.”

“You’ll earn your freedom, Ren,” Finn spat. He waved you forward. “Now come on.”

Heart thudding, you sought Kylo’s stare. It was empty. “Wait,” you said, moving toward him, “I just--”

“We don’t have time.”

“Just!” You threw your hands into the air. “Two seconds!”

In a few skipping steps, you stood in front of Kylo Ren--your owner, your lover, the father of your child--with the full intention to say goodbye and desperate desire to never leave. He gazed at you, eyes a hazel haze, lips plush and pink, hair whipped in black strands by the gentle wind. The silence ricocheted between your ears.

Tell me what you want…

You shook away the shadow of your nightmare. “I don’t know what to say.”

A tiny smirk. “Anything,” he murmured. “As long as it won’t make you cry.”

“Kylo,” you said, hiding the reluctant laugh in your chest, “I--”

An engine roared behind you. An engine that didn’t belong to Rey and Finn. In the back of your swimming brain, an alarm whined.

The Eyes.

Before you could turn, Kylo shoved you back, his body a barrier between you and the street. Rubber squealed on asphalt, drowning the hollered pleas of Rey and Finn for you to come on. Head spinning, you looked to Kylo just as he snagged his gun and unleashed one two three shots. The noise split your skull, and you hissed, clamping your hands over your ears. He stepped back, keeping you shielded behind his frame as you peered around him.

Two black vans had thrown themselves over the curb, their doors flung open. Six Angels armed with rifles and huge ballistic shields charged forth in a phalanx, bearing down on you both. To your right, Finn was yelling for you, holding out his hand, his voice a languid drone under the torrent of adrenaline. Rey leaned out of the passenger window, aiming a pistol at the soldiers, and you looked at Kylo. He grit his teeth. Another shot, and another, the shields swallowed each bullet. A second volley of pops cut the air--from Rey, you knew--and the men faltered.

For that brief, terrible second, Kylo glimpsed you. You knew you had to go.

In a burst of fear, you sprinted toward Finn, throwing your hand toward his. He leapt forth, reaching for you--and a vice grip crushed your arm, ripped you backward, Finn’s face falling in horror. It was only as your knees buckled, your wings fell to the ground and your feet dragged the pavement that you realized that one of the Angels had snatched you.

Go, you think you said, knowing that the rest of them couldn’t be caught, too. Whatever you’d commanded, Finn obeyed, slamming the van door shut and scurrying toward the driver’s seat. You flailed, seeking out Kylo. Tires peeled through the street, and your eyes landed on him. The world stalled.

Kylo Ren was a rabid monster, constricted in the arms of two armored men. He was focused on you, veins bulging from his neck, teeth bared in a feral snarl. The Angel jerked your wrist, and Kylo howled, thrashing in an attempt to throw them off. A third and fourth man joined them, pinned his arms back, securing them there with cuffs. You called out to him, foolishly, and he growled, pitching his legs, aiming for the shins of the soldiers behind him, twisting his body to break their balance.

A fifth Angel charged to assist, clocked the handcuffed Kylo across the jaw--he hissed in shock, and the five men hauled him from his feet, robbing him of leverage. He continued to flail, a helpless bound beast, and they moved with him to a van with an open back. Like a sack, they tossed him inside. Pathetically, you only required one captor. He yanked you by your arm to the van and threw you in with your former Commander. That soldier climbed in, shut the door behind him, and slapped the interior.

“We got ‘em!” he said.

The engine revved and the van sped off, wobbling all of you in the cell.

Both you and Kylo had managed to climb to a sitting position, and you gazed at each other in silence, both restrained, red-faced, bewildered. The Angel guarding the door sat with his rifle readied, his attention shifting between you. Kylo panted with furious, trembling breath, his hair in wild waves over his face. Your own arms ached from the tension already, head dizzy. Barely visible beyond the cage partition, two soldiers spoke.

“I’ll signal we’re on our way,” said the driver.

“Sounds good,” the passenger replied. “You think it’s a problem that van got away?”

“They said the priority was Ren and the Handmaid.”

“I know, I know.” A sigh. “But I don’t want to get in trouble. Did you see who was driving?”

“I was a little preoccupied.”

“Well, so was I. But now they know they have moles. We probably just blew months of--”

“Can we worry about this later?” the driver groaned. “Let’s drop them off first. I haven’t even had breakfast.” He banged the partition. “Hey! Did you eat yet?”

The soldier in your cell shifted. “What?”

“Breakfast,” he said, “did you eat breakfast?”

“Ugh, hold on.” He stood, crossed between you and Kylo, hunched at the partition. Next to the empty handcuff pouch on his belt was a tiny pocket. “What did you say?”

From across the aisle, you met Kylo’s eyes, the idea striking simultaneously--an idea as risky as it was improbable. But neither of you would not, could not be captured without a fight. Just like Snoke’s mansion or the Council Chambers, it was two against Gilead.

So far, you were undefeated.

You took a breath. “Excuse me, sir.”

“I was asking if you ate breakfast,” said the driver.

“Oh!” The van hit a bump, and the soldier stumbled. “Damn! Will you watch it?”

“Excuse me,” you said again.

“It was a pothole, big deal.” The driver sighed. “Do you need to eat or not?”

The Angel hummed in thought. “I don’t know, I did have toast--”

You leaned forward. “Sir, excuse--”

“What!” He spun to face you. “What do you want?”

Behind him, Kylo shifted.

“Oh, sorry.” You smiled, batting your lashes. “It just slipped my mind.”

He grumbled, stepped toward you. A long, powerful leg swept his feet from the floor.

The Angel crumbled, dropping his rifle as his hands flew to the wall to brace himself, framing your head. You leaned back, jammed your heel into his crotch, and he choked, collapsing on top of you. His weight, with the addition of armor, suffocated you, and you wriggled under him. Meanwhile, Kylo stood and turned, arching backwards over the soldier’s body so his cuffed hands could fumble at the man’s belt. In seconds, you heard a jingle--he pulled a key free, and you fought to jostle off your captor.

“What’s going on back there?” said the passenger. “You okay?”

Kylo swung his leg, pushing the man from your body onto his back in the aisle, and before he could respond, Kylo crushed his throat with his boot. Now free, you turned, stepping backward to meet him as he sought your wrists with the key.

“Hello?” The passenger turned, unable to see through the tiny holes in the divider. “Hey, pull over!”

“What?”

The lock popped, and you held a gasp in your chest, whirling to grab the key before he could free your other wrist. Fingers quaking, you shoved the key in the lock, turned it. In one swoop, Kylo burst from the cuff, twirled on his heel, and wrenched the gun from underneath the Angel’s body.

“I said pull over!”

You folded in on yourself, plugging your ears as Kylo racked the rifle.

A storm of bullets screamed through the steel divider and erupted through the windshield, blood spattering the spider-cracks. Kylo released the trigger. The vehicle shuddered, skewing toward the shoulder, and he gathered you in his arms and pulled you to his chest. The van smacked a bump. Then another. And then it careened off the road, crashing on its side and slamming you all into the wall.

Ears ringing like sirens (for the last time in a long time, you hoped), you groaned in the stillness, squirming in Kylo’s embrace. He released you, shaking off the disorientation that gripped him while he searched the van for something. The Angel’s body was curled by the back doors. A sharp, metal rod lined your spine. The rifle.

“Behind me,” you said. “It’s behind me.”

He acted as if he hadn’t heard you--and you realized that he hadn’t covered his ears, so he probably couldn’t. Seething, you reached for it, tugging at the barrel, and Kylo spotted your effort. He stumbled forward and pulled it free, and his other hand grabbed your wrist, lifting you to stand. Outside, tires screeched, an engine reeled. Your blood froze. You’d forgotten about the other van.

You tapped Kylo’s arm, and he spun, meeting your eyes, his irises consumed with black, primal rage. Brow furrowing, you pointed toward the street. He nodded. With a grunt, he released you, spearing you with that stare that meant don’t move. This time, you intended to obey.

He stalked through the hull, unhitched the doors and kicked them open as you caught the sound of men leaping onto the street. You could only watch as Kylo lunged from the vehicle, rifle aimed, heels grinding the dirt as he spun to face them. Sneering, he pulled the trigger.

Flames flashed from the muzzle in a spray of bullets, a number of shots you weren’t able to count. In seconds, the clip was empty. Kylo barely took a breath before he hurled the rifle to the side and rushed the van. Arm extended, he beckoned you forward.

“Come.”

You floundered toward him, hopped over the Angel’s body and grabbed his hand. Kylo dragged you onto the street, through the three armored bodies and the blood pouring on the pavement, stealing a pistol along the way. Reaching the second van, he let you go and headed toward the driver’s side, ordering you to get in. Skittering to the other side, you jumped in, squealing when he hit the gas before you could even close the door.

The van streaked down the road opposite the direction you’d come, and you settled into your seat. Kylo was focused, one fist wrapped around the gearshift, the other around the steering wheel.

You swallowed. “Where are we going now?”

“To find the Resistance.”

“Oh.”

For some reason, it surprised you, though it only made sense. Despite all of his power, Kylo Ren did not possess the resources to cross the border--so perhaps what was surprising was the fact that he was choosing to get you over at all. There was an ache in your chest, different from the aches in your body, the bruises you knew would bloom overnight.

He banked through a turn, tossing the van into low gear and flying through the streets. They couldn’t have gotten far, though it was any guess what direction they’d gone. The residential streets were empty, the greater roads vacant too. In frustration, he doubled back, heading toward the highway. The van whined, climbed the ramp, and you yelped, pointing ahead.

“There!” The vehicle in question was black and speeding fast. “That has to be them!”

Kylo said nothing. Then he jerked the stickshift back and gunned the gas.

You eased into your seat, gripping the side of the door. Speed consumed the distance, and as you grew closer, you tried to catch a glimpse of the driver in the side mirror. Through the blackened tint, a pair of dark eyes met yours, and your heart soared.

“It’s them,” you said, slapping his shoulder. “It’s them, it’s them!”

Drifting closer, Kylo matched their pace, and you dropped the window, gesturing them to lower theirs. The glass fell, revealing Finn and Rey, faces twisted in disbelief.

“How did you--” Rey shook her head, smiling. “How did you do it!”

You dangled your hand out the window, rattling your still-attached handcuff. “Explain later!” you said. “Pull over!”

“Are you crazy?” Finn shouted. “We can’t!”

“What?” You frowned. “Why?”

In the corner of his mirror, a black dot swelled. You swiveled, peering behind you. Another van was on your tail.

Finn cursed. “That’s why!”

Grimacing, you sank in the seat. “Goddammit!”

“You know what--” Finn turned and made a gesture; the van door slid open. “Just jump!”

“Jump?” You gaped. “I can’t do that!” You glanced at Kylo. “I--I can’t do that.”

Your former Commander glimpsed his side mirror, and his eye twitched. His jaw stiffened. In the silence, the engine thundered.

“You can,” he said. “Jump.”

“But--” The gap seemed miles long. “I--”

He bit your name off between his teeth. “Open the door.”

With trembling fingers, you pulled the handle, and the latch unhitched. Glancing at Kylo, you winced, pushed the door against the wind. He was trained on the advancing vehicle.

“Hurry,” he said. “They’ll see you.”

You stared down, the road whizzing underneath you. Blood fled your face, you heaved. In the Resistance van, Johana watched you, strapped with fear. Shaking your head, you went to sit.

“I can’t.”

“Go.”

“Wait--” Would these really be the last words you exchanged? “Please--”

“Go!”

Squealing, you shouldered the door open, placed a foot on the edge of the van. Holding your breath, you leaned forward, bending at the knee. The enemy engine bellowled in approach. One last chance.

“Kylo,” you said, peering back, “I--”

Pop.

The van slumped, and you screamed, tumbling from the cab. Kylo seized your wrist and whipped you into your seat, the door swinging shut. Another pop, and the vehicle screeched, weaving as he wrested the wheel to right it on the road. With every movement, you were jarred back and forth, and you clung to the headrest, watching as the Resistance van door closed and they zoomed down the highway. A third pop, the bullet sailing by your open window. Your breath stuttered, your pulse rocketed through your veins.

“We have to lose them,” you sputtered. “To have any chance of escaping.”

In typical wordless response, Kylo glanced at you, then the side mirror, a whirlwind of thoughts visible behind his eyes. The naked rims shrieked along the asphalt, the van shuddering with an unpredictable swerve. Three more shots soared past. His throat knocked.

“Hold on.”

You coiled your arms around the headrest, and Kylo threw the stickshift back-left-forward. The engine wailed, the vehicle lurched, catapulting you toward the windshield. Lids shutting, you whined, melding with the seat against gravity--and then he gassed it, motor revving in protest, van shaking violently.

“Little bird.”

You peeked at him. Your vehicle was now in line with your pursuer.

He reached under his seat, lowering the window. “Be ready.”

It was all the warning he gave before he brandished the pistol and fired into the other van, window shattering, shots tearing through your ears. Before you could blink, Kylo went flush with their vehicle, scraping their side, and you screamed, digging deep into your seat. Inside of the other vehicle, the driver was fumbling for something.

“What are you doing!” you shouted.

But Kylo did not respond--only reached through the broken glass, tugged at something. Their passenger door cracked open, the passenger’s body tumbled out. You shook your head, babbling nonsense as you realized his plan, but when he met your eyes in the cacophony of chaos, you realized it was too late to try anything else. The other driver pulled out his pistol. Kylo Ren grabbed your hand and planted it on his back.

Kicking the driver door open, he fled from the dying van. As he’d asked, you were ready. You remembered curling your arms around his neck, remembered your lungs burning with mid-air terror, remembered wavering when he grappled the frame of the other van and swung inside, your head nearly smacking the edge. Two quick shots, and he clambered to the driver’s seat, dumping the soldier on the street. He peeled your arms free, and you plopped into the passenger’s chair while he gained control of the wheel. The vehicle you’d escaped keeled off the highway in a fit of dust.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You threw your head back, exhaling adrenaline and covering your face. “You’re a fucking lunatic!”

“A living lunatic.” Kylo watched the side mirror. “As are you.”

You sighed. “You’re right,” you said. “I mean, you’re right. I just. My God.” A laugh escaped, followed by another exhale while your quaking hands fell into your lap. “So. Are we clear?”

His eyes darted between the mirror and the highway. “For now.”

“Okay.” You took a breath in an attempt to steady the tremors. “This is a nightmare.”

“Worse than this morning?”

Recalling it iced over your stomach. “I don’t know.” In your nightmare, you’d died. That hadn’t happened. Yet. “I don’t know. God.”

“Hm.” A small smirk on his face. “I thought you’d know my name by now.”

“Oh, please!” You elbowed him. “You’re so full of yourself.”

His tongue rolled in his mouth. He paused. “And not long ago,” he drawled, “you were full of me too.”

“Kylo!” Heat burned your cheeks, and you gazed at him, smiling. “You know we were almost killed, right? Is it the time to joke like that?”

“You believe I’m joking.”

Before you could respond, Kylo glanced to the side again. His eyes narrowed, his knuckles blanched. Your pulse fluttered.

“What?” You searched your side mirror. And your heart crumpled.

Not just one. Or two. But an army of vehicles hunting you. A cadre.

Kylo stared into the road, pulling a long breath into his lungs, holding it. His lid twitched. He reached to the side of his seat and rolled it back along the track.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to his lap.

You frowned, chest tight. “What?”

“Now.”

Unwilling to argue, you crawled over the center console, wedging yourself between his legs and the steering wheel. Kylo’s focus danced between you and the mirror. Two strong hands grabbed your own, placed one on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift.

“Reach down,” he said. “Find the clutch.”

You hid a laugh of confusion--but still obeyed, inching forward on the seat, kicking his boot until your toes passed the pedal. Kylo curled his grip around yours on the stick.

“Press it.”

Brow raised, you did. Once you had, he guided the stick up, pushing it into a lower gear. He nudged your foot off the clutch, and the van shuddered, whined, dropping in speed.

“Same principle for acceleration. Lower gears offer more power. Press the gas.”

Dread ballooned from a twinge to a spasm. “Okay, but--”

“Now.”

Your toes found the gas pedal, pushed it. The van howled, hurtled forward.

“Clutch again. Good. Now higher gear to maintain.”

This time, you moved the stick yourself, the van relaxed. “What’s going on?” you asked. “Why are you--”

A flash of his gaze in the mirror, focused on the approaching horde--distant. Determined. You convulsed with horror.

“Kylo, no.” What he was considering was suicide. “You can’t do this, you can’t leave me, please--”

“Clutch first, then shift,” he said, “the engine will inform you when.”

“--if you do this, you’ll die, there’s no way you can take on a dozen cars--”

“With starting, use first gear. Lift off the clutch--”

“--please, please don’t leave me, don’t do this--”

Kylo squeezed your hand on the shifter. “Little bird.” His voice was calm. “You need to pay attention.”

“I don’t want to!” A sob cracked your throat, you shook your head. “This isn’t fair!”

He glimpsed the mirror again, tensed. A shot cracked the air, and you squealed. Kylo gave another gentle squeeze.

“Brakes. Downshift to prevent stalling.” You hesitated, and he tapped you. “Show me.”

Tears blurred your sight. You sniffled. “Please.”

Pop-pop. Another miss.

“Show me.”

Heart pounding, you depressed the clutch, rocked the stick into a lower gear while you tapped the brake. The engine moaned, you slowed, a dawdling target.

“Good girl.”

Kylo shifted underneath you, grappling with his pistol before he unhitched the door. Slipping through it, he returned two shots as he wriggled free, pivoting out of the van. Your mind was blank, a void of objections, unwilling to accept this reality where the man you loved was about to dive into a swarm of steel. He slammed the door behind him, hanging onto the door frame with his free hand. More tears, hot on your cheeks. The draft buffeted your face. You could barely see.

“Wait, there has to be another way,” you pleaded, knowing there wasn’t. “I need you. I--”

“Closer,” he said. “Slower.”

Despite your broken cries, you tapped the breaks, downshifted again. “Please!”

A flurry of gunfire ripped through the air, and you screamed. Kylo shot back, the advancing vans only meters away now, and met your terrified, watery eyes. You knew what would happen next. There was only one thing left to say.

“Kylo.” Your voice snapped like harp strings. “I love you.”

Kylo Ren gazed at you. Now aiming blind, he pulled the trigger twice. “You didn’t listen to me.”

He leaned forward, mouth capturing yours in a short, furious kiss. When he pulled away, the world stopped for a second time. This would be how you remembered him--a god of war, sunbright and wind-blown, readied for his rapture.

“Be good, little bird,” he said. “You’re free.”

Another spat of bullets. Kylo hoisted himself to the top of the van, bootsteps resonating through your blood. Then nothing. In the side mirror, you watched with bleary sight and bated breath as your former Commander hovered, seemingly suspended in air, blowing holes through the windshield of the nearest vehicle and smashing sole-first through the glass.

You shook your head, choking. The van swayed, snaked across the asphalt. Sparks of gunfire inside the cab. They spun out.

It was a bowling ball to helpless pins. The van collided with vehicle after vehicle, steel twisted in a pile-up, sealing off the highway. You could not remember how far you’d gotten, what you’d said, or what went through your mind. You could only recall the magma metal explosion that mushroomed in your mirror. Could only recall the rasp in your throat, shredded hoarse with your screams.

Clarity struck you when you gazed at the road, at a steering wheel alone for the first time in years. In his sacrifice, Kylo Ren had bought you precious minutes to escape, to catch the Resistance. You would ensure it would not be in vain.

Straightening in your seat, you pressed the clutch, dropped into a lower gear. The van jerked in preparation, and you hit the gas.

They had managed to put miles in between you--as you grew closer, you stuck your hand out the window, waved. The brake lights flickered, they fell back until you’d aligned yourself with their passenger side. Rey dropped the window, shaking her head with a grin.

“You are amazing!” She craned her head, searching your vehicle. “Where’s--”

“Pull over!” you urged her. “Please! We have time!”

Finn glimpsed you, brow raised. Rey frowned.

“I swear!” It was hard to keep your eyes on the road and speak at the same time. Your multitasking skills had rusted. “Just trust me!”

A short debate resulted in them agreeing to pull to the side. You followed, downshifting, braking, putting the van into first gear and turning the key. Just as Kylo had told you.

Your heart throbbed in despair.

In the quickest vehicle switch in recorded or unrecorded history, you skipped over the pavement and squeezed yourself into the still-rolling Resistance van, landing feet away from Johana. When your feet hit the floor, Finn slammed the pedal.

Rey turned to look at you. “So, how did--”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered. “Please.”

From the corner of your vision, you spied Johana’s little hands clenching into fists, her jaw tensing. You glanced at her--in her eyes was an echo, a recognition, an understanding. She knew what you were feeling. She had felt it now for three entire years.

A cloudy daze fogged your brain. There were few details about the rest of the journey that you could remember. Most of it was silence, the gentle quake of stone, the thread-bare cloth of the seats on your palms. Against your hopes, the world would not stop. Now it moved too quickly, a globe whirling on a skinny spire. Scenery, to your memory, was a blur. So was the stop at the safe house. So was how the four of you stuffed yourselves under the flatbed of the next transport.

The darkness there drove an even greater distance from reality. You floated in misery through a landscape of empty regret. Freedom was yours, just as you’d wanted. Yet you wondered, in earnest, why you were forced to be alive while Kylo Ren was dead.

Dead. The word knocked at your consciousness, inviting itself inside. Like you could hide from its truth, you curled into a ball, clutching your head, shivering with the effort of denial. Still, it found you, whispering its curse: your child would never know its father, you would never sleep to satisfaction, your home would have a hole in its foundation.

Kylo Ren, your devil and your deity, was dead.

You whimpered, shaking to your bones. It was as if you were under anesthetic, numb to your own grief. No matter how many times it revolved in your thoughts--dead, dead, dead--you could not cry a tear.

Numbness followed you for unknown hours. When the van stopped and voices beyond the bed above your bodies spoke, you languished, an articulate body with a listless mind. A short discussion, and your concealment was torn free, the steel slat rising to reveal the four of you like sardines. You winced, shielding your eyes from the light, and heard footsteps approach.

“If you return to your home country,” said the voice, “would you be persecuted based on being a woman, and would you be subject to the danger of torture, or risk to your life? As a person in need of protection, do you wish to seek asylum in the country of Canada?”

The first to speak was Johana. “Yes.”

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Johana Canady.”

“Ms. Canady, if you’ll come this way.”

Emma and Rose joined her, giving their names too. But you were stuck to the hidden floor of the transport. Cognizance escaped you. Movement was a stranger.

“Miss,” came the voice. “Miss?” His foot connected with the transport--a boot--and you flinched, springing alive. “Sorry!” He was dressed in a green uniform and had a thick Canadian accent. “I have to ask. Do you wish to seek asylum in the country of Canada?”

Staring at him, words evaporated. You could only think to nod.

“Would you give me your name?”

Ofkylo, you thought. Then, in a deeper, velvet baritone:

Little bird.

My angel.

You are the only thing that makes sense.

And that voice, a memory--your memory--gasping it in your ear.

A slow, quiet breath left. You decided to speak that memory to life.

You said your name.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #one more to go <3

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serenedash · 3 years

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I started rambling about my experience with kh and then it turned into khux and then it just turned into me rambling about Ryou and my art journey????? enjoy I guess,

it’s very long but there’s art in there :)

It’s funny to think about my kh journey as a whole tbh, I grew up watching my mom play video games, which included kh1 and 2. I wasn’t allowed to play the playstation2 we owned BUT I did have a gameboy so the first game I played was CoM (after my mom finished it ofc,) so I guess you could say I’ve always been passionate about kh “””side games””” lmao but I did fall off of kh very quickly bc again, I wasn’t allowed to play our PS2 and also I Am A Terrible Gamer I’ve Never Finished CoM I’m sorry you all had to find out like this, but then 358/2 came out when I was in middle school and!!! I didn’t care and I didn’t play idk why lol

Anyway, fast forward to high school I’m like 15 and my older sister, who HAS been keeping up with kh, has a wallpaper on her phone of roxas and ventus. And bc I haven’t kept up I say “nice roxas wallpaper” and she says “thanks but it’s roxas and ventus” and I proceeded to get so mad that I was determined to prove to her that her wallpaper was just roxas twice and then I fell down the BBS rabbit hole and suddenly I was reading about vanitas and then I’m reading the fan translations of the BBS novel and I’m crying??? I am sobbing???? and that’s how I actually got into kh for real lol we are vanitas stans before we are people,

It’s so funny how I thought I was some kh super fan, knowing all this stuff that I spent so long reading and rewatching cutscene movies, but I never once, SOMEHOW NEVER ever came across khx. It’s so absurd and bizarre I seriously have no idea how I never once encountered khx prior to khux. I suppose that has to do with the fact I wasn’t involved in the fandom? In early high school I had stepped away from fandoms as a whole and I didn’t have any interest in really posting content or interacting with fans anymore bc of how burnt out I was from a previous fandom,

but khux released! and I was so hype and excited for it! on launch day I was a senior in high school, I had ran around to every “nerd” and weeb I could find in school to ask them to join my party and fun fact about me is I have crippling social anxiety I literally refuse to start conversations irl so holy shit I was OUT HERE doing the MOST

My player just originally had my name (Matt) but everyone in my party had fun names so Ryou was born! High school was one big yugioh phase for me and ryou bakura is one of my favorite characters ever so it was just the logical name choice lol I quickly started creating Ryou, the character, as well. I was also leaving my homestuck phase and that + vanitas obsession made This character design (art circa 2016)

If y’all are familiar with my kh oc’s you might notice that keyblade now belongs to my kid Monty LOL

Anyway that got scrapped quickly for the chip and dale outfit (which is where Ryou’s trademark goggles are from <3) Goggles have been a staple of my character designs for a LONG TIME so like, it had to be done, (that’s a separate ramble about a separate oc tho)

OG Ryou was an interesting guy; he was a young party leader with this overwhelming responsibility on his shoulders bc of his status as a party leader. In his original story, he also struggled heavily with darkness, much like Terra but for Ryou it was more that the darkness was controlling him and not like a source of power like it was for Terra

A big part of early Ryou I kept, however, was the crushing awareness of loss. One of my party members (the strongest one at the time,) had left without saying a word and I was very confused and hurt. This was around the time the ephemera plot was happening so I decided to incorporate it into Ryou’s story; having him experience losing a friend to darkness since it’s so normal for wielders in Daybreak Town to just disappear, and this would unintentionally become a theme for both me and Ryou as khux friends would just randomly disappear.

I was desperate for khux at this point and I decided to watch the fan translations for khx and GOD, god, was I obsessed. I couldn’t stop thinking about the foretellers. And I’m not going off about that here bc I already did that, but I actually started entering fandom again! I did it slowly, I started on tumblr before this blog was made altho it was me sending anons to the few khux related blogs I could have lol a friend convinced me to get twitter where I got involved with the ffxv fandom, which led me to the kh fandom and eventually the khux fandom there which is what REALLY got me going on khux.

I joined discord servers, most of the servers I’m in are khux related, and from there I joined the khux oc rp (shout out to anyone there who might be reading this lol here’s some art from the beginning of the rp,)

It’s SO FUNNY how the RP influenced me so heavily. I hadn’t RP’d in YEARS, I used to have a strict no oc rp policy, but here I was? And the funny part is, I had barely developed Ryou. I had scrapped his original story and all I had was POST WAR Ryou so I literally had to reverse write him; I had only ever written him as a depressed, guilt ridden adult, but it was a fucking blast and I have such fond memories of this rp when it was active,

But anyway, this encouraged me to get more serious about art! I started drawing, writing, cosplaying, and roleplaying when I hadn’t done any of that stuff in a very long time. The first time I ever drew a background was for a deviant art khux competition actually LOL

also! I always think extremely fondly of the drawing I did of Aced in the keyblade war. It was also one of the first backgrounds I ever drew and it felt like my real starting point in the khux fandom. It got a ton of notes on here and someone wrote a tiny fic in a reblog which just made me SO HAPPY like it really felt like people were noticing me :) I was going to draw a matching Ira but!! I just never did!! One day tho, it’s on my art bucket list to redraw this along with Ira,

Aside from my personal growth, khux was great for my social life ngl, I made SO MANY friends online and got to meet a ton of people irl over the years! It’s crazy to think about all the people I now know and talk to? It honestly makes me really emotional. I’ll never forget taking the train into NYC and meeting up with discord friends. Going to conventions and talking with people about the latest khux update? Absolutely insane and those were some GOOD TIMES, if I thanked every khux friend or even just person who made an impact on me then we’d be here for a LONG TIME,

Fun fact, for my Lauriam cosplay all I needed to buy was the wig I just owned his outfit LOL also? Probably retiring that cosplay ngl people treated me like absolute garbage when I wore him and it led to a lot of confidence issues for awhile ngl. That’s probably one of the only memorable negative experiences I have with khux; it was great when khux people recognized me but for kh fans that weren’t in khux? They were FUCKING MEAN??? fuck kh fandom at large, I only care about khux fandom,

This leads me to another huge part of my experience in khux fandom: THEORIES!! I used to write SO MANY and oh my god my brain was so full all the time. It was a huge appeal for me in the fandom; I had been previously writing theory posts in the RWBY fandom and it just migrated over to khux for me lol I had done a ton of theorizing around Lauriam tbh, it was really the only reason I liked his character at all bc initially I did not care about the dandelions, anyone who wasn’t Skuld I was like “please leave Now thanks”

A funny part of khux fandom I never intended to be apart of is the MEMES, I really only started doing memes as stress relief bc college had me so busy all I had time/energy for was these quick little shit post drawings.

The first meme I made, file name “invi despair” LOL we need to get her a girlfriend smh anyway, I think in my senior year of college I did a bunch of rapid fire memes all in one month bc the stress of finals was getting so bad afdgfhdgf as far as I know my impact on this fandom will be my memes bc all I do now is enter a kh/khux server and introduce myself and I go “yeah I draw art. here’s a meme” and everyone goes OH YOU, honestly I am nothing if not a clown

I’ve talked so much idk where I’m going with this. Khux is just a good game even if the gameplay actually kind of really sucks yknow lol but it was the first game I played where I like, REALLY got into the meta and the mechanics. I used to read so much on the mechanics and watch youtube videos on which medals were worth pulling for. I was never a whale or a top player exactly, but I could rank well if I tried lol I’ve made it to the top 100 for solo rankings, my party has made it to top 10, and in pvp I’ve made top 300. I’m not the highest level in my party but FUCK do I know how to manipulate this game LOL

And with all that hard work, the strategies, the theorizing, the content I’ve made-- it’s been my life for 5 years. I’ve logged into khux almost every single day. At the end, I have logged 1820 days in khux out of 1910 days. Kinda crazy. Crazier I’ve never spent money on khux either lol the only “money” gone into it was one time my mom gave me a google play store gift card and I used it on my birthday for a VIP xemnas medal which eventually made it to regular pulls anyway but it was nice and a little treat :)

I’m not a gacha fan, I don’t care for it, so I don’t think I’ll be touching another gacha again. But for kh? This was pretty fucking awesome, even if it sucked a lot sometimes LOL It was worth it for the people I’ve met most of all I think. I would honestly be a completely different person without khux and that’s REALLY insane to think about.

#the khux hyperfixation is REAL #but yall knew this about me #there's so much more I could say but it's 2am and this is long enough already #im rambling

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

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April Contest Submission #3: Prism of White

Words: ca. 5,200 Setting: Modern AU Lemon: No CW: none

Light filtered through the window casting the room in a golden glow. Papers lay crumpled and torn on the coffee table and the floor beneath. Anna tossed her sketchbook on the table and threw her pencil next to it. Weeks passed and she still didn’t have another good idea for her next art piece. Her hands grasped a pillow on the couch beside her. Her freckled face buried in the soft cushion, a muffled groan joining the white-noise of the television in the background.

Art had been a passion of hers ever since her stubby toddler fingers first grasped that pack of cheap crayons. Her parents laid scrap paper out in front of her at the kitchen table. The adults left the room shortly after thinking little Anna would be occupied for a little more than five minutes. Overjoyed with all the colors in the box, now strewn over the table some rolling to the floor, little Anna picked up the green and began to scribble in swirls and loops like any child does. Her mother came back ten minutes later to check on her and grab a cup of afternoon coffee. A gasp tore from her throat and her blue eyes widened at the site. The walls had been little Anna’s first canvas.

She laughed at the memory, the sound muffled by the pillow still pressed against her face. The scolding she received after that event lost to the feeling of joy at the colors swirling around her. Back then art had been carefree and fun. Now the blank pages in her sketchbook mocked her with that textured whiteness.

Twenty-one years of sketching, painting, throwing color on canvas’ of varying degrees, making a life out of it. A dream come true. One that would have been impossible if not from the support of her friends and family. One person in particular. Elsa.

Little Elsa could light up Anna’s world by merely stepping into the room. She used to be so very timid and quiet, often opting to hide in the corner with a book than engage with the other kids her age. Anna managed to pull her into their little games anyway.

As the two grew older their interests diverged slightly. They both found joy in the arts, joining in theater at school for fun, playing and listening to music (although their tastes differed vastly at times), and studying the history behind all forms of art. A bond formed and kept them close even when one started painting and sketching while the other used words to color with.

A writer’s search history and an artist’s eye left plenty for friends to laugh and grow concerned about.

Anna lifted her head from the pillow feeling someone fiddle with her twin braids. She smiled already knowing who it was behind her.

“What are you so distressed about?” Elsa hummed out sweetly. Her eyes swept over the paper littered around and the discarded sketchbook. “Can’t think of a good idea?”

Anna groaned again and buried her head back in the pillow. Her reply came muffled and she knew Elsa wouldn’t be able to understand a word of it. This problem she had wasn’t that much of a big deal. Anna knew that. Every artist had periods where they couldn’t draw. An artblock as she so affectionately called it. But this felt different. She had ideas. The vision of what she wanted to draw sat crystal clear in her mind’s eye, but when she picked up the pencil each stroke on the page felt weighted. She knew what she wanted to put on the paper. She hated each stroke she made and the finished result. Weeks of this and the stress of not creating made her head spin. The ride she had been on had stopped with her sitting upside down unable to do anything.

The couch dipped beside her as Elsa sat down. Pale hands pulled the pillow Anna was secretly hoping would suffocate her until freckled cheeks and a pouty lip were visible. Anna whined and reached out for the cushion. Elsa held it out of reach ignoring the dark spot where Anna drooled on it.

“Ah-Ah,” Elsa wagged her finger. Anna’s shoulder slumped forward in despair. “You can get the pillow back and resume your little, um , whatever you were doing after you tell me what’s wrong.”

Sea-green eyes lowered to the open sketchbook, a frown settled on her lips. “I - I hate everything I make and it’s driving me crazy.”

Elsa set the pillow aside and shuffled closer to Anna. She gave her knee a reassuring squeeze and gently asked, “Is it one of your artblocks?”

Anna shook her head, braids swaying. “No, this is different. I know what I want to draw, I have the motivation to draw, but I can’t seem to like what I make. I hate the finished result, even if it looks how I wanted.” Her eyes glistened with frustrated tears, “It’s been like this for weeks and I’m going insane trying to fix it.”

Elsa cupped her cheek, running her thumb soothingly over the skin. Anna nuzzled into her palm, eyes fluttering shut at the coolness of her skin. “Anna,” she opened her eyes to see an amused smirk dancing on pink lips, a glint of humor dancing in blue eyes, “is this your first burnout?”

Her whole body stilled at the question. Burnout had been something she knew her artist friends over the internet talked about. How it could hit someone suddenly or slowly creep on through the years. The former could usually be seen coming and dealt with by short breaks, but the latter often crippled careers as it snuck in through the cracks undetected and infected everything slowly like a poison. Anna gasped lightly at the realization.

The ride she had been on for the majority of her adult life (granted it had only been 3 years since she graduated high school) was fast paced and constantly moving. She did not stop or get off, only urging it to move faster and faster. The need to create and improve outweighed any thought or concern the stress her body and mind were put under. She ignored all the signs, the warnings people told her to look for and now the stress had crushed her.

“What am I gonna do?” Her voice came out broken and unsure. Burnout was a completely foreign field for her. There was no map for her, no field guide to help her navigate through this problem. People mention taking breaks and stepping away from art for awhile to recharge, but that seemed impossible. How could Anna stop creating, when all she wanted to do was create?

“Is this new project for a client?” Elsa noticed the distress on Anna’s face and dropped her hand down from her cheek to grasp shaking ones.

“No, it’s one I plan to sell, or have prints made for my shop.”

Elsa nodded, “Okay. And do you have any client work lined up for the month?”

Anna answered in the negative. She had started a new system for her works where certain months she decided not to take on any client work. It was an attempt not to be too overwhelmed working on custom pieces that allowed her the freedom to work on her own as well. The system worked fairly well until this burnout happened. At least it happened now instead of when she had to work on pieces for clients.

“Okay, okay we can definitely work with this,” she breathed out a plan already forming in her mind. She knew Anna wouldn’t take a break willingly, that wasn’t her style. She would draw and paint until her hands fell off and even then she’d learn to use her feet instead. Nothing would stop her, not even the end of the world. The complete opposite of Elsa who procrastinated her own projects till motivation was high or the deadline approached. She often wondered how they never drove each other crazy doing things so differently. Instead of finding a reason she just blamed it on love. It was better not to question it anyway.

“Anna,” she turned and faced the younger woman determinedly, prepared for protestation, “do you trust me?”

Anna cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Of course I do, silly. It’s part of why I married you.”

Elsa smiled and held her tongue to keep from commenting. That experience would be one she would never forget. She at her wife, eyes bright and said,

“Then you’ll understand what I’m about to do.”

Anna’s gut twisted in apprehension. She trusted Elsa with her life, but the twinkle in pale blue eyes told her not all of this would be a pleasant experience.

—-

“Anna, what color is the sky?”

From her position in the passenger seat of the car Anna scowled, her eyes screwed shut in a desperate attempt to fall back asleep. Elsa refused to let her in on the plan the day before, only telling her to pack a days worth of clothes and food and then promptly took all her art supplies and locked them inside a large chest. She never quite figured out why they had a large empty chest lying around and when she asked Elsa the older girl shrugged saying something about secrets.

“What.” Anna grumbled confused at the question and irritated at being woken up at three in the morning and rushed out of the house.

Elsa glanced at her from the driver’s seat. “What color is the sky?” She turned her attention back to the road, very much awake and relaxed. The half empty cup of coffee sitting in the cup holder helped.

“What kind of question is that? The sky is blue!” Anna twisted over and leaned her head on the window, arms folded across her chest. Elsa still had yet to tell her where they were going and only mentioned a three hour car ride. That left plenty of time for her to catch up on sleep if her wife would let her.

“No, not - “ Elsa laughed at herself, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I meant what color is the sky right now?”

Anna cracked one eye open and grimaced at the passing street light that blinded her. “Black,” she stated matter-of-factly. Elsa hummed a smile on her face. She let Anna sleep the rest of the way, picking up and sipping her coffee. The low songs of the radio filling the silence in a quiet peace. She didn’t care for the station, but it was one of Anna’s favorites. The little things would make the difference on this trip.

Barely any time had passed, that’s what it felt like to Anna anyway, before a hand on her shoulder gently shook her awake. “What is it now,” she sighed tiredly and shuffled further into the car door. When she agreed to whatever Elsa had planned, losing sleep hadn’t even crossed her mind. She knew she was being unfair to her wife. Elsa only wanted to help. The stress of her burnout had taken its toll without consent and Anna wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and sulk. Sleep was the closest she could get right now, but the woman driving had other plans.

“What color is the sky now,” she asked eagerly. Her pale hand fell away and gripped the steering wheel again.

Anna squinted at the light outside. The night had faded to be greeted by the light of the sun just peeking over the horizon. Reds and oranges bled into pale blue as the orb of yellow and white ascended slowly. Any other day the she might have appreciated seeing the sunrise, she might have stared at the way the light shone and glistened along Elsa’s skin, bathing her in rays of gold. But it only annoyed her at having the same question asked in place of sleep. Still she answered,

“Red.”

Her eyes closed again with the plan to catch more sleep. Elsa didn’t bother her after that. She sipped her fresh cup of coffee, having stopped for gas before the sunrise. Anna grumbled under her breath adjusting to get comfortable in her seat again. Pink lips turned up at the corner in amusement. Anna may be grumpy beyond belief this morning and she knew it was her doing. The outcome of this trip will be worth it. Elsa knew it, could feel it in her bones. She could only hope Anna didn’t throw her in the lake as payback when they got there.

Elsa smirked watching, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on. The day was only beginning. The coffee singed her tongue as she took another sip.

If Anna did throw her in the lake, she made sure to have plenty of jokes ready.

Gravel crunched under the tires as the car pulled off the main road. The road itself wasn’t too bad in terms of a drive. Anna woke up quietly glancing around at the trees and greenery around them. She said nothing to tell Elsa she was awake and continued to stare out the window. The sight felt familiar, she knew this place but couldn’t quite care enough to place it. Sleep still clouded mind and even if it was Wednesday she liked to sleep in late and stay up late instead. This whole early to bed and early to rise business wasn’t for her.

A light chuckle from her left told Anna all she needed to know. “There’s hot chocolate for you since you’re not the biggest fan of coffee.” Elsa never took her eyes off the road and merely motioned to the cup holder between them.

“Thanks.” Anna took the cup nearly dropping it. No protective sleeve saved her from burning fingers, not even the paper cup itself. “Geez, why’s it so hot!” She glared at her sister.

“Didn’t know how long you were going to stay asleep so I asked them to make it extra hot.”

“Extra hot,” Anna guffawed, “This cup feels like it came straight out of Orodruin itself! You could have got me a protective sleeve for it or something!”

“I didn’t know how long you were going to sleep!” Anna folded her arms at Elsa’s response, “Besides, you always get annoyed at the sleeves opting to burn your fingers anyway.”

“Yes, but the cups are never that hot!”

Elsa only smiled.

The car slowed and stopped with a slight jolt. Anna hadn’t touched her drink again still waiting for it to cool down from Mount Doom level temperatures. She figured out why this place had seemed so familiar. Her parents used to take her camping out here toward the end of summer, always running around the lake and sometimes taking a ferry over to the small island.

“I grabbed us a backcountry permit if you wanted to stay away from the normal campsites.” Elsa held up the piece of paper before tucking it into her jacket pocket. Anna hummed her agreement and stretched in her seat.

“I’m gonna find the bathroom then we can hike to wherever.” She ducked out of the car, breathing in the fresh air. A warm feeling of nostalgia washed over her at the familiar sight. She hadn’t come back to this park in years. Anna walked across the parking lot toward the public restroom. Coming back to the lake hadn’t even crossed her mind. It’s almost sad really. To forget about a place she once loved so deeply, have it take up a corner of her mind as a memory she kept but never thought about.

She turned the faucet off and shook stray water drops from her hands, wiping the remaining wetness on her jeans. Anna never trusted the automatic air dryers.

When she arrived back to the car, Anna bit back a bark of laughter. Elsa had strapped each and every pack and bag to herself and looked overloaded, but all too eager like a puppy. She smiled broadly at Anna and handed her the much cooler cup, “Come on, let’s go! I know of the perfect spot!”

Anna took the cup, her shoulders shaking as she held in her laughter.

“Wait, Elsa. Let me carry some things.” Elsa paused mid-step and tilted her head. All the coffee had gone to her brain in the most adorable way. “How did you even manage to hold all the bags, even mine?” Anna pointedly looked at the deep green duffle bag with a bright orange patch on the side.

“I played a lot of tetris as a kid.” She shrugged but gave Anna two of the bags anyway.

Anna adjusted the strap of a bag on her shoulder. “Alright, now show me this perfect spot.”

The blonde grinned and grabbed Anna’s hand practically dragging her along toward the trail and into the bush. Anna could only keep up and pray her hot chocolate didn’t spill.

—-

Anna had to admit the spot Elsa had picked was perfect. A little spot hidden behind dense shrubbery. Well off the path and if someone did make it this far the thorn bushes were certainly a discouragement. She knew she’d be picking the sharp thorns out of her clothes for a while and if it weren’t for the view and the feeling of peace she’d make Elsa do it without a second thought. Anna’s had her second thought and is still intent on making Elsa do the work.

“Nice view, right?” Elsa wiped the dirt off her hands stepping over to Anna. She had finished setting up the tent and decided to see what was keeping her wife. The view itself looked over the entirety of the lake and the mountains surrounding it. The trees swayed in the breeze.

“It’s beautiful.” Anna tucked a piece of hair back into place. Elsa stepped up beside her. They stared at the scene in silence. A sense of peace forming around them. Anna closed her eyes listening to the birds singing in the trees and the wind rustling the branches. The smell of the air and the sun on her skin eased the tension in her shoulders she didn’t realize had been there. Anna felt free like she could step off the overlook and just fly. Elsa smiled at the content look on her face.

“Anna,” the red-head hummed and turned to face her, “what color is the sky?”

The question had her sighing exasperatedly. How many times would she ask that damned question. It didn’t make sense. She had answered it twice already. Inhaling deeply, Anna decided not to let this ruin the moment. She looked up at the sky, fluffy clouds dotting the expansive space.

“Blue. It’s blue.”

Elsa made no comment. Anna would have yelled at her but the pure love in pale blue eyes killed the thought before it formed. She found herself smiling back and shaking her head lightly. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Elsa chuckled, “I know. Now come on, let’s go exploring a bit.”

Anna followed eagerly. Exploring she could do.

—-

Night life in the forest seemed impossibly loud compared to the day. Anna didn’t mind much. She found the noise comforting in a way. All the little life coming out with the safety of darkness. Comfortable now that the sun has gone and they can hide in the shadows of the night. She could understand it. The night offered a sort of peace the day could not. She loved the sun, loved the hustle and bustle of day life, but the night hit differently. She closed her eyes, a soft smile on her lips. The day’s activities replayed in her mind’s eye.

After running around, revisiting old trails and memories and making some new ones, the two women sat around a little fire. Anna made Elsa pick out all the thorns and burrs while she roasted marshmallows. While Elsa didn’t agree with s’mores before dinner she let it slide this once.

They relaxed after that, Anna rigged a stick with fishing gear and went fishing. She didn’t catch anything. She came back soaking wet and Elsa only raised a brow. She changed into some dry clothes and sat by the fire to get warm. Elsa turned from her book then, a cheeky grin on her face and said,

“You know I love it when you -” Anna smacked her before she should finish.

Now they lay peacefully staring up at the stars.

“Anna,” Elsa started in the quiet. Anna hummed in acknowledgment before her mind jump started back to nearly every quiet moment previously,

“You better not ask me what color the sky is or I swear to god you will find yourself at the bottom of the lake!”

The crickets chirped.

“What hue doth the heavens above appears to thine viewing orbs?”

Anna laughed. She laughed loud and hard. She knew Elsa would find a way to rephrase the question the second she threatened her, but she never expected her to phrase it like that. She rolled onto her side and clutched her stomach from the force of her laughter. “I-I can’t -” she wheezed, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, “I can’t breath.”

“You should have let me ask the question normal then.” The cheekiness in her voice had Anna swatting blindly behind her. Her hand connected with nothing but air.

“Fine, this is the last time I’m answering that stupid question,” Anna finally said after she stopped laughing and caught her breath. She rolled back to look at the sky and exhaled deeply a smile on her face, “Black, the sky is black.”

“Wrong.”

Anna propped herself up on her elbow. Wrong. The first response back to her answers and it was to tell her, Anna, that she answered wrong.

“What, how can I be wrong? Are you seeing the same sky I’m seeing?” Anna grit her teeth ready to fully argue her point.

“No, no calm down, feisty pants. Right now you could argue it’s black, or a very deep blue.”

“Then how am I wrong?!”

Elsa kept her gaze on the sky. “I asked you three four times today what color the sky was. Only two of the answers were the same. Can you explain that?” “The sky changes colors, you numpty.”

“So what color is the sky then if it changes?”

Anna didn’t have an answer to that. Elsa turned to face her, the moonlight making her blue eyes glow in the night.

“What color do you say the sky is then,” Anna asked, moving closer to Elsa. The night breeze had a bit of a chill, but she didn’t feel like getting a jacket. Her arm brushed against her wife’s.

“If you asked me what color the sky is, anytime of day or night, I’d tell you it’s white. I know it’s crazy, but think about it. In general people say the sky is blue, but it’s not always blue. You said it yourself, the sky changes colors, so why is it blue then?” She raised a hand and traced along various constellations as she spoke. “Is it because that’s the color we see it as mostly. Blue during the day? The history behind it is actually fascinating, but I won’t go into that. But the sky can be any color depending on when you look. Black, dark blue, orange and red, yellow and pink, purple and light blue, even green. The sky isn’t just one color or one shade. It’s all of them all the time, we just only see what the light shows us. That’s why I say it’s white. White reflects all colors, the sky cycles through the colors based on a bunch of scientific stuff that I’m a bit too tired to get into. I didn’t really prepare to get into that bit anyway.” she laughed at herself.

Anna lay in silence. She never really thought about it like that.

“But why white, why not black?”

Elsa sucked in a small breath before answering, “Black is the absence of colors. If the sky was black that’s all we’d see. A black hole sucking the colors away and leaving nothing behind but darkness. That’s why it’s white and not black.”

“Geez, that took a depressing turn.”

Elsa hummed and entwined her fingers with Anna’s. “Think of it as a prism. The sun shines through and casts the colors fresh and new through the day.”

“A blank canvas.” Anna found herself mumbling aloud. A blank canvas to be painted each day in the same ways that vastly differed if you looked hard enough. The subtle hues shifting day to day, the contrast of reds and oranges against purples and blues. All of it spinning endlessly in a cycle, a prism of color splattered across a canvas of white that never is seen as white.

The two remained watching the stars for a bit longer. The little dots of color splattered across the dark sky. Almost a reverse of my freckles. Anna mused to herself. The crisp air raised goosebumps on her arms.

Anna went to sleep that night, snuggled in her wife’s arms, feeling so refreshed and full of love she thought it might overflow. And it did. Her emotions flowed over in little drops that ran down her cheeks and she whispered over and over how much she loved Elsa. In turn with each ‘I love you’ a kiss was placed on her head, her cheek, her lips, and her body squeezed a bit tighter.

The white sky, painted with the color of night, left them to rest peacefully. The moon watching over them.

The trunk slammed shut and all the bags and trash were loaded in. Not nearly as neatly as before but as long as it wasn’t falling out Anna didn’t care. She awoke buzzing with renewed energy ready and eager to get back to work. Her burnout long forgotten. The three hour car ride didn’t seem so long even though Anna sat wide awake the entire trip. Elsa would probably need a day to recover from the amount of talking Anna did in that small time. Maybe a new book and quiet day in a coffee shop or a day spent curled up in her bed with nothing but mindless games to entertain herself with. Anna made a note to thank Elsa for forcing her out for a day, whatever she wanted.

Anna went to work the moment she stepped through the doorway. Pencil marks flew across the page in hurried fashion almost as if the vision would fade before she could get it down. Supplies were strewn out over the kitchen table and counter tops as Anna fell into what Elsa called ‘The detonation zone’. It was a mess, but also the time and place where Anna seemed to get the most work done.

Guess I’m not cooking. Elsa thought and picked up the phone. She was kinda in the mood for pizza anyway.

Pale blue eyes watched from where she leaned against the wall as the blur of auburn worked in a frenzy. Her movements were both hurried and agonizingly slow to preserve the details in a way only Anna managed to do. A mesmerizing sight she could watch for hours if not for the delivery man ringing her doorbell.

She made sure Anna knew of the food sitting in the living room.

“Okay, thank you!” Came the reply from the kitchen. Elsa chuckled and shook her head taking her own slice or two of pizza. She disappeared into their shared room for the rest of the evening. The one day trip seemed to have worked in Anna’s favor. Elsa made the mental note to schedule more day trips once in a while.

Time ticked by and Anna didn’t even notice. The pizza had gone cold and the sunlight faded away. The brush in her hand was set in the water cup for the last time.

“There.” Anna sat back finished. She smiled at the creation in front of her leaving it to dry as her stomach made known it’s need for food. The clock read late into the night, or early into the morning, depending on how you look at it. Maybe setting an alarm for food and breaks would be a good idea in the future. She decided it’d be worth a shot if only to save her from a stiff back at the end of the day.

Her paint stained hands grabbed a cold slice of pizza and promptly inhaled it followed by three more. The kitchen sat in a disastrous mess and the urge to put off cleaning up until the morning hit hard. Anna considered cleaning up the worst part about doing art. Elsa would likely clean up for her in the morning since she always woke up first. Anna knew that and decided not to let that happen. As much as Elsa said she didn’t mind and that’s what she signed up for by marrying her, Anna wouldn’t have it. Not after what she’d done for her the past day, or really since they first-started dating.

Anna turned the faucet on, warm water cleaning her stained hands, and she began the cleanup.

It wasn’t until around four in the morning that she finally headed to bed. The bedroom door creaked softly. Elsa snored softly, curled on her side snuggling a pillow. The sight made Anna fall in love with her all over again. Anna would never get tired of seeing her wife in such a peaceful and vulnerable state. Gently, she climbed into bed beside her.

“I love you.” she whispered and kissed Elsa’s cheek. Elsa let go of the pillow at the contact and fully snuggled against her wife. Anna wrapped her arms around her and kissed her softly again.

“I love you so much.”

Elsa woke to gentle rays of sun dancing across her face. Untangling herself from Anna she stepped outside of the room. She paused halfway closing the door and looked on fondly at the sleeping mess of her wife.

The kitchen was spotless, save for the canvas resting on the table. Even the sink was clean, supplies neatly drying on the rack where they were supposed to be. A smile graced her lips.

The coffee pot sputtered to life as it began brewing. It was only nine o’clock and Anna likely wouldn’t be up for another few hours. Being your own bosses had their perks. The brown liquid steamed as she poured it into a plain ceramic mug. The rich scent very much welcome this morning.

Anna would always scold her for drinking too much coffee. The thought brought another smile to her face. She really loved Anna and all that came with her.

Coffee in hand Elsa approached the canvas on the kitchen table. She made sure to stay for enough back that if something drastic happened her coffee would not stain the creation. She rounded the table and the sight made her pause. The colors and detail splattered across it showed just how much that camping trip had meant to her.

“Oh Anna,” her eyes lined with overflowing emotions as she took in the painting. “You’re still full of surprises.”

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break

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marvelousstevetony · 3 years

Note

Can you do 35. Why did you hide this from me? Maybe sick Tony? Loving all the content 😊

Thank you for this prompt, anon! This got a little more angsty and sappy than I originally planned, but sometimes Tony just needs to be assured that he’s cared for, especially when he’s sick. Luckily, Steve doesn’t mind reminding him :)

Hope you’ll like this small snippet of sick, insecure Tony and Steve who loves his boyfriend very much <3

Tony can hear Steve coming down the stairs, can hear him knocking on the glass door to the workshop, even over the music Tony has playing as background noise while he works. It’s at a much lower volume, Tony has to admit, because although he loves Back in Black, it doesn’t cure he throbbing in his head, and when he asked JARVIS to turn down the amplification, he had silently apologized to AC/DC.

Tony decides to act as if he simply hadn’t heard Steve, ignoring the way he kept knocking and calling his name. He really had to finish the new upgrade to the armour, and even before they started dating, Tony had discovered that he was involuntarily incapable of gravitating towards Steve if he was within arms reach. He is simply distracted whenever Steve is near, and right now he doesn’t have time to be distracted.

Add to it that he feels like shit, head pounding, nose running, eyes threatening to fall shut every few minutes. He and Steve haven’t been together for very long, and Tony definitely doesn’t want Steve fussing over him or looking at him like he’s this small, fragile thing that needs saving.

So Tony pretends to be unbothered and continues fidgeting with a small piece of metal, but it’s difficult, nearly impossible, to work when he’s hands are shaking like leaves and his vision is beginning to blur.

Steve stops knocking on the door, and Tony thinks it’s because he decided to give up and go back to bed. Tony doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows it’s late, and probably even quite a bit later than Steve’s usual bedtime. When he hears the sound of the door to the workshop sliding open though and a hushed thank you, Jarvis, Tony really should’ve figured. Steve never gives up, and he must’ve used the override code he was given in case of emergencies.

Tony frowns to himself. Nothing really seems emergency-esque.

“That’s for emergencies, you know,” Tony says, not looking at Steve, eyes focusing on the armour. “There an Earth-threatening alien invasion or something?”

“No aliens,” Steve clarifies. He’s closer now, Tony can tell. His voice is nearer, and sometimes, somehow, Tony thinks he’s developed a way to feel when Steve’s close to him. As a large, comforting hand rests on his shoulder, Tony resists every urge to lean into the contact, the warmth and electricity he feels run through his body when they touch. “But my boyfriend hasn’t been answering his phone all day, hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and when I come to check on him, he ignores me,” Steve explains, and though his voice is soft, he sounds a little upset as well. “And that made me worried. So, to me, this is an emergency,” he finishes.

“I’ve been busy,” Tony says dismissively. “Suit upgrades.” He gestures vaguely at the metal scraps and various tools that are sprawled all across the worktable.

“It’s late, Tony. Come to bed,” Steve murmurs and hugs Tony from behind, laying his cheek on Tony’s shoulder. “Upgrades can wait.”

Tony huffs a laugh. “If it’s so late then why aren’t you in bed, huh?” Tony teases and smiles to himself. He’s already diverted from his work, confirming the theory that he can’t be close to Steve without losing every inch of concentration from his body.

“Can’t sleep without you,” Steve whispers and presses a kiss to Tony’s neck. He makes a surprised noise when his lips graze Tony’s skin and draws back, bringing a hand to Tony’s cheek.

“You’re burning up,” Steve announces worriedly. “Hey, look at me.”

And Tony can’t hold off the inevitable any longer. He spins his chair around, facing Steve with as much energy as he can muster. Which… isn’t a lot. His eyes are droopy and watery, and his nose looks as if it had been assaulted with scratchy tissues all day. It probably had.

Steve’s face drops immediately when he surveys Tony. His eyebrows draw together, mouth twisting in a way it only does when he’s worried.

“You’re sick,” he states blankly.

Tony shakes his head, but a cough decides to rattle through his chest at that very moment. “I’m okay,” he rasps, knowing he can’t fool Steve and instead tries to brush if off.

“Tony…” he breathes, and Tony hates how defeated, how concerned he sounds. “Why did you hide this from me?” He asks quietly, and Tony can almost hear how Steve’s brain is overthinking, contemplating every scenario that could have caused Tony to keep this secret from him; didn’t Tony trust him? Had he done anything wrong? Had he not paid enough attention to notice how sick his boyfriend is?

Tony needs to set things straight, to assure Steve that whatever senseless and foolish thoughts running through that mind of his are definitely not true. “I didn’t… I’m not,” Tony sighs, unable to complete an adequate sentence. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I didn’t want you to worry,” Tony confesses. “I’m a grown man, I can’t take care of myself.”

“Tony,” he says again. God, Tony wishes Steve would stop saying his name so gently, with so much love in his voice that it makes Tony’s eyes misty. The fever is undoubtedly making him more emotional. That’s what he tells himself, anyways.

“I don’t need you to babysit me, Steve.” It comes out harsher than Tony had intended it to, and he immediately wants to retract it when he sees the wounded look on Steve’s face. He sighs again. “I’m sorry, I just— I don’t want you to look at me like I’m this helpless, broken thing that needs fixing. I’m the one who’s supposed to fix things.”

The words tumble out of Tony’s mouth before he has a chance to filter them. But they’re true, Tony realizes. They’re true, and Tony’s so honest right in that moment. He wonders if it’s because Steve’s there, and Steve has this weird effect on him that makes him incapable of hiding how he feels. It’s the same thing that made Tony confess his feelings for him — he simply couldn’t keep them in any longer, and suddenly they just bursted out of him with no warning.

And now, without thinking about it, Tony admits this to himself as much as he does to Steve: he doesn’t want to be fixed, to be cared for in this way. He doesn’t deserve to be cared for. He’s the mechanic, he fixes things, he mends them, he makes good. Ever since he shut down the weapons manufacture that has been his goal. To help. And now, in this state of exhaustion and vulnerability, he can’ do that.

Tony suddenly feels like he can’t breathe.

“Hey…” Steve cups Tony’s face and strokes a thumb over his cheekbone. “I know you think you’re… unworthy of being cared for in this way, which kills me, because you deserve every ounce of love I possess, and it will forever be my goal to make this known to you… but you are the most generous person I’ve ever met. You help everyone you can and destroy yourself over those you can’t. I just wish you’d let me help you sometimes…”

The tears are now trailing down Tony’s cheek, running over Steve’s hand. It’s definitely because he’s tired and sick and not because Steve has just dejected every insecurity Tony hadn’t said out loud but had unconsciously carried on his shoulders.

At some point between Steve entering the workshop and now, the music had been turned off and for a moment, there’s silence. Tony isn’t looking at Steve, but he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, can picture how earnest and sincere and blue they are.

“Come to bed,” Steve says and Tony just nods and lets himself be enveloped in Steve’s arms.

Steve carries Tony to their bedroom, the genius clinging to the soldier like his life depended on it. Laying him down on the bed with care, Steve draws back and smooths a hand over Tony’s head.

The brunette looks up at him with a bleary expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. His voice is even raspier now that he actually lets himself resign to being sick, succumbing to the symptoms.

“Shh. Don’t be,” he murmurs and smiles softly. “Get comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Tony nods and shreds his clothes, stripping down to his boxers and a white t-shirt, then shuffles under the blankets and closes his eyes. He probably would’ve fallen asleep right then, had a tickle in his nose not started growing stronger and stronger. He pushes his nose up against his wrist, but it doesn’t stop the tickle from wanting out. After a few useless nose rubs, his nose gives a tell-tale twitch, and he presses his face into his shoulder.

“h’ngxxtt! HNgx!” Stifling the sneezes makes his sinuses twinge and sends a throb through his skull, so when the tickle returns, he lets himself give into a stronger, fuller uhhETCH’oo! that gives him more relief. For the moment, at least.

“Bless you!” Steve calls, and a few seconds later he pads into the bedroom with a tray stacked with what Tony can identify as Kleenex, tea, fever-reducers, decongestants, and a glass of water. “Here,” he says as he places the tray on the nightstand, pulling out few tissues from the box and hands them to Tony.

Tony nods and folds them over his nose, leaning into another two forceful sneezes.

“uhhCHUSh’oo! snffSNFF! huh— uh! uh’CHUSH!”

“God bless you, sweetheart,” Steve winces. “How did you get so sick, hm?”

Tony is still snuffling into the tissues and doesn’t give any reply other than ducking his head shyly and looking over the edge of the tissue with fond eyes.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve decides and smiles sweetly. “I’ll get you feeling better.”

#my fic #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #Thank you for all the prompts friends!!!#I’ve really enjoyed working on them these last few days #I have a few busy weeks coming #but send prompts and I’ll try to get to them #these tags are a mess #but I love my babies so much #🥺

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lambourngb · 4 years

Text

This Hard Lie

Fic prompt: “Just trust me.”

THIS HARD LIE follows THIS HARD TOWN an AU that explores what Michael’s life might change if Alex hadn’t joined the Air Force. It’s not necessarily an easy rosy life . This part includes the following warnings : Kyle/Michael, sexual content, a homophobic slur directed at Michael by an OC, Michael’s cynicism about the US military and some more plot musings. This is finished in full on AO3.

***

[UNDER the cut because it starts NSFW]

There was something intensely meditative about sucking cock for Michael.

Opening his mouth wide past comfort into an ache of effort, the firm press on his palate mixing with the surge of salt on his tongue, the mess of saliva and pre-cum smearing sloppily over his face as he dropped into a state where listening to his partner’s enjoyment was the only thing that registered. The world slipped away as he took measured breaths, his mind finally quiet, until all that was left was Michael being good.

Michael could just be a vessel to fill with pleasure instead of pain.

Normally skating his hand down to gently squeeze and massage his partner’s testicles was enough to get that hitched-curse and uncontrolled jerk in his mouth that signaled an impending orgasm. The draw and shiver of warm pliant skin before the warm, thick release in his mouth, except that was not happening.

After a firm swipe of his tongue against the slit, rubbing against the edge of the frenulum, another foolproof trick in his experience that garnered nothing more than a sigh and an absent clutch of the hand on the back of his neck, Michael pulled away abruptly to stare up at Kyle Valenti’s face.

“Wait, why’d you stop?”

Michael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand rocking back on his heels, his voice rough from his activities, “‘Cause you don’t seem to be into this? Which I gotta admit, that’s a mood killer for me and slightly hurtful to my pride.”

Instead of arguing with Michael over his observation, Kyle sighed guilty and shifted to pull up his lightweight shorts over his erection, signalling the close of the encounter. “Sorry, you know you’re great at that, it’s me. My brain,” he gestured to his head with a twirling motion with his long-skilled surgeon hands.

Michael couldn’t help but follow the motion with interest, he had always been a sucker for a set of strong, confident hands.

Alex had hands like that.

Fuck, Michael pushed that thought away like he did every time it slipped in uninvited and collapsed next to Kyle on his expensive leather couch. It’s been two years since Michael’s last glimpse of Alex, no contact from him outside of the impersonal birthday and holiday cards that had begun after Michael mailed his ‘I’m sorry I dropped in your life’ letter. They’ve officially been apart longer than they were together and still Michael couldn’t stop thinking of Alex daily.

Perhaps Kyle wasn’t the only one distracted tonight.

“Listen, I won’t bore you with the details and break our agreement here,” Kyle continued, knocking his shoulder against Michael’s. “I can still do you here-”

“‘Do me’, so romantic, Valenti. I think I’ll pass on getting a disinterested handjob, thanks.” Michael rolled his eyes at the offer and reached for the bottle of water from the coffee table to swish around his mouth before swallowing for effect.

It was Kyle’s turn to roll his eyes but fondly. “I could give you an absent-minded blowjob instead?”

Their eyes met. Kyle lifted his well-groomed eyebrow as Michael pretended to be seriously tempted with a stroke of his stubbled jaw in turn before they both broke and started to laugh helplessly.

If someone had told a seventeen-year-old Michael that one day he would be laughing with Kyle Valenti in his high-end, ultra modern condo after a failed conclusion to a ‘U up?’ text, well he probably would have been interested in the type of pharmaceutical high that would have made that possible. Hell, the Michael of a year ago wouldn’t have believed it either but that was before he met the post-med school Kyle that returned home to Roswell.

It had started one night at the Wild Pony, where Michael frequented more and more for the scraps of news about Alex from Maria. A practice she did her best to discourage, repeating her policy of ‘I don’t play messenger between exes’, which had given Michael hope that maybe Alex had asked about him. He had been one beer in, contemplating a second when Jake Frederick’s sneer had interrupted.

“I hear they’re finally opening a place that caters just for the fags in town.”

That word, not unfamiliar to Michael in Roswell, brought his shoulders up to his ears. Its ugliness brought back so many memories of how it was whispered, spat, scrawled, or just strongly implied whenever Michael and Alex had ventured outside the safety zone of the Crashdown or their own four walls. The Wild Pony once Maria had bought it was eventually added to the list, though some patrons still thought otherwise.

On cue, Maria’s voice barked from behind the bar, “Jake, you use that word again in here and you’re banned for life!”

There was a titter of amusement as Jake’s crowd of admirers teased him for the call out, before an artificial apology was offered in return. After a moment though, Michael could hear him perfectly well pick up his conversation, “it’ll be wall to wall fake wigs and limp wrists there, probably playing nothin’ but Alex Manes’s shitty music.”

The laughter echoed, and Michael started to reach for his wallet to pay for his beer. It was clear that tonight’s entertainment was focused on Michael. He thought at this point, without Jesse Manes drumming up hate for his son, that these bullies would finally move on to something new. Unimaginative pricks.

“Hey Guerin, you off to join your people at that gay bar?” Jake called, noticing Michael’s departure. “Gonna find yourself someone new to ruin now that your boy left you?”

Closing his eyes as he swept his hat over his curls, Michael said a silent apology to 17-year-old Alex for breaking his promise on violence. He turned, noting a few new faces gathered at the table, probably guys from the base with their short haircuts, along with a silent Wyatt Long. For all of Wyatt’s racist blustering, Michael knew he had a queer cousin in Austin. Still, Michael pasted a bright and fake smile, “those are my people at Planet 7, Jake, but how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not gay.”

“My mistake, buddy. Must have been all the cocksucking you do that threw me off.”

Michael laughed harshly, ignoring the movement in his peripheral, and stepped closer, his smile growing darker, “I’m bisexual, which means, not only will I feed you my dick, Jakey, but I’ll give it to your sister too. Just not at the same time. Unless you’re into that sort of thing? You look like your parents were into it…”

The slam of chairs falling backward as Jake jumped to his feet at the insult. After that it was more blurs of movement, jostling, and chaos as Maria shouted in the background about the police while Michael traded punches indiscriminately. At one point he realized he had help against his back, as the fight spilled outside into the cold, raw New Mexico night.

Dark spiked hair, a nice set of shoulders that gave Michael an inch or two of height advantage was all he could register in the melee. It wasn’t until the breaking of glass that was shortly echoed by the boom of a shotgun that the fight dropped into stillness and Michael recognized his unsolicited ally as Kyle Valenti.

Maria stood next to the door of the Wild Pony as a lone siren picked up in the background, “All right you assholes, you’re all out of here. Drop your weapons and fucking leave before I have the sheriff lock all of you up!”

“Gotta admit, you’re kind of the last person I expected to be fighting a bigot,” Michael commented, dabbing at a fiercely bleeding cut on his eyebrow. “Kinda remember it the other way around in high school.”

Kyle smiled humorlessly as he caught his breath, grabbing Michael’s shoulder to pull him away from the bar toward the parking lot as the sirens picked up volume. “Well, I remember you as being some sort of secret genius in high school. Taking on five guys seems kind of dumb.”

“It was just four guys, Wyatt wasn’t gonna involve himself or else Maria would have called his uncle and aunt on him.”

“Oh well, if it was just four guys, I should have stayed at the bar, I wasn’t finished with my drink yet,” Kyle quipped sarcastically, as he kept pulling Michael through the parked cars. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“Fuck off, I didn’t ask for help-” He shook off Kyle’s hand, his previous pliancy in following Kyle at an end as he bristled with indignation. Whatever strange amnesia over what a dick Kyle Valenti was in general and to Alex in particular passed at the prod for gratitude. “And my damn truck is over there-”

“Can you even see out of that eye? Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Kyle answered for him and dug out a pair of keys from his pocket as an expensive sounding unlocking chirp echoed. Of course. The dark blue BMW in the sea of modest pick up trucks and domestic sedans was his. At least it wasn’t the bright red Camaro from graduation, that car had too many associations with it for Michael. The hatch popped open on the X1, Kyle leaned in to pull out a towel to toss to Michael. “I’ve got my bag here and I could use the practice in sutures, so?”

Normally the idea of a doctor touching him at all was enough to instill a mix of dread and panic, but Michael didn’t see anything in Kyle’s face other than genuine concern mixed with exasperation. The open air of the parking lot with police on the way seemed like a bad idea. “All right, free medical care is hard to turn down, but I don’t want your dad arresting me, so can we-”

“Your place, it is.” And then as they drove in silence, with Michael still holding the towel against his cut, Kyle spoke gently in the dark. “I was a dick in high school, I was even a dick in college. But then some things changed for me, um, so I’m glad Roswell is getting a gay bar.”

“No, no, high school homophobe does not come out as gay, not happening, no way-”

“No not gay,” Kyle cut his eyes over to the passenger seat, giving Michael a quick up-and-down appraisal. “Just learned the package isn’t really that important to me. I like sex. Med school was a small pool of sleep-deprived, competitive people and I stopped caring if they had a dick or not. I also learned a lot about anatomy.”

The appraising look, the hint of good-natured humor in Kyle’s eyes, and his suggestive words were all enough to push Michael to grunt, “changed my mind, your place instead.” He never took anyone back to his Airstream as a rule.

And that was the beginning of Michael’s almost-friends, only-benefits relationship with Kyle Valenti. It revolved around those unsaid rules from the first night, only at Kyle’s condo, and rarely did they engage in anything more substantive than talk about sports or the general stupidity of Roswell. The sex was easy, the conversation stayed light enough to fill the gaps of loneliness, and if Michael had been a different species, he might have considered it the start of something more permanent.

If only Max had been wrong. If only Michael hadn’t fallen in love with Alex as a teenager. The first year after Alex left had been devoted to trying to make it on his own financially and getting the down payment together for the Airstream. The next year he had tortured himself with believing that now that Alex was successful, he’d come back to Roswell, to him. Then after Isobel’s wedding and that trip east, Michael had to accept the truth.

Dating in the years since, women and the occasional out man, had changed nothing for Michael. It was still Alex filling his every odd thought, and especially his fantasies at night. Doomed indeed as Max warned him, to drift through life enjoying the surface companionship of others but never anything more.

The reminder of what he did have currently, good sex and the ability to laugh with someone, loosened some of the private rules that Michael had had kept to with Kyle. “So, I mean, you don’t have to, but if you want to talk about what’s on your mind, you can.” Michael tipped his head back against the couch to meet Kyle’s surprised expression. “It would make me feel better about my sexual prowess, okay? You nodding off during a blowjob hurts man.”

“Well, as long as it makes you feel better,” Kyle teased sarcastically before accepting the offer made. “I was thinking about my dad.”

“Kinky, but gross, dude.”

“Ha ha, funny.”

“Sorry, sorry, that was wide open.” Michael nudged his shoulder more seriously, “what about your dad?”

“He’s been acting weird lately. I actually thought he was drinking again,” Kyle waived his hand restlessly, “it’s an open secret my dad has been on and off the wagon. Most cops have a close relationship with booze.”

The Roswell circle of repeated gossipry was wide enough to reach Sanders, customers often needing to make some sort of conversation as they waited, so Michael was pretty familiar with the rumors about Jim Valenti. Most of them he ignored, like the infidelity whispers, because he could still remember the man showing up to Mimi Deluca’s house to offer Alex that first steady job in the face of Jesse’s smear campaign. An act that Jesse had retaliated by sponsoring a challenger to the next year’s sheriff’s race.

For a police officer, Michael cut Jim Valenti some slack in the character department. He also wasn’t a bad boss according to Max, though his brother’s opinion didn’t sway Michael as far as Jim’s act of kindness to Alex had.

“You said you thought he was drinking again, but he’s not?”

“Well, my other suspicion was he was cheating on my mom.” Kyle met Michael’s concerned glance with a tired, dark smile. “Yeah, not a great thought to have, but he’s been disappearing a lot. Acting paranoid too, he always carries but I noticed he kept his sidearm on him during Sunday dinner. Like he’s afraid someone is going to show up and attack him.”

“You think he was cheating with someone else who was married?”

“I can’t really figure out what’s going on with him, other than he’s lying. But I followed him today, and he didn’t go to work, he drove a hundred miles north.”

Michael blinked in reluctant admiration, “I guess you pick up stuff with two cops as parents.” He racked his brain for something more to say, but his conversational skills had never been gifted to begin with outside of charming someone into bed. “Um, in my experience, cheaters stay close to home. Like coworker, favorite waitress, etc. it’s definitely weird for your dad to drive that far for a little something on the side.”

“That’s the thing, he’s all secretive but it's over something nostalgic. I followed him to some old prison my grandfather worked at in the 60s called Caulfield. It’s been shut down for years. I can’t figure it out, and short of asking him directly I doubt I will.” Kyle shook his head again before inching closer to Michael on the couch, with a slow growing knowing smile, “So now you know where my head was when-“

“When I was trying to give you head?” Michael snarked playfully, picking up the change in mood easily. Apparently talking it out loud had released whatever mental block Kyle had been struggling with before. The moment reminded him of how he used to hold Alex at night, listening to him vent over the various customers in his day before he was able to wind down enough to enjoy any intimate touch.

Fuck. He was thinking about Alex again.

This time he let Kyle pulling him into a kiss distract him fully from the renewed spiral of remembrance. His body warmed slowly as Michael shut down his brain from wandering east again to Nashville.

***

“Your soul and your heart have been in such opposition,” Mimi murmured, holding Michael’s palm between hers as she gave him a reading at the Wild Pony. It was his way of distracting her while Maria gently soothed two customers that had received a deep lecture about the sins on their souls from her mother. To be fair, Michael could tell from their demeanor and close cut hair that each of them had served or were actively serving in the military, so Mimi Deluca probably wasn’t too far wrong from the mark with her lecture. “I know you’re a traveler, child, but this pull north and east could tear you in two.”

“My heart hasn’t been mine for a while,” Michael replied truthfully. Once he and Alex had moved in with one another, the small family of outcasts with Alex, Maria and Mimi had expanded to include him for a while. And once upon a time it had boasted more members like Rosa and Liz, but his sister’s actions had trimmed those branches in one way or another.

“That’s the east, and while it travels ever closer to you, you’ll never get that back. But north though, if you follow that path, perhaps your soul will find peace.”

“Not sure what I’d do with peace.”

“Maybe pay your bar tab once in a while?” Maria injected as she moved back behind the bar with a gentle hand on her mother’s shoulder. “And not starting a fight in my bar would also be a good start.”

“Come on, Deluca, I have been a very good boy since that last go-around Jake. I swear that kid is a closet case with how badly he seems to want me to lay hands on him,” Michael protested weakly. Truly he had only bent his old promise to Alex a handful of times in the last year and all of them because the Fredrickson kid had brought up Alex in some way. The comments about his job, clothes, and cheap taste in booze could all be ignored, but one word about Alex’s music or success and the gloves came off.

“Maria! Don’t be so mean to Michael, his people aren’t designed to live like this, divided in two.”

Despite the chill from Mimi’s words, Michael knew that Maria didn’t take her mother’s talk too seriously with how often she peppered her premonitions with nineties alien blockbuster movies. She always interpreted her mother’s words as being a romantic metaphor about a lost love.

Suddenly Mimi straightened, looking over Michael’s shoulder. “I guess good can come from evil dying.”

In the mirror over the bar, he caught sight of what Mimi saw. A grip closed over his heart, squeezing it until the fluttering motion ceased under the force as he watched Alex Manes move confidently through the crowd toward the front where Michael was with Maria. His head was shaved close up the back of his head, leaving a long, silky dark fringe over one eye and his face was bare of makeup and piercings. The black shirt sporting long sleeves made of crisscrossed fabric over a pair of tight black jeans looked more at home on Rodeo Drive than Roswell but the completely indifferent look on Alex’s face showed he didn’t care about fitting in to the locals bar.

Fuck it was so quintessentially Alex’s attitude from high school, before the shed, that Michael was having trouble remembering it had been at least six years.

“Alex Manes, in my bar!” Maria squealed, vaulting herself over the bar in one smooth motion to cross the distance to throw herself into his arms.

Michael’s mouth was dry as he picked up his drink to take a sip, feeling awkward and out of place. Should he offer his hand to shake? A hug? Could he pretend to be European and kiss Alex’s cheeks? What were the rules on an ex that he traded Hallmark cards with now?

A soft cool touch pulling him back from his spiraling thoughts to look up into Mimi Deluca’s clear and focused gaze, “he sings in the wrong key every night, but you know his song. You’re a good boy, you’re not rotten inside like your sister.”

Before he could do more than blink, Alex was suddenly next to them, looking at Mimi’s hand covering his curiously before smiling at Michael. “I would have thought you’d be tired of this place, after all those nights waiting for me to finish my shift?”

“Alex,” Michael took a deep breath, floundering for something more than the obvious, “you’re here. In Roswell.”

“It wasn’t really my idea,” Alex admitted gently, before taking a seat next to him. He reached smoothly for Michael’s glass to steal a drink from before making a face. “Oh man, it’s been a long time since I’ve had Crown Royal.” He fished out an expensive wallet to pull a crisp hundred dollar bill from a stack to lay on the bar, “Maria, please rescue him from this with some good tequila.”

Mimi gave Michael a significant look of encouragement before interjecting, “Maria, honey you should let these two get reacquainted, Alex isn’t going anywhere for a while. Jesse is dying, but he’s not dying today or even tomorrow.”

Michael jerked his head toward Alex, “that’s why you’re here? It’s your dad?”

A small smile of satisfaction twitched over Alex’s mouth before he nodded in confirmation, “Brain tumor. Doctor says he might have a month, maybe less. I’m only here because my brother threatened to go to the press if I didn’t show and my agent is worried about how that would look.”

“Oh.” Michael picked up his fresh drink, a high end alcohol he could have never dreamed of ordering for himself, out of a need to do something with his hands to keep from reaching out to touch Alex. “If I said that sucks for you that he’s dying, I’d be lying, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, it’s good to see you too, Michael.” Alex clinked his glass against Michael’s softly, “I’ve been back for a couple of days, this was the first time I could get away actually. The movies all lied you know, cancer isn’t this quiet death. My dad is ranting and raving all night long, about aliens, about being murdered, about all sorts of random shit about Roswell and the crash and hands that kill. Your name has kept coming up too. I should record it and put it on youtube, make him famous too.”

***

#guerinweek20 #mgweek20 #malex #malex fic #guerenti #the lost decade #au after the shed #there will be a happy ending #angst first #pining idiots in love #roswell new mexico

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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years

Text

We Were Like - Fraser x Reader (Black Sea)

Prequal to: Quit Breaking Up With Me / Keep The Girl / Makin’ Waves / Hurry Baby But also readable alone! 😁

GIF Credit: X

@wltz-bby @happyskywhale

Author’s Note: So I scrapped my original first idea for Fraser, and then this song inspired about 20 different fics. This wasn’t one of them, but it fit the idea so well that it landed here!

Point is, this wasn’t the Fraser fic I was going to give you, but it’s the one you’ve ended up with! 😅

We Were Like - Kelsea Ballerini Such a bop!!!

Disclaimer: Black Sea + Characters not mine / gif not mine / lyrics not mine

Premise: The only reason you have this job is to make the most of your summer on the island. But when your diving partner is replaced with an ex-Navy professional, you start to think maybe you can add a bit of romance...

Words: 9227

Warnings: Swearing / Sexual banter / Oh I guess there is sexual content/connotations too. / a bucket load of yearning

---

Two sets of lips on a Pepsi-Cola In the middle of the summertime heat you kept it cool We were west coast kids ridin' 'round in your Chevy Nova Said you'd come back for me when you had to leave to go back to school Bare feet and blue eyes on the boardwalk We were counting the stars and the days 'til you had to go Since then nobody ever made my heart stop Like you did when we lived in that summer glow 'Cause we were like fire Summer breeze, seventies, all-nighter Let the beach be the background choir Singing like oh-oh-oh-oh-oh We were like a movie Said I looked too good in that two-piece And for those three months you knew me Remember those, remember those nights? We were like Yeah, we were like Slow dance, romance, sundress, sunshine Your name, cool rain, so good 'til goodbye We were like Slow dance, romance, sundress, sunshine Your name, cool rain, so good 'til goodbye, yeah Tan skin, golden, tattoo, your smile The end, pretend forever for a while

---

The fan blades spun lazily overhead, keeping the interior cabin cool on the beach front. It was a little too vibrant green, pops of colour all over the place: but this diving school was also a tourist attraction so, that made sense. Fraser gazed around the room, trying to take it all in at the same time as listening to his new employer, a heavily tanned early-twenties handsome man with overly white teeth. The kind of person that would attract tourists to the cabin. Fraser guessed that a lot of the workers here would be exactly the same. He had a native accent; this wasn’t a summer job to him – he’d be here time and again – probably had something else back home for winter… “…I mean, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you half this stuff. Your CV says it all man, it’s a pleasure to have you aboard.” “Thanks.” Fraser meant it, even if he sounded a little blunt. He supposed he was probably the most experienced diver here. This wouldn’t be his preferred choice of employment; he’d much rather be getting his hands dirty on a submarine mission somewhere – but he needed the money, and this was the only thing currently going. The twenty-something flashed him a grin, and was about to say something else when a voice cut over him. “MAC! Do you have the keys for boat 4?!” “Hang on a sec…” Mackenzie, Mac for short, leant back to call to the voice, “Sure! Back here, why what’s up!?” She wandered in, and as predicted had the same young, good-looking draw that Mac did. Only she didn’t have the same accent. “Some of the tanks are running low, not dangerously, but it’ll be just my luck that I get some idiot who can’t breathe properly… I was gonna top them all up again.” “Good shout. Uhmmm…” Mac rummaged around below the counter and held them out for her, “Here you are!” “Thanks!” She was about to turn away, but Fraser was too intrigued not to call out to her; “You’re British!” She turned to him, “Yeah.” Although she raised an eyebrow. “Where you from?” “London. Why?” “Ah, yeah I guess that’s pretty far from me.” She laughed instantly, “You’re Australian.” “Right – but the Royal Navy needed some diving expertise that I had, so, I was doing that for a while and I haven’t left yet.” “Royal Navy? Shit, no way.” She grinned, “My dad was a Navy officer for a long time.” “Well you two are gonna get on like a house on fire I can already tell.” She paused at Mac’s comment and swivelled to him; “Oh! He’s Siany’s replacement?!” “Yeah-!” “He’s a Navy diver-! Where did you-!?” She turned to Fraser again, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry – you’re probably gonna be my new partner. Sweet, can I brag I get the Navy diver now?” Mac held his hands up, “Knock yourself out.” This time she held her hand out to him, “I’m Y/N!” “Fraser.” He shook it firmly, “Looking forward to working with ya!”

*** It was weird at first, Fraser had come from a background not unlike yours. Your dad was also a diver – retired now, but he had been the one to teach you. Navy service wasn’t your optimal career, and at your age you were weighing up education with employment prospects. Sian had a very different way of running things to him. But Fraser was your senior diving partner now, not her, and while you could take boats out alone and sometimes did if you were busy, Mac liked you going out in pairs. It took you a while to get used to the way he was, you could spend all day diving with him on the boat and he would be the sweetest man, kind and helpful – he liked sharing anecdotes with you from his Navy experiences, and his love of the UK, all the reasons why he was still there, but also in quieter moments teaching you other diving techniques and tips that you’d never heard from anyone else. Fraser was so expert that you couldn’t believe he was here, even when your question was simply answered with a shrug and ‘I needed the money’. It didn’t make sense – why wasn’t everyone killing to sign him up? You were out here for a long hot summer and took this to make money, in order to make the most of it. He was here because, according to him, he had no other choice. He was a fair few years older than the oldest in your group – and when he wasn’t diving with you, Fraser spent a lot of time alone. He didn’t like hanging around with you all, and he was pretty blunt with his ‘no’ whenever one of you extended an invitation. You didn’t get it, he was so talkative out on the water - why wouldn’t he want to continue that relationship back on land? Eventually you got the grasp of Fraser was only ever at home in or over the water; on the rare occasions that you did all have to hang out together, or Mac put him front of house he was a lot more awkward, uncommunicative, cagey. You didn’t want to call him prickly but he had that kind of attitude. He certainly tried to get out of this as often as possible, and as Mac began to notice too, the less Fraser had to. That definitely made him a lot happier. The two of you certainly got close. Really close. And because he talked to you more than anyone else, and was older, the others took to teasing you about him. Constantly. At first you pushed them all off – because they were wrong. You didn’t have any interest in him, he was just a nice guy and you enjoyed working with him. Until what they were saying started to have some semblance of truth. The more you hung out with him, the more you started to understand him, the more you began to harbour a crush on him. At first you weren’t sure that it wasn’t just a respect crush, an ‘in awe of him’ crush. But it slowly dawned at you that it wasn’t… No, these were real feelings. Feelings you didn’t need to act on right away; after all, you both had time out here. But when you realised how genuine they were you began to heat up every time those pretty blue eyes flicked to you, with that gentle smile as Fraser imparted on you another tip – or told you some ridiculous diving joke. Occasionally he’d tease you too, and that was always a little harder to counter just because of the way he did it. Sometimes completely deadpan. This afternoon you were filling your boats air tanks again – he’d figured out a more efficient method in the Navy that he was trying to get you to perfect. You didn’t mind him teaching you things, and it meant you got to spend a little more time with him at the end of the day. So as your quiet chat continued, with you observing him and trying to store his methods in your head to the letter, you could see your group building up on the dock, everyone else was already packed away for the evening and dressed. Suddenly their chatter, and their eyes flicking back to you constantly became giggles, that erupted into laugher. “Hey! Y/N, C’mon! We’re going for dinner downtown!” Fraser paused what he was doing, looking between you and them for a second, but you hesitated “Y/N! We get the draw of an older man for you!” there was a suggestive look on James’ face, “But let’s go!” Your face went red, and that had them laughing again. Fraser sighed, rolling his eyes, “Are they botherin’ you?” “N-No… No… It’s, okay.” “You can go, if you want. I can show you this another time.” “No, Fraser – I-” “Go on…” He nudged you, “Don’t make me force you.” You swallowed, calling to them, “Okay! I’ll be a minute!” and turned back to him, “You don’t want to come?” “Nah. Go on. I’ll be alright.” “Thanks, Fraser.” You squeezed his arm affectionately and hopped out of the boat, “See you tomorrow morning!” “Uh huh!” That twang of his Australian accent, another thing you were certain you were tripping and falling in love over, followed you down the dock, “Bright and early!” *** Bright and early it was, it always was. If no one else was around you spent time cleaning up and refuelling the boats, making notes of supplies that needed restocking or things that needed mending. Mac would rock up early-ish and open up the shack, usually he’d bring breakfast if you hadn’t had yours already. Fraser would always forego this and say he’d eaten, leaving you and Mac in the office alone – at least until everyone else arrived to steal what was left: “You know he’s friendly and all, but you’re the only one Fraser really interacts with beyond the bare minimum.” “Really?” “As if you didn’t notice.” “Maybe you should start swapping him around in teams, you get to know him best out there.” Mac shook his head vigorously, “I am in NO way going to mess up your dynamic…” You both watched him for a second, before you raised your eyebrow at Mac, “You seem to think it’s a romantic dynamic.” “Oh come ON. You don’t see the way you look at him.” “Shut up!” You felt yourself blush again. “You have a crush, honey. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows it to. If he doesn’t then he’s dense!” “He doesn’t seem that type of guy. I don’t know what it is, but as soon as he’s on land...” “He’s a different person?” “Yeah?” You looked to Mac, expecting him to afford him an explanation. “A lot of guys like him are. He fits the ex-Navy profile. I won’t be surprised if there’s some PTSD in there.” “MAC!” “Look he’s a good diver, but I want you to be careful. Especially if you do have romantic interest in him, okay?” “Mac he’s gotta be at least 10 years older than me.” “Why is that stopping you?! You have what, 3 months with this guy before we pack up for winter, and there’s a chance you can stay together if you’re both UK bound. Just sayin’ – make the most of a summer romance, just be careful!” “I hate you, you know.” You leant across the counter and hugged him, before punching his arm and hopping off the stool. “Oh, I’m well aware!” Before you exited the room, he called you back, “Oh! Y/N!” “Mhm?” “See if you can persuade him out with everyone, please? You know, just once. Or twice. Once a week isn’t a big ask. I just… I think if anyone can integrate him, you can.” “I’ll try my best!” You giggled, “But I’m not a miracle worker!” “Hey!” He grinned, “All I ever ask from anyone is their best!" Your day of diving was pretty easy: Fraser enjoyed getting the more skilled divers so he could take you out deeper into the ocean, dive for a little longer and get a little more technical. However, he didn’t appreciate it when they started messing around and pretending they knew better than he did. They got one hell of a stern telling off and a lecture about the Navy that honestly you couldn’t help but smirk through. Then they were on their best behaviour. More than a few times he’d received a few complaints about it – and seemed not to give a damn when Mac always approached with an “Urm, Fraser, could I have a minute…” Only for you to fiercely back up his story without any hesitation. Mac always looked at you like it was more than a little ironic; you were always one to mess around. But you had real certificates – you were an instructor – you could get yourself out of trouble you got into. And you wouldn’t be putting a whole group of divers in danger doing so. Today you were sitting on the side of the boat as he navigated it out to his chosen diving spot – you wondered what Fraser liked so much about this one. He was prepared to answer. “It’s a little deeper, that might not sound so great, but there’s more space. Less to get distracted by… Just reminds me of what I’m more used to.” “…Which is?” “Diving, diving. Weighted seabed stuff. Technical ship and submarine dives, marine salvage. Things like that. I have nearly every diving certification it’s possible to get.” He gave a shrug, “When I started back in Australia it was a little like this. Reef diving and snorkelling… But that’s not where I ended up.” “When I think diving, I certainly think… this. I’ve done weighted diving a few times, I never found it easy.” “You’ll get used to it.” His smile was small, “It’s a little more of a job than a vacation.” “Then…” You rose and crossed to him, “why are you all the way out here taking amateurs on reef trips?” “A means to an end. Needing the money. Waiting for a job to come up again. Then I’ll go real diving.” “This is real diving.” He looked across to you, grinning, “Naw, now I’d think with a Navy dad – even you wouldn’t think that!” You laughed, “What, do I have to hold you to marine salvage diving now?” “Ah, I think you’d like-!” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah, girl like you could probably handle all those sailors with no problem.” “Was that a compliment?” He chuckled, “Round about.” then tossed his head back, “Go on, you better go make sure they’re suited up! We’re almost there.” “I will.” You smiled, then paused at the door to take him all in again, “...Fraser.” “Uh huh.” “Before we leave… will you take me out? Just you and I?” Your heart fluttered but you pushed it back. Yes, you just wanted him to yourself. You wouldn’t deny it, but you weren’t about to ask him out. “Will you listen to a word I say?” “I’ll try my best.” You gave him your biggest eyes, and he scoffed. “Yeah right. But sure, it’d be fun. I won’t deny that.” “F-Fun?” This time he turned those blue eyes on you in such a way that you thought your heart might dead on stop. “Yeah. You’re a cool girl, Y/N. And I trust you in the water. I’ll show ya a thing or two!” You couldn’t help but internally groan at that, and left quickly so not as to heat up in his presence. Sure, he might. But you wondered if it would be the thing or two that you wanted him to show you. *** He still wouldn’t come out with you all, you tried your best – and be it tentatively, sweetly, teasingly or just angrily, Fraser never agreed to going. You didn’t want to tell Mac to just give up but sometimes you thought about it. Tonight, after you’d eaten you wanted to take a night out on the town for yourself, and swung by your favourite little restaurant bar. The tables spilled out over the boardwalk and the dancefloor straddled both outside and inside, even though it was small. So if you wanted you could dance in the open air. You just liked to dance without the rest of your friends around, and usually liked to dance alone.

You headed to the bar first, and worked up the confidence to get on the floor with your single drink. You nursed it for a little while, but eventually swaying on the bar stool had you up on the floor. It was easy for you to make friends – and sometimes you found girls here who had been on boats during the week, so you weren’t ever really alone. It got later and night really drew in, lamps on the boardwalk igniting and bathing everything in a soft yellow glow. The pretty hanging lights in bars were turned on up and down the street, and it was about your favourite time of night. Yet that wasn’t where your eyes were pulled tonight – instead your eyes were drawn to the bar. Holy shit-! Your heart threatened to get the better of you, although his back was to you and he was keeping to himself, it was unmistakably Fraser sitting up there. You had to let yourself calm down before you gained enough confidence to make your way over – but you couldn’t help but wonder if this was how he spent all his evenings. Was this why he didn’t want to be out with the rest of you? “Hey!” He looked up from his drink – make that drinks; Fraser’s bottle of beer was accompanied by what appeared to be water, and then soda. “How long have you been here?!” Was how he chose to make conversation, no how are you, no sweet smile. The man you spent most of your time with during the day appeared long gone. “Longer than you, I’ve been dancing!” “Oh. I didn’t notice.” You had to pretend that didn’t hurt at all as you settled in next to him, “Is this usual for you?” “No, I just… needed a night out. I’m not a great drinker.” “You’re Australian!” His laugh wasn’t warm, “Yeah, alcohol tends to mess with-” Fraser stopped short and turned back to you, “You out alone?!” He was concerned, instantly. “Yeah…” “You do THAT often!?” “I like the breather. So, yes.” His face pulled into a frown but he said nothing more, turning back to his array of drinks, it was the water he finished first. You were still staring at him; there was something about him not in sunlight. You’d only ever seen him in bright sunshine, but now the shadows were giving you an altogether different picture – his eyes were a deeper blue than usual, and the darkness cut his body distinctively; he looked a lot older than you thought he was. There was a lot of trouble etched into him and the way that he slumped his body over the bar like that; a lot you guessed Fraser would never open up to you about in a million years. And he didn’t look back at you. “Fraser.” When he did turn, he seemed more surprised that you’d still be there. “Dance with me.” “Wh-” You stood and took his hand, hardly believing that you had the confidence. “Please!” “No.” He pulled his hand back, “No, no. That’s not my scene.” “Oh c’mon.” “No. I can’t dance.” “Everyone can dance, even if it’s badly.” “No!” His hands withdrew and he realised that he was not letting you down lightly. In fact you damn near looked upset. Fraser sighed, beer to his lips as you still didn’t move, looking back to the dance floor again. This time when your eyes met his they were doing all your pleading for you. “Please, just one dance?” He put his bottle down and stood, already thinking of all the ways this would go wrong: “Okay, but I mean ONE.” You could not be more ecstatic about this, holding his hand as you pulled him across the floor, although as you slowed to choose a place, Fraser guided you to the outer area, the very edge of the dance floor. You found this to be curious, but didn’t question it. All that mattered was he was here, and he was doing you a favour, you wanted to make sure he was comfortable. Fraser placed his hands on your waist respectfully as you rested your own on his shoulders – it was obvious by how firm his grip was that he was not about to move them, not even an inch. You were a little disappointed – but one step at a time. You could hardly believe that he was here and holding you. Your heart was racing again; he was so close. You didn’t want to call it too close, but Fraser was: he kept the gap, he wouldn’t let you closer even though all you wanted to do was breathe him. Even though what you desired was him holding your body against his. But he had rhythm, and he matched yours. You weren’t sure you expected it – but then he was close to you, and he watched your body day in day out. He knew the way you breathed, probably even here and now Fraser was noticing things about you that you didn’t know yourself. Of course he could dance with you, just like you’d asked, and maybe for one song. But then he didn’t let you go when it was over… Maybe that was because you were locked in a stare like this, your constant wish to pull him closer, the way you knew how hot you were getting under the weight of his eyes; because of how nervous you were, the proximity of his body to yours. You couldn’t stop your eyes from flicking to his lips; you wanted to lean forward and kiss him. More than anything. You couldn’t, you couldn’t risk everything on trying to kiss him here. The rest of your summer would be so awkward that you’d have rather hurled yourself off the side of the boat than risk this… Fraser knew how you felt. It was damn near impossible to ignore when you were this near to him. The way you hung onto every word he said during the day and were damn near besotted with him didn’t escape his notice either. How everyone else teased you for it; yeah, he realised that too, none of you were as subtle as you thought you were. But you were young and impressionable and you just had a crush. A crush that would last the duration of summer, and when you went home and decided on further education or working, he’d be forgotten, and you’d find someone else. He didn’t want to hurt you, Fraser knew that much – it was one of the reasons that he wasn’t going to let you closer. He wasn’t sure he could do something in such measures – something he knew would only ever be a summer fling? It never occurred to Fraser to want to put effort into something like that. You weren’t the only one that was going to get hurt.

Fraser kept his eyes on those around you as the dancefloor became more crowded. Telling himself he was only pulling you closer because he had to. It wasn’t far from the truth, this time he wasn’t really meeting your eyes; and his hands kept in that same position. He’d placed you outside to avoid the majority of people, more space. More air. But as people encroached on you, Fraser tensed more and more, until you knew it was uncomfortable for him. It broke you from your trance; where you could breathe him, close enough to feel the heat from his body as it dissipated from the day. A warmth you wanted to be held in. It was too much, it was too close, and Fraser’s dislike of the situation had him pulling abruptly from you. You weren’t sure you understood even when you felt that change in him. “Y/N, I’m sorry but I-” He shook his head, “S-Sorry.” He didn’t even let you say it was okay before he was off and back to the bar. You sighed gently, moment over. Maybe the only moment you’d get with him all summer. And you hadn’t even remembered to savour it.

***

You’d had your first taste, and you couldn’t help but crave more. So you kept going back; you couldn’t be sure if it was Fraser’s favourite spot, if this was where he spent his evenings. It had been once; and maybe he wasn’t around tonight… the night after… the night after that… because he was busy elsewhere. You kept holding onto the thought that he’d turn up eventually – it wasn’t something you wanted to discuss at work. In fact Fraser’s attitude to you at work didn’t change, almost as if it had never happened. Yet you didn’t understand how he could just act that way – it’d affected you, clearly. Why not him? You didn’t want to confront him about it, in fact it forced you to face the fact that maybe friends was all this was ever going to be… Even over a three month ‘summer fling’ you’d be nothing more than one close dance at one small bar. Fraser did eventually turn up again, but by the time he did you were already a little preoccupied. It was a little later than he’d been in here before and he ordered the same from the bar before sitting. You’d already been here a few hours – but had already been to a bar with the rest of the crew. And you were now drinking on top of ‘pre’-drinking. Stupid, you knew, but it was okay to get drunk every once in a while. As long as it wasn’t totally black out. It took Fraser a little while to spot you and, once he did, he became immediately concerned – it was obvious that you were a little too far gone. You shifted around without any real sense of rhythm, your face was flushed, you were laughing a little to loud and a little too much. What really struck Fraser were the men around you. All a little too close, the one nearest you giving off the most obvious vibes that Fraser didn’t like. Although you were laughing, it was clear that whatever question he was asking (Fraser could only guess), was being met with refusal. But once wasn’t enough, it had been at least three or four times and this guy only seemed to get closer, his friends joining in, with him continuously taking your hand back. This was only going to go two ways and neither ended well for you in Fraser’s eyes; he tipped his glass back, thanked the bar tender and rose from his seat. “You guys want to leave her alone now?” “What?” He turned, looking Fraser up and down with a raised eyebrow, “What’d you say?” “I said leave her alone. I’ve been watchin’ you from over there and she’s said no at least four times. Just walk away man.” “This is none of your business.” Getting up in Fraser’s face wasn’t a good idea, but he didn’t know that yet. “F-Fraser!” Your voice sounded more than overjoyed as you spotted him, “You’re back!” “Oh, I think you’ll find it is my business.” Fraser was unfazed, he’d dealt with people like this plenty of times, “She’s drunk, walk away.” “Make me.” “I’d rather not.” He tipped his head, “Walk. Away.” “Who are you, her boyfriend?!” “Concerned work college, actually.” Fraser extended his hand out for yours, “Y/N, sweetheart, let’s go. C’mon.” The man stepped between you as you lurched forward, “She’s not going anywhere.” “Kid. I was in the British Royal Navy, you really wanna mess with that?!” He hesitated, and backed up a little, “Yeah I thought so.” Fraser pushed passed him and took your hand, “Come on. Let’s go.” “But, I-” “Honey, you can barely walk and I need to leave before this asshole says another word, c’mon.” “Fraser, I…” You stumbled as Fraser tried to pull you with him, leaving him fixing the men with an icy stare. “Leave. Before I have a chance to show you what I’m really capable of.” It was enough, for now. But Fraser knew they’d be back, looping his arm around you. “Okay, come on… We’re getting you out of here.”

It was not easy to walk you home – and Fraser didn’t know where you resided. He knew the group of you shared rooms somewhere on the island, but he’d never been interested enough to find out where. Right now he was regretting it. He wasn’t sure how many you’d had, but by now you were all giggles and slurred words, hardly able to walk properly without him supporting you. A mess. He wasn’t the biggest fan of taking you back to his, although Fraser at least knew he could look after you here. You started asking random questions about everything – only to repeat them seconds later, still joyful. Fraser tried to answer them calmly and different every time, so as not to be driven stir crazy by his own explanation. But very soon your joy turned to puzzlement, and then you frowned a little, hands to your stomach. Fraser knew this one well too; “Are you gonna be sick?” You just nodded and he grabbed your hand, running you to the bathroom. Well, this wasn’t the way either of you thought you’d be spending your evening or time together. Pretty soon you were crying and apologising as Fraser held your hair off your face and rubbed your back. “Shit, I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry…” “I’m just glad you’re here and not with some dick somewhere else… Now don’t talk.” Still, you kept repeating it as he sat with you. As you quietened down, he brought you a glass of water: “Drink it, you’ll just get dehydrated.” Whether or not you would keep it down was another question entirely, but Fraser needed to make sure he was helping you. It was in one of these moments of quiet, where you just looked in pain, that you turned to him. You were a little less pale and sweaty now – maybe you were calming down. He hoped so, but knew if it was necessary, he’d stay up with you all night. “What did you mean…?” “Huh?” “When you threatened him you said… he wouldn’t want to mess with a Navy man?” “Would you like to mess with someone who has had military training?” “Prob’ly not.” You shook your head, closing your eyes as you felt dizzy again. You just wanted everything to stop spinning and for your stomach to calm down. Fraser couldn’t tell you the real reason, couldn’t tell you what he was really capable of. The potential that had to destroy things very quickly if you didn’t understand wasn’t worth the effort of explaining. “Hey…” He rubbed your back in soothing circles once more, “You’re gonna stay, okay? I’ll get set up on the sofa, it’s no big deal – you’re gonna be alright here while I sort you out, yeah?” You nodded, and then very nearly gasped as he leant forward and pressed his lips to your forehead, “Alright, sweetheart, give me a few minutes. Yell if you need me.” You didn’t, and took to lying in the most comfortable position you could find on the cool bathroom floor. He stopped by once to throw you a shirt and tracks. Which you could just about wriggle into without causing yourself too much more discomfort. Fraser collected you from the floor a little later, opting to let you walk on your own rather than carrying you. You’d still be tender, and who knows what would happen if he folded your body in a certain way. There were at least 3 glasses of water on the side table as he helped you into bed – and some hangover medication. “It’s not really something I take a lot of, but I hope this one helps…” “It’s better than nothing, whatever it is.” He laughed gently, tucking your hair back. He’d left a bucket, just in case. “Bathroom is just down there though, I’m gonna be right outside on the couch. If you need me or anything else… Well, okay, maybe don’t wake me unless you really have to. But I think you might be down for the count for a while. Just… keep calm, settle down. Get some rest alright?” You nodded, suddenly completely embarrassed, “Thank you…” you covered your face, “I’m sorry.” “Stop apologising. You think I don’t know what a bad night out feels or looks like? It happens, Y/N.” Fraser smiled, “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.” “See you in the morning Fraser… goodnight.” You didn’t hear him exit the room and close the door though – by the time he did that, your body had already put you to sleep through exhaustion. **

When you woke up in the morning it was slowly. Your head was still pounding, but your stomach seemed to be settled. You were huddled up in his duvet, hiding from the world; you took the pill and drank as many of the glasses of water as you could manage. Luckily you hadn’t been ill again, but you were glowing with embarrassment. You must have screwed any chance that you had with him completely. How couldn’t you have? Why had you done something so stupid?! How had you allowed yourself to get so inebriated that Fraser had to see you like that-!! The bedroom door was cracked and your dress was now hung up on the wardrobe. Fantastic; you’d have to do a walk of shame, and you hadn’t even had sex with him. Eventually the pill seemed to kick in, and you sat up slowly. His apartment seemed quiet, you heard Fraser shuffling around but you were enjoying the lack of noise. If you were back with the gang there’d be yelling and screaming already - especially if one of you was hungover. You slowly sipped another glass of water as you stood, shrugging yourself out of his shirt and track shorts you sighed gently. Wearing his clothes too!? Living the dream in the worst way possible…! You pulled on your dress, smoothing it down to look as modest as possible – it wasn’t so revealing, but it was relatively short and strappy. The kind of thing to be worn over a bikini, rather than the way you’d been wearing it. Eventually you thought you’d hidden in here long enough, and took a deep breath, opening the door on his main living area. It was surprisingly clean; you weren’t sure what you were expecting – but you’d lived with men before and they weren’t this neat. That’ll be the Navy… You scanned the room, worn but still nice. Probably in need of a repaint and new furniture in the not too distant future. But good for the busy summer job worker that currently inhabited it. Fraser was sitting up to the kitchen counter, preoccupied with whatever was in front of him. You walked slowly, making sure to balance the glasses, and were immediately curious. You paused before you reached the counter, and were a little taken aback. Sitting in front of him were a multitude of pills of different sizes and varieties. You did the math quick and none of them were in the same quantity. Before he settled on his choices and cleared the rest away into a capped bottle. Fraser didn’t look up until you placed the glasses down, looking bewildered. He picked one of his pills up and swallowed slowly with water. “They’re not drugs.” He could read your look, and that was the first thing you were worried about. “…Then wh-” “I have a personality disorder. They’re my medication.” He said it so matter-of-fact. So blunt. “It’s why I can’t drink a lot, it’s why I can only be around you guys for so long.” Your face changed dramatically and you dropped your head, upset in realisation; “They wear off.” “Exactly. Smart girl.” He repeated the same slow swallow with the remaining collection. “I’ve always been better in water, always. But what I’d do without them… Y’know I need this. Alone is gonna stop me from doing anything stupid. I’m sorry, I should have said something.” “No… It’s personal. You shouldn’t have to disclose something like that…” “You’re my partner out there, of course I should have. An’ now you know.” “I do. But it’s staying between us.” You placed your hand over his, reassuringly, “And I’m the one that’s sorry, I can’t believe you had to see that. I’m an idiot.” “Y/N, I’ve seen people out of their mind drunk before. You’re not the first, you won’t be the last. Forget about it – I’m just glad I was there.” Fraser understood reckless young adult behaviour, hell, he’d been there a few times himself. “Oh…” Your face heated up again, “Well, I… I’m glad you were there to.” He stood, “Breakfast?” “Oh. Please, yeah.” “I’ve had mine, need it for the meds, but… help yourself…” He pointed to several cupboards, “Plates and bowls, mugs and glasses, cereals, cutlery is there, bread there… fridge is…” He waved, “You get it.” “Thank you.” You smiled politely, and walked from place to place as he’d indicated, making your own breakfast. He was reading the paper this morning; it always just gave him something to do. But you were a much more pleasant distraction. And that dress was easy on the eye. Fraser tipped his head, eyes tracing your body through your clothing; it was very nearly backless too, and your sun kissed shoulders and back held a radiant glow in the morning light that was not visible in the darkness, nor club lighting. He’d never seen this much of you before, and he couldn’t help but watch you – you were beautiful. Fraser wasn’t about to deny that, he was just very aware that you had a massive crush. And he wasn’t sure initiating anything with you was a good idea. Whether he wanted to or not. It’s a summer thing, she’ll get over me. It won’t be too hard for someone like her. Besides, Fraser was as worried about if he’d ever get over you. You noticed him watching you, the ways that his eyes always seemed to trace you. It was subtle – and you weren’t trying to read it as what you hoped it was. His blue eyes had this wildness to them, you’d noticed it the other night. That certainly wasn’t subtle, and clearly very subdued by the medication he had to take; you’d never seen him look like this in light like this. It made you swallow hard, left a knot in your stomach that wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t often you’d felt that. You’d been attracted to men before, teenage crushes. Either they were way too old for you, or they were your age and it was teenage love – you’d never taken that ‘sleeping with someone’ leap. Out here on a tropical island alone, you had the opportunity to explore things, but hadn’t yet. Here he was, sitting in front of you and staring at your body… Yet he’d pushed you away on the dancefloor, and you still had to spend time working with him. When Fraser’s eyes met yours again you swore you felt a shiver run through you. You stepped back; heat suddenly rushing places that did make you feel uncomfortable. You body was about to betray you and you were afraid of being unable to control it. “I- I best get going… T-Thank you, for… looking after me and for breakfast. But the guys, they’ll be so worried.” “I get it…” He stood, rounding the table, “I can walk you back to the main strip, you can figure it out from there and-” “No! No!” You ran around his apartment quickly, collecting your bag and shoes, “I’ll be fine, thank you Fraser. I really mean it-” He stopped you before you got to the door. “You’re sure you’re okay?” “Yes!” NO! Definitely NOT! “Okay.” He opened his door for you, “Take care of yourself. And I’ll see you tomorrow morning, right?” “Right.” You nodded to him, voice super quiet, timid and embarrassed about the situation once again. You gave a gentle wave. “Goodbye, Fraser. Have a good day!” “You too, Y/N…” He leant on the door, unsure if he should ask you to stay. Knowing it was better to let you leave, “Be careful.” *** You weren’t about to curse your good luck. You certainly weren’t about to take credit for it, either, but ever since that night, Fraser had started hanging with you a little. Suddenly he’d turn up for breakfast, and even if he took it and ate alone – he’d make sure to spend five minutes conversing with you. He’d never stayed late enough for drinks, but every once in a while, you’d been able to convince him to join you all for dinner. Progress. Great progress. For him too. And although a lot of times he was on the edge of the conversation, the end of the table for quick escapes, Fraser was always next to you. His focus started with you, and branched to the rest of the team and group conversations slowly. But it was still there. When you didn’t need to pay full attention to him to keep him in the conversation, to make sure he was okay, you started to notice other little things about him. Fraser stimmed. First you noticed the way he’d bounce his leg, hand moving over it in sporadic intervals, then how he’d touch the tips of his fingers, back and forth. There was one other place you noticed it, but until you’d witnessed him do this, it hadn’t really occurred to you. Part of his diving toolkit was a knife, it wasn’t big and you’d hardly call it dangerous, Mac wouldn’t have allowed it otherwise (and it seemed clear that Fraser was used to handling something a little shaper), but he’d move this between his hands and thumb the edge of the blade when talking sometimes. It didn’t seem to bother him, and it didn’t bother you, it wasn’t something you perceived as threatening, but you noticed that sometimes guests would get a little uneasy about it. Social situations were clearly never going to be his forte and yet here he was. He was trying. For you? You weren’t so sure, and yet you were almost certain it was to protect you. To make sure you never got in a situation like that again and he wasn’t around to save you. So it was because of you, and in the back of your head, you dared dream that perhaps you’d get your summer romance after all.

This morning once again Fraser stood around for a gentle 5 minute ‘start of the day’ conversation and then went off to eat alone. Sometimes you wanted to go with him, but you felt the others might see you as antisocial. Or you’d end up with more than just Mac giving you the suggestive looks. Speaking of ‘suggestive’, this morning the topic of discussion quickly turned spicy. You virtually tuned out: it wasn’t like you had experience to give input. And half of you thought most of them were bragging about things that had never really happened, or stretching the truth! But, it couldn’t be avoided, eventually they rounded on you: “-Go on, Y/N, what’s your favourite position?” “You’re kidding, Y/N hasn’t had enough boyfriends to know what her favourite position is!” You flushed, “Shut up!!” then cleared your throat, “As long as I can see his face, I think I’m okay…” “Aw, nah, see – I just like tangling my fingers in her hair – especially if I can pull it.” “In your dreams would you get a girl that would let you do that.” Mac laughed hard at James’ cocky face. “EASY! I’ll get one tonight!” Fraser had entered back into the room and was shaking his head - ‘what a bunch of stupid fucking questions’ - he scoffed immediately at James’ comment, making you all turn around. Fraser was therefore made the next victim: “What about you, man?” His blue eyes regarded you all, eyebrow raised, “What?” “Sex – dude c’mon! You’re Australian and you’ve been in the Navy, it can’t be that hard for you to pull!” Fraser declined to comment and said rather nonchalantly, “I dunno, I’m a morning sex kinda guy.” “OOOOHHH!” Mac laughed, “Damn. We keeping you from something?!” That very nearly raised a smile, “Naw, mate. I’ll let’cha know when you are.” You hadn’t heard a single word since ‘morning sex’ and whatever banter was going on around you was drowned out by how hot you suddenly were. All you could think about was the morning you’d stayed at his. The way he’d been staring at you, running those beautiful ocean blue eyes over your body like that. The way you’d only thought about him pushing you away on the dance floor… when maybe you should have been following your gut feeling. Shit, was I not reading the signs, did he-… want me!? You stood so suddenly in the middle of the conversation that the girls around you jumped and everything was thrown into awkward silence, “S-Sorry… I’ll be right back!” You needed a moment. A very… long moment… You didn’t get it until a little later, when you decided you wanted a quiet night in. Not a real moment. You’d had to lock yourself in the bathroom and scream this morning – that knotted feeling deciding to settle in with you all day, as you had to interact with Fraser armed with this new information, kicking yourself. If you’d have made a move what would his reaction have been? Would it have made a difference if that’s what he was into? You lay back in your sheets alone and took a deep breath wriggling your hips around, closing your eyes. All you could picture was his look, those gorgeous blue eyes nowhere but on you… how sometimes he touched you or held you and he was strong… what would it feel like for him to grip your hips? Pin you beneath him? Every little smile or smirk he’d given you. The way he sometimes said something suggestive, or an innuendo, completely serious and yet knowing exactly what he was doing. Then you could feel the heat of his body, how it felt to have him that close on the dance floor – it couldn’t have felt that different between the sheets. In fact, he’d be closer… How would it feel to kiss him? To have his lips on yours, to have them trace your skin – would he be gentle with you? Would he be rough with you? Would that depend on the time of morning… did his medication affect that? Did Fraser have a preference… There were too many questions… and yet so many fantasies you could have all over one man. It wasn’t long before you were sighing gently, wiggling your hips a little more, pushing up to increase the pressure and friction. And then it was Fraser’s name you were groaning. This felt beyond sinful, but you needed it. You probably had for a while. You were in control; but how would it feel to have him touching you like this. You had to know. You vowed one day you would find out… No matter how long it took.

** Your lament that this may never graduate to anything was short lived for two reasons. One was his sudden willingness to hang out with just you. He would ask ‘Hey, you wanna do anything this evening?’ or ‘You free Sunday? I wanna show you something.’ Sometimes that was places he’d seen, sometimes that was diving techniques. He was teaching you things you’d never get the opportunity to learn otherwise and you were so grateful. But when you tentatively questioned him as to what had changed, he simply laughed and said “Well, turns out I can tolerate you when my pills wear off. And it’s kinda nice to hang with someone, sometimes.” When you suggested things to him, Fraser let you drag him around; he even let you hold his hand, and you’d wander down the boardwalk together like that. Fraser was fine with this arrangement, he would let you live the ‘romance’ you wanted to, without entering into a relationship that would hurt you both. You’d get over him, you’d get over this summer. Usually you could bribe him with ice cream. He was certainly of the mind that if you were going to spend a day on the beach then ice cream was a must, and you picked up on this instantly. Although you tried not to take him so far away from the water – quite clearly Fraser’s first love – he was partial to the odd hike on other parts of the island. The second was your own resignation to the situation you found yourself in. The fact that this was never going to happen almost started to become an unspoken thing between you. Holding his hand and going on whatever these ‘dates’ were was safe, and there was no commitment. Fraser never came across to you like he was ready to commit, even if he would talk to you and touch you like he was. Everyone else teased you when you told them you were leaving for yet another evening or day out with him. Cat calls ranged from rather cute to completely unnecessary and vulgar, but it wasn’t like you weren’t used to everyone talking like this; and you went ahead and laughed. Mac was the only one to pull you to one side and ask if what was happening between you was serious. When you gave a shrug and a head shake: “I don’t think that’s how he works. I don’t think Fraser would ever do summer romance. I think it’s all or nothing…” You folded your arms. “Maybe we’re better as friends. I think we’re at different life stages.” “Is that you being sensible? Is that you meaning it?” “It’s me waiting. It’s okay to be friends. It’s GOOD to be just friends. Mac, I won’t lose him if we’re just friends. If we’re UK based, we can wait. I can wait… And maybe it never happens, but, I don’t lose him.” “You like him that much, huh?” Mac flashed a grin, he felt like he probably knew that. “Yeah. Personally, and professionally. What he can teach me, the kind of friend he can be… probably outweighs a rush I can feel and then just… lose EVERYTHING.” You smiled suddenly, “I know which I’d rather have Mac, I think that’s what I’ve figured out. That should be my choice.” These outings continued, and you ended up staying at his place a few more times – luckily not under the same circumstances! Although you insisted on taking the couch this time, liking to spend lazier mornings with him, where he’d tell you how good you looked in what you were wearing and you’d flush and try to forget the morning sex comment again. You were pretty seamless together when you were working and were heading that way socially too. You liked looking after him too, especially in the period where his meds did start to wear off and he wore a little thin, got a little agitated, stimmed a little more. He had your back and therefore you had his – no questions asked. No thanks needed. Summer was inevitably drawing to a close. You had some big life decisions to make, but wanted to put them off for as long as possible. Fraser started looking for what he termed “real work”, other summer shops and attractions started closing, some of Mac’s team bid you farewell to get back to their own lives: he remained open until the very last moment. It began to get cooler, and it was around this time you knew you had maybe 2 weeks left tops. Fraser was tidying away at the end of the long-ish day – it still being busy with less of you around, and talk turned to the future. “What are your plans after this?” “Haha. Nothing!” You folded your arms, leaning against the side of the boat, “Well, okay that’s not technically true. I might go back to school. I think a degree would be nice to have... but maybe I’ll do it part-time. I don’t know if I can commit to full-time.” “Why’s that?” “Just the way I am. If I can work too, why not?” “Uhuh.” “What about you?” Although you thought you knew the answer, he was going back to the diving he did best. “That’s why I asked.” He closed the final lock and turned back to you, “Cuz I’m going back to my freelance diving work. Now, I know, submarine salvage is kinda… niche, but that’s not all I do.” Fraser took a step forward, “Y/N, you’re a good diver. You’re qualified, your dad was in the Navy. You listen to me, more importantly you understand me. We’ve done a lot of work together this summer and it’s been great work. I’m not spending weekends out there teaching you for nothing, and it’s not just because I like you either. You have so much potential. So, I have a proposition.” You stood straight to attention, because it felt like the situation called for it. “Would you like to become my diving partner? Could always use a good one – and you’re not just good – you’re fantastic.” You very nearly chocked; you!?!? You were young and naïve, and surely not as experienced as he wanted?! But easy to teach, quick to apply your knowledge… malleable. “Y-Y-YES!” “Yeah?” “YES!” You covered your mouth with your hands, “Oh, my goodness, Fraser I- I don’t even know how to thank you!” “You don’t need to. You earned it on your own merit. We’ll start you off slow, but I think you can do as good a job as me, if not better. And together?” Well, he simply had to grin to get his point across. “I have loved working with you. And… I’m under the impression that you don’t want to lose this either. So, what better way than with a partnership?” This was somehow working out too well, if you were part-time student, part-time diver then you couldn’t have thought of a better planned out future. And with Fraser? Not even in your wildest dreams. “I don’t.” You said it too quick, and flushed, “I-I mean, I don’t wanna lose this, either.” Fraser nodded, and instead of shaking your hands he simply took them in his; “Well, we don’t have to.” You couldn’t help but beam. Your resignation to being friends was suddenly all the more important. Would Fraser have asked if you’d have pushed for something he didn’t want? Would he have asked if you were going to be a summer romance? You thought the answer was probably not; even if you didn’t want to consider that answer. Fraser had asked you to be a real part of his life. Not just a summer that you could leave up on a shelf and forget. You had time. You had so much time. You could really get to know him, best friends or soul mates… And maybe more… Time would tell. It was strange to stand with him then and wonder on where time would take you. But you were certain that this friendship would stand the test of time. And that, no matter when, you’d get to look back at this summer and see it as a time you met one of your very best friends. A man that you would love for life.

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Thank you so much for reading! 😘🙏

#Fraser #Black Sea #Ben Mendelsohn #Fraser x Reader #182 #Linzi Writes #Smol Bean Drabbles #So - Just thinking about how Hurry Baby ends - like Mac would have a proud dad moment.#He'd certainly encorage them to come visit him #He'd be like /oh I remember you kids when you just met!/#Even though Fraser is obviously older than him #Mac would totally big himself up at as the orchestrator of the romance #Fraser and Alicia would tell him to shut up!#Alicia #Okay so in 'canon' / headcanon.... They are approx. 18/28 in this fic.#But that's probably best not to think about.#So if I aid you... that's 24/34 in the scene you meet them in for her accident.#and 34/44 (ie. 2015 ages) in the 'movie canon' part of my fic.#Eh - volia!

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