#had to stop while decoding her First Letter Of Every Word letter

[electric-shoop]

left the book at the bookshop, but i skipped forward as I came upon the relevant footnote and started reading the letters Johnny's mom sent him and... :(((

[angstymarauder]

Arch Enemies {M.M}

Marlene McKinnon x Female!reader ; marauders era

summary: where two long-time rivals realize how thin the line between love and hate really are after an unfortunate quidditch incident.

word count: 3.4k ish

contains: angst, fluff, a heated kiss?, side of wolfstar,

a/n: i didn’t re-read it bc I'm lazy. Also if people could drop some wlw angsty harry potter recs that would be phenomenal.

· · · ∞ · · · · · · ∞ · · · · · · ∞ · · · · · · ∞ · · ·

Marlene McKinnon has been your rival since as far back in your Hogwarts years as you can remember. Always at each other’s heads. Always a competition between the two of you. Always striving to be better than the other.

The two of you made just about everything a competition. Chess Matches. Pranking. Grades. Eating. Walking. Detentions (you almost got kicked out of Hogwarts that year.)

Anything that could somehow be made competitive, you two competed. And while you tended to beat her with grades, she often beat you in things that took place outside of the classroom.

The Marauders, apparently, have been placing bets and keeping track of your wins against one another. Lily even claims that one time she walked into their room unexpectedly and caught them writing on a poster on their wall that had both your names in big letters on each side and a series of tallies below each with dates and event names on the bottom, but as soon as they saw her one of them casted a spell to make it disappear.

This year was no different. You knew it was stupid to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to try out for the quidditch team without Marlene fighting you for the same spot. You have no real desire to be on the quidditch team, quite honestly, but your older siblings play quidditch, your parents played quidditch, your aunts, your uncles, your cousins, your grandparents, your great-grandparents.

You have a quidditch family and you do not want to can not disappoint them.

The hope that Marlene may leave you alone for this one was shattered, as you expected it to be, when you walk into the team's locker room, a bag of quidditch gear in your hand. “Y/L” Marlene spoke as soon as her eyes met yours. Her eyes widened more than usual, a change most people don’t notice, but then again, you’re not most people. You know Marlene better than anyone else, you’ve memorized the meaning of every look in her eyes, every curve of her lips, every flick of her hands. You know her brain, how she works, what she is thinking, for the most part at least because right now you found yourself momentarily confused by the surprise lacing her voice. Why is she so surprised? Did she not expect you to be there? Your thoughts are cut short when the blonde standing at the other side of the room clears her throat in an attempt to reactive her favorite tone of voice when speaking to you, cockiness, “you going for the beater position too?”

“Yea,” you respond, walking over to one of the lockers.

“May the best player win,” you continued unpacking your bag, putting on the final touches to your uniform, but you didn’t need to look at her to know that she was smirking as she spoke, you could hear it clear enough in her voice.

She awaited a snarky response from you, you know that, but you didn’t want to waste your energy on a catfight right now. Your anxiety is already through the roof, there is enough pressure on you at the moment that you feel like your brain physically cannot handle any more conflict, so you ignore her.

Her eyes burn holes into your body as you continue to pull your knee pads on. Eventually, the door opens and you listen to her steps as she walks out of the locker room, closing the door with a slam and leaving you all alone.

It’s not long before you’re 100% ready for tryouts. You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror for a moment before leaving. Taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm your nerves. Calm your mind. It helps a little bit, but maybe not enough.

· · · ∞ · · ·

“Y/L! Watch out!” is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

The tryouts were going great, James was the captain this year and after stealing a glance at his little sheet, you could tell that you were going to beat Marlene out for this spot.

You should’ve been happier with that knowledge than you were, but somewhere deep down you almost wanted Marlene to beat you. This wasn't what you wanted and by the look in her eyes, you knew that this was what she wanted. A strange feeling arose in your chest each time she looked at you during tryouts, her eyes conveyed a message you hadn’t seen her wear yet and all you wanted to do was decode it. To understand why her eyes looked… sad? Almost. Like she knew you were going to beat her and she was upset about it. She’s never been upset before, always a team player. She took her losses as they came and just vowed to beat you next time. But for some reason… for some reason this was different.

· · · ∞ · · ·

Marlene’s Pov:

You looked so pretty. Flyaway hairs and a look of determination on your face as you swatted away Bludgers so effortlessly. She loved quidditch, but she wasn't as good as you. Jealous, not because you’ll win whatever competition the two of you are probably making out of this, but jealous because she knows she won’t get the position she’s been working her ass off for. Lost in thought she doesn't even notice the bludger coming towards her, luckily she hits it just in time, but then… Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Marlene watched as the bludger tumbled straight towards you, “Y/L! Watch out,” was all she could get in before it hit you right in the head.

· · · ∞ · · ·

The first thing you felt when you woke up was an intense pounding in your skill that caused an unconscious groan to leave your mouth. As you increasingly became aware your head began hurting more and more. You went to bring your hand up to rub your eyes in an attempt to wake yourself up when you felt another hand on yours. Opening your eyes only increased your headache, but the desire to know whose hand was holding yours overruled the pain. Their hand was soft, warm, it felt like … like home. That's the only word you could find in this pain-forsaken state to properly describe the feeling.

The blur of a person who held your hand made you think you were crazy. You found yourself blinking a few times in attempts to clear your vision, not initially trusting your eyes and barely trusting them now as you see Marlene McKinnon's hand, holding yours.

Marlene McKinnon.

Your arch-nemesis?

The one who practically hates you?

Yea… her.

What the fuck.

Why is she holding your hand… and why do you never want her to let go?

You can feel your lips curve up into an unconscious smile as you stare at the place where her hand connects with yours before roaming your eyes up to her figure to her sleeping face being held up by her other hand, elbow resting on her armchair next to your bed. She looks so peaceful, so beautiful, and you wonder why you’ve never noticed how gorgeous she was before. How her lips look so soft and her skin so smooth. The way the waning gibbous moonlight shines into the room from the large infirmary windows and lights her face up in a way you’ve never seen in before and in that moment you want nothing more than to stare at her face like that forever. You don’t even notice your other hand moving up to touch her face until you hear a voice whisper from a few beds over from yours. “Oh, you’re up.” Startled, you feel like you were just caught committing a crime and immediately pull your hand back to where it was before. Marlene shifts in her sleep from your quick movements and you’re watching this moment slip through your fingers, silently begging whatever runs the universe to let you stay in this moment just a little bit longer. Thankfully, they answer and Marlene stills, returning to her peaceful sleep. “Don’t worry, Lils says she sleeps like a log.”

You giggle at these words, turning to face Remus with a smile, “yea, she does. We can never get her up in the morning.” “It’s the same with Sirius. He never wants to wake up.” The two of you giggle quietly, afraid to wake up anyone in the castle this late at night, especially the girl sitting beside you. You talk about Remus first, asking if the full moon the night before was really that bad that Pomfrey made him stay overnight again and if he's okay. He assures you that he is fine and redirects the conversation to you, “What about you? Are you okay?”

“I don’t even know what happened to me,” you tell him, “or why my head hurts so much or why M-” you pause, now looking at the girl. You’re scared of speaking the words out loud, afraid it may reveal that her presence is only a dream or a figment of your imagination and that you will sound crazy if you speak about it.

“Or why Marlene is here, holding your hand.” Remus finishes your sentence.

“Or that.” you turn your gaze back to Remus, now wishing the moon was a little darker so your close friend can’t see the blush that is surely on your face.

“Well to answer your first questions,” started Remus, “You got hit with a bludger during tryouts, Marlene and Sirius rushed u in here while I was taking a nap - thanks for that by the way”

“Sorry” you giggled

“- and then Sirius went back to practice, as for McKinnon there, she refused to leave. I think she feels bad cause she's the one that hit you. Pomfrey said you probably have a concussion which means you can’t … well you can’t play quidditch this year.” You should be focusing on the quidditch part, it was something you were working so hard for, but you can’t stop your mind from trailing off to her. Is she only here because she feels bad? Or is there more to it? You hope it's more. You’re not sure when these feelings came to fruition, but they’re there now and you’re worried about getting your hopes up because it means risking yourself getting let down.

“I think she likes you,” you take a minute to process the werewolves' words, glancing between the blonde’s head and her hand.

“You think so?” you say with a hopeful smile.

“I think she’s liked you since first year and you’re just too oblivious to realize it,” you look up with him, your confused face causing a slight chuckle to leave his lips, “I’m observant, you know that but it's not that difficult to see how in love you two are, even though you act like you hate each other. I think she knows what she feels,” you both glanced at the girl, “and I think you just figured out what you feel.”

You smile at his words. “I think you’re right,” you admit, too tired to be stubborn and reject what your heart says is a fact.

“Just wait till January to tell everyone please, I have a bet going with the boys and- “ Suddenly the door to the infirmary opens, Remus goes quiet with confusion and Marlen begins to stir from the noise. She’s really waking up this time, you immediately close your eyes, unsure of what else to do or even say to her. You can feel her eyes on your face, her hand holding yours. “Good morning sleepyhead,” remarked Remus. You curse out his name in your head as you feel Marlene’s hand immediately rip out of yours. All you want to do is look at her face, read her mind. Was she embarrassed? Ashamed? Your mind went to the worst.

“How’s the girlfriend?” marked a new voice, Sirius. Of course. Who else would come to the infirmary this late other than Sirius to check up on Remus?

“She’s not my girlfriend.” remarked Marlene, her tone sending a brief stab of pain through your own heart, “I don’t even like her,” another stab.

“Yea, okay, and Moonys not my werewolf boyfriend.” You would’ve laughed, hearing the noises of Remus hitting Sirius in response to his words, but your mind was stuck on the words of the girl who was still standing close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off her body.

“I don’t like her,” she said, her words laced with annoyance and anger, “In fact, I hate her. We’re literally enemies.”

“Then why are you here then?” Remus rebutted, he probably meant to be helpful, but the words she spoke next only made your heart ache more.

“Because I’m not a monster! I hit her with the bludger and I felt bad. That’s it. Nothing else.” you were almost thankful when you started to hear her moving around, collecting her stuff, tears were threatening to spill out of your eyes and you didn’t want her to see. “I’m tired so I’m going, goodbye.” And with that you waited, listening to the sounds of her footsteps, getting quieter with each moment. You listened to the opening and closing of the infirmary door and only dared to open your eyes again once you could no longer hear the clicking of her shoes down the hallway.

“You okay?” Remus spoke first, witnessing the silent tears now streaming down your face. You wish you stayed asleep. You wish you never looked at her. Never let yourself feel something you knew she wouldn’t reciprocate. You curse yourself for believing Remus’ hopeful words.

“Fine,” you spoke quietly before turning to your side, the back facing the two boys who get to share the kind of romance you find yourself only able to dream about.

“M’Sorry,” you heard Remus whisper, before the weight of your head and your heart lulled you into a dreamless sleep.

· · · ∞ · · ·

You woke up to Madam Pomfrey's voice urging you awake. Her soft voice reminded you of your mother and made you want to curl up into her arms and cry, Marlene's words last night still resting their weight on your chest. “How are you this morning, love?” she asks, placing a plate of food on the bedside table, you're thankful that she doesn't mention the tear stains that probably made their home on your cheeks last night.

“M’fine,” you mumble, “better.”

“Good, good,” she smiles, handing you a glass of water that you didn’t realize how much you needed until the whole glass was gone in a minute and Madam Pomfrey had to fetch you a new one. “Took a big hit yesterday, that Miss McKinnon has a good arm.” You hum in agreeance, an attempt to not be rude to the elder in front of you, but hearing her name still hurts, the wound of her words still leaving scars on your heart that haven’t even begun to scab. “Speaking of the devil,” the nurse spoke, your head raising up to see Marlene's figure entering the curtain that surrounded your bed. Her hair looked so soft, messier than you usually see it, but you liked it. You couldn’t stop your eyes from travelling down her face, taking in her beauty while she was awake. Bags plagued her beautiful brown eyes, she didn't sleep much last night. Your gaze moved to her lips, the same lips that unknowingly cut scars along your heart mere hours ago. Memories from the night before that you had allowed yourself to forget for a moment returned as fast as they left, returning the heartache that accompanies them. Suddenly, you found the hem of your shirt more interesting, keeping your gaze and your hands on that. “I’ll leave you two alone,” spoke Madam Pomfrey, ignoring the tension-filled silence that laid in the air, “I’d like to keep you here for a little while longer but you should be discharged by dinner,” and with that she left the two of you alone, your breaking heart not even strong enough to look at her.

“Hey,” she spoke first, breaking the silence, but not moving from her spot where she stood at the end of your bed. “Sorry I hit you with a bludger,” she tried to joke, but the tension was too thick that it was just awkward.

“Why are you here?” you ask, a sudden surge of bravery coming from the anger that stems from your sadness.

“Wh-What?”

“Why are you here?” “Because I feel bad? Because I'm not a total bitch and I care about you?” she remarks.

“Why do you care?” your voice grows louder, angrier than you want it, but you’re too stubborn to stop speaking now. “I can’t play anymore, you got the spot on the team, didn’t you? “I mean you said it yourself we’re enemies, right? You hate me?” you continue, repeating her words from last night. “So isn’t this what you wanted? You won. You beat me. Congratulations.”

“So you were eavesdropping?” she asks, her tone attempting to stay angry, but her eyes revealing that look you’re slowly seeing more and more often.

“It’s not eavesdropping if I’m lying right there.”

“Merlin, y/n, I don’t hate you!”

“Liar.”

“You’re so stubborn,” she yells, getting closer to your face.

“If you don’t hate me then why would you say it?” You sat up, both your voices were raising, anger surging through the air.

“Because I don’t hate you! I love you,” she yelled, and then everything went quiet. She loves me? Only now did you realize how close your faces were. Her lips were inches from yours, your ragged breaths intermingled with one another, both of you already exhausted from your previous argument. You looked up from her lips to her eyes, just to find them already staring into yours.

“You what?” you whispered so low that only she could hear it.

“ I-” her eyes were filled with fear. Fear that her feelings won’t be reciprocated. Fear to express the vulnerable emotion that has plagued her heart for how long? You don’t know. So you move forward and capture her lips in yours.

After the initial surprise, Marlene began to kiss you back, her hands finding the back of your neck and your head while yours found her hips. You broke apart too soon for your liking and she rested her forehead on yours. One of your hands moved to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear before speaking. “I love you too.” You watched as her eyes lit up with joy and you couldn’t help but smile. “I get a point on the leaderboard for admitting it first,” she chuckled.

“Mmhm,” you hummed in agreeance leaning forward again so your lips brushed against hers as you spoke, “but I get one for kissing you first.”

“Dammit,” she whispered, before leaning in for another kiss.

· · · ∞ · · ·

“So Gryffindor Beater, huh?” you asked Marlene. The two of you laid together in the infirmary bed, her back pressed up against half of your chest, your arm hanging around her shoulder twirling and untwirling her hair with your one hand while both her hands played with the fingers of your other.

“Yea, James said it’s mine if I want it, but I don’t need to take it if you don’t want me to.”

“No, merlin no,” you said quickly, “I know how much you want that spot, I barely even wanted it. Was only doing it because with my family I felt like I had to.”

“Really?” She looked up at you hopefully, “you don't mind.”

“Nope.” “Promise?”

“Promise.” She gave her a peck on the lips before turning her head around again. “Plus, you’re going to look so hot in that uniform, I feel like I’ll be the real winner in this situation.” Your words earn a loud laugh from the girl in your arms and you feel like you're on cloud 9. You place a quick kiss on her temple and want nothing more than to be the one to make her laugh for the rest of your lives. Lives that you hopefully get to spend together.

Meanwhile…

“Told you so,” he whispered.

“I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” the second boy groaned, placing coins into the other boy's outstretched hand.

“Yea, but look how cute they are, Moony the Matchmaker.”

“Oh shut up Padfoot,” he groaned, “I’m hungry, let's go to dinner.” “Whatever you say handsome,” barked the boy before looping arms with his lover and walking away from the two girls in the infirmary who looked utterly and completely infatuated with one another.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

heiress - 3

pairing: bucky barnes x oc!reader

a/n: this is part three of a four part series based on a song lyrics sent to me by an amazing anon with a reader based on my favourite oc brought to you by me listening to turning page from sleeping at last so i decided to add a quote. hope you enjoy xx

“letters strewn across your bedroom floor. such beautiful words but you can’t remember who they’re for“

“if i had only felt the warmth within your touch. if i had only seen how you smile when you blush or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough i would have known what i was living for all along”

previous chapter

She entered her past as she stepped into the right wing room. She remembered this room, she remembered it way to well from the shelves on the walls and the book cabinets to the burning smell it still somehow held even after all these years. Her eyes gazed from side to side until they turned purple and ghosts of her memories started to take form. Her eyes widened as she stepped back, trying to run away from the room until two hands grabbed her arms into place forcing her towards the chair where he was, long hair hitting his jaw, strapped like a wild animal. She struggled against the two men, trying to free herself from their hold, yet it didn’t budge, they kept holding her into place as if she was being punished. 

     - Wipe him again. - one of the men in a lab coat said in a thick Russian accent as the chair lowered down towards an electric head lock. His screams inundated her mind like daggers. Her breath quickened as she started to move her arms to try and get freed for them, to try and help them.

     - STOP! PLEASE! - she yelled out, begged as she continued to try and free herself from the two men holding her arms until she fell on her knees. An agony filled scream passed through her lips, overpowering his own screams as a wave of white glow expanded from her to the corners of the room.

     - Y/N! - her head was tucked into her legs as someone held her shoulders. Her breathe came out into fast, short paced puffs as he lifted her head to see Bucky standing in front of her holding her arms. What scared her wasn’t him but what surrounded her as she looked around to see everything that laid across the room was gone, the walls itself interrupting from being walls into being made of white glow, her eyes completely white.

    - Get away from me. - she pushed away from Bucky, unsure of what she had done, unsure of what she had seen. - I don’t wanna hurt you, I don’t wanna hurt you again.

    - Look at me. - he ignored her pushing him away, walking up to her again and lowering himself down to her level. His blue eyes met her completely white ones as he wondered what to do. He didn’t know what to do. - Breathe, okay?

    - Okay. - she felt the air enter and exit her lungs slowly as she stared into his  blue eyes, so calm. 

    - GET AWAY FROM HER! - a red glow pushed him away from Y/N to reveal Wanda and Sam who had come to her rescue the moment they heard her scream. She rushed from the door to her friend, holding her hands in hers while Sam went to check on Bucky. - What’s wrong? What did he do? I can’t read his mind.

    - He didn’t do anything. I ... I lost control. - Y/N looked down at her hands and at the room which was slowly returning to its normality, with the objects slowly returning. - I don’t know what happened. I walked in and ... it just exploded. 

    - Guys, we found it. - Monica spoke over the intercom. Y/N’s eyes lingered over to where Wanda had effortlessly thrown Bucky too, an apologetic look, yet she couldn’t understand his look. It was curious almost too curious as if he was looking for clues in her face. Wanda protectively draped her arm over her back, pushing her away from the room which was still haunted by a white-like glow.

She knew that memory, the one she had been stuck in. It was a much too familiar memory of several times she had been punished by watching them ... by watching them hurt him. Madame B was many things but she was a smart woman, a smart woman who carefully plucked out every fear her girls had and used them against them if any stepped the line. Bucky had been one fear too easy to spot, having seen Y/N step up to a guard who had harmed him even after the much taller man had thrown her to a ground. It was a haunted memory for her. - they would always hold her and make her watch as they hurt him. She still remembered his screaming, blood curdling, pain filled screams. Seeing it again, being in that room and have him come to her was just too much. 

Yelena and the rest of the team had been left in the dark about everything that had happened. It was best that way; she did not need more people worrying about things she should’ve already figured out. However, Agatha was right and that she knew. Whatever the soul stone had given her was easily uncontrollable if she was in a messy state. If someone had answers it had to be Agatha yet she had learned that dealing with her was a monkey’s paw. 

Bucky on the other hand couldn’t stop looking at her. The more he did, the less foggy the memories became from the very time he had seen her to the last time he did. All he could fixate however was on a broken promise he had made her the last time he had seen her. I will find you, I promise. Such pretty words, such a beautiful promise, almost worthy of being in a poem but the truth is, he hadn’t been looking for her. He had memories of her in patches, memories of what he had felt for her and now she was there. He wondered if she remembered him, if she knew who he was. If she remembered ... maybe she didn’t. After all HYDRA and the Red Room had a particular talent at destroying memories with a swift ability. He watched as she listened to Monica explain what they had found and what not, her hair escaping the grip of her ponytail held up by a red piece of fabric tied in a small bow. 

     - Promise me you’ll remember I love you. - his own ghost voice melodised into his hearing along with the sound of rain against window panes. It wasn’t raining and he wasn’t speaking. - Because they’ll make me forget and you have to remember. You have to remember so you can remind me.

    - You won’t forget it. - he could hear her voice as he looked at her but Y/N wasn’t even looking at him. He wondered when she had told him that, he wondered if he had reassured her, he wondered if she remembered when he had told him that. There was so much he still didn’t know but it came in waves, it came in waves explaining what it was. Wanda, however, was staring at him, head slightly cocked to the side in a menacing manner. He looked at the Sokovian woman, trying to read her but he couldn’t. Her mood was a simple as someone keeping her eye on him.

The small plane landed just outside the hex; Yelena jumping from the harbour onto the wilderness the first, followed by Alexei and Monica who were excited enough to study the new notebook but Y/N lingered behind. Flashes of what had just happened rushing through her mind as she stared at the blank wall of the small plane and then back to her hands which were trembling.

    - Matter manipulation is messy, isn’t it, dear? - a voice shook her from her own mind. Looking around there was no one but her. She put her hand over her holster, ready to shoot at nowhere. 

    - What are you doing? - she turned around to see Wanda approaching the jet, having broken apart from the group to check on Y/N. - We need to talk. It’s about Bucky.

    - What about Bucky? - she climbed out of the jet to met Wanda.

    - I can’t read him anymore. - she sighed. - Did you maybe by accident expanded your “shield” to him too?

    - This is not Twilight, Wanda. I cannot expand whatever it is I have.

    - Well, I don’t trust him. - she shrugged. - What happened in the Red Room?

    - Oh, it was nothing. - she lied, it was something but she did not want to worry Wanda. She didn’t want to worry anyone, she just wanted to get into the hex and go to sleep and that’s just what she did.

She forwent the meeting, last thing she needed was to hear about the Winter Soldier. If there was someone who knew more about the Winter Soldier than the person himself was her and that knowledge was tainted with memories that she wished to relieve yet forget. Laying against her bed she starred at the white ceiling of her bedroom, raising her fingers to play around with the white mist that surrounded them at her will. Element manipulation, that’s what she did. That’s what her file said, that’s what SWORD told her yet element manipulation wouldn’t have made a full room’s objects disappear. Whatever it was, whatever HYDRA and her father had put in her she didn’t know. She always seemed to be the last to know of things that concerned her. Bringing her hand down, she rolled in bed to lay on her side, watching her door with sleepy eyes, hoping she could go to sleep. Of course the universe had different plans as once she felt herself waver between to conscious and unconscious world, she heard a knock against her door. Groaning, she got up from the warmth of her bed and padded towards the door, opening it to slightly to see Bucky standing there. 

   - Sergeant Barnes, everything okay? - she leaned against the side of her door, staring him up and down. 

   - Yes, I just wanted to give back the letters Monica Rambeau gave to me. I assume you and your team will be able to decode them better than me ... I guess. - he handed her the stack of letters worn out by time and his own hands. Her eyes moved up from the letters to his eyes, looking for any type of game he could be playing with her. - I guess with you being Pierce’s daughter and all ... maybe he commented with you.

   - Ah ... - she forced a smile upon her lips as she took the letters. - You know, I haven’t spoken with my father since I was 10.

   - I didn’t me ...

   - He didn’t really try to reach out to me either. - she interrupted him. - The only person he has reached out while in prison has been Fury. I don’t even think he would know what I look like. 

   - I didn’t mean to offend you.

   - You didn’t. - she sighed, hand pushing her own hair back. - I wish I could apologise better for what he did to you but I really wouldn’t know how I’d do it. 

   - I wouldn’t want you to apologise.

   - You don’t even know how many apologies I actually owe you. - she looked down to her feet before looking at him. - ... because of my father, I mean. 

    - Well... if anything there helps. - he put his hands on his pockets. - Or if you know who they’re for  ... let me know.

She stood against her door as he left right after that sentence, watching him disappear in the long hallway probably to return to his bedroom. It didn’t really matter, really, she told herself. Yet part of her knew Bucky was much more observant than she could ever be so if there was nothing she could find in those letters. Nevertheless, the most curious side of her nature only wanted to know what is, so she did. She sat down in her bed and grabbed the first letter, pushing it from the envelope onto the comforter. She recognised his handwriting, a bit more messy, probably rushed in ran out ink. He probably had stole one of the sign in sheets old pens which barely worked. 

Y/N faltered, refusing to focus on his writing, on his words to her. She knew they were dated after she had ran away from the Red Room and she didn’t want to read his words to her after she had abandoned him. It was too much yet the more her eyes read the date, the more courage she got. Might as well get her heart broken and move on with her life.

Dear Daisy,

today I remembered you and it is probably silly to be writing it down mostly because I don’t expect you to ever read it but if I write it down at least I can remember you again if they make me forget. I remembered the first time I ever saw you yet mentioning it now feels weird as I don’t even know if you knew I had seen you. You had a black bodysuit I am almost certain and black ballerina shoes dancing up to some monotonous music with your hair pushed back with some old red fabric in a small bow. It just came to me staring at that piano myself, maybe as long as that piano exists I won’t forget you yet I don’t know if it will hurt less to remember you or to forget you. All I know is, the moment they send me out I will find you. I promise I will find you.

Well, the two of them were good at broken promises, she thought to herself. Maybe he had reminded himself to find her and chose not to after assessing her actions, maybe he didn’t even remember she existed or what her voice was. She hoped the later was true. She wouldn’t know what to say, what to do if he remembered her. Years ago she used to picture it in her naive mind; running to him, hugging and kissing like in a picture perfect rom com. Now she just wouldn’t know what to say other than beg on her knees for his forgiveness. Not that she deserved it. At least she had that in common with her father, both owed James Barnes an apology which could never be accepted. 

Y/N shoved whatever was left of those letters under her bed, hoping to bury them in the same place she buried all her worries. What use was going back to the past? It hadn’t been kind to her then, it wouldn’t be kind now so there was really no use in dwelling in what could’ve been. In what she could’ve been. Childish whims. She let her thoughts simmer, lull her into sleep until she was back into that place, that room which had made her into what she was now. She looked down, dressed in the issued black shirt and leggings, small gun in hand. She looked to the side, Madam B. standing near her in her impecable blue suit with a wood board under her arm.

      - It’s just this one and you are gonna win. - she gave her a smile but it wasn’t warm, it was cold, too cold. - Just shot the target, darling. 

     - What if I fail? - she looked at the person tied to the chair, bag over the head. 

     - You can’t fail. - the assistant pulled the bag from over the target to reveal Bucky. She took a step behind, faltering as her grip loosened over the gun she was holding. - Shoot him.

     - I can’t.

     - Shoot him. 

     - I can’t ... I won’t.

     - Fine, then I’ll do it. - she grabbed the gun from her and rose it up to Bucky’s head. She tried to run, to try and put herself in front of her but she was stuck, she was stuck ... and then bang. 

She rose from her bed in terror, sweating, breathes coming in and out as fast as they could as she looked around to see the walls of her bedroom. She was safe, she was safe, she was not there. He was safe. Looking down at her hands, the shivering had become and this time it bothered her. She looked weak, frail ... just like her father had described her before, like SWORD and HYDRA described her. Y/N jumped off her bed, running away from her bed to try and find the bathroom or the kitchen ... somewhere she could wash her shivering hands, somewhere she could drown her face in cold water just somewhere. She rushed through the kitchen doors and to the sink, turning on the water before putting her hands under the running water.

     - Y/N? Are you okay? - she had rushed so fast into the kitchen she hadn’t even noticed someone else was already there. She turned her head from the sink to look at Bucky but what she saw made her put her hand in front her mouth. He was there, long hair ... with a wound shot on his forehead. She turned her head back to sink, watching her reflection in the sink, her eyes glowing white. - Y/N?

She looked over her should back to him, that look ... what he looked like was gone. He had short hair, healthy skin, no wounds but she had seen it, she had seen it. Bucky noticed the discomfort in her face, taking a step back once he noticed his arm was on full display along with its scars. Sometimes he forgot about how he looked, about how he could freak people out.

     - Sergeant Barnes, I’m so sorry ... I didn’t mean to scare you.

     - Are you okay?  - he wanted to reach out to her, be comforting but he barely looked like a comforting man. - You look shaken up.

     - Yeah, I just ... bad dream really. Quite childish.

     - It’s not childish. I get them all my time, my therapist say it’s normal.

     - I have no reason to have them. - she leaned against the counter. - Why are you here? Midnight snack?

     - Just had to think about some stuff and Sam snores. - he joked around, smiling once he saw her lip curl slightly upwards. - I have a question for you. You read those letters, right?

     - One of them. Why?

     - Do you think she might have loved me?

     - Pardon?

     - I will reword it. Did you love me?

taglist: @lookiamtrying​

[with-love-anu]

Flirting Disasters

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader Summary: You fell in love with Sirius Black while working together with him at the order while he dismisses every move you make on him Warnings: Second hand-embarrassment, drinking problems, passing out, break-down. Word Count: 3,789

You fiddled with your purse thinking about your first order meeting. Granted, you were an expert at decoding messages coming from your immense study of Runes; but you could very well handle yourself in a fight too.

Dumbledore already told you about your job. Decode the messages and try to find out the course of action of the death eaters. He had told you that you’ll be working with Sirius Black the owner and head of the Black household, also the order’s headquarters. You’d been told a lot about him too. Being wrongly accused and sent to Azkaban by his own best friend, his narrow escape and having to stay back at the headquarters for his own good. That did not prepare you in any way when you actually met him.

He was gorgeous. High well-defined cheekbones, long raven hair that licked his sharp jaw line. He was exactly your type, if there was one. You knew then, you were in trouble. You knew, your ever flirtatious nature would kick you in the back because you just could not not flirt with him. Not when he look like a Greek god.

“Hello, I’m (Y/n) (Y/l/n) and we would be working and living together apparently. So, hey there roomie!” you said putting your best face on.

“Sirius.” He said giving you a tight lipped smile and shaking your hand. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying something. He wasn’t the chirpiest of people, you decided.

***

It had been 2 days since you both worked together. You heard him speak only when required.

“So this here means north, and that little symbol over there; cabin.” You said pointing towards the latest letter. “But I don’t think that’s a place or-“

“That’s a pub” Sirius said interrupting you. “There’s a famous pub on the out skirts of London named- “Donec in septemtrionis” which translates to the northern cabin.”

“Wow, you’re smart too! Aren’t you the complete package?” You smirked, eying him.

Sirius looked at you and for a moment you were sure he was going to quip back with something teasingly witty; but he just averted his gaze, leaning over the letter.

“We need to report this to the order.”

It took a while before Sirius said more than a few words to you, and not about the job. He would light up talking about his years at Hogwarts and told you stories you were only too happy to listen. You told him about your research and the years you spent in Egypt learning languages and studying symbols and encrypted text. You told him about dealing with cursed objects and the friends you made there as Sirius held on to everything you said. You still flirted with him, making him act to be all annoyed.

---

“You look cute today.” You said as Sirius came in freshly shaven. Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll look cuter holding my hand” you winked making Sirius groan.

---

You and Sirius were looking at James and Lily’s wedding pictures.

“James was so scared that day! He looked like he would puke before we threatened him to get himself together.” Sirius said grinning.

“You know,” You said making Sirius turn towards you. “I’m gonna be your bomb ass wife someday.” Sirius scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh you’re so in love with me.” You said giggling.

---

***

It was an order meeting. The two of you set up the long table, chairs and fixed some water and drinks on the cabinet. Dumbledore stood up.

“I’m sad to inform you all that Dominic Sanders is found missing.” Your eyes widened. No, not him.

“What?!?” you demanded.

“The aurors are on him, he had been to a confidential mission and we are not getting any messages from him. We already released two search parties but nothing yet has been traced.” Dumbledore emphasized. You bit back tears that were threatening to spill.

Sirius noticed the change in your demeanor. You had always been a chirpy and outspoken person,  and now to think of it he didn’t know how he would have handled himself without you. Over the top of it, you were extremely intelligent. You knew what you talked about. He would be lying to himself if he said that he never had the urge to flirt back. And you were beautiful. But he was done fooling around. He had to take care of Harry and work for the order, fight against the dark lord who dared to strike again. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be your friend atleast. So when he saw your face fall at the news, remaining quiet during the whole meeting he could only guess how sad you must be.

After the meeting, you slowly helped Sirius cleaning and clearing the area out.

“(Y/n), are you okay?” Sirius asked softly.

“Yes. Fine.” You said hoping Sirius would leave you alone like he did every time. Sirius frowned.

“You don’t think I would believe that shit, would you?” Sirius scolded.

“Sirius, please leave me alone.”

“No, you have to talk to me.”

“It’s not like you care.” You said as head thumped. The news had crushed you. You knew you were moments away from a complete breakdown. Sirius sucked in a breath.

“I do care. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” he said and you finally let tears fall.

“Dominic was always like a big brother to me. He took me in when I was at my worst and is the only person I call family, I jus-“ You started breathing deeply, falling to the ground with a thud.

Sirius was near you in a second, rubbing your back. You buried your face in his neck, crying as he held you. As you slowly calmed down, you sniffed pulling away.

“Thank you.” You said.

“(Y/n), this is war. I know you are strong, but things like this happen and make you lose your faith. Please don’t. Its dark now but light always triumphs.”

“I know. I see it. I see it in you every single day.” You said looking at him. “Professor McGonagall often told me about you, you know. The young boy always upto some mischief. While others may have become spiteful over time under the things like you went through; you matured. You changed yourself when time demanded it and I admire you for it. I know there’s still good in the world.”

Sirius froze. You thought what? He looked at you wiping your tears away as he felt something leap inside him. You looked at him and let out a small laugh.

“I won’t break, I promise.” You said standing up and resuming what you were doing.

***

Something changed after that. Sirius could feel it. He would forget what he needed to do, hum Beatles songs under his breath, smile out of the blue. Everyone could see it, Molly Weasley tried her best to hold her giggles as Sirius helped you smiling and bubbling like an idiot. He greeted everyone leaving them happier. Remus raised his eyes on seeing him.

“You look awfully happy today.” He stated.

“Really? Well, it’s a nice day!” Sirius said averting his eyes towards (Y/n) who was giggling and laughing at something Tonks said; smiling instantly.

“Ahhhhh..” Remus drawled. Sirius turned his head towards his friend.

“What?” he asked.

“(Y/n)’s pretty intelligent, huh?” Remus asked.

“Yes, she is. Can you believe that girl got straight O’s in every subject she took both in OWL’s and NEWT’s? And she is quite quick minded too. She…” Sirius stopped seeing the look on Remus’s face.

“I don’t like her.” he said pointedly.

“Funny, I never said that.” Remus said smirking. Sirius shook his head.

“Like I said I don’t” Sirius said shaking his head. Remus patted his shoulder.

“Whatever lets you sleep at night.”

Sirius frowned. He did not like (Y/n).

***

You smiled seeing another letter from Pietro. He was on an undercover mission and sent letters whenever he could. He was your best friend, the person you knew would be there for you no matter what. He had sent you a bouquet of wild flowers from the area knowing how much you love them. You giggled reading how much he craved a good bowl of cake and firewhiskey.

Sirius frowned on seeing you. You had got flowers? And who wrote the letter that made you smile so much?

“What have you got?” he asked making you look at him. You smiled widely.

“Letter and flowers from Pietro! Look! Aren’t these just beautiful. I love getting wild flowers and a good book to read. Makes my day!”

Sirius tried not to frown.

“Who’s Pietro?” He asked forcing a smile.

You looked at him raising your eyes and smiling mischievously.

“Awww. Look who’s jealous? Don’t worry babe, only you own my heart.” You winked at him. Sirius’s eyes widened as a crimson blush covered his cheeks and stuttered.

“Wait… What!?! NO!” he said and you giggled.

“Keep lying to yourself.” You smirked leaving the room.

You sighed. You loved Sirius. You knew that. He made your walls crumble easily. Flirting for fun was one thing, flirting with him was another. You still couldn’t believe the day you cried in front of him. You never did that, not even with Pietro. Dominic was the only people whom you let see you like that. And you fell more in love with Sirius when he called you strong, showed you he trusted you to be capable.

But it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Because every time you would flirt with him, he would act to be annoyed. Sometimes you thought he was. You thought maybe, he really never loved you. He thought you as a friend, or as he said to his Remus sometimes, ‘colleague’. It hurt you, it did every single time. You would smile and pretend not to notice but it made your stomach churn.  However then you would remember what Dominic always said to you. Different people had different ways of showing their love. Some people would say it, while others would show you in every small way possible. And he did. He would make sure you took care of yourself, do all these things just to make you happy. Then why in hell did he deny it?

***

Sirius and you were baking a cake. Why? ‘You don’t need a reason to bake a cake.’ The cake was done beautifully as you took it out of the oven letting the chocolate smell waft through the house. You let it cool before taking the icing knife as you both started putting some cream on it. When you were done, you both admired it smirking at each other. You took the bowl with the left over icing swiping a finger through it, licking the cream. Sirius came forward to take some but you swatted his hands away. He pouted making you giggle.

“You may be the love of my life but I am not giving you the icing.” He raised his eyebrow and came forward to take some anyway and you stretched your hands away from you to increase the distance.

“(Y/n). Give me some cream come on!” he whined. You took some more eating it in front of him pointedly. He mock gasped before coming towards you making you run away from him.

“(Y/n)!!!” he said grabbing you by your waist making you topple and fall. He fell above you as you both giggled and laughed. You heard coughs on the door and you turned to see Remus and Tonks smirking. You got up red face and excusing yourself to your room.

Sirius stood up awkwardly and performed some cleaning spells to remove the mess created by the fallen icing. Tonks went after you. Sirius could feel Remus's gaze on him.

“It’s not what you think” he muttered.

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

“Well it is nothing. Besides I am not as young as I used to be. Moreover I am a fugitive. I have nothing to promise her or anyone else.” Sirius said shaking his head.

“I don’t think she minds, she flirts with you quite much. And by the way she looks at you, anyone could see she really likes you” Remus insisted.

“I never flirt back.” Sirius maintained.

“Yes, I do understand that; but you do so many things for her. You make sure she sleeps on time, she eats properly, made hot chocolate for her when she felt sad. Man, you never made hot chocolate for me or James; even when we demanded it. You are leading her on. You like her and you’re hurting her by keeping up the façade. I know you Sirius don’t lie to me.”

Sirius remained silent before shaking his head. You and Tonks entered the dining area just then. You all laughed and talked about everything but the war. It felt nice. It made you happy. There was one thing though. Sirius was acting weird. He did not once look at you. He did not talk to you directly. Was he so embarrassed by his friend seeing you like that?

“So, you and (Y/n), huh?” Tonks mused teasing Sirius. You blushed.

“Tonks, let me make one thing clear,” Sirius said sitting up straighter. “There is nothing between me and (Y/n). Ever was or will be.” Sirius said the last part looking at you and you froze. Your mind reeled as maintained a poker face. Tonks head whipped towards you when Sirius said it, knowing you liked him. Besides she was a good friend throughout your years at Hogwarts. She glared at him all evening. As for you, you felt like you were sinking. Your heart thumped and your stomach churned. You hated every moment you made yourself believe Sirius did like you.

When the evening ended, you went straight to your room not looking once at the man who broke your heart so terribly. As you closed the door behind you, you fell on the ground with a thump. You put your hand over your mouth as you cried out. Your whole body shook as broke down completely. All you could hear was his words being played over and over in your mind. Your mind was numb as you slowly got up and went to the bathroom to wash your face. The silence crushed you. As you lay in your bed that night, you hugged your pillows. Sirius Black did not like you. Never had. Ever will.

Sirius regretted his words as soon as he said them. He saw your face fall for a moment before you completely masked it up. He hated himself. You did not say anything to him after that, or do so much as spare a glance over to him. He did not know what to do. Maybe you’ll hear him out the next day.

He couldn’t be more wrong. You acted like a robot around him, speaking only when necessary. No jokes, no greetings. You had raised up your guards around him. It crushed him. He felt Remus's words buzz over his head over and over again. You like her. His stomach churned and his heart thumped out of his chest. What had he done?

***

Your head zoomed as you heard Snape tell you three about harry and other children. They were underage! How were they going to handle themselves? You rushed to your room grabbing a coat.

“Where do you think you are going” Sirius growled as he saw you, ready to leave with them.

“To the ministry.” you said grabbing some floo powder.

“No you’re not, you’re staying here.” He said raising his eyebrows.

“And who are you exactly to tell me? I’m a member of the order as well. I’m going.” You said.

***

The place was a mess. Sirius could see spells fired everywhere and he made sure to know where harry was at all times. He dueled with Bellatrix, remembering old times. He stumbled back when a curse hit him in the chest.

“Stupefy!” he heard (Y/n)’s voice and saw his cousin turn to her.

“My oh my, such a beautiful girl! Crucio!” Bellatrix screamed.

Sirius felt all the air leave his lungs as (Y/n) withered in agony. He shouted to release her as someone cursed Bellatrix making her stumble. (Y/n) fell to the ground, her body limb. Sirius scrambled to her not able to control the situation.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)!” He slapped her face, but to no avail. Remus came beside him. “Sirius, an emergency healer was sent to the headquarters, quick, take her there!” Sirius picked (Y/n) up apprating quickly. His heart thumped. Hold on, (Y/n). We’re almost there.

The healer was fast. He took (Y/n) from him taking her to the guest bedroom telling him to stay outside. Sirius slumped to the ground. Tears fell from his eyes as his mind reeled him with what happened moments ago.

***

The healer came out after what felt like hours. Sirius refused to eat anything Remus offered. Not until he saw (Y/n). Sirius was up in an instant, wanting to hear what the healer said.

“She was hit by a pretty huge curse. She’s in coma right now. We don’t know when or if she’ll wake up.”

“What do you mean ‘IF’!?!” Sirius roared.

“It’s more likely that she’ll wake up. But she’s in a coma. We can do nothing but wait.”

Sirius felt like he was going to punch the healer, but Remus held him back.

“We understand.” He said glaring at Sirius.

***

It had been 10 days. 10 days since (Y/n) lay lifeless on the bed. Sirius would read to her, sit by her, and fell asleep beside her in case she woke up at night. He watched her face as he tried to control herself. He would give everything up if was just to see her again. To hear her voice. What if she never…

“(Y/n).”

“(Y/n). Wake up. You’ve been sleeping for so long.”

“I have been an idiot, I know but please, don’t punish me like this. Just say something. Anything. Flirt with me again. I promise I’ll flirt back. Every time. Even if it’s the only thing I do.”

“(Y/n)”

***

“Sirius, she’s up” Sirius was at his feet in a moment. She was awake. Finally. Remus held him back. Sirius frowned.

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

“What?”

“She asked not to let you in the room specifically.” Remus said sympathetically as Sirius eyes prickled with tears.

“Why?” he whispered.

“Sirius, I know you are hurt, but she is just out of coma. And the last thing she remembers is your fight with her. Come on, lets get out of here, I’ll take you for a drink”

“You go.” Sirius said not meeting his eyes. What would he do now?

Sirius sneaked into (Y/n)’s room at midnight. He had to see her. It hurt, it really did, and nothing seemed to console him. He drank, transformed into padfoot, but nothing helped the ache of his heart.

He stumbled a little as he opened the door to her room.

“Sirius? Is that you?” you asked, squinting in the dim light. A shiver ran through you as you heard a vase fall down.

“(Y/n)… shit!”

You sat up and performed a spell opening lights around you. You quickly muttered a spell swooping up the glass pieces. Sirius squinted and widened his eyes as the vase fell back into its place. You let your eyes fall on Sirius. Was he drunk?

“What do you want Sirius?” you asked.

He looked you and came forward stumbling and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You. I want you. I want to talk to you. Listen to your stories and have you listen to mine. I want to hold your hand and kiss those soft pink lips of yours. I want you to flirt with me as you used to before and I want to flirt back. Shit! I am such an idiot!” he said yanking his hair. You stopped him and he looked at you.

“I am sorry. I- I have no explanation for myself. I am a stupid worthless piece of shit who didn’t deserve you and still had you like me somehow. I want to be good, but I can’t I am just too selfishhh” he slurred.

“I just want you, even if it’s the only thing I ever get. Because you are so…” he gestured his hands at you and you felt tears in your eyes.

“You. You are the magic in my life. You make me angry and sad and happy and jealous and scared. You make me smile like an idiot over nothing. You make me sing whenever I remember you. I don’t like you (Y/n). I love you.” He said as he scooted closer to you making you sniff. He laid his head on your lap and placed your hand over his head.

“Sirius“ you croaked, but saw he had already passed out.

***

Sirius woke up next morning with a grunt. He looked around in haze trying to make out where he was.

“Here, take this tonic.” You said giving Sirius the blue vial.

Sirius’s eyes widened as he tried to recall what happened the previous night. His head banged and he took the vial drinking its contents in a single gulp. It took him a moment before everything became clearer. You sat down in front of him.

“(Y/n) I-“ Sirius started but you raised your hand stopping him.

“You can get shit drunk, threaten to kill my healer, punch Remus when he kept you outside, but not once tell me that you love me?” You asked. Sirius looked down, the events of the night coming back to him instantly.

“Tell me, Sirius am I that bad a friend?” You asked after sometime.

Sirius held your hands and kissed your knuckles.

“I’ve been known to be an idiot many times. It isn’t your fault.” He said making you release a breathy laugh.

“I am sorry. Please forgive me.” He pleaded.

“Did you mean it? What you said last night?” you asked not giving yourself too much hope.

“Yes.” He gulped.

“You’ll hold my hand and always flirt back?” you asked.

“Always.”

“You’ll hold me and kiss my soft pink lips?”

Sirius nodded fervently.

“Do it then.”

His hands were on you in a second, cupping your face and kissing you urgently, as if he’ll wake up and find it was all just a dream. As you pulled back breathless, you put your head over Sirius’s.

“Sirius Orion Black, you better keep those promises.”

“I will. I can’t lose you again”

A/N: I worked very hard on this one. I would love some feedbacks/reblogs/coments. Thank you so much for reading!

[3pirouette]

Fic: The Honey Trap (8/?)

Title: The Honey Trap

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

A/N: Still chugging away at this. It looks like I won't be able to stick to a rigid posting schedule due to RL commitments, so updates will come when I can. I promise, there is an end, and it's not abandoned. Please hang in there with me.

Chapter 8: Love Letters

February, 1945

It was ludicrously simple to feed Wallace information. As far as he was concerned, Peggy and Steve were having face to face meetings and she was bringing him back tiny tidbits of verbal information. At least, that had been what she told him.

What she hadn’t told Wallace about were the letters.

They’d settled on letters, because Steve could get her those even when he wasn’t in London, and it was brilliant. He slipped them in her purse and down her cleavage when they were together and in full view of their Hydra tails, and sent them by courier to “avoid” the censoring of the government when he was away.

Peggy swore up and down Steve was giving her very little, and fed the man only the tiniest bits of information that he pretended was very helpful. Wallace, knowing very well from her Hydra tail that she was getting letters, was only too happy to go through her desk and start reading them. She kept the stack in her desk drawer, and always gave Wallace time to read them while she wasn’t in the room- finding excuses to pop to the loo or hide in her bedroom for a moment. He was good, but he wasn’t good enough to notice she’d set a piece of chalk on the bottom edge of the back of the drawer where she kept her letters, so she knew each time he opened it and read them.

He thought he was getting highly detailed information about the Allied troops and feeding it to Hydra.

Instead, he was being fed exactly what Phillips wanted him to know, and after a couple of planned “successes” for Hydra, it led to three ambushes of Hydra teams and the capturing of two very high-profile Hydra operatives.

Steve’s letters made him sound like a lovelorn simpleton, detailing troop movements so she’d supposedly know where he was and what he was doing, fully of sappy language and grand declarations of love.

For Peggy, the letters contained highly coded messages. First, she had to decode them with the cipher in her compact, and then decode that with the numerical Commando cipher she already knew. Peggy knew the real operations, the real troop movements, Steve’s real assignments, and whatever information they needed her to feed Wallace.

It was working like a charm.

For her part, Peggy had been able to supply Steve a steady stream of intel from Wallace using Howard’s pen camera and the cigarette case telegraph. It wasn’t that he was sloppy, but now that she was lying to him, he seemed to trust her more.

It was something she’d seen over and over- when the target thought they were getting just want they wanted, they turned a blind eye to the things that should have been giant, waving red flags. He left paperwork out. He took phone calls where she could hear him. He took her to dinner parties where Hydra operatives talked in German about missions and inventions, assuming she didn’t know the language while she pretended to be engrossed in small talk with the wives.

What she didn’t have yet, what she needed, was access to the new research. She needed to get closer to Schmidt, closer to what made Hydra tick, so she could figure out how to take them down, not just stop troop movements here and there.

February trudged on, long and cold with the Commandos stuck in the Rhineland and icy, pelting rain and slushy snow making London miserable. Peggy made her way through each day, typing away at transmissions and letters in the typing pool, decoding orders and “slipping” information to Wallace with a smile. Steve’s letters were the only connection she had to him as the weeks wore on and their last rendezvous seemed farther and farther away.

Late at night, Peggy re-read his letters when she was alone, trying to force sleep to come. They were sappy, and silly, and meant for other people to read, but every few sentences there would be a line, a few words, that she knew were his own. He’d told her, the last time he saw her, that he tried to put at least two true things into every letter, and it was always right after he’d written her name so she’d know it was true.

Peggy, I love you.

Peggy, I miss you so much sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe.

Peggy, I’m going to make good on all those promises to take you on real dates.

Peggy, the sunset over the mountains last night reminded me of you, and I wish you’d have been there with me to see it.

Peggy, I’m glad you’re not here, no one should be out here.

Peggy, when this is all over, I’m going to ask you to marry me.

She always saved that one for last, because it filled her with the most hope. One day, this war would be over and she’d never have to pretend to love another man. One day, they’d never have to pretend again.

~*~ March 1945

She found it odd, trying to play the double agent at this point, and an inexperienced one, at that. Peggy slipped her coat tighter around herself, sliding around the edge of the inn. She was supposed to be seen, but she was trying not to be, at the same time.

Sometimes keeping it all in order set her mind whirling and she had to go back to the basics, back to the cover story to keep it all straight. Playing everything so earnestly was hard, and she was starting to lose herself.

It had been so long since she’d said goodbye to the Allied camp that this reality seemed the only one.

She liked the women in the typing pool where she worked in London. Once they’d stopped speculating about her and actually spoke to her, she found most of them quite lovely.

Sometimes she lost herself and genuinely enjoyed the company of the people Richard brought her around, they all seemed so normal talking about lunches and rationing and longing for days before the war, until she watched them stand and perform the single and double armed salutes with purpose and she grew nauseous at the idea that she forgot they were the enemy.

Sometimes, when she started to see the humans and not the Nazi party, when she started to sympathize with the young mothers who passionately just wanted a better future for their children and didn’t understand the lengths the men at the front lines were going to, she didn’t know who she was.

Deep cover did that to people. It was doing it to her.

It had been too long since she’d seen Steve, and even though his letters came like clockwork, she was starting to feel unmoored, starting to feel adrift in the lies. Keeping track of what she had told Wallace, what she was supposed to think he knew, what he knew and what she really knew he knew was getting exhausting and confusing. She was tracking real and fake troop movements, letting slip false information and protecting real information while getting every bit of intel from him that she could.

It wasn’t much, but she was working on it. The dinner parties weren’t fun, but they were chock full of information and were increasing in frequency. And she’d finally, finally gotten a break that might just bring this all to an end if she could just hang on a little longer.  

Peggy kept to the shadows of the building, forcing herself to remember how this was going to work. Wallace had said they’d be able to hear, not see.

Crikey O’Rilley, she hated that, but she had to go along with it. Peggy’d lost count. She wasn’t sure if she was a double or triple agent at this point, and in the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this alive.

She stopped and knocked on the door, slipping one hand into her pocketbook. By the time Steve opened the door, she was rimming her lips with a fresh coat of red, the tiny light on the outside of the lipstick container blinking bright green at him, alerting him to the fact that she was wired.

He nodded, but the smile didn’t fade from his face, and his voice didn’t waiver when he said her name and stepped aside to let her enter. She slipped the lipstick away as she moved past him into the small rented room, Steve shutting and locking the door. She could feel her heart pounding.

“It’s been so long,” she whispered, looking up at him, tears in her eyes.

He didn’t let another second go by before sweeping her up into his arms. “I know. I’m sorry.”

She clutched at him, tears coming hard and fast, and they didn’t need to say anything for long minutes as they just held one another until she caught her breath. They both knew someone was listening, both knew they had a part to play that wasn’t planned, but for just a few moments, in silence, they could be themselves.

Peggy pulled away far enough to put a foot of space between then, dropped her bag on the floor and shrugged off her coat.

Steve watched as she started to unbutton her blouse, swallowing hard. “Peg…”

She shushed him with a silent finger to her lips, and stopped only halfway down her chest, opening her blouse to reveal the wires taped to her chest. “I’m afraid I can’t stay, Steve.”

His reaction was real. They’d been expecting for some time Wallace would bug them, or find a way to surveil them closer, but she knew Steve wasn’t prepared for this. Wide eyed and surprised, he looked her up and down. “What? Why?”

“I’ve come to stop this.” She shook her head and pointed at the wire, pleading with him to understand. “Things have changed quite suddenly and…”

“And what?” He asked, stepping closer, hands fidgeting, energy building up in him as he tried to figure out what to do with the situation.

“And I’m leaving with Richard.” She nodded, telling him this was true. “He’s offered me more than you can. Offered to take me away from this damned war.” Tears pooled in her eyes, but she pointed to her purse. Steve dropped down, rummaging through it quietly as she kept on. “What can you give me but eternal war? You know they’ll never let you stop, never let ‘Captain America’ retire, and I deserve more than that.”

Steve sat back on the floor, holding up a blank envelope. She nodded, but it didn’t change the devastation on his face. “I don’t understand, Peg.” He took a slow breath and added the next part for the wire’s benefit,  “I thought you loved me.”

She pressed her lips together and looked away, fighting the tears. “I do. I don’t think anything will ever change that.”

Steve scrambled to his feet, taking her into his arm. “Please don’t do this, Peg.”

She pulled back and kissed him, desperately at first then taking on a feeling of softness as the seconds ticked by before she pulled away. “You know why I’m doing this,” she whispered, eyes finding his.

He could only nod.

It’s all in there, Peggy mouthed, nodding her head towards the letter in his hand, Find me. She took a deep breath and stepped away, buttoning up her shirt. She bent, throwing her trench coat on quickly and shoving her bag over her shoulder. When she stood, she looked over her shoulder at him.

Without thinking, Steve dropped the letter and picked her up, pressing her against the door and kissing her with all the desperation and passion he felt. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, giving in and letting herself indulge. He pulled away far too quickly, but kept his eyes on her as he snaked a hand down her shirt and crushed the bug between his fingers.

Peggy shook her head, tears coming fast. “Now that you’ve done that I really must go,” she whispered.

“Tell me. Fast,” he begged, holding her tight and running a gentle hand over her cheek.  

“He’s gotten us an audience in Berlin, but we must leave tonight.” She searched his eyes, begging him to believe her as she nuzzled into his touch. “I think…” She took a deep breath, her face as serious as she could make it. “I think I can get to Schmidt.”

“Damn it.” He whispered, setting her down. “You have to go.”

She kissed him quickly. “I have to go.” She pulled away and set her skirt to rights. “Everything’s in the letter. Same ciphers.” She put her hand on the doorknob, reluctant even though she knew what she had to do. She clutched her shirt tight. “Come find me, Steve, and we can end this.”

Peggy pulled the door open and huffed out. “And you’ve broken a button, you brute!” she yelled behind her, stomping her foot and wiping at her tears. “I never want to see you again!” Peggy stooped down, picking up a rock and throwing it at Steve as he stood in the doorway. He closed the door just quick enough to avoid getting pelted, but Peggy didn’t miss that the curtain to his room moved as she moved quickly away, not even pretending to sneak as she set herself in the car in the back of the lot.

She sat heavily in the back seat. Wallace and his Hydra contact stared at her. Wallace’s eyes were dark but calmed somewhat, confused to see her crying, make-up irrevocably smudged. “What… what happened?” Wallace asked almost gently.

“Your wire stopped,” the agent accused sharply.

“He got fresh is what happened,” Peggy spat out, carefully pulling the crushed wire from under her shirt and presenting it to them. “I was able to hide it from him but it got crushed in the process.” She sniffed and tossed the wires into the front seat, looking away. “Thought he could give it a good go of getting me in bed to change my mind.” She huffed, leaning back. “Can we leave?”

Wallace seemed mollified, and waved his hand, letting the agent know to set the car in motion. “Don’t worry, Maggie. We’ll be in Berlin before you know it, then the Alps after that.”

~*~ The Next Day

“Jesus, she’s good,” Howard sat at his desk, scribbling down the decoded message as he went through the letter for the second time. He looked up at Phillips. “We’ve been searching for Hydra on the wrong side of the Alps.”

“What?” Phillips barked, setting his elbows on the table. “Sit down Rogers, you’re making me seasick.”

Steve stopped his pacing and set himself in the seat across from Phillips, but still fiddled with his hands on the edge of his shirt. “You didn’t see her, sir, she was—”

“You think I can’t tell that from how you’re walking around here?” Phillips shook his head at Steve, then turned back to Howard. “As soon as you have—”

“It’s done.” Howard slid the paper he’d been writing on across the table. “We’re about six-hundred miles off,” he shrugged. “She gave us exact coordinates and dates.” He smiled.

[snusbandxknifewife]

Sticky ficky 7!

Have some Oak angst, some Vivi angst, and some Cardan angst feat. Bomb help! I actually made myself sad with this one so I hope y’all enjoy it!

~~~~~~~

Dear High King Uncle Cardan Sir,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to inform you I can no longer engage in correspondence with you, nor can I continue to be your sticky hand supplier. While my alliances were with you throughout this long and trying war, I cannot side with you anymore, given the recent turn of events.

I don’t know what happened with Jude, or why she’s staying in our guest room, but I do know that she suffers. When she saw my green sticky hand in the living room her first night here, she broke down sobbing.

Uncle Cardan, I confess I have never seen my sister cry.

So I send this letter to inform you that I have washed my hands of The Great Sticky Hand War, as I now wash my hands of you. I wanted to be friends, but I must stand by my sister now, as I know she would stand by me.

Why did you have to hurt her?

With disdain,

Oak

Little Oak closed his thesaurus and put down his mechanical pencil, handing the letter to Vivi to proofread. Vivienne Duarte, for her part, had no idea why Oak had decided to stake his honor upon something as trivial as a sticky hand, but she dutifully read over his letter, correcting any spelling mistakes before sealing it in an envelope and promising to send it to Faerie.

If Oak was to become High King one day, he would need to learn diplomacy, this was as good a place as any to start.

So Vivi watched with raised brows as Oak gathered up all his sticky hand memorabilia, his collection and the propaganda posters he’d made for the war, and threw it in the trash without a second glance. His bottom lip wavered and tears seemed ready to spill from his eyes.

Vivi took him out for pizza that night, leaving Jude alone in her room, crying like usual.

~~~~~~

Two weeks had passed since the night Vivi took Oak for pizza, and while she had been confused then, she was now severely worried.

Jude Duarte was a shell of a person. She’d get up to go to the bathroom, but she had yet to take a shower or even brush her hair. She barely ate, and what she ate was anything but nutritious. She denied herself water to the point that her head pounded, and only then would she sneak into her sister’s supply of alcohol, leaving her to wake the next day with a headache already formed.

Vivi didn’t know what the hell to do. She couldn’t handled a normal breakup, one where her sister cried if a certain song came on or because her boyfriend had cheated on her. But how was she supposed to handle a newlywed, exiled from her home and throne? Especially when even the thought of a sticky hand or nerf gun sent her over the edge?

Honestly, Vivi didn’t know what kind of set up those two had had when Jude was still in Elfhame, and she didn’t ever intend to learn. The likelihood of some weird sex thing being involved was way too high for her to even consider asking, not when she already shuddered every time she passed a sticky hand in the toy aisle of the local Dollar Tree.

“Jude?” Vivi called out, knocking on the doorframe of her guest room and staring into the darkness, towards the pile of covers that shielded her sister from the rest of society. “I ordered Chinese food, it should be here in forty-five minutes. I made sure to get sweet and sour chicken, I know it’s your favorite!”

Her fake upbeat tone echoed back to her, but Jude refused to move. With a heavy sigh, Vivi walked forward and sat on the edge of her sister’s bed.

The girl looked like a ghost, her eyes staring blankly ahead and her cheeks stained with tears.

“Jude, honey, you know I love you,” she sighed, patting Jude’s hip. “But you smell like a dumpster. Please come shower in my bathroom.”

Jude, her mouth covered by her duvet, mumbled something Vivi couldn’t understand. Then, after prompting, she spoke again.

“Need help,” she whispered, the most pitiful noise Vivienne had ever heard in her—admittedly short—life. Jude Duarte, asking for help? Fuck.

She decided not to say anything, opting to just pull down the blankets and allow Jude to use her shoulders as support to sit up.

Jude’s time in the Undersea had been tough on her body, and her wallowing in the mortal world had worked overtime to rob her of whatever muscle and fat she had left. Starving oneself and laying in bed at all hours of the day was a terrible recovery strategy, but Vivienne couldn’t really bring herself to berate her sister.

Jude leaned heavily against her sister’s side and together they stumbled through the hall and into Vivi’s bathroom.

Vivi turned on the water, ready to leave to give Jude some privacy, and stopped when she saw the way her sister’s fingers shook. She knew then and there that Jude wouldn’t be able to undress herself, so she did it for her.

Just like when they were children, after Madoc had murdered their parents and spirited them away to Faerie, Vivienne Duarte helped her sister out of her clothes. When they were little, Vivi had been in charge of bathing the twins and helping with their hair. It’s been years since she’s had to do this, but she put Jude in the shower and washed her hair as the young woman sat, face first in the blasting water.

Vivi grit her teeth in anger as she took in the poking bones and concave stomach of her little sister, the girl who had always been full-figured and strong. Her body, her tenacity, her will to live, all taken from her so quickly. Jude Duarte looked broken as Vivi washed her hair, pulling fingers through tangles that had long formed into clumps the size of her palm.

Jude should’ve been safe, she should’ve been ruling in Elfhame, where food and wine abounded and excess was the name of the game. She shouldn’t be wasting away to nothing in a world she never claimed as her own. Cardan, who, by Vivi’s own observation, cared for Jude, should’ve known what banishment would do to her.

No matter what happened, no matter why she’d angered him, he should’ve never banished her. Not then, not so soon after she’d been tortured.

Vivi helped Jude out of the shower and helped her dress before steering her towards the living room, where Oak was waiting with the Chinese food, Teen Titans playing on the old tv.

Vivi took her food into her room and sat down with a pencil and paper.

Cardan Greenbriar, you worm-eaten husk of a man,

I don’t care who you are or what you are, I don’t care about curses or crowns or kingdoms or fate, I care about family. And, right now, mine is hurting. Fix things with my sister, or, so help me gods, you’ll be fucking mincemeat.

Sincerely,

Vivienne Duarte

The paper ripped in some places she was pushing so hard, but she figured that would help get the message across.

She sent it directly to the High King of Elfhame.

~~~~

The scent of smoke hung thick in the air of the unnaturally quiet room. The birds outside the open window knew to stay silent as the man on the floor threw a second crumpled up paper into the crackling fire.

The High King of Elfhame’s rooms were in shambles; furniture broken in rage, tapestries form down by hands with nails bitten down to the quick, books toppled from precarious places on overfilled shelves.

One man, the king himself, sat in the center of the carnage, his back pressed to the foot of his grand bed and his legs stretched out towards the fire roaring in the corner of his bedchamber.

His eyes were wide but unseeing, tears cutting ragged trails through the dirt smudged across his cheeks and his hands shaking in his lap. His tail, freed from his breeches, was the only part of him smart enough to try and hide from the flames. It stuck out behind him like a sore thumb, cowering under the bed in a way that he wished he was small enough to do.

What had he done to his Jude?

He’d thought for sure she would’ve put two and two together, would’ve figured out his riddle. She’d already announced herself to be the High Queen if Elfhame, all she had to do was say she pardoned herself!

He’d considered that maybe she had been to tired from her ordeal the day of her banishment to decode his words, but he was positive she would’ve been recovered enough to come back and claim her throne by now.

His Jude, his darling god, should’ve been by his side already.

When he’d received Oak’s letter a fortnight ago, his very heart, as scabrous and small as it may be, had felt like it was ripped from his chest. His nephew, his only family left—save his mother—so recently introduced and so quickly ripped away from him. He had to admit that one day Oak would make a fantastic diplomat, he was already capable of getting his point across with scathingly few words.

But when he’d gotten Vivienne’s letter, that’s when he began to realize he’d truly fucked up.

His head pounded and his stomach was in knots as he wondered what had happened to his wife in the past two weeks, what had warranted such strong words from his sister-in-law and former friend. Was Jude sick? Had she hurt herself? Was she refusing to eat?

Would she recover? He couldn’t even begin to picture a world where Jude didn’t recover, where she wasn’t fighting tooth and nail to better herself, where she wasn’t the powerhouse he always saw her as.

Deep down in his heart he knew that he’d done the one thing that all the torture in the Undersea wasn’t able to do: he’d broken his wife’s spirit.

He’d never forgive himself.

“Your Majesty!”

Cardan didn’t so much as blink as the Bomb screamed, entering the disaster of her king’s rooms and likely expecting to find his dead body on the floor.

When she saw the fire, she gasped in horror and grabbed Cardan by the shoulders, throwing him as far away from the fire as she was capable of.

The fire had reached halfway up the wall and was dangerously close to engulfing the bookshelf closest to the window. Anyone with a brain knew that, if she left to get buckets of water, the whole room would be up in flames by the time she returned. So, she made the executive decision to sacrifice his duvet—the duvet that he’d pulled up over his sleeping wife only two weeks and a day prior.

She threw the duvet over the fire and began to stomp on it, her thick rubber-soled boots making a hollow THUNK every time she brought her foot down.

When the fire finally stopped trying to fight back and the room was full of cloying black smoke, she pulled the remains of the duvet up.

And it stuck to the floor.

The Bomb furrowed her brow in confusion and pulled harder, bracing her feet against the stone floor and yanking with all her might until the duvet finally gave up and she went flying backwards, landing harshly on her butt with the ruined duvet in her hands.

The underside of the duvet was covered in black scorch marks and some strange, multicolored substance that she can’t quite place.

But Cardan knows what it is, and he reached for the duvet; his fingers running through the molten hot rubbery liquid, tears springing to his eyes once more.

“Your Majesty?” Bomb’s voice was quiet, confused as she watched the boy king spread boiling hot goop between his nimble fingers.

“I couldn’t look at them anymore,” he whispered back and Bomb put two and two together.

He’d started the fire to melt all his sticky hands. The gifts from his nephew, the game he’d played for weeks with Jude. All up in flames in the blink of an eye.

“Why hasn’t she come back?”

Bomb winced, reaching to try and pull his hand back. She could see boils starting to form on his fingers and she knew that if she didn’t get the melted sticky hand off him soon, his skin would burn so badly that it fell off.

“If you were her, would you?” Bomb asked, succeeding in grabbing his hand and worrying at her bottom lip as she saw the blood red burn marks on his hand.

He ripped his hand back from her, forcing her to look him in the eye, to see the wild devotion in his face and the desperation dripping from each tear.

“I’d always come back for Jude. Do you understand that?” He sounded ragged, broken and robbed of comfort. “Always. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of going after her, Liliver. Please, you must know that. You have to know that.”

The Bomb had never seen anything like this, not from Cardan, not from another faerie, not from anyone. This kind of pure, unrestrained pain reached out from every facet of the king’s being and grabbed her heart with a grip of cold iron, throttling her as she watched him suffer.

“Liliver I did it for her! Everything I did was for her, she has to know that. She can’t not know that!” He’d reached the point of sobbing, his burned hand hanging limply at his chest and starting to well blood from where the burns broke his skin.

“They would’ve killed her, Liliver, we both know it!” Cardan’s voice cracked and he folded over himself. “You saw what she looked like, she was wasting away! No mortal should ever be that thin, Liliver, certainly not Jude!”

“Your Majesty, please.” Bomb didn’t know what to do beyond grab his injured hand once more. She pulled him to his feet and hauled him over to the bathing chamber, but he stopped in the doorway. He refused to go in, refused to hard that brambles grew over the entrance and stopped the Bomb from trying again.

So she moved him to his desk and she sat him down. It took about a half an hour of work, but she was able to pull the ruined sticky hand mash off his hand, burned skin and blood falling away with every movement. The whole time he sobbed, he lamented, he worried. Cardan Greenbriar, High King of Elfhame, told her every word from the two letters he’d received because he’d memorized them both in his pain. He told her of his fears for his wife and he asked for her advice and she didn’t know what to tell him.

She didn’t know what she would’ve done if she’d been Jude and Van had been Cardan. She didn’t know how to come back from a betrayal like that.

“Write back,” she finally offered as she bound his hand. Around them ash was still falling and his room was still a disaster, but at least Cardan seemed to have recovered some of his composure; sewn together just like his ruined hand. “Write Jude, tell her what you meant. You can’t leave Faerie to go get her, not with Madoc on the prowl, but that doesn’t mean you can’t speak to her in your own way.”

He froze, his hand throbbing against the confines of his bandages as he looked at the Bomb. She was right. She was seldom wrong.

Liliver figured that she wouldn’t get his dismissal, not with the way his gaze had gone so distant so suddenly, so she excused herself. She arranged for the rest of the Court of Shadows to clean his rooms, ensuring that she was the one cleaning his bedchamber.

She watched as he wrote and wrote and wrote and she said nothing, not that he would’ve heard her anyway. He was way too far in his own head.

She found herself grabbing his jacket off the floor—no doubt thrown in a fit of anger earlier during the night—and she found herself walking towards his closet.

Cardan Greenbriar hadn’t gone into his closet since that night, his wedding night. Not since he’d been with his wife, his darling.

So it was Liliver who found the discarded blue sticky hand with the broken ring finger, the only sticky hand saved from the great sticky hand fire.

She didn’t even think as she grabbed it and hid it in her trouser pocket, slyfooting away and out into the hall. She didn’t think as she snuck into a back tunnel and worked her way up to the room that Jude had kept as Seneschal. She didn’t think as she opened Jude’s bedside drawer.

And when she was met with a pink glittery sticky hand, she smiled. When she set the blue hand next to the pink one, she thought that maybe, just maybe, these two would have a chance.

She hoped they’d have a chance.

~~~~~~~

Hope y’all don’t hate me yikes lol

Tag list: @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @hizqueen4life @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thewickedkings @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @cheekycheekycheeks @queen-of-glass @b00kworm @doingmyrainbow @andromeddea @jurdanhell

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 7

AO3

Helen learns about the hit that’s been ordered 

John addresses the guilt that’s holding him down

John packs up quickly, filling the car pretty much to the brim, holding on to the knowledge that he really doesn’t know when he’ll come back.

By putting a contract out on Helen, it was no longer a matter of killing DeLuca and ending this. The contract was open. Whether he was dead or alive, people would come for her.

And while dead was the only way John wanted to see Mateo DeLuca, the fact remained that only he could remove the bounty on Helen. DeLuca, he thinks, or the High Table.

But the High Table wasn’t going to give a shit that Helen Kingston was a civilian. That she hadn’t done anything.

A hit was a hit.

He isn’t sure how he’s going to fix this.

John goes back down to the basement, to his workshop, and found a book hidden among the masses. It’s a newer book that stands out among his bookbinding collection. Larger than most.

He selects it and heads back to the main floor. John lays it open and takes out his phone to prepare to send the message.

As technology got better, so had hackers. Even phones issued by the Continental were subject to being hacked or tracked. He, Marcus, and Sofia had set up a failsafe years ago.

Even if the phone was hacked, it would take years to crack the code they came up with.

He opens the book and finds the first letter he needs, capitalized. He types in the page number, followed by the line that the word is located on, and finally counts out how many words into the line it is.

John hears Helen’s footsteps on the stairs and spares a glance upward. She has a tower of books piled into her little hands. He withholds a smirk and instead, shakes his head. “Just those?”

“This is as many as I can safely carry.” She replies, walking towards him and setting the books on the side of the table, “But rest assured, I’ll be back to steal more.”

He says nothing to that because he can say nothing. Every plan he’s had is screwed up now. His original thought, to separate himself from her, is in shambles now that every assassin in New York knows her name.

She peeks at his phone, “Is that an Ottendorf cipher?”

John feels himself inhale sharply. Why does she have to know that?

It’s such a small thing, really, but she says something like that and his heart starts to stutter in his chest, making him all the more aware of just how much he loves her. He loves her and he can’t have her.

But she says that and he’s lost.

“Yes, but modified. Do I want to know how you know about Ottendorf’s?” John asks, instead.

“I was a paranoid child.” She says, glancing over the book he has chosen, lifting the cover without closing the page to better assess. “All my childhood diaries were written in some kind of code.” She glances up at him, a small smile on her face, “I made up my own cipher when I was eleven to pass notes to my friends in school.”

It occurs to him that she’s never mentioned her own childhood before. Of course, he knows a bit. Between his actual stalking and the time spent on the Continental database, finding every piece of information on Helen Kingston, he was bound to find some things.

Like citations from Elementary school where she got her class to mutiny against a teacher or the handful of detentions she got for backtalk.

But they’ve never talked about her early life before.

Their lines had always been blurred but this was one they hadn’t crossed.

John glances back to his book, “Quite the little rebel.”

She shrugs, “We talked about it last week. What are rules in the face of meaninglessness?”

“And here I thought we were stepping away from nihilism.”

“You’re stepping away from nihilism.” She corrects, “I’m quite content with the idea that there’s no plan or grand design.”

His lips twitch, “There’s still some food left in the kitchen if you want to grab something before we go.”

She hoists her books back up, “Alright. I’m going to drop these in the car first.”

John nods, continuing to compose his message. The Ottendorf cipher was difficult to crack because not only did you need the right book, you needed the right edition, the right printing. It was also a bitch to decode because it required time and accuracy. He, Marcus, and Sofia even took it a step farther by using the first letter of every word rather than using the word itself and often wrote in shorthand.

That said, it was a bitch to put together.

He manages to type out the address of his safehouse and hits send.

John types up a quick message to Winston that he was going off the grid until further notice as he goes back up the stairs. He changes quickly, forgoing the suit for something more casual. Jeans and a t-shirt are oddly discomforting but a three-piece suit would stick out in the middle of nowhere.

Once changed, he checks his phone one last time before powering down.

By the time he finishes, Helen is outside, leaning against the car, eating an apple.

He makes a mental note that they’ll need to stop and pick her up some new clothes because the sight of her dressed in his makes it hard to breathe.

“Ready?” He asks.

She nods, pushing off the car and opening the passenger side door. “Do I want to know about the matching holes in the windows?” She asks as she climbs in.

“Probably not.” He admits.

Helen shoots him a smirk as she buckles in. He’s grateful when she dives into one of the books she had brought rather than asking him questions. He’s still not sure how to broach the subject.

She knows something is wrong, he’s certain, but she hasn’t asked.

Not that he’s offered information. He wants to keep it from her, to protect her for just a little bit longer but he can’t. It’s not fair to her.

Every so often, he catches her looking up from her book, checking road signs and overhead passes that give off locations, directions.

Her curiosity is palpable but, even now, she’s playing the therapist. Not pushing, just waiting for him to get there on his own.

It’s not right. She shouldn’t have to do all the work for them. He tries to bring it up, pushes himself to say something, anything, the next time she looks around curiously.

Half an hour passes.

Then an hour.

Then two.

He gives himself until the clock on the dashboard hits the hour mark. Then he watches as that arbitrary deadline passes, too.

At quarter past, she looks up at one of the signs and he forces himself to choke out the word, “Vermont.”

Helen looks over at him, an eyebrow raised. “Vermont?” She repeats.

He nods, “I have a safehouse there.”

She looks back at the road ahead of them, “Are you ready to talk about it?”

No, he thinks. But it doesn’t matter. They need to talk about it. She needs to know what’s going on.

What was the expression she used? Quick, like a band aid?

“DeLuca put a hit on you.”

He glances over, gauging for a reaction and is met with a simple nod. “How much?”

That, John thinks, should not be her primary concern but he answers anyway, “Four million.”

That makes her head shoot up, repeating the number while staring at him, “Four million dollars?”

He nods, once.

“Jesus.” She mutters, shaking her head, “For four million, I’m tempted to turn myself in.”

John’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.” Helen rubs at her temple, “Fuck.”

That about covered it, John thinks.

He waits. She’s kept it together this long but news of a bounty on her head has to be enough to snap her out of the idle calm she’s been sitting in. He waits for her try cry or get angry or scream but, no. She shakes her head and looks back to the book on her lap.

He can’t help himself. “Seriously?” He asks, looking between Helen and the road, “You have a four-million-dollar bounty on your head.”

“Yes.” She agrees.

“There are hundreds of assassins looking for you right now.”

“I gathered.”

“Helen…” he cuts himself off, before he says something stupid.

She closes the book and leans back, facing him the best she can in the moving vehicle. “Do you think it would help?”

“What?”

“Do you think it would help if I broke down right now? If I started crying, do you think it would help either of us? Freaking out will not help me handle everything that’s going on. And it won’t affect the guilt that you’re clearly experiencing from something, and I can’t emphasize this enough, was beyond your control.”

He flounders for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as he searches for how to respond to her, “You’ve been kidnapped.”

“Mhmm.”

“Held hostage, sedated, been forced to play mind games with mobsters,”

“Seems like it was only yesterday.”

“And now you have a four-million-dollar hit out for you and you’ve barely reacted!”

She shrugs. She fucking shrugs and John wants to pull off to the side of the road and fucking shake her just to see if that sets her off.

“We all process things differently, John.”

“What have you processed?” He asks, unable to keep the frustration from his voice, “You’ve been eerily calm this entire time!”

She waves a hand, “I started processing it before it even happened. Maybe, if it had been completely out of the blue, I might have had a more visceral reaction. But let’s be real: this was going to happen at some point or another.”

“You were going to be kidnapped at some point or another?” He asks incredulously.

“Given the circumstances, it isn’t a large jump.” She points out. “You’re the Boogeyman. You might not understand all the fear people have when it comes to you but you recognize it. Fuck, I saw firsthand how terrified of you DeLuca’s men are. But you don’t present with a lot of exploitable weaknesses. And, regardless of how I entered the picture, it’s easy to see we have unhealthy boundaries.”

It takes him nearly a minute to process everything that she says and, when he does, he’s shaken.

“You’re saying you knew you were going to be kidnapped because we supposedly have unhealthy boundaries?”

Another shrug, “I wasn’t blind to the possibility that I could be targeted as a way to get to you. And there’s nothing supposedly about it. Our therapeutic relationship has been fucked since the beginning.”

John does a doubletake and looks over at her. “No, it hasn’t.”

Helen snorts, “One month in, I told you to forgo Tarasov V. Regents. A single phone call from you and I could have had my license revoked and my practice disbanded.”

“Isn’t trust the basis of a good therapeutic alliance?”

“There’s trust and then there’s putting my career in your hands. But if you don’t think that’s enough to indicate our God-awful boundaries, we could talk about your late-night stalking habits.”

John’s head flies to look at her.

“Traffic, John.”

He swerves and narrowly misses driving off the road.

His mind reels. She’d never mentioned it before and neither of them has ever brought it up. He operated somewhere between the assumptions that she didn’t know and that she would never mention it if she did.

He asks gruffly, “What did DeLuca tell you?”

She snorts at that, “Please. DeLuca doesn’t see nuances. He’s just convinced we’re sleeping together.”

“Then how--?”

Helen glances over, her voice softening, “Give me some credit here, John.”

He swallows, “How long have you known?”

“Five months.”

Since the beginning.

He watches the road, suddenly hyper-aware of the pounding of his heart, the hairs on his arms that are standing on end, and the tension filling his body.

He’s unable to look at her. He wonders if he’ll ever again be able to look at her, knowing that she knew. This whole time, she actually knew.

How many times had she asked him if he was planning for a late night, supplying him with coffee, all the while knowing that his late night was going to end sneaking into her home and watching her sleep?

And she had known? For five months?

And no, John Wick wasn’t the kind of man you took a restraining order out against, but she knows him better than anyone. One word from her and he would have disappeared.

Morbid curiosity and confusion get the better of him. “You never said anything.”

“You would have stopped.”

It really isn’t fair, John decides, that she can read him like a book despite his prevarications and evasions. But she answers him, and he can barely understand her.

“And that would have been a bad thing?” He can’t keep the incredulity out of his tone.

“I weighed the pros and cons.”

Now John can’t help but look at her. Calm as ever, her eyes remain kind and non-judgmental. “You weighed the pros and cons.” He repeats.

She nods, once, and John really isn’t sure what the hell kind of pros she came up with to sit back and just let that happen.

“Do you really want to have this conversation right now?” She doesn’t sound exasperated, only concerned. “I’m pretty sure you’re about to pull the steering wheel out if we keep going.”

He considers it, but John is pretty certain that the only thing worse than talking about it would be to stop. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to sit in his anxiety now that it was known.

“Yes.”

“To having the conversation or to yanking out the steering wheel?”

He shoots her a look but is a bit relieved that she’s still making jokes. She gives him a smile.

“I figured it out fairly quickly, I think.” She admits, “I woke up one night and just had a gut feeling that I wasn’t alone. Saw your reflection in the window but it was the middle of the night, and I was tired, and so I just went back to sleep.”

“Probably shouldn’t have been your first instinct.”

He doesn’t even have to look to know that she is rolling her eyes again, “You really want to start talking about instincts and poor decision making?”

She has him there.

“Anyway, you were gone when I woke up. At first, I thought it might just be a one-off. You’re a paranoid bastard. It made sense that you wanted to see where I live, gain a little bit of perspective. Trust that I wasn’t some sort of sleeper agent out to kill you or some shit. But then you came back.” She looks back to the road, almost thoughtfully. “And you kept coming back. So, I sat down and thought out a list of pros and cons.”

“And the pros outweighed the cons?” The disbelief is apparent in his tone.

“Yes.”

This, John thinks, has to be the most surreal conversation he’s ever had in his life. Casually talking about the pros and cons of stalking his therapist, with his therapist. Only for said therapist to decide that there were more pros than cons.

“What possible pros did you find?” He asks more out of interest than validation.

“What would you have done if I addressed it in session?”

He blinks at her answering his question with a question. Truth be told, he’s not sure what he would have done but walk out and never come back seems like the most likely.

“You would have run.” She says, matter-of-factly but somehow still manages to make it sound nonjudgmental. “Which, given your history of disorganized attachment, is perfectly understandable. But, it would have been a drastic step that would have pushed you farther away from the healing process.”

“After all this,” John bites, “You still think I can be healed?”

“We've talked about this before, John. There is no "perfect healing" when it comes to trauma. Things can and they will come back up. But I think that you can get to a point where you can let go of the things that have haunted you for so long.” She lets out a breath, “But nobody can get there on their own.”

John shakes his head, “And healing me is worth having your space violated?”

She huffs, “Believe it or not, it isn’t all about you, John.” He glances over and she shrugs. “I— I sleep better on nights you were there.” Helen pauses, then adds, “You keep the nightmares at bay.”

Her words cut him like any knife, but he feels it so much deeper than any cut.

Nightmares.

His thoughts seem to erupt in too many directions at once for him to even follow?

Nightmares?

She’s known for so long.

She sleeps better when I’m there.

What does she have nightmares about?

How the hell have I never noticed that she has nightmares?

Not like she would’ve fucking told you. She’s your therapist.

But she says I keep the nightmares away…

She know; she knows; she knows.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He can’t handle it, can’t process it right now. Especially while driving. He needs a moment. Or a few thousand.

How can someone’s presence simultaneously sustain him and destroy him?

They pass a highway sign advertising food, gas, and lodging.

It wouldn’t hurt to fill up the tank. They still had hours to go.  And she needs food. Real food, more than just an apple.

“Can you eat?”

She smirks knowingly at the abrupt change in conversation, “Yeah. Probably should.”

He nods to himself, pulling off on the exit ramp. Focusing on finding food, on providing, was much easier than letting himself sit in his own thoughts.

But even as he switches focuses, keeping an eye out for one of the places advertised, he can still hear her in his mind.

Your abrupt change in subject indicates that you’re afraid. Are you afraid, John?

They both knew the answer to that. He was fucking terrified.

He catches sight of a diner and pulls into the parking lot. They’re far enough from the city that he isn’t too concerned that anyone from his world will see them, but he hasn’t put it out of his head that he could have been followed. Even watching the rearview constantly hadn’t helped to ease the paranoia that came after having Helen taken.

John puts the car into park and Helen shoots him a grin, gesturing to her outfit. She’s still wearing his shirt and sweatpants, drawn tight. “Hope you don’t mind that I’m hard-core scrubbing it.”

He blinks, “I don’t know what that means.”

She rolls her eyes and gets out of the car, “Come on, John.”

He follows her into the diner, which boldly advertises breakfast all day. He keeps his eyes peeled and steps directly into the space behind her as he assesses the patrons.

A few bikers, a teenage group of friends, and two couples. It was late enough that the actual dinner rush had died down.

“Stay close to me.” He mutters and she shoots him a look over his shoulder, as if to say, seriously?

He nods.

Helen rolls her eyes but murmurs, “Fine.”

“Two?” A waitress asks.

“Yes.” Helen replies as John nods once, adding, “The back booth, please.”

She gives him a look, as well, but grabs two menus and gestures with her head for them to follow. Helen starts to sit on the near side of the table but John gives her a tap. She sighs quietly but goes to the far side, against the wall, and scoots into the booth. John sits next to her.

“You want anything to drink?”

“Just water, please.”

“Coffee.” John says.

The waitress walks away and Helen leans into the corner, “We’re hours away from your place; hours from the city. Do you really think we’re going to run into trouble here?”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

“I’d roll my eyes but if I keep doing that, I’m afraid they’ll get stuck.”

He shoots her a look and pushes the menu towards her. Helen only grins in response but takes the menu and looks it over.

He peruses it idly before turning his attention back to the people in the diner.

The teenagers looked normal but he had been trained to kill when he was their age. No one blended in quite like a teen.

The bikers had plates from South Dakota. He had checked all the license plates on their way inside. How many assassins lived a nomadic lifestyle?

Fuck, there had been a time where John, himself, had lived like that. Riding under the hot sun, funding his travels by killing at night.

The couples seemed inconspicuous but there was nothing to indicate that it was anything more than a cover. How often had he posed with Sofia as a couple on complicated cases?

The waitress comes back with his coffee and her water and he’s sick to his stomach, thinking of a thousand ways they could be poisoned.

“Know what you want?”

Helen orders first, offering a kind smile to the older woman.

She’s so trusting, he thinks, and that terrifies him.

“And you, hon?” She asks John.

“The southwestern hash.” He pushes his and Helen’s menus across the table and the waitress takes them, eyeing him.

Was the waitress a part of the Underworld? A spy for people leaving New York?

Had he made a mistake by choosing some place only a few hours out from the city?

But she turns and walks away.

Everything else has him on edge.

He acknowledges that he’s paranoid as he picks up his coffee and swallows it down. The burning almost helps to alleviate the frustration.

Over the course of the weekend, he’d lost her. He’d lost the woman he loved to an unknown enemy; had clung to the idea of finding her to keep him going. And Helen had managed to save herself. And things weren’t fixed by getting her to safety, but they were better.

And now, DeLuca was pulling this new shit.

While most of the older, more disciplined assassins were smart enough not to go up against him, he wasn’t naïve to think others wouldn’t come.

He had been a young, stupid assassin once, after all.

He’d made his share of stupid decisions trying to make a name for himself.

And what better way to make a name for one’s self than to go up against a renowned assassin?

He remembered his training well.

The Director had beaten it into their heads: it only takes one bullet.

One well-aimed bullet, one perfect blow with a knife and even the best would fall.

John would die for Helen, happily, a thousand times over. But things were fucked and dying for her wouldn’t be enough to keep her safe with a bounty on her head.

And he didn’t know where DeLuca was.

He didn’t know what it would take to remove the bounty and—

Her hand lands on his thigh and he nearly drops the coffee mug in his hand. Quickly, he sets it down, glancing over to her.

Her hand is on his thigh.

Fuck.

“Tell me five things you can see.” She says and he knows better than to ask questions when she’s using that sort of tone.

He blinks, swallowing as he looks around, “Uh, there are thirteen people in this room, aside from us. There’s the exit sign. A clock. An old license plate on the wall. And you.”

“Four things you can feel.”

“The seat we’re on. The scratch of denim. The air circulating. Your hand.” He tries to keep his voice from breaking at the last. Her hand is on his thigh.

“Three things you can hear.”

He listens, intently. “Murmur of conversation. The sounds from the kitchen. Coffee being poured.”

He can tell what she is doing. Simultaneously distracting him from his paranoia and grounding him in the moment.

“Two things you can smell.”

John breathes in and stutters on the exhale. There are many scents in the diner that he can distinguish, but none more powerful than her. Bathed in his shampoo, his body wash from her shower. She smells like he does and it makes his head go a little fuzzy when he thinks too much about it.

He swallows, deciding he is not going to say that. “Uh, I smell the grease from the kitchen. And my coffee.”

“And one thing you can taste.”

“The coffee.” He says, before he can start to think of what he wants to taste.

“Good,” Helen praises and she squeezes his thigh, “Are you with me?”

“I’m here.” He wonders if he’s flushed.

Helen had, once again, pulled him out of his head. Stopped him from going down a darker path and it wasn’t right, he thinks, that Helen is having to calm him down.

“Are you?” She asks, raising her hand from his lap up to his face. She cups his jaw and turns his head to face hers, “Because you look like you’re still lost in your head.”

“I’m sorr—”

“Don’t be. You have no reason to be sorry, John.”

He doesn’t deserve her. Not her love, not her friendship. Not even her help. She’s too good for him, but now, neither of them have a choice. He got her into this mess and now she won’t survive without him.

“This is my fault.”

“I’m not exactly blameless, John.” She removes her hand and he immediately mourns the loss of her touch, “I kept you on as a client even after knowing what you do. I knew you were sneaking into my house at night and I didn’t do anything to stop your or dissuade you. I’m positive that I don’t have the best security at my house.”

“It’s not the same th—"

“John.” She interrupts him again, “Look, we can go back and forth for eternity about where the blame goes. But it’s not going to do us any good because, ultimately, it lies with DeLuca.”

Helen pauses, giving him a moment to ingest what she has just said, before she adds, “I know you’re not used to being scared. And I know it feels like a lifetime since things have been out of your control. But everything is going to be okay.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can. Because no matter what happens, no matter what horrors and traumas we face, no matter what loss we experience, we still get up in the morning. We figure things out, we adjust our tactics, and we do what we have to.”

He almost believes her but his fear lingers.

He offers a small smile, “Is that how you managed to stay so calm when DeLuca had you?”

She smiles back, adding teasingly, “I figured you’d be stressed enough for the both of us.”

John relaxes his posture, still on guard but no longer feeling fight or flight instincts that had been drowning him since their arrival.

Their waitress walks over and Helen calmly smiles, thanking her as they’re passed their dinners.

John waits until the waitress has gone to respond, “I’ve had missions go south, but not being able to find you, not knowing who had you…” he shakes his head.

“You crave control.” Helen says understandingly, “With your life, in general, of course. But primarily, over your emotions. So you ignore them until something sends you into overdrive.”

“What’s the solution there?”

She reaches over with her fork and snatches a bit of hash from his plate, “No easy fixes, unfortunately. We’ve already talked about rational verse irrational thoughts. The next step would be directly talking about your reactive attachment but I don’t think you’re fully ready to address that.” Helen tells him as she pops it into her mouth.

“What the fuck is reactive attachment?”

She swallows, “One day, I’ll let you read your file.” She takes a sip of her water, “Okay, attachment crash course: attachment is, basically, the bond that develops from person to person. It starts when you’re a baby and the relationships that you have in your early years tend to be large indicators for the rest of your life.

“Babies have needs that have to be met: being clothed, being fed, changed, and cuddled. When these needs are met by a consistent caregiver, babies start to develop trust. They can recognize their caregiver, they feel secure in knowing that, even if their person leaves them, they’ll come back.

“But, these needs aren’t always met. And, when kids don’t form secure attachments, it effects their relationships growing up. If not addressed and treated early, it transitions into adulthood.”

John couldn’t remember that far back but he still remembered the tribe. The orphans were taken care of. They weren’t abandoned but they sure as hell hadn’t been loved, either. He remembered, not too long before he was sent to live under the Director’s care, being in the orphanage and telling one of the little ones to stop crying.

Nobody cared.

It was best to learn that lesson early than to waste tears on someone who would never come.

“And what does that look like?” John asks.

“Being withdrawn from social interaction; not asking for help when you need it because you don’t trust anyone to come through for you; feeling like you don’t understand the world around you, like everyone else is in on something that must have skipped you; not seeking comfort; avoidant behaviors; a tendency to shy away from intimate relationships.”

John exhales a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Jesus.”

“When kids with RAD—reactive attachment disorder—start to form connections, they typically go one of two ways. There’s the disinhibited, where the kid with RAD ends up becoming overly emotional. They search for affection in anybody who pays them the slightest bit of attention.”

That didn’t exactly describe John so she continued, “There’s also inhibited. Those kids avoid any emotional bond, they reject kindness and relationships because they don’t trust it. Even if a kid likes someone, they eventually reject them before they can be rejected.”

John swallows. Just that morning, he had been thinking about how to disentangle himself from Helen. He had justified it by telling himself it was to protect her. From him, from his enemies.

But Helen was still there; still sitting by his side. Still trusting him with her life despite everything.

“When kids with RAD grow up, relationships—even friendships are strained. There’s a fundamental lack of trust that’s based in fear. You avoid close relationships; avoid personal relationships, period.”

“I didn’t avoid you.”

She inclines her head, “Yeah, well…” She takes another bite of her dinner.

“Well, what?” He’s almost afraid of the answer with the look she’s giving him.

“It isn’t unusual for someone with RAD to over-attach themselves to one or two people in particular. Those relationships tend to be a bit obsessive.”

And now, he needs a drink. He preferred to savor bourbon, but he was ready to down a bottle to avoid this particular conversation again.

He can’t help but wonder if she knows just how far his obsession for her goes. If he told her he loved her, would she say that she already knows? After all, she knows everything else about him. Or would she smile sadly, empathetically, and tell him that she cared for him, but not like that?

He wasn’t sure which would be worse.

John had accepted a long time ago that he would love her forever. That he would never feel for another what he felt for her.

A part of him is… almost angry. He loves her but it isn’t because of his trauma.

She’s kind and good and so damn empathetic. But she’s more than that. She’s clever and unyielding. Smart and funny and so damn beautiful, inside and out.

And he isn’t sure he can give a reason why he loves her but he doesn’t want his feelings for her, his obsession, his love for her to be tainted by the abuse he had suffered.

“I don’t want to be defined by that trauma.” It slips out before he can think better of it but Helen takes his words in her gentle way. Her head tilts to the side.

“Do you feel like you are?”

“Sometimes. At least, that I’m a product of it.”

Helen nods, thoughtfully, “You are… distinguished by your trauma. It has shaped you, just like every other experience you have been through, you are changed by it. But you are far more than the sum of your past, John.”

John shakes his head, “The things I feel… they’re not normal.”

Again, her little hand finds his, resting atop the back of his hand. She squeezes in comfort.

“That doesn’t mean they’re not real.”

Ultimately, John thinks, he’s still fucked in the head.

But it’s a little easier to live with that fact with Helen at his side.

[bessmarvins]

So, you guys got a preview of this thanks to the challenge that @knockoutqueenoftheunderworld tagged me in. It’s been sitting in my drafts for months almost finished and I think it’s rambly and just ajgwjaoig i’ve been debating on whether or not to even post it but I don’t want to put anymore energy into it. I just want to throw it out into the void lol so here ya are: another chapter of my lil ficlet series (first installment here) ok thank you goodnight happy belated birthday @ladylindaaa 

Nancy rubbed her eye, leaning over her case notes on the floor of Frank and Joe’s room in the sleeping car. She twirled a thin lock of her red hair around a long finger and titled her head, staring intently at the letter Lori had given her. She had to squint in the dim light of the bedside lamp, her slightly unkempt brows furrowed. She trailed her pencil across the paper, following every line, silently mouthing the letter word for word. 

Frank noticed all of these things. He noticed everything about her. He noticed the pea-sized beauty mark next to her eye, he noticed the chipped maroon polish on her nails, he noticed the way her breath sped up and slowed back down again as she tried to decode the letter. He was trying so hard to stop noticing. He couldn’t help it. Something kept his eyes glued on her, from the moment they met at Union Station.

The truth was he had noticed her long before that. He had always had a crush on Nancy, not that he’d admit it to anyone. Especially not Joe, who caught on fast and teased him mercilessly for it. He was always eager to answer her calls, excited to talk through her cases with her. He loved hearing the awe in her voice when she figured out a clue and the gratefulness in it when he and Joe (somehow) managed to be of help to her. 

She was so god damn smart. Frank could hear the gears turning in her mind over the phone. He was convinced she didn’t need him and Joe--she could have called anyone to use as a sounding board for her ideas and figured it out on her own. She usually chose to ask their opinions anyway, and Frank was more than happy to oblige.

But since they met for this case, it’s begun to feel less like just a crush. He and Nancy (and, admittedly, his brother) had formed a sort of bond. They quickly found their rhythm together working the case and Frank thoroughly enjoyed their dynamic. It was exhilarating: their first case with Nancy Drew on an old train chugging along through the Colorado desert.

Maybe being in such a dreamy atmosphere was clouding his mind. The romantic backstory of Jake and Camille certainly didn’t help. But the more time he spent exploring and investigating with Nancy, the more he gravitated toward her.

He was sure she had noticed him staring by now. He could usually keep his cool over the phone, but being here, in person with her, able to see her bright blue eyes, touch her soft arms and smell her perfume when they hugged at the train station...it was wearing him down.

They hadn’t seen each other in two years, their last encounter at Joe’s high school graduation party. He recalled their earlier meetings, in the midst of puberty, when his crush had first formed and he stumbled over his words in front of her. He felt like that 15 year old kid again, stuttering and mumbling around her, begging Joe not to embarrass them. Not much had changed.

In reality, Joe’s antics on this trip were probably charming her more than anything, and Frank was just making things awkward. 

Luckily, Nancy was just as excited to work with him-them-as he was to work with her. She was beaming when they met at the train station early that morning. She ran to them with every clue she found on the train, eager to put all of their brains together.

If Frank wasn’t so insecure he’d notice Nancy’s eyes lingering on him more than Joe when the three of them huddled in the dining car. He’d interpret her compliments on his abilities and intelligence as more than just friendly observations of a fellow detective. He’d realize she admired him in more ways than one. Nancy was usually the oblivious one, but for a semi-professional detective, he was being incredibly obtuse.

Then again, she wasn’t exactly being as upfront as she would be about anything else. Nancy was nothing if not blunt, but she couldn’t very well treat Frank like a suspect. She had no issue confronting everyone on this train, but confronting her feelings? That sounded like a nightmare.

She was also all too aware of the ethical reasons she couldn’t, or shouldn’t, tell Frank how she felt. While they weren’t exactly talking at the moment, she knew Ned was waiting for her at home. She knew he’d eventually apologize. She wasn’t even sure what he’d be apologizing for. She was always the one who needed to say sorry.

She hadn’t seen the boy in two years--so what if her crush had resurfaced? Was it worth risking a solid relationship for a fleeting desire? She had something real, something tangible. Frank Hardy was always just a guilty pleasure of her imagination; a fantasy her mind wandered to when she wanted to get out of her own head, out of River Heights.

But wasn’t that the life she craved anyway?

Joe had fallen asleep already, his steady, quiet snoring trailing down from the top bunk. Nancy and Frank sat close on the floor below and kept quiet. Frank was leaning against the bottom bunk he had claimed, Nancy sitting cross-legged a few inches in front of him. The dim light of the lamp on the bedside table shone warm and yellow on Nancy’s skin.

About an hour had gone by without either of them uttering a word, sitting in comfortable silence together. Admittedly, Frank had spent the better half of that hour looking at or thinking about Nancy rather than the case.

“Can you make heads or tails of this?” she asked him, waving Jake’s letter at him. “I thought I cracked part of it but I might just be sleep-deprived.”

Frank yawned and took the paper from her. He stared at the old parchment paper, the fading black script swimming in front of him. Calico, Silverado, blah blah blah...He wiped his hand over his face and handed the letter back.

“Nance, it’s been a long day. I think it’s best to just look at it with a fresh set of eyes in the morning.”

Nancy looked disappointed as she took the letter back. She made no moves to get up, just resumed flipping through her notebook. As tired as Frank was, he didn’t want her to leave, so he pretended to be looking at his own notes and tried not to fall asleep. He rested his head against the bed behind him. His eyes fluttering shut. He’d just rest his eyes for a moment...then he could spend more time with Nancy...

He jolted awake when he heard himself snore. He jerked his head up and looked at Nancy, who wasn’t looking at him, but still immersed in her notes. Thank God, he thought.

He wiped the corner of his mouth surreptitiously, in case, god forbid, he had drooled during his nap. He couldn’t have been out for long, she probably didn’t even notice...

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said, smiling slyly as she kept her head down. Frank blushed, admittedly enjoying the sound of that coming out of her mouth.

“Sorry, it’s been a long day, I guess it just..caught up to me. I-”

“No, I’m sorry, I’m probably keeping you awake.”

“Oh, no, I mean, obviously I can fall asleep sitting straight up with you here, so...” He smiled, embarrassed.

“I just...feel a little weird in my room. It’s where Camille used to sleep, apparently, and before you say it,” Nancy looked at him pointedly. He smirked. “No, I don’t believe in ghosts now. But I think John Grey has been pulling tricks to make people think Camille’s spirit’s roaming around here, and I don’t want to be a target.”

“If you say so, Drew. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Joe you’ve suddenly become a believer.”

She shot him another look.

“I do say so. After what Lori pulled on us, who knows what else we’re in for.”

“You have a point,” he conceded.

“I always do.” Nancy smiled playfully, and Frank’s stomach knotted. He was in awe of the way they fell back into this groove every time they worked on a case together. The light teasing, bouncing ideas off one another.

“Plus, Tino said something about ‘going over our notes together,’ which I think means he just wants to see what I’ve found out so far, and I don’t want to be there if or when he knocks on my door. I’d rather just avoid him.”

“What a sleazebag.” Frank scoffed. “He’s been so condescending this whole trip, and he wants to take credit for your work. Let me know if he says anything else. I know Joe is just looking for an excuse to deck him.”

Nancy shook her head. “No no no, Frank, really, it’s okay. I can handle myself.”

Frank backtracked. “I know! I was mostly kidding. I-I wasn’t saying you couldn’t, or-”

“Besides, I really don’t want you to get kicked off of this trip.” She put her hand on his tense thigh.

Frank softened immediately. “You’re right. I wouldn’t actually hit the guy, you know. Joe might, though.” Nancy breathed out a laugh.

He kept talking to keep his mind off of her hand on his leg. “You can stay in here as long as you want. I mean...I’ll even sleep on the floor, if you want to take my bunk.”

“No, I couldn’t do that to you!”

“Nancy, please. As you can see, I’ll fall asleep anywhere.”

She stayed silent, reluctant to accept his offer, but inwardly groaning at the thought of sleeping on the floor of a train car.

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

She smiled graciously.

She scooted over to lean against the bed next to him, her arm dangerously close to his.

“You’re the best.”

Frank cracked a toothy smile and he felt a flutter in his stomach.

“I’m so glad you invited me. I was really excited to hear from you,” Nancy gushed, but instantly cringed, wondering if she was coming on too strong.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Frank’s deep voice and sincere tone sent a shiver down Nancy’s spine.

Their hands, propping them both up on the floor, were nearly touching. Nancy shifted hers so her pinky grazed his thumb.

“You know, I missed you guys, a lot.”

Frank turned to her when she said this to find her facing him, her nose just a few inches from his, her ice blue eyes gazing at him. He had never seen that look on her face before, and he was trying to pin down what it was when she whispered, “Especially you.”

Nancy’s lips curved slightly. She hoped he finally caught on. A girl could only drop so many hints.

Frank thought he might be imagining the signs due to fatigue, but in that moment he didn’t even care if he made a fool of himself. His eyes flitted across her face before determinedly, but slowly, leaning into her, giving her plenty of time to back away. She didn’t.

He hovered a centimetre from her, the end of his nose touching hers. They sat suspended in time, delaying the inevitable. Their eyelids slipped lower. Frank held himself there, thinking that as long as this was all that happened, they weren’t breaking any rules. There was nothing wrong with this. Nancy might have had the same thought. He dared to move a little closer.

Nancy closed her eyes but did not move, allowing Frank to capture her lips in his. Her lips tingled, the sensation traveling down her body, between her legs, down to her toes. Her breath caught.

Once she finally regained control of her body, her lips began to move in sync with his. 

Frank’s hand moved up to the side of her face, his fingers tickling her ear and just below her jaw, and another jolt ran through her. She placed a light hand on his chest, noticing his firm muscles below his soft t-shirt.

As the hand on her cheek slipped into her hair, Frank moved his other hand to her waist and leaned further into her. Her skin seared where he touched her. She broke away for a millisecond to breathe a shaky breath before reconnecting with him, leaning further into him, applying more pressure.

Her tongue had just found its way into his mouth when a particularly loud snore from Joe made them jump apart. Nancy’s eyes widened and pointed upwards where the younger Hardy boy rustled.

Frank held his breath until his brother stopped stirring, watching Nancy’s face shift from startled to embarrassed. She blushed, but had a mischievous twinkle in her eye. They caught eyes and awkwardly chuckled.

He felt like he was in high school again, almost caught by his parents on the couch in the basement with a girl. That was usually Joe, though.

Nancy bit her lip and looked at the ground. Frank cleared his throat to break the silence. The moment was gone.

“I think it might be time to get ready for bed,” Frank whispered, gesturing to his brother. 

Nancy laughed silently and pushed herself up off the floor, brushing off her soft white shorts. 

Frank grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste and headed out of the room without a word. Nancy blew out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and sat down on the bed, leaning against the wall and trying one last time to decipher the letter. Anything to avoid thinking about what just happened.

When Frank walked back in a few moments later, Nancy forced her eyes to stay focused on the paper in front of her, but she could feel her face heating up.

Frank shuffled awkwardly, unsure what to do next. Were they supposed to talk about it? Pretend it never happened?

He was just about to ask Nancy to hand him a pillow from the bed so he could make up his sleeping arrangement on the floor when she perked up.

“Wait, I think I figured something out. Look at this,” she beckoned to Frank and he sat next to her on the bed, looking over her shoulder at the letter. 

“The oven in the dining car has some symbols on it that I saw on the scale that opened the door to Jake’s projector room. Do you think that’s what he means by a warm place?”

“It definitely could be. Either way, it sounds like the oven is significant.”

She turned over her shoulder and their eyes met. Again, Frank lost all rational thought and fought sleep away, forcing his eyes open as he grabbed his notebook again and leaned into Nancy to continue looking over the letter.

The two of them pored over the notes again in silence, this time on the small twin bed. Frank was suddenly wide awake, alert and aware of every sensation. His temperature rose every time she shifted and their arms touched, but she was clearly unruffled by the whole event. Leave it to Nancy to act like nothing had happened five minutes after the fact.

Eventually, Nancy’s eyes began to droop and her head lolled to the side, hovering above Frank’s shoulder. He shifted so her face met his arm and she could rest on him comfortably. She jumped awake at the contact.

“Ugh, now I’m falling asleep.” She smiled sheepishly at him. He chuckled.

“It’s okay, we can just go to bed and take another look in the morning. It’s late.”

Frank moved to slide off the bed when Nancy timidly grabbed his wrist.

“You don’t...have to sleep on the floor, Frank. I-I mean, it’s so uncomfortable, I don’t want you to be in pain tomorrow.”

Was she implying they could share this small bunk bed? After what had just happened? His stomach was twisting--he wanted desperately to lie down next to her, both for the comfort of an actual bed and the contact it would allow. But that would make things even murkier.

She had a boyfriend. His brother was in the room, just a few feet above them.

Frank turned to her and wished he hadn’t, because it crushed any resolve he had left in him. Her bright blue eyes were glossy with fatigue, and something else. Something he couldn’t say no to.

“Are you sure? It’s really no problem...” he said, noncommittally.

She nodded, pulling the blankets down. Swallowing hard, Frank leaned over to turn the dim lamp off and lay on his back next to her, being careful to keep his body as far from hers as possible. Although in this twin bed, even that meant he could feel the static in the space between their arms.

Nancy yawned and turned her head to the side, gazing at the outline of Frank’s profile in the dark. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his face, to trace his hard jawline speckled with stubble. She closed her eyes and tried to just enjoy the weight of his body next to hers. In an instant, she slipped into slumber.

Despite his racing mind and pounding heart, it didn’t take long for Frank to fall asleep either.

Not much later, Frank was awoken by a sudden pressure on his chest. He opened his eyes to a mass of red tresses just under his chin, shining in the moonlight spilling through the room’s small window.

He sighed as he realized his arm had instinctively wrapped around Nancy when she sidled up next to him while they slept, her leg draped over his and her dainty hand gently lain on his collarbone. His heart sped up to the point where he was afraid it would wake her.

Slowly and carefully, Frank shimmied them both deeper under the covers and tried to slide them closer to the wall in an attempt to obscure their sleeping position should Joe wake up.

He told himself he didn’t want to remove Nancy from his chest because he didn’t want to wake her. Any other reasons, he shoved deep down. He closed his eyes tight, willing the guilt away and trying his best to ignore the warm, glowing feeling radiating from his entire body.

After another hour or so, Frank was again awoken, this time by Joe climbing down from the top bunk. Panicked, Frank turned swiftly onto his side, facing the wall, forcing Nancy onto hers and shielding her from sight. She stirred in her sleep, her hand mindlessly rubbing up and down Frank’s abdomen. 

Christ. This isn’t helping.

She didn’t wake, even when the door slammed shut behind Joe as he went, presumably, to the bathroom. By the time he came back to the room, Frank’s and Nancy’s legs had tangled further together and Nancy’s hand had slithered up onto Frank’s face, her thumb grazing his cheekbone.

She really moves a lot in her sleep. Frank’s half-conscious mind wandered. She’s probably a blanket hog, and rubs her cold feet on whoever she shares a bed with...Frank could get used to it.

Frank held his breath until he heard his brother lay back down above them, hoping he hadn’t seen the extra mass beneath his blanket. He really didn’t feel like answering Joe’s questions, or being the target of his poorly-veiled jabs in front of Nancy and everyone else for the rest of the train ride.

We’re not doing anything wrong. She needed a place to sleep. Cuddling up next to a warm body is a reflex, it just happens. We weren’t even conscious. The excuses rolled through his head on a conveyor belt. He tried not to think of whom Nancy usually cuddled with, hogged blankets from and bothered with her cold feet. He again fell into a comfortable sleep.

Frank would have been annoyed at being woken up for a third time that night, had it been anyone else. When he opened his eyes, Nancy was crawling over him, her long legs stretching carefully to avoid stepping on him. She gracefully slid onto the floor and adjusted her shorts.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall told Frank it was 6 AM--there was no way Joe was up yet. Nancy tiptoed toward the door and slowly slid it open. When she turned around to close it she locked eyes with Frank, realizing he was awake.

He felt embarrassed that he was caught watching her, but she grinned at him in a way he hadn’t seen before, like there was a secret between them. He realized the look in her eyes was the one he’d seen last night. Her gaze lingered on him a moment as he rubbed the sleep from his eye and smiled back. She slid the door shut and Frank dropped his head back onto the pillow, still feeling her warmth on the mattress next to him.

Nancy strolled back to her own room in the quiet of the morning, soft blue light flooding the train car. Too disoriented to recognize any potential consequences, she couldn’t stop smiling.

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

These Violent Delights Ch 5

Decoded Message

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Small amounts of langue, but nothing else. 

Author’s Note: I know! This chapter is super short. But honestly, I felt that if I continued it, it wasn’t going to flow very well with what will come next. So next chapter will be longer for you guys. 

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

<< Chapter 4 || Masterlist || Chapter 6 >>

The moment there was a knock at the door, Adriana opened it quickly, already knowing who was on the other side. After getting a phone call from Elijah, she left Bonnie and head straight to her father’s home. She kept her face steeled to details she had going on inside of her head.

The Mikaelsons hadn’t missed the look on Adriana’s face as she stood in the doorway. The last time they had seen that look on her face, Adriana had just finished dealing with Mikael. If anything, Elijah had been standing in the same place his father did that night Mikael came barging in.

“Adri, you should invite our guests in.” Victor’s voice carried over from the living room.

Without a word, Adriana pushed the door open and stepped away from it. While she may have not known all the details to this little visit, she already didn’t like it. Her father had been out of the game for so long that he should no longer should be on their radar. Yet here they were, walking into her father’s home, about to ask several questions.

“We hate to bother you Vic.” Rebekah said as she entered the living room.

Her eyes landed on Victor as he sat on the couch. He looked different from the last time she had seen him. He looked older, and there was something about him that Rebekah couldn’t place her finger on. But it almost made her feel guilty for coming over.

“Let me guess, you wish to use my insider knowledge for a case you’ve got going on.” Victor said as he gestured for the Mikaelsons to take a seat on the couch across from him.

“Something like that.” Rebekah said with a nod before looking over at her brother. “We have reason to believe that you’d be able to help us catch a mercenary.”

Victor laughed. “You’ll only find them if they want to be found. Especially the good ones that are out there.”

“Humor us.” Elijah said watching as Adriana walked into the room and stood behind her father with her arms crossed over her chest.

“You could put my dad at risk for giving up this information.” Adriana said shaking her head.

“Your father might already be a target.” Elijah said keeping his eyes on hers. “Damon Salvatore made a phone call earlier today. It was in that call that he made a threat towards a mercenary, by the name of Rosa. They only gave a letter as indication who this threat was made about.” His eyes finally shifted to Victor. “V.”

On the outside, Adriana’s features hadn’t changed. On the inside, she was freaking out. If it wasn’t for her training, her heart would have speed up with the fear that was currently coursing through her at the information she was hearing. But just as she had done this plenty of times, she was able to calm her racing thoughts.

“What makes you think it has anything to do with me?” Victor asked as he looked at the siblings before looking up at Adriana.

“We ran a list of Damon’s known associates, even extended to people he possibly knew intimately throughout the years.” Rebekah said as she leaned forward in her seat. “Only two names on that list were currently not in jail or dead. Your names.” Rebekah’s eyes shifted from Adriana to Victor.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Adriana said shaking her head. “Why would Damon target my dad? Without incriminating anyone, we’re friends with the Salvatores. There wouldn’t be a reason. But this conversation is going to give them a reason if it continues.”

“Adri,” Her father said to stop her from her usual rant. Even he knew what this was about. Just like Adriana had done, he done a great job about not reacting. Damon threatened Adriana with him being the target. He was now curious who was on the black card that his daughter had gotten that Damon would need to make that threat.

Elijah sighed. “I assure you, the purpose of this conversation is to ensure you and your father are safe.” Elijah moved his eyes back to Adriana. Her eyes met his and never moved. “Rosa has a target here in New Orleans. From what we can tell, she knows her target intimately. If Damon has to make a threat to ensure the job is completed, it shows that this time it’s personal between the two.”

Victor noticed the way that Elijah had kept his eyes on his daughter. He looked between the two for a moment before settling on Elijah. “‘V’ probably isn’t associated with anyone’s name.”

Adriana’s eyes moved to her father. She knew what he was doing in that moment. “You don’t have to do this.” She said placing her hand on his arm. “They could use this against you in the future.”

“We wouldn’t.” Rebekah said shaking her head. “This is purely informational to make sure that the both of you remain safe while we still don’t know who the target is.” Looking at Adriana, she continued. “I know our families have been at ends for a while now. But I give you my word, that anything your father says today won’t be used.”

Victor placed his hand on top of Adriana’s and patted it a few times before looking up at her. A silent message between them. Mostly Victor telling her this was going to happen even if she didn’t want it to. Adriana nodded and Victor looked back to Rebekah.

“Do you happen to have a copy of the conversation?” He asked. “Knowing what was said might give me an indication as to what they could have been talking about.”

Rebekah pulled her phone out of jacket pocket and pulled up the recording she had sent to her phone. Placing it down on the small coffee table before them, Rebekah pressed play.

The first few minutes of the recording played. Adriana could hear her distorted voice and Damon’s come over the speaker. This proved that Elijah had heard the whole conversation. That alone made her heart skip a beat as she listened to it.

Don’t expect me to do the works on this. I’m changing it to a drop and run.

Just think of all the fun you’ll have beforehand. You might hate dropping it off later, but at least you’ll enjoy it while you can. While dropping and running would be easier, you know you’ve been waiting a while for this.

Fuck off, Damon.

It seems I’ve struck a nerve

No shit. I’ve got have a mind to back out of this and return it to sender.

But no one does it as good as you do. Come on, Rosa. You promised if I called, you’d answer. Plus it’s be a shame if I had to have a talk with V about this.

I dare you Salvatore. It’d be an eye for an eye and there’s only one of them that’s currently a sitting duck. While a personal visit would be fun, I have friends in low places that would be willing to help a girl out.

Rebekah tapped pause on her phone. “Does any of that make sense?”

Victor nodded. “Of course I’m sure you know what the drop and run means.” He watched as the siblings nodded. “V in this is a person. This Rosa has a boss, whoever trained her knows both Damon and Giuseppe, who is your ‘sitting duck’ in this reference. When bosses hear their successor are backing out of a deal, the tables would turn on them.”

Victor wasn’t completely wrong and Adriana knew that. While the information had been false, some of it had some truth. Greta wouldn’t be informed in any way. It wasn’t her and Giuseppe that would get contacted. It was Stefan and Victor that would be killed.

Rebekah nodded at Victors words. “Alright, one last thing. The two talk about ‘the works’ any ideas what that means?”

Victor sighed. “Every mercenary on the black market has ‘the works’. It’s deemed their specialty and how to make the target never see it coming. From what I could tell, Rosa knows her target in some way. Implanting herself into their lives isn’t going to be hard because they’ve already been there. If contact to her boss has been threatened, she must have asked for an incentive to continue.”

Elijah chuckled. “She did. She asked for triple the payment up front.”

Victor gave a whistle as he looked up at his daughter for a moment. “Even I was never bold enough to ask for that much.” He said with a smirk growing on his lips as he looked over at the other two. “For that kind of money, you better believe this Rosa is going take down her target without any hesitation.”

Both Rebekah and Elijah looked towards each other at the information Victor had given them. This completely changed everything. If Elijah was in fact the target, it was someone he’s known the whole time.

_____

The moment the door closed behind the Mikaelsons, Adriana braced herself for what her father would have to say. She waited until the sound of the car started and pulled away before she turned to face him. When she did, she saw the knowing look on his face.

“He’s on the black card, isn’t he?” Her father asked taking a step towards her.

Adriana nodded. “Damon’s reasons are for locking him up as well as Stefan.”

Victor shook his head as he ran his hand along his chin. “The works?”

In front of her father, Adriana allowed herself to break down when she needed to. “How am I supposed to do that to him? I left for so long, how am I supposed to just push myself in and do this? Damon only gave me a week.”

Her father walked over to her and pulled her into a hug. “The life of a mercenary was never meant to be an easy one.” He said as he ran his hand along her back. “But all we can do right now is point them in the other direction and hope they’ll follow that trail. That way it's easier to get your job done.”

Adriana pulled away from Victor at his words. His words were anything but comforting. What she heard in his words were that she needed to go through with this. No matter who it was on the other end of the cross hairs, Adriana was going to have to do this.

“After it’s done, I’m leaving for good.” Her voice sounded empty compared to moments before.

“With that kind of payout, I should hope so.” He said with a nod. “If they find out Adri, this is going to make things so much more complicated.”

She nodded her head. “I know.”

“Move up the timeline and then get out of here. That way I know you’re safe.”

Adriana’s eyes widened at the words. That hadn’t been a suggestion. The finality in his voice had told her he wanted to move faster. The faster she went the faster she was out of town.

<< Chapter 4 || Masterlist || Chapter 6 >>

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[thegalaxysyst3m]

Human Flaws Chapter 5

Chapter 6. Chapter 5. Chapter 4. Chapter 3. Chapter 2. Chapter 1.

     When the twins were younger, Remus had found Roman a font that helped combat his dyslexia at the start of middle school. Ever since then, Roman used it for everything he could. The only issue was that the books in the library did not use the font he could actually read. They all used that crappy Times font that he had to read over and over to understand.

       So as he got into his English class, and decoded the board, he visibly cringed; They were reading Erapon in class today. It was a book by a guy called Paolini and Roman hadn't liked it so far. Maybe he just hadn't gotten to the good part yet.

      That was probably it; seen as he hadn't gotten past the second page. So he tried to listen to his English teacher as she spoke, "By now you all should be up to page ten of Christopher Paolini's Eragon," She held up a copy of the book, the name printed in all caps.

     Roman looked at the board and then at the book. Then once more. It was called Eragon, not Erapon. It at least made a bit more sense than when he had first read it.

      Mrs. Williams continued, " If you're not up to or past that point then I suggest you catch up during your free time in class. However, before you do that, you all need to get these definitions copied for the next few chapters." She handed everyone a list of words. 

The words were as followed: Taciturn, Countenance, Troubadour, Flagon, Florid, Requiem, Bereft, and a few others that Roman struggled to read. So he got out a dictionary from the bookshelf and started flipping through it. 

     This was going to take him a while.

--------

      At the rate he was going, Roman would have to finish some of the definitions for homework. Perhaps he could ask Remus to help him after school. All of this would have to wait, however, because Mrs. Williams asked him to wait after class to chat. Anybody in Mrs. Williams' class knew that "chat" was never a good term to hear her say to you. Roman felt right to assume this would be about how he hadn't even finished his definitions.

     However, as she walked up to him, she sat down and handed him a sheet of paper. He took it, awaiting some sort of reprimands from her, only to hear, "It's a permission form to get an audio book from the library. All you have to do is hand it to somebody at the front desk and ask them for a copy of the book for class. They should be able to find you one." 

     He nodded, putting the paper in his pocket, and grabbing his things. She smiled- which was quite an odd thing to see from her- and hands him a drawn map of how to get to the library. He was bound to appreciate that on his way there. He wasn't good with remembering verbal directions. So he gratefully took the map and thanked her as he headed on his way, giving her a sincere thank you as he passed the door.

       Roman started walking, looking at the map as he went. He really should have how to get to the library memorized by this point. Yet, he still needed directions for it every time. Hell, when he went to the library with Remus for tutoring, his twin had to get them there- and Remus wasn't all that good with directions either. It was like a wild goose chase to find the library. Except the library had never been running, it was just two idiots who had no idea where they were going.

     He looked back at the map; First he needed to take left, and then he needed to go down the stairs, then take a right, then another right once he was next the spiral staircase, and finally he would be at the library doors.

     As he got to the turning point he was glad he had a drawn map rather than not-so-simple words on a page. It saved him an awful lot of trouble. Maybe he should just keep the map for the next time he needed to get to the library. It seemed like a good idea.

      He continued like this for a couple minutes before he reached the doors of the library.

     Roman walked in, taking in the smell of old books sitting on the shelves as he went. He never hated reading, he just got.... bored with it. It took him a long time to read things and it made it difficult to get sucked into the books like he wanted. Roman still thought he'd give anything to not have his Dyslexia. He always had and he always stayed that way. He didn't think he'd be changing his mind any time soon. 

     He got himself out of his thoughts and went up to the main desk, "I wanted to know if you had an audio book for Eragon?" He handed the librarian, Joan, the slip of paper out of his backpack. Joan looked at the sheet and then back at Roman, "Can I have your name please?"

     Roman looked at the permission slip. Surely it had his name on there somewhere. He sighed, Yeah, that's easy; Really Obviously Muscular And Nice. R. O. M. A. N."

      Joan smiled a bit and started typing in the computer. Then they frowned after a couple seconds. "Tsk. Sorry Ro, we don't have an audio copy for Eragon in here yet. However if you want, I'm sure somebody here would be willing to read it to you. If you don't mind me asking, how's your tutoring going? Is Logan helping any?"

      Roman nodded. Logan seemed like he could be very helpful- that is- if Roman would stop getting distracted by him. Roman was about to say he was going to go look around the library for some other books when he heard him talking behind him. Speak of the devil. Of course that would be his luck. Why wouldn't nerdy wolverine show up in the library.

       Roman looked back at Logan behind him and politely move out of the way. However. Joan seemed to have other plans. They seemed to smirk at Roman as they spoke, "Hey Logan! What are you reading this time? Have you tried Paolini yet?" Logan looked at his hands, lost in thought for a moment. Then he shook his head, looking at everything but Joan the Librarian. He caught eyes with Roman as Joan lit up with an idea, saying, "If you'd be interested, Roman here is reading a book by Paolini in his English class and he thought you might like it. Eragon specifically; Maybe you could read it together?" 

      Logan looked at Roman's jacket this time, not one to look people head on. Then he nodded. Already walking ahead and searching to find the specific book in the library. He looked back at Roman momentarily looking him in the eyes and then motioned for him to follow him as he searched. Roman tried to think of where it would be as he looked.

     Both boys knew the library was organized alphabetically and then by last name. The farther shelves were letters further down the line from A. On the walls were nonfiction and educational writings and the shelves in the middle of the room were all nonfiction of some kind. So Paolini would be farther to the back of the room on the center bookshelves. So that's where Roman looked while Logan leisurely walked the isles, scanning the letters.

     So when Roman found it first Logan looked a bit shocked as he went to go sit with the brown eyed boy. He sat down nonetheless at the table and Roman got out his own copy from the classroom. Logan looked at the first page, scanning over it before looking back at Roman. He was trying to do the same, but he looked so frustrated just from a single page. Logan hadn't thought it was that bad. Maybe Roman just wasn't a fan of his writing? He looked at him again, trying to figure out the emotion on his face. Roman had gotten out a reading ruler and was silently voicing out the words he was trying to read. Logan tried to find where he was reading. Roman was flipping around his letters and it sounded like he was flipping some words entirely. Logan looked again at Roman, "I can read it out loud for both of us if you would like, Roman." Logan didn't want to upset him though so he didn't say anything else. He knew what if felt like to feel less than. Many kids thought of him as weird. Odd. A freak.

      But none of that was true. He wasn't any of those things. And even if other people did, Logan didn't want to get rid of his Autism at all. It made him who he was and sometimes he wasn't sure what life would be like without it. So he was not going make Roman feel that way for his Dyslexia no matter what. So as Roman nodded with a defeated sigh, Logan only smiled at him, making note of an idea in his head for later.

Taglist: @shootysturs @punsparcethesnake @wishthefish916

[shadoedseptmbr]

For Work In Progress Wednesday:

I am fooling around with a framing device for a few ME2-pre ME3 sketch fics I’ve been piling up but it’s still rough.  Wouldn’t mind a little feedback from the peanut gallery.

Case Files

Not immediately. 

Major Alenko absolutely does not run to the SPECTRE office with his new authorizations to view files he honestly has no business seeing.

The second Human SPECTRE nods and smiles and shakes hands during the small party the Council insists upon.  He does an interview with a shockingly meek Al-Jilani. He has a cup of tea with the drell, Tannor Nuara, though he’s pretty sure that’s not his name and checks in with Dr. Michel to remind her to keep him updated on the hospital’s needs.It’s no problem, he assures her. He used up enough of the resources, himself.

Kaidan goes to his quarters and changes into his fatigues and opens a beer he probably shouldn’t. He sends another message to his mother and makes a few replies to friends.  He starts in on the endless pile of paperwork.  He considers dinner, a shower, hitting the training facility. He drinks his beer.

An hour after that, he’s in the elevator, in the hallway, avoiding an ambassador’s aide.

It’s probably a violation of privacy.  It’s absolutely taking advantage of privileged information.  But he needs a few answers, if he’s ever going to sleep at night without wondering if he did the right thing.

Her file is...staggeringly long.  He scans a few others, for comparison.  His is almost nothing but his BaAt file, his service record, and the three debrief interviews he did after Alchera. After Horizon. After Earth and Mars. Others are thicker and thinner.  Saren’s is heavily redacted even with Kaidan’s authorizations and the affirmation of the Reapers and ends with “Status: Revoked. Terminated.”

Shepard’s starts with a few files from an orphanage that he just glances through, most of which are nothing but “Fostered: Date. Returned: not much later.” There’s one black and white holoscan of a little girl with tight braids, freckles, big eyes and a gap tooth grin.  It’s labeled: Eden Magdalene Shepard 

No other record found matching available data. Possible id not confirmed.

But it’s her.  He can see the woman in those clear, direct eyes.

There’s a stack of arrests for an Ace Shepard 

Possible alias. Matches available data. Records sealed for age 

And one mugshot.  Definitely Aedan Shepard, the scar under her eye still fresh and stark. Red hair, though unnaturally crayon bright, half shaved and shaggy on the other.  Those eyes lined in red, staring at the camera like murder from a pale, bone thin face. Black lipstick smeared across her sneer. One arm long and dangling, the other in a cast, strapped to her side.  A sketchy green tattoo on her neck in the side view of a knife, a slash of purple make up stark across a nose too big for her pixie face. No age listed but she can’t be 14 by the date.  

An Academy admissions form for Aedan Shepard with an accompanying note from one Commander Anderson that he skims to land on a final line. “I know she isn’t what you usually look for. She’s going to need some remedial work. Trust me on this one, Mira.”

Her Academy file shows grades gradually improving to higher marks. Her physical improves faster, doctor notes indicating that between regular meals and gene mods she’s going to make the height/weight requirement by the end of her first year. Her marksmanship punts her into the stratosphere.

Another picture in familiar Academy togs. There’s his...there’s the Shepard he knew. No visible tats, Dark red hair, short but neat. Seven freckles across her leonine nose not quite hidden by regulation makeup.  The scar is faded, but still raised. Eyes level and cool, mouth firm.  Baby professional.

He knows her service record almost as well as his own.

There’s the one holonet picture from Elysium, Aedan in her black bikini and flip flops, dogtags flying, pistol steady, directing someone (a teenage girl, she told him later) to fill a hole in the defense. There’s the picture from a little later, chin high and firm in her dress uniform: an admiral pinning the Star of Terra to her chest.  He can see Anderson leaning over to Hackett in the background.

There’s a cross reference to her N file.

Commendation after commendation. One flag for disrespect to a superior officer.

SPECTRE CANDIDATE

There’s the file on the Normandy SR1, the holo of her SPECTRE induction, and the Saren mission.

Her Alliance report on the mission, the letter to Ashley’s mother. A few interview files.

A debrief they’d called her to Arcturus to give.  She’d shrugged it off as routine and they’d run to the Citadel for shore leave.  

There’s the official Alchera report cross referenced with his. Joker’s. Chakwas’.

He slows down. There’s a termination flag that wasn’t removed.

Attached to that is an addendum from another SPECTRE, Tela Vasir, cross referenced with the Shadow Broker file three weeks after the Collector attack on the SR1.

Situation to be reviewed. Shepard and/or remains possibly recovered. Check all Cerberus contacts.

The next data is a bioscan from the security checkpoint on Zakera, two years and a few weeks after Shepard had been declared dead. An alert notice. Three grainy stills from the security chief’s office. Not quite clear enough to make out details beyond hair and height. And two figures in Cerberus gear behind her.  

He’d just left the Citadel posting for Horizon the week before. 

The next file is video only, fuzzy. Clearly from a planted device. Kaidan rubs his eyes before he hits play on grainy footage with biometric data rolling on the outside edge. 

A red haired, slender, short figure in black and red N7 armor strides into Anderson’s Citadel office.  She walks like Aedan, that rolling ship gait.  She draws up short in front of his desk.  He speaks, she answers, he speaks again.  And he watches her whole body jerk as if she’s been shot.

All formality lost, her hands spread.  She’s yelling and Anderson isn’t meeting her eyes as he replies.  That square posture droops and hers matches. 

She slaps a data drive on his desk, turns on her heel and marches to the door.  The bug must be by the doorframe, Kaidan can see details now.  She turns her head and there they are, the scars that shocked him, glowing along her jawline pulled open and raw by the awkward position. They look like they hurt. He almost misses the word she asks over her shoulder. “Kaidan?”

Anderson shakes his head and Kaidan can lip read well enough to get, “Classified.”

Her hand clenches on the doorframe. “Two years, Boss?”

“Yeah, kid.”

She jerks a nod, says something else as she turns to go. Her shoulders square before she walks through the sliding door. He catches a glimpse of white and black on a figure just outside. Anderson leans against his desk, head down.

A holo of a Normandy; the SR2. Flying Cerberus colors in the Citadel docking bay.

Biometrics confirmed. SPECTRE Status: Reinstated. 

Kaidan closes the file and staggers back to the elevator.

00000

It’s a week of small potato missions before he can trust himself to reopen the file.

Every two weeks, there’s a data dump to Anderson/Hackett, copied and crossreferenced to SPECTRE files. About half include encrypted data that still hasn’t been decoded The Alliance version carries a note dating from nine months ago: Speculation: Code specific to Anderson/Shepard.

The dumps usually come from Illium, shunted through a source with an address he recognizes.  Liara.  

There’s a pile of data from Omega and then a list of files for her crew: Miranda Lawson. Jacob Taylor. Kasumi Goto (notations from Spectre Jondam Bau). Garrus. Mordin Solus. Zaeed Misoni. Urdnot Grunt. Justicar Samara. Jack. Tali. Thane Krios. He recognizes Tannor Nuara and shuts the file down.

Over a cup of tea in the bustle of Huerta’s lobby, Thane blinks but then smiles.  “You were more observant than I expected, Spectre Alenko.”

“It wasn’t my business.”

“No.  But I promised her I would look out for you and I clearly revealed more than I intended.”

“You promised Shepard?”

He nods.  “You were still bedridden at the time. It seemed a reasonable precaution.”

Well, thanks, I guess.

“It was my privilege. She helped me save my son, once.  I was glad to return the favor with her...friend.”

“Can you.  Look, I don’t want to put you in a corner.  I’m just trying to reconcile the Shepard I knew with what happened last year.  Can you tell me...anything?”

“When I met her on Illium, I used her to distract a target.”

A target?  You were there to kill someone?  

You said you read my file?

You were an assassin.  

Yes. 

You used Shepard?

She was...a very good distraction.  My target assumed Shepard was the assassin, tearing through her guard and the tower like fire through dry tinder.  It allowed me to quietly get into position. Shepard got her information and I made my hit.

And Shepard hired you?  It wasn’t that far out of character.  Wrex came to mind.

We came to an agreement.  I was not expecting to be able to work much longer and the Cerberus contract allowed me to set aside money for my son.

Right.  How was it?  On the ship.

Antagonistic.  At first.  There was a line drawn between the Cerberus crew and Shepard.  It was crossed very rarely.  She was.  Not warm.  

Unfriendly?  

Angry.  She drank more than I expect was good for her.  She spoke rarely, to Garrus most of all.  She put her armor on in the morning and we rarely saw her in anything else.

What changed? 

We aided Tali, the quarian?  Kaidan managed not to snap that he knew her.

Yes.  We found her and Shepard made a visible effort to change, Kasumi asked a favor and they dealt with it. She came back...you’ve seen the scarring? 

Yeah.

They were almost closed.  They’d been healing, reopening, healing.  

Garrus needed her help and while we were on the Citadel, she aided me with my son.  He was...about to follow in my footsteps but without my training it was...she saved him.  She helped me stop him.  When she came back to the ship, she went up to speak with Joker and I heard her laughing.  I had not. Before.  

The drell went stiff before him, his dark eyes revealing stark pupils.  “Eyes like ice frozen on the shore, she stands between Kolyat and the ambassador.  She speaks with steady conviction and he listens.  Eyes like the storms on a sea, she shadow steps between the turian and the bullet waiting for him. “He’s as good as dead, can’t you see that.” Garrus drops his rifle.  Eyes like smoke, she laughs like rusty bells on a chain.  Joker tells her he’s missed her.”

His eyes darken to see Kaidan before him, scanning him with an omnitool about to wave over a doctor.  “Forgive me.  Drell have...our memories are revealing.  It seemed the best way to answer your question.”

“What just happened? No...nevermind.  It got better then?”

“Yes.  Until then...She was always a sniper, I assume? “ 

“Yeah, before I met her”.  

“There is a...one has to put oneself in a certain state and a healthy being can slip in and out.  She did not.  Before that.  She was just in the cold, stark place one must be in to pull the trigger.  And then, the wind changed.  It was Garrus and Tali, who made the most difference.  Kasumi mentioned once that Shepard barely spoke before he came aboard, other than mission briefs.  After.  She would visit.  It was…”  Thane broke off in a coughing fit. “Forgive me, I need to…”

“No, I kept you too long. I”m sorry.” 

Thane stood, his hand not quite clutching the chair for support. “I will...try to write down some things for you.  If you’d like.”

“Only if you’re up to it.  I got...I got the gist.  Thank you.”

[poptod]

The Dead Heed No Lies (Ch. 11)

Description: There is a difference between what’s good for the individual versus what’s good for the many, a divide you wished didn’t exist.

Notes: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Word Count: 4k

Chapter Eleven: More Important Things

You began to lose track of how many hours, how many days you'd been searching through the library. Time spent there seemed to both crawl and quicken, the only indicator of passing time being the angle of the sun's light through the windows, which you paid very little attention to, if any at all. The whole ordeal wasn't actually affecting you too badly – your only issue was that you forgot the day of the week quite often. McPhee would remind you whenever he called. But no, for the most part you were fine, and all that mattered was that you were still sane enough to keep sifting through the library's documents. Sac appeared to be fine as well – she adored the different lands and the foreign marks on the maps, loved decoding them and picturing it all in her head.

It was Ahk that was the problem. Again. He was beginning to stress, worrying constantly about how far along Anubis was. His worries weren't entirely unwarranted, but when he began obsessively taking stacks of books and scrolls off the shelves and landing a massive pile of them on the table, insisting the two of you needed to finish that amount by that night, that was irritating.

"Ahk, be reasonable," you pleaded with him, fully over this shenanigan of his by the third time he suggested it.

"This isn't even the entirety of one shelf!" He said, as if that would make it better. "We haven't put a dent into this library and it's been what, I don't know, a week? Two?"

"Six days," you grumbled, leaning your forehead against your palm.

"Six days?! This - we are going to spend forever in here," he hissed as he leant down to face you.

"This is just what studying is, Ahk. Time taking."

"Yes well - studying is fine, but not when we've got a time limit," he said, making to sit down beside you. He squished in, already grabbing a scroll and unravelling it, showing off the Chinese lettering. He looked at it for a moment, stunned into silence.

"Ahk," you mumbled, feeling horribly tired.

"What... is this?" He asked quietly.

"That's fucking Chinese. What were you doing in the Chinese section," you grumbled, voice cracking in your exhaustion.

"I don't... I don't know?"

"I think you two have been in here for too long," came a voice behind you. Turning slowly, you came face to face with Sac, who held a scroll in her gloved hand.

"Probably," you sighed. "What've you got?"

"I don't know," she said, handing Ahk the scroll. "It's filled with your hieroglyphs, but I found it in the map section."

Scooting over, the three of you clumped together on the bench, one person on either side of Ahk as he unravelled it.

"Hetep di nesiw inperw hen -" Ahk began slowly, before you reminded him quietly that neither you nor Sac could audibly understand the Egyptian language.

"An offering the King gives Anubis," you read, your interest suddenly caught at the mention of Anubis. But you knew this formula, this type of letter – it was plastered on every tomb, and you knew the words by heart. "In front at the God's booth; voice offering for governor, overseer of priests - I know this. It's from Mereri's tomb in Dendereh. I don't think it'll be of much help."

"In the least we can return it to its' proper place," Sac said with a small shrug, standing and taking the parchment from Ahk. She rolled it back up, found a secure place on one of the shelves, and returned a moment later.

"There's so much information here," you grumbled, rubbing your face tiredly with your hands.

You hadn't had much of a break as of recent, either – the three of you didn't find any amusement in breaks anymore. Instead, you remained in the library for as long as possible, and by the end of the day your energy was drained entirely. It left for little else to do but return to the hotel and sleep off the night, dreaming that maybe you'll find what you're looking for. Even as your concentration began to waver in the evening you did not stop, writing down every pertinent fact, recording every image that might be important.

It felt an awful lot like university again.

"Maybe we need a break from it all," Sac suggested quietly on the long walk back to your hotel.

"I don't think we have time for a break," Ahk said, his nails digging anxiously into his palm.

"I think you're both right," you said with a sigh, unsure of how you could cater to both those things. "We need a break, desperately... but we gotta remember Anubis isn't taking any breaks."

"If we rest for a bit, we could revitalize, and then it won't be so hard to look for what we need," Sac said, bringing up a valid point – when you studied while exhausted and burnt out, you absorbed close to nothing. Even Ahk seemed to be in careful agreement.

"Maybe. We can discuss this in the morning," you said, opening the hotel doors for them. They agreed, and with that, the three of you passed out on the beds.

In the morning, you found Ahk fidgeting on the pull out bed, his back turned to you and the sheets crumbled into a ball in his fist. Staying as quiet as possible, you snuck up behind him. With a grab to his shoulder he jumped, whipping around to face you, currently laughing as you knelt on the empty mattress.

"Morning Ahk," you said, cooling down the fit of giggles you'd launched into. Laughing from the shock, he took a breath to calm down, a vacant smile still on his face.

"Hi... what time is it?" He asked in a daze. Moving down beside him, he wrapped his arm around you, allowing you to grab at his hand playfully.

"Eight o clock," you said, his arms dancing limp in your grasp.

"Is Sac up?"

"Yep, she's in the bath right now. I'm thinking we spend half the day in the library and the other half relaxing, so we don't lose a whole day," you said as he began to sit up, the white sheets falling from his naked torso.

"Alright. I suppose I could compromise to that," he said, his voice still rough with sleep. His hair sat a black, tangled mess on top of his head – it was odd, but it never grew. Yours did, and it was becoming a proper mess ever since you left New York.

That felt like forever ago, that night in the snow, leaving everything behind at the drop of a hat. You barely knew Sac, only spoken to her once before that moment. Ahk you knew a little better, but not nearly as well as you did now, watching him find comfort in your touch as he kept near you. Leaning against you he rested his head on your shoulder, his right side pressed against yours. He yawned, letting a long breath draw from him as he melted down, his muscles relaxing entirely.

"I never asked you this, I meant to but I sort of forgot, but... can you feel the sun?" You asked quietly, hearing the rush of bathwater coming from the bathroom halt. The window across from the bed stretched into the living area, the morning sunshine pouring through the white curtains and onto your skin and his.

"I can. I nearly cried when I first felt it," he mumbled.

"That's good... I'm glad you can feel it."

For the remainder of the morning, you hurried through your morning prep before arriving at the library early, your I.D. already in hand to give to the desk lady, who still would not tell you her name. You didn't care to insist on it either, considering how suspicious she would get of you three every time you came by. It became a running joke between you, Ahk, and Sac – overanalyzing the simplest of things while the other two burst into giggles. Lately you hadn't gotten much time for joking. The three of you were almost always separated, trying to cover as much information as you could in the short allotted time.

By noon you found nothing, which you'd been expecting, though that didn't make it any less disappointing. Ahk looked equally annoyed and resigned, a look which frightened you. He was never the type to look defeated. Sac came over to find you a little while later, informing you she hadn't found anything either.

"I say we go back to the hotel, take a nap or somethin', then we can go have fun," you said, stretching your hands to the ceiling as you stood. Twisting your torso, your spine crackled all the way down, alarming all three of you.

"Um.. yeah, yeah - that way we've got skin for that time," Ahk said, clearly already tired.

You put away the books and scrolls, making sure you adhered to the alphabetical order of the library. As you left the building, the desk lady gave you an odd stare, peering over the top of her glasses. She probably found it strange, you three leaving so soon – at least, that seemed like the most realistic reason. It didn't matter anyway. You were far too tired to dwell on it too much; maybe all that studying really was weighing on you. With your mind blank of thoughts, you trudged up the cobblestone streets, keeping to the side whenever a car or scooter passed you by.

The three of you collapsed on the unmade bed that technically only fit two of you, if that – as usual, things in Europe were a good deal smaller. Crammed in tight, you enjoyed the dull heat of their bodies in the cold room, curling into a ball around a pillow you hugged. You distantly recognized Ahk beside you and Sac draped across your waist, but all that went fuzzy when you fell asleep.

You awoke to buzzing in your pocket. Lifting your head from the pillow, your whole head feeling heavy and dry, you palmed at your thighs, trying to find your pocket. Finally finding it, you dug in and pulled out your phone. 3.57 and McPhee was calling you. Again. Despite your annoyance you picked up, gently shaking Ahk and Sac awake as the call connected.

"Hi! How are things going? It's been a little while since I checked in," McPhee said, a bright smile across his face. Looking behind him, you saw the background of his office, the shutters closed tight.

"It's been like a day," you mumbled, your throat dry.

"Still, have you made any progress?"

You could physically feel the stress from his question bubbling in your heart, and watching Ahk's face, you could see him fall right back into that anxiety you'd been trying so hard to heal.

"Not yet," you said with a sniff, fully sitting up now with Ahk and Sac both awake. Neither of them bothered to look at the phone though, simply listening from their positions. "I feel like we're almost there."

"Right, well, if there's any changes call me. I'm happy to help long as you're willing to keep working," he said, still grinning brightly.

"Thanks. Better get back to it then. See you around," you said, waiting for him to bid good bye before you hung up, tucking your phone back in your pocket.

"Should we get going?" Sac asked, making to sit up.

"Yeah, sure. Any ideas on what you guys want to do?"

"Eat?" Ahk suggested. You looked at each other before you shrugged, agreeing.

Situating the clothes that had grown messy and wrinkly from the nap back onto yourselves, you headed out of the hotel. Walking down the roads, you decided that maybe they'd like to see the ocean, since that was something not everyone in the ancient world could do. You didn't pull out your phone for directions – the distant water was an easy sight to see through the sloped streets. Leading the way, you paused by a shop for gelato, deciding that it couldn't hurt to get something delicious that wasn't quite as expensive as a dinner.

You ordered vanilla, a plain choice that almost always satiated you. Sac went with a sorbet, even though you told her the gelato is better, but she just said if she wanted to try it she'd take a bite of yours. Ahk had a much harder time choosing. You assumed that was probably because he'd never seen ice cream before, and had very little idea as to how it tasted. None of you could blame him for that, but the line behind you and the employees didn't understand that very well, and grew a little impatient. Eventually you intervened.

"What types of flavors do you like? Ones that are sweet," you asked, pushing him gently to the side so you could see the array of options.

"Um," he looked to you, then back at the glass case, "honey, and fig, I suppose."

"I think you'll like black raspberry."

By the time you paid he still hadn't taken a bite of it, giving it suspicious looks as it melted away in his cone. Pulling the both of them out of the shop to make room for the other people waiting to order, you continued on your way to the ocean, an early sunset already coloring the sky in hues of pink and red blush.

"You're going to have to lick it at some point," you said to him when part of it began to melt, dripping onto his fingers.

"Why is it so cold?" He asked, still looking at it suspiciously.

"Jesus Christ, you're acting like it's covered in blood. Just fuckin' eat it, it's really good," you said with a laugh, licking away at your own cone. Hesitantly he looked to you before looking back down at it, taking his first taste. The cobblestone beneath your feet faded into sand, squishing down as you took your first steps onto the beach, digging your sandaled feet into it.

"It's... it feels wrong but it's also very good?" He said, sounding horribly confused.

"Just make sure to eat it before it all turns to liquid."

For how warm that day was compared to the days before, the beach was relatively empty – there were still children there, wading in the low waves, alongside couples who strolled down the sand, their hands intertwined. You kept your eye on the water, excitement fueling your energy. As a child, the ocean was something wonderful to see, something you adored to be near, even if the Mediterranean had all those tiny biting fish. Standing beside you and keeping you at an even pace, Sac didn't seem too excited – you sort of expected that. She'd seen beautiful things before. But Ahk, flanking your other side, he didn't look pleasantly relaxed or excited; he looked lonesome. For only a moment you wondered what was wrong, trailing his stare to the couples sitting together and standing too close with each other. After that, you left it alone, and did not think about it. The ocean was in front of you.

Pulling off your sandals and rolling up your pants, you waded into the shallow water, feeling the push and pull of the waves, the sand disappearing beneath your feet the longer you stood. The setting sun cast its red glow against your skin, warming what little it could before it set. Taking the last few bites of your ice cream, you waded out deeper, feeling your self restraint fade away as the waves crashed up, soaking your pants up to your knees. After tossing away her ice cream cup, Sac joined you, her skirt allowing for her to wade deeper. Even with your pants growing heavy and wet, you followed her out into the sea.

Laughing at the way the waves rolled against your bare skin, you turned back to shore, beckoning Ahk to join you. Smiling he declined, telling you over the crash of the waves that he didn't care to get wet. Soon after you headed back to shore, followed by Sac a little while later, the three of you resuming your little walk down the beach. The sun sank below the water, a plum dusk encapsulating the land.

"I hate to ruin your mood, but I don't think we'll make it in time," Ahk said in a quiet voice when the beach grew lonely, the people spaced far away from each other.

"Probably not, but that doesn't mean the journey is over," Sac said, making a weak smile cross Ahk's face.

"If there's a door to Duat, that means we can enter through it, right? If there's no other choice, I'd be willing to do it," you said, once more promising something that would almost certainly leave you scarred and at least a little traumatized.

"God, everything.. everything feels like too much," he said, staring off across the ocean.

"What do you mean?" You asked, pausing your stroll to look him in the eye. He wouldn't meet your gaze, but Sac patted your shoulder, leaving to god knows where, just when you needed her most. She took her talent for deescalation with her.

"Just - we have so much to do, and it doesn't feel like it's physically possible to do," he said, sitting down in the sand, his knees pulled up to rest his elbows on. You sat beside him, leaning close. "The ocean, it's so big, there's just - there's so much I don't know, so many things I wish I could've had."

"It can be difficult to see a future you can't easily partake in, I understand," you said in a soft voice, remembering all those times you dreamed of living forever, if only to see how it all ends.

"What's even at the other side of this friggin' ocean? Is it New York?"

"Um, not quite... that's the Mediterranean sea, so technically what's across from Italy is Africa, where you're from," you said, looking at the horizon.

"Wait, wait - that tiny little lake thing above Africa, that's this?" He asked incredulously, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Things are a lot bigger in person than they are on maps," you said with a shrug. That was a reality no one could escape.

"Ugh," he groaned, burying his face in his hands, his knees pulled up tight against his chest. "And there's so many people."

"Yeah," you agreed. "The world has so many cultures, I think it's interesting to see how humans come up with the same things time after time, just in different ways - I guess it's a way to forget that each civilization had hundreds, if not thousands of people."

"Do you people even have a vague count on how many civilizations there are and were?"

"Well, we have a count on the most prominent and advanced ones. Around six, including Egypt. You guys were really ahead of your time," you said, nudging him gently.

"You're not counting the different tribes though, are you?" He asked quietly.

"No," you admitted. "If I did, we'd be here forever while I tried remembering them all."

"To think, when I was alive I thought all there was was Egypt, those who loved us, and those who hated us," he scoffed, leaning his cheek against his hand. "I was foolish to think we were the only ones."

"No, you weren't foolish at all. You were intelligent, you cared for your people better than almost every other civilization did. Your medicine actually worked, you performed surgeries before basically everyone else, you charted the stars and you grew fields of food in a barren desert, Ahk – that isn't worth nothing. Your home isn't worth nothing, what you did still impacts the modern world to this day. What you did impacted me, too, you know."

"How?" He asked, his voice rough and low.

"I... I never really told anyone this, but when I was a kid, my parents took me to the Natural History Museum, you know, the one you were originally from?"

He nodded, his interest piqued.

"I found your exhibit, I must've been seven or eight at the time. Um, I saw the drawings on the wall, the hieroglyphs all over your exhibit, and it sort of spurred me on to learn more about Egypt. I learned as much as I could, I got really interested in different Kings and priests. By the time I was old enough to realize you were a real person, I had forgotten your name," you said, chuckling nervously as you rubbed the back of neck, anxious to see his reaction.

"So I inspired you to get a doctorate in my religion?"

"Sort of?"

He laughed, first slow and growing, till he belted out, leaning back into the sand till he lay down, his knees still in the air. You scooted closer to him, moving so you could see him a little better.

"That's funny, honestly. I..." he looked up at you from where he lay, falling suddenly silent as his hand came beside yours, playing with your lax fingers. "Can I say something?"

"Of course," you said, anxiety overtaking you at his words. Usually when people asked to talk, things didn't end well, and this instance had you going over every single interaction you'd had with him, wondering where you could've gone wrong.

"You're so... kind, and generous. You take care of me so much. I wish I could do the same for you," he said, and though you tried to respond, he wasn't finished. "It's hard to believe how loyal you are. You didn't have to do any of this, you didn't have to help me. After all, not many people really care about people who are already dead, or..." he glanced to Sac in the distance, "people who weren't ever alive in the first place."

"What are you trying to say?" You asked, feeling a lump in your throat.

"I think," his voice grew to a whisper, "I think I'm in love with you."

You couldn't breath. Were you moving? Was your heart still even beating? It certainly didn't feel like it – no, it felt more like someone had just blocked out every single one of your senses. You were no longer aware of the sand beneath you, the ocean beside you, the warmth off his skin, it all dissipated. No, no, this couldn't be happening; God, you'd wanted so badly for him to like you again from that time that felt so long ago. Now you couldn't think of anything worse than him liking you, especially in this way. There was no room for love on this venture, you knew that, and now he loved you. That would not help you in the underworld. You couldn't have him trying to protect you too fiercely, you couldn't have him in that way, even if you wanted nothing more than that. There were more important things to focus on than a single emotion.

He was still looking at you, eyes glittering with tears ready to brim and keep like dew on his eyelashes.

"I..."

Would you have to lie? Couldn't you just say you felt the same, but that you wouldn't condone any action taken off that feeling as anything distracting could fail the mission? Or would a simple lie, a simple, heartbreaking lie force him to think of nothing else but the mission?

What would help?

What could you say?

Just don't answer, a voice whispered at the back of your head, the only advice you felt as though you could physically handle.

Clearing your throat, you stared off at the dead sunset, the first stars appearing in the night sky.

"We have things to do," you said in a small voice, the words forced from your thoughts into fruition.

"I know," he mumbled, the warmth of his fingers intertwined with yours leaving, and with that all touch ceased.

You closed your eyes tight. It was the only way. You couldn't trust yourself or him to stay on track, you would not risk such an ancient artifact on your affections for one person, you would not let go of magic for one person, even if it was him. Him – well, he meant the world to you, but he didn't mean the world to everyone. Just you, and that was why what you felt didn't matter.

There were more important things than you and him.

[lynne-monstr]

Writers Month Day 23: Poison (tka, yuhuang)

king’s avatar shadowhunters au requested by @thorndykechristopher

summary: yu wenzhou is a warlock with a very slow spell casting speed due to a childhood injury. huang shaotian is the shadowhunter assigned as his bodyguard. Their first mission together is an unmitigated disaster but it all works out in the end.

ao3 link

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With a loud, foreboding clang, the door slams shut and every window in the warehouse seals up. By the time Yu Wenzhou is able to coax his stubborn magic to his hands, it’s too late.

He’s trapped. They’re trapped.

He turns to glare at his latest Shadowhunter bodyguard, poised between Yu Wenzhou and the door with his blade raised. “I hope you’re happy now.”

Not for the first time, he laments the day Huang Shaotian roared into his life like a typhoon, loud and obnoxious and with no respect for Yu Wenzhou’s quiet life. He’s an accomplished fighter, that’s plain to see, but Yu Wenzhou has had doubts about his overall competence from the beginning. This mess of a trap has only confirmed what he suspected.

“Me?” Huang Shaotian points at his own chest with the hand not holding his mundane sword, as if Yu Wenzhou could be speaking to anyone else.

“I told you not to bring anything with adamas to this place. The warlock who owns this place hates Shadowhunters. All her worst traps are sprung by adamas.” Yu Wenzhou regrets not physically searching his new bodyguard before allowing him along on their first outing together.

He should have known better to think a Shadowhunter would listen to a warlock. It always took them a few months in his employ to learn basic respect. This one in particular seems more interested in listening to his own voice than following orders.

“Wait, wait, wait. That’s not what you said, Yu Wenz—excuse me, High Warlock Yu. If you’d said that, I would have done it. I know how to listen, I’m a great listener. You said not to bring my seraph blade or my stele and look,” he twirls in place, showing off his empty thigh and back holsters. And incidentally, a very nicely shaped backside. “I only brought the sword you gave me. See, do you see? You might be very smart, but you’re also very wrong.”

The unexpected compliment throws him but he brushes it aside. “You must have missed something because look around, the trap is sprung. We’re trapped here.”

“I didn’t miss a blade. I did what you said,” Huang Shaotian insists. After a beat, he presses his lips together in thought and pulls out a necklace from beneath his black tactical gear. “My necklace had adamas in it. Maybe next time tell me why you want me to do something, instead of treating me like an idiot and leaving me in the dark. Do you treat all your bodyguards like this?”

Yu Wenzhou searches his memories and feels a flush of embarrassment. The Shadowhunter is right. He’d specified seraph blade and stele in his preparatory instructions, not adamas. Huang Shaotian followed him to the letter. Unfortunately, he’d been chattering non-stop during their preparations, something about why everyone called him the Sword Saint. Yu Wenzhou had tried to tune it out as he went over his part of the plan but he had reluctantly learned that the ridiculous nickname was one Huang Shaotian gave himself. If Yu Wenzhou hadn’t been so irritated at nearly being late, he might have been charmed.

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Yu Wenzhou says. He pauses and adds, “My apologies, Huang Shaotian, it won’t happen again,”

It’s not just lip service. Yu Wenzhou is far from perfect but he doesn’t make the same mistake more than once. And as it turns out, Huang Shaotian is sharper than he appears at first glance.

“Apologies later. I don’t plan on dying here so let’s concentrate on not dying.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he sheaths his sword and stalks off to prowl the edges of the room, searching for weaknesses.

The warehouse is large, an old storage facility gone to seed. The weak overhead lights flicker as they open the boxes and search for anything they can use to escape. Most wards this strong are anchored by a physical object but Yu Wenzhou doubts the object is within the bounds of the wards. A powerful enough warlock could keep the object with them and the warlock who set them up was more than powerful enough.

For the sake of thoroughness, Yu Wenzhou, examines each of the sigils on the doors and windows with exploratory tendrils of magic. It confirms what he already knows. The spells used to seal the room were perfectly cast. The only curiosity is the strange variation in part of the magic. Some kind of clause for breaking it, though the terms for fulfilling it are vague.

Something about The Kiss to End Life. Talk about needlessly dramatic.

The occasional banging and tapping comes from where Huang Shaotian is probing the physical defenses of the room, chattering to himself while he works. His voice echoes off the metal walls and for a brief moment, Yu Wenzhou is struck by the horrifying thought that Huang Shaotian has managed to replicate himself into multiple copies, all of them speaking rapid-fire nonsense. Thankfully, it’s nothing but a flight of fancy and perhaps a sign that Yu Wenzhou is stretching himself too thin lately.

From the frustrated look on Huang Shaotian’s face, there won’t be any forcing their way out.

Eventually, they both give up on the main room and branch out. The only object of note is a table in the center of the largest of the secondary rooms. It probably functioned as an office when the warehouse was in use. On the shabby, dusty desk is a single vial of liquid.

Huang Shaotian brings the vial to his nose and sniffs. And curses.

“What is it?” Yu Wenzhou asked.

“Poison. Really bad poison, ugly poison. Nasty stuff.” Huang Shaotian frowns. “You ever heard of Death’s Kiss?”

Yu Wenzhou takes a step backwards before he can help himself. “Yes.”

“I figured as much. It’s deadly to warlocks.” It’s hard to say whether the amusement in his voice is a threat or merely the type of dark humor common to a race of people whose life expectancy doesn’t often exceed twenty-five. “It isn’t much better for Shadowhunters,” he adds with a laugh, and that settles that question.

The quirk about the wards tugs at his mind. The line about the kiss to end life isn’t difficult to decode. If one of them drinks the poison, the wards will come down.

Yu Wenzhou is suddenly grateful he held back that particular bit of knowledge from Huang Shaotian. He has no intention of sacrificing his bodyguard to save his own life but he can’t say for certain whether that courtesy extends both ways.

He’s still pondering the implications when Huang Shaotian picks up a folded piece that had been placed under the vial. “Looks, there’s a note.” He wrinkles his nose when a plume of dust rises up into his face. “Ugh I hate old creepy buildings almost as much as this old, stupid language.”

Yu Wenzhou peers over his shoulder and is surprised when he can’t read the writing. He’s been around for a millennia, there aren’t many languages that are a mystery to him. This one isn’t unknown to him, but in this case, his knowledge doesn’t help. “That’s a Shadowhunter language.”

Huang Shaotian nods. The crease between his brows deepens as he reads. “Oh wow, this warlock really doesn’t like you,” he says. “Is she your ex or something?”

“Or something.” Yu Wenzhou would prefer not to dwell on their history. “I might have embarrassed her when she made a bid for High Warlock of Guangzhou about fifty years ago and failed miserably.”

“I’m no expert on women but I think she still has a grudge. You should send her flowers or something. Or jewelry, that’s what they do in the dramas I—I mean, my friend—the dramas my friend watches.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, the note says that if I force this poison down your throat, the wards will drop and I can walk out of here alive.”

Yu Wenzhou goes from trying not to laugh at his bodyguard’s antics to springing backwards, his magic rushing to his hands.

Any spell powerful enough to fight off a Nephilim will take time to cast. Time he doesn’t have. Ironically, this is exactly what he needs a bodyguard for.

The sad part is that he understands why Huang Shaotian would betray him. From day one, he made it clear this assignment was a punishment from his superiors, and that he’d much rather be killing demons than playing babysitter to some stuffy warlock with slow magic, and how could a warlock even have slow magic anyway? The fact is, he has no real reason to be loyal.

Killed by his own bodyguard. Life has always enjoyed laughing at Yu Wenzhou.

Except Huang Shaotian doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t attack, he doesn’t even draw his sword. His eyes dart between Yu Wenzhou’s faintly glowing hands and his defensive stance. “What are you doing?” His nose wrinkles in a way that could almost be called cute except that he’s a trained killer by birth. “Wait, wait, wait, you don’t think—do you think I’m going to kill you?”

“You wouldn’t be the first who’s turned on me.” It’s both an answer and a warning.

Surprise fades into alertness, like Huang Shaotian is suddenly considering the need to defend himself against Yu Wenzhou. “Did you get your own note? Are you trying to kill me? Most people say it takes at least a week for the talking to make them want to do murder. This is a new record.”

Against all odds, Huang Shaotian laughs, warm and amused, the same way he does when he’s talking to himself and breaking Yu Wenzhou’s concentration. The edge of an angry black rune flashes against his collarbone in the flickering light. Who knows, maybe to a Shadowhunter, a fight to the death is amusing. They’ve always been a strange breed. Yu Wenzhou considers being offended but decides he has bigger things to worry about.

Luckily, the unexpected diversion works to his favor. He’s nearly halfway through his silent casting. Halfway towards being able to defend himself. Each passing second feels like a year but he’s slowly closing the gap.

Between them, the vial of poison sits innocuously on the table.

Something settles in Huang Shaotian’s gaze, though whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing is too soon to tell. Yu Wenzhou braces himself for the worst. His magic may not be ready to use yet, but he trained extensively in mundane martial arts for exactly this type of situation. It’s not enough to defeat an armed Shadowhunters but it doesn’t need to be. It only needs to be enough to keep him alive until his spell is ready.

“You’re a powerful warlock, right? That’s what everyone says. The High Warlock of Guangzhou is scary strong, it’s too bad his magic is so slow.” When Yu Wenzhou doesn’t answer, Huang Shaotian makes a hurry up gesture. “Well, are you good at magic or not?”

“I am. What does that have to do with anything?”

Huang Shaotian’s eyes are bright, like he’s found the flaw in the neatly laid trap they’re in and is excited for the opportunity to burst it wide open. “If the wards came down, could you get us out of here? Both of us?”

Yu Wenzhou looks at him strangely, not sure where this is going. Because the wards can’t come down. The only option is the poison. Whatever Huang Shaotian is seeing is beyond Yu Wenzhou and that makes him uncomfortable.

He answers anyway. Huang Shaotian has earned his honesty, at the very least. “Yes.”

“Okay.” And with that, Huang Shaotian grabs the vial of poison and drinks the entire thing in one large swallow. “Don’t leave me behind, okay,” he mumbles, before staggering to his knees with a crunching sound that makes Yu Wenzhou wince.

He stares in shock. A tiny part of his brain is impressed; it’s been centuries since anyone managed to truly shock him.

The wards trapping them fall. There’s no outward physical difference but Yu Wenzhou can feel it humming against his skin, a pressure value suddenly released.

“Yu Wenzhou,” Huang Shaotian’s voice is barely more than a rasp, the poison already ravaging his body. “A little faster if you don’t mind.” Huang Shaotian sways forward, and it’s enough to break Yu Wenzhou out of his stupor.

He rushes forward and catches him before he can crash face first into the concrete floor. “Huang Shaotian, what did you do?”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart. I saved us. I did my job, now it’s your turn.” His forehead is drenched in sweat, his normally sharp eyes glazed. There's a faint smile lingering on his lips.

If he was a warlock he’d already be dead. As it was, he doesn’t have much time left.

Yu Wenzhou turns his concentration inwards, letting his eyes fall shut. The incantation to his previous spell is still unfinished and it’s only minor work to take the building power and twist it into a new form. The magic quivers beneath his skin, eager to be used but still too wild to be controlled. He takes a breath and calmly, quietly, coaxes it to do his bidding.

It’s harder than it should be. There’s an unexpected, persistent thread of worry and fear clouding his mind. His eyes keep glancing down to where Huang Shaotian is slumped against his chest. He’s shaking now, tremors swelling into convulsions as the poison spreads. He looks nothing like the fierce, loud Shadowhunter who told Yu Wenzhou off for keeping mission-critical knowledge from him.

He nearly sobs in relief when his magic finally flares to life in his hands. Mustering this much power for two different spells in quick succession has left him exhausted, but there isn’t time for fatigue and so he ignores it. He wraps his arms around Huang Shaotian’s back, pushing as much magic as he dares into him. It’s not an antidote and it won’t save him but it will hopefully keep him alive until Yu Wenzhou can fix this.

By the time he waves his arms in the familiar gesture of a portal, Huang Shaotian is unconscious. Even in sleep, his face is creased, like he’s still in pain.

Yu Wenzhou gathers him into his arms and takes them home.

.

Huang Shaotian has never been hit by a mundane car but if he was, he imagines it would feel like this. And by that he means really crappy. He aches so deep down even his bones hurt, and his head feels slow and fuzzy.

That’s alright, though. Pain means he’s alive.

The last thing he remembers is drinking poison like an idiot—and hasn’t Su Mucheng told him a million times that the biggest threat to his own safety is himself—and then nothing but agony. There’s a vague impression of strong arms and being carried and he really hopes he hallucinated that part because it’s not quite the impression he wanted to make on his first mission of his new assignment with stupidly good looking High Warlock Yu Wenzhou. His hot but stodgy boss aside, he has bigger problems. Like figuring out what happened.

Opening his eyes is a struggle, but it’s one that he wins. Of course he wins, he always wins.

The room around him is thankfully dim, but even the small amount of light makes him wince. Through the haze of his slow brain, recognition filters in. He knows this place. A rush of relief sweeps over him. He’d been pretty sure Yu Wenzhou had saved them but it’s nice to get confirmation he’s not in enemy hands. Tense muscles relax and he lets himself sink into the comfort of the very soft mattress under him.

A soft mattress. This isn’t his room at the institute (not that his room there has an uncomfortable bed, but it’s the firmer kind of mattress he prefers). This here is his room in Yu Wenzhou’s home. He tries not to spend too much time here if he can help it, but he needs to learn Yu Wenzhou’s habits well enough to fight alongside him, well enough to protect him, and that’s easier to do if they’re living under the same roof.

He blinks the haze from his eyes, taking in the weapons rack in the corner, the books on art and history and weapons lining the bookshelf, arranged by color because he likes the horrified expression on peoples’ faces when they realize.

The opposite wall is a bright, cheery blue when the lights are on, but right now it looks like a dark shadow in the poor lighting. He likes the way it stands out against the soft gray of the rest of the room’s walls. The room is decorated with photographs of far off places he’s never seen, and the occasional mounted sword. The night table next to the bed is clean except for the knife he sleeps with and a photograph of him and his friends.

He wonders if they know he nearly died. He can’t hear Su Mucheng chewing anyone out so he thinks maybe they don’t. He suddenly feels very alone in this empty room.

And then the dark lump of blankets at the foot of the bed shifts and he realizes it’s not a lump of blankets at all, but High Warlock Yu Wenzhou, sprawled forward in a chair and sleeping with his head on against Huang Shaotian’s bed.

That can’t be good for his back is, strangely, the first thing that crosses his mind.

He must still be woozy, because Yu Wenzhou pulls himself up with excruciating slowness. A popping sound echoes through the room as he twists towards one side and then the other. Once he’s straightened his glasses, he looks straight at Huang Shaotian and says, “As a matter of fact it’s not, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with magic.”

What the hell is Yu Wenzhou doing sleeping by his bedside, holding vigil like they’re friends or something? Like he’s worried. They barely tolerate each other. Surely Yu Wenzhou has better things to do with his time (and his back) than keep watch over someone who’s basically his employee.

And perhaps more urgently, “Please don’t tell me you’re a mind-reader, too. Have you been listening to my thoughts? You should ignore the ones from 3pm yesterday. And also the ones right before bed and in the shower, I take no responsibility for those, I’m still a young guy, you know. Not all of us are old and boring because we’ve been around for a thousand years.”

Yu Wenzhou laughs, he actually laughs. Huang Shaotian’s been here for nearly a month and he’s never heard him laugh before. It’s a nice laugh. A warm laugh. “No mind reading, Huang Shaotian. You spoke out loud.”

“Oh. You can just forget all that, let’s pretend it never happened.”

“Okay,” Yu Wenzhou says.

It’s annoying to try and see in the dark and so Huang Shaotian leans over and taps the fancy alarm clock he bought himself that also doubles as a light. He bites back a hiss when his body protests the movement. And yeah, he can take a hint; no more moving until he feels a little less like he nearly died. Which he did—nearly die, that is—so that’s probably a good plan on his part.

When his eyes adjust, he blinks just to make sure he isn’t seeing things.

At the foot of the bed, Yu Wenzhou looks the most rumpled Huang Shaotian has ever seen him. His glasses are askew on his face and his clothes from last night’s failed appointment are dirty and wrinkled. Even his hair is astray, sticking up on the side of his face that was laying against the bed.

He looks unkept. And worried.

And that, well…Huang Shaotian’s not sure what to do about that. He can handle an angry Yu Wenzhou and a powerful Yu Wenzhou and even a condescending Yu Wenzhou, but a concerned Yu Wenzhou is new territory for them.

Huang Shaotian deals with it the same way he deals with everything. He runs his mouth. Sue him, it’s a tried and true strategy and he’ll fight anyone who says that his words aren’t as powerful as his seraph blade. Patting the side of his own hair, he says, “Um, High Warlock Yu, your hair is…um, you might want to take a look at that. You can’t expect anyone to take you seriously looking like an escapee from an evil hair salon”

Yu Wenzhou lets out a small huff and smiles. “You saved my life, Huang Shaotian, you can use my name.”

Oh fuck, is this going to weird now? Huang Shaotian has just gotten used to the way things are. He talks and his hot boss glares. It’s a good routine and sure, it’s annoying that the guy clearly thinks Huang Shaotian is an idiot, but he;s used to being underestimated at first glance. “Alright. Yeah, I guess I did save your life, Yu Wenzhou. Don’t go getting weird on me, now. I just did my job.” He pauses and tries again “Your hair really is a mess, did you know?”

Yu Wenzhou tilts his head, the hint of a smile spreading on his lips. He doesn’t fix the half of hair that looks like a hedgehog stuck its snout in an electrical socket, and it’s very distracting. “I find it difficult to tell when you’re being sincere and when you’re backtalking. Do you do that on purpose?”

This isn’t the conversation Huang Shaotian expects to be having at—he looks over at his cool alarm clock that can simulate the sunrise and notes the time—nearly four o’clock in the morning. He laughs, a little uncomfortable. “I think you’ve got it wrong, High War—I mean, Yu Wenzhou. I’m an open book, I say exactly what’s on my mind. Anyone will tell you the same.”

“You have a lot of people fooled.”

He’s right, but Huang Shaotian is in too much pain to lower his guard enough to admit it. He grew up in an entire Institute filled with attractive people, it takes more than a nice smile to get him to crack. “What do you want me to say?”

Thankfully, Yu Wenzhou doesn’t press him. He merely nods and asks “How are you feeling?”

“Like I drank poison.”

Yu Wenzhou laughs. “You’ll make a full recovery. I had the antidote in my potions stores and we got it to you in time. The residual aches should fade in a day. Let me know if they don’t, or if they get to be too much.”

“You’re not going to dock my pay for using up your pricey potions, are you?”

“I don’t pay you. I pay your Institute.” Yu Wenzhou presses his lips together, eyes scanning over Huang Shaotian as if physically checking him over. His voice is soft when he asks, “Why did you do it? You could have been killed. What were you thinking?”

It’s the same question Huang Shaotian has asked himself more than once. Like a coward, he takes the easy way out. “I was thinking it’s my job to keep you alive. I was thinking it was our only way out. And I was right. Don’t try to tell me I’m not because I am.”

“It was my mistake that got us trapped. It was my responsibility to fix it.”

And fuck, if Yu Wenzhou goes on like this, Huang Shaotian might actually start to be attracted to his personality as much as his stupidly good-looking face. “Yeah, it was. But you seem like the kind of guy who learns his lesson pretty quick. So don’t do it again and we’ll call it even.”

Yu Wenzhou frowns, and inwardly, Huang Shaotian groans. He’s too tired for wherever this conversation is going. “You still should have waited for me. You know my magic is slow. What if I wasn’t ready in time and you died?” By the time he’s finished, Yu Wenzhou looks angry. Angry like he was when he thought Huang Shaotian didn’t follow his directions, which is…more than a little strange. It’s not like he wouldn’t get a new bodyguard if Huang Shaotian kicked it.

“As if you’d care. You’ve hated me since I got here.”

“Do you really think that little of me? Do you think because I’m a warlock I don’t value the lives of the people around me?”

And shit, shit shit, he’s going to cause a diplomatic incident after his first assignment to the High Warlock. Only he could manage that while barely able to move. Ye Xiu is going to have him cleaning stinky ichor off blades for the rest of his life if he doesn’t fix this. “That’s not what I meant, High Warlock Yu.”

He struggles to sit up and a lance of fire races through his chest. Gasping, he falls back against the pillows, his vision going dark at the edges.

“Don’t move, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

When his vision clears, Yu Wenzhou is standing at the side of his bed, a hand hovering over Huang Shaotian’s chest.

His bare chest, Huang Shaotian realizes, when he looks down to see his runes on stark display. No point being embarrassed about that now. Besides, it’s not like he has much body modesty left. Showering in the Institute barracks saw to that a long time ago. It’s just that there’s something about Yu Wenzhou’s refined demeanor that makes him feel so much more exposed than he ever has standing bare-ass naked in the same room with a dozen other Shadowhunters.

No point worrying about that now. Yu Wenzhou has seen what he’s seen and it’s a small price to pay for not being dead. He puts on a smile, the one he knows for a fact irritates people. “I already hurt myself, remember.”

“How could I forget.” And that strange, fond tone is back. Huang Shaotian isn’t sure what it means but he kind of likes it. Or maybe it’s the residual effects of the poison rotting his brain.

Yu Wenzhou withdraws his hand back to his side, but not before Huang Shaotian notices the tremor in his fingers. “High Warlock Yu, are you—”

“I told you, no titles.” His voice has a worrying rasp to it that wasn’t there while he was seated.

Huang Shaotian has seen enough. He pats the empty strip of bed beside him. “Stop being a stubborn bastard and sit down before you fall down, Yu Wenzhou.”

“I’m fine. It’s been a long night, that’s all.” This close, the tight lines around Yu Wenzhou’s mouth are obvious. As are the tremors which have reached his shoulders, He looks like he’s one deep breath away from collapse.

The sight of him sleeping slumped over Huang Shaotian’s bed replays itself in his memory and he wonders whether part of the reason he stayed was because he was too drained of magic and strength to leave. He suddenly gets the feeling it took much more power to keep him from kicking the bucket than Yu Wenzhou has let slip.

Luckily, he’s spent enough time in the medical wing of the Institute to know how to get his way with stubborn Shadowhunters. He’s betting it works on warlocks, too. “If you fall down, I’m not scraping your sorry ass up off the floor, you got that? Or do you want me to injure myself worse after you spent all this time and magic on me?”

It works like a charm. With a faint nod, Yu Wenzhou sits. The bed dips with his weight. Immediately, some of the color comes back to his face.

Huang Shaotian thinks about all the teachers who lectured him about how Downworlders are different, are inferior. He looks at Yu Wenzhou who, despite his own exhaustion, rushed to his side when Huang Shaotian was in pain, and thinks those old lessons might be more than a little bullshit. If he’s learned anything in the last ten minutes, it’s that he’d drink poison for Yu Wenzhou again.

He thinks that might be a bit much to say right now. “You can stay here the night, I don’t mind,” is what he says instead. “Wouldn’t be the first time I shared a sickbed.”

Yu Wenzhou gives him a tired smile but doesn’t commit either way.

They sit like that, nearly close enough to touch, until he hears Yu Wenzhou’s breathing calm down into something approaching normal. “Hey, about what you said before. About how I should have waited for you to be ready before downing a poison shooter like a fraternity stud in a dive bar?”

Yu Wenzhou nods. “I don’t recall phrasing it like that, but yes.”

“You’re wrong. I didn’t need to wait. I’ve been watching you for weeks. You started casting the moment I read that note because you thought I was going to kill you. Wrong, wrong, wrong, you were so wrong all night, Yu Wenzhou. And by the way, but I won’t be offended this time that you thought I’m that type of person but if you do it again I’ll be very sad. But what I mean is that I drank the poison when I did because I knew you were almost ready with your magic.”

Yu Wenzhou’s breath hitches and he can practically see him wondering if Huang Shaotian purposefully read the note aloud to facilitate his plan.

“I didn’t plan it like that,” he answers the unasked question. “But once you went on the defensive, I saw the opportunity and I took it.”

“You’re very good at that.” Yu Wenzhou says. In the next breath, he lists to one side, barely catching himself from tumbling head first into the night table.

Huang Shaotian’s hand is already reaching out to steady him, but his help isn’t needed and he lets it drop back to his side. He keeps a closer eye on Yu Wenzhou, just in case.. “I’m not just good, I’m the best.”

Yu Wenzhou’s normally sharp gaze is dulled but his words are as sharp as usual. “Your first week here, you said you noticed holes in the protections on my home.”

“I did but you didn’t want to hear them. You said, ‘Huang Shaotian, you’re here to guard me not to poke holes in wards.’”

Yu Wenzhou nods his head. “I’d like to take you up on your offer.” He scoots forward so that he can lie down. It’s strangely intimate but Huang Shaotian doesn’t feel uncomfortable. “If I were to ask you what you noticed? Would you tell me?”

Huang Shaotian can feel his own exhaustion dragging him under, but still he answers. “Will you listen this time?”

“Yes,”

“Good. Okay yeah, we’ll do that,” Huang Shaotian mumbles, and lets himself lapse into tired silence. Beside him, Yu Wenzhou’s watches over him until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.

He doesn’t realize at the time that Yu Wenzhou isn’t just answering that specific question. He’s making a promise.

Over the next several days, once they’re both recovered, Yu Wenzhou listens to his assessment of the ward placements. It’s only the beginning.

Because he doesn’t just listen to him when they’re working, he does it all the time.

Yu Wenzhou listens to him chatter about his seraph blades while he cleans them. He listens when Huang Shaotian complains about how bitter Yu Wenzhou’s coffee is on mornings when he’s so groggy he drinks from the wrong mug. He listens to him sing while he does the dishes, even when Yu Wenzhou argues it could be done faster with magic. He listens to him yell at the television when they’re watching trashy dramas.

He listens to everything. And he never stops.

[almondharry]

you look so good: four

you look so good — [10.1k]

She should’ve stayed at the library.

She should’ve gone home.

She should’ve gone to a coffee shop.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” His eyes did not part from the novel cracked open in front of him. His nose wiggled when he found a particular line amusing. An awkward beat passed and Genevieve was at a loss of words. “Have you become a statue? Do I need to unfreeze you?”

She should’ve gone anywhere, but here.

Part Four: The Markov Theorem

The Markov Theorem

November 3, 2016

“You’re staring.” Genevieve noticed without looking up. A pen pressed tightly to paper, runny swirls of leaky blue ink stained the page.

Her neck was stiff, like age old wood, bent like an archer’s bow. The only time she blinked was to copy a specific formula needed from her textbook—situated strategically to her right. Her iced coffee had condensation lined around the plastic to-go cup, the beads came together to pool in a ring on the library table. She was running late and skipped on grabbing a napkin. It was full to the brim, not a sip had been taken. Time slipped through her fingers like playground sand. The answers were due at the beginning of her next lab, t minus twenty minutes. The clicking of calculator keys was the loudest sound in the room, apart from the coughing radiator.

He looked on in slight terror, but mostly amusement, at the rate her pen skimmed over her notepad. He found it a bit odd that she preferred to use grid lined paper than regular. He remembers her starting at the top left corner of the page, he had turned around for a minute to plug the thick cord of his laptop charger into an outlet, and when he turned back she was already past the middle.

Futile attempts were made to decode the numbers and letters scribbled in her path. The page resembled a bowl of alphabet soup, letters and numbers swimming together. He gave up all too soon when he felt the beginnings of a headache. The only thing he took away is that she looped her two’s.

Her penmanship captured an urgency. The once pin straight numbers became more and more italicized, as if they sprinted to chase a bus that slowly drove away. His line of sight started from the tip of her pen to the escaped wiry strands of hair from her ponytail, and lastly, to the hold her teeth had on her bottom lip. A skittish frenzy bounced in her eyes behind the square frames. An impression of a mad scientist, he thought. They rest on the apple of her cheeks and slide down the bridge of her nose at a sloth’s pace.

“Crazy,” he said after observing her for another second. He shook his head, a ghost of a smile quirked at the end of his lips. “Absolutely insane.”

“A bit looney,” she hummed. Her lips pursed and they both knew it was a poor effort to hide a grin.

“Little obsessive.”

“Quite dull.”

“Completely mad.”

“Oh, most definitely mad,” Genevieve settled. Her pen paused its dance and her hand reached to push her frames up to finally look across. He was already staring at her, his grin widened to a size that can span out acres worth of empty land.

It was something they did, a harmless game of bickering adjectives that goes back and forth between them like an intense ping pong match. It was a childish way of name calling and poking fun. Their legs were a comfortably tangled mess, hidden by the smooth wooden desk, but his knee would knock against her shin every once in a while.

Genevieve sighed, “Now, are we done discussing your outstanding qualities or—”

“—Remarkably clumsy,” He added on abruptly. Genevieve knew he preferred to get the last word in.

She paused. “—Oh, you’ve still got a few then.”

“No,” he laughed through his nose, the corner of his lips twitched like he knew something she didn’t. His eyes squinted and gleamed like a reflection does in a fresh puddle after rain.

“Then?”

“There’s…” Genevieve heard blinds being tampered with across the room, soon something is sliding against a metal rod. A flash of yellow is thrown at them like a bucket of splattered paint. His pupils slowly dilated to accommodate the sudden change of lighting, and Genevive decided then that she would want to see that happen once more. Tiny dust particles floated up and waltzed together as their skin warms. His index finger gestures towards his face. “You’ve… nevermind.”

He dismissed with a quick wave when her brows curled inwards in soft curves.

Genevieve gave him a look, wary and doubting.

Their table was pressed up against a wall. It had a bookshelf that once was seeded at ground level, but now has branched out and up the ceiling, only stopping once the plaster slopes into a curved, dome-like ceiling.

He busied himself by trailing the tips of his digits over worn out spines. Genevieve watched his lips part to gently mouth words. He silently recited a title of interest to himself under his breath. His pointer finger curled into a pirate’s hook and attaches itself to pull a hardcover from its slumber.

He kept a list of unread books he planned to read, she pondered if this one would make it.

There was a way—a careful cradle, a light touch— that came so easily to him when he held a book between his fingers. It was as natural as sunlight and brought a distinct warmth to her bones. He regarded every page with a keen consideration, a dip sat between his brows from his concentrated frown. But it was after some flipping that the pad of his finger hovered over a particular sentence. Genevieve wondered if the same arrangement of words were to be on her skin, would he touch her with the same tenderness.

That’s when something shifted for Genevieve, a twig snaps. The air, once crisp, goes stale and dormant. The tip of her tongue stung and she tasted copper behind her clenched teeth.

She doesn’t know how to define this variable. It’s part mixture of guilt and shame that pricks her spine. Her brain feels like a ball of yarn, tangled. She tried to unravel the string in hopes to understand where this is coming from. How could she reach such an irrational conclusion? She looked across the table one last time, to remind herself that the statistical probability remains zero.

She pressed her lips together and stood up from her seat, it’s wooden legs screech against the floor. “I’ve got to go.”

She tucked her notebook, pen, and calculator in her bag. She almost lost the grip on the calculator slider. Her hands, shifty and restless, trembled from wound up nerves. The strap of her bag sunk into her shoulder. She hadn’t taken more than three steps away from the table before another set of wooden legs sounded.

“Wait,” he called out.

Genevieve glanced to her wrist, the second hand slowly crawling towards the twelfth digit.

“Yeah?” She turned around, eyes still on her wrist watch, an inquisitive pinch between brows.“Gotta be quick or else I’ll be late”

“You’re…” His strides made up for the lost distance. She was hyper aware of the heat his body brings forth. “Come here.”

It was a gravitational pull, she neared him like waves hit the shore. With half a step, she is the closest to him she will ever get. Genevieve inhaled a strong scent of pine needles. It mixed with lingering whiskey and mouthwash. She takes whatever she can with him.

“Hold still,” he instructed tentatively.

Her head angled up, a strain knotted at the back of her neck. But all sense of unease evaporates when he raised his hand and cupped her jaw. A careful cradle, a light touch.

Genevieve doesn’t move—she can’t move. Her arms and legs were dead weight. The neurons attached to her face where his skin meets hers are flamed. Everything was in overdrive, her heightened awareness only furthered this torture. She watched his gaze zeroed in on her parted lips. A focused and determined stare locked on to the bottom half of her profile.

His thumb, previously settled on her cheek, teetered towards the corner of her mouth. The tension was like pulling both ends of an elastic band. The rubber stretched at a snail’s pace. The tension grew, the band thinned.

Tiny ridges in the skin of his thumb were felt as he pressed it down on her bottom lip. He gradually dragged it from one corner to the center, each second felt like an hour. Her lip wobbled with the pressure.

“There,” he said easily.

The elastic snapped.

He removed his hand from her. The pad of his thumb is coloured a deep blue like he had given his fingerprint for a passport. Genevieve’s eyes widened and her fingers immediately touch her mouth, trying to press the feeling there forever. Her lip, caged behind teeth, tasted bitter like a potent chemical—residual ink. “All good.”

Good. Good. Good.

He stepped back and her lungs take in a breath through her nose. It was much easier to breathe when he stood in his respective bubble and didn’t steal her oxygen. Or sanity.

The reality was, if he asked for either, she would present it on a golden platter.

***

November 8, 2019

The fourth floor of the library was something else really. In the corner, a girl sobbed as she clutched the grade of her failed midterm. Another girl stared off into space for more than twenty minutes, going through an existential crisis of some sorts. A boy opened his textbook to do a question then shut it promptly two minutes later, only to open his laptop to change his major. It was a help centre for math related inquiries. Computers lined in two neat rows and a couple circular tables were occupied with graduate students tutoring students with appointments and the occasional walk-ins.

A student slowly dragged their feet on the carpet walking towards the front desk. Their eyes glazed over in a zombie like fashion; the coffee mug in hand and eye bags were this season’s hottest look.

“Hi.” Genevieve smiled. “What can I do for you?”

The first year girl wore a hoodie a size too big for her. “I need to book a study room for my group. Is there any available?”

“One minute.” Genevieve spun, the wheels on the chair pulled towards the administrative computer. Trained fingers typed their login and password, before a scheduled calendar popped up. “How many people are you looking for? And would you like a tutor with you?”

The girl mentally counted the people in her head. “I think there are four of us, and a tutor won’t be needed.”

Genevieve scrolled through the previous bookings with her mouse. Different colours blocked out specific periods until a vacancy popped up. “The next open slot is in fifteen minutes. Floor twelve, room nine. It’s available for two hours, how does that sound?”

“Perfect, that will be just fine.”

For a second, the sound of keyboard typing filled the hole in the conversation. “Can I get a student ID number?”

The girl presented her university issued card. Genevieve copied the numbers before finishing the booking. “That’s it, you’re good to go.”

The girl mumbled her thanks and dragged her feet towards the elevator.

Between the diner and her lectures, Genevieve had found herself at the library more often than she’d like to admit. This eventually lead her to pick up a part time position as the front desk help.

People would either come up to schedule bookings for study groups, tutors, or a computer. Professors of the mathematical science’s department held their office hours in certain rooms, so maintaining a strict schedule was key to avoid overlap. Dr. Bida, a professor she had done research with during her first year, always smiled brightly and waved whenever he passed by. The pay was great, the tasks were minimal, and it gave her the opportunity to do her course readings when it was particularly dead.

“Zayn, what the fuck are you talking about?” The faint voice travelled from a distance away. Genevieve’s ears perk up from the familiarity. “I’m completely lost.”

“Okay, how about one way ANOVA? You must have done that by now at this point of the semester.” Genevieve knew it compared the means between groups and determines whether any of those means are statistically significantly different from each other. Specifically, it tested the null hypothesis: where µ is the group mean and k is the number of groups. “Does that ring any bells?”

“Maybe, I don’t know?”

“Please tell me you know what the acronym stands for at least.”

“Nope. Nothing. I’m blank.”

“Really?”

“I’m dead serious.” Angie’s words held no comic relief. “When I told you I needed help with this course, I really meant it.”

“And you tell me this a day before your assignment is due.”

“Sorry! I got the dates mixed up, honest mistake.” Angie’s voice squeaked as she neared the end of her sentence. The voices became clearer and clearer as they stepped from behind the wall. “Why did you ask to meet here anyway? We could’ve done this at yours.”

“No we need—” Zayn didn’t get to finish his train of thought. His words cut abruptly like a slice of sponge cake under a steak knife. “—Gen? Is that you?”

Genevieve’s neck snapped up at the mention of her name, her eyes owlish. She was guilty of listening in on their back and forth, but wasn’t sure if their friendship had reached a point where she could freely insert herself into the conversation, so she had kept her head down to her books.

“Gen! I didn’t know you worked here!” Angie exclaimed marching over to the desk, Zayn in tow. Genevieve smiled, a genuine one, not the one she had in her back pocket for the sake of customer service. “Holy shit, this must be a great job!”

“You’ll find me here more than anywhere.” Angie played with the free pens and sticky notepads that advertised the university’s logo. She almost tipped over the brochures about managing mental health with a full course load. “What brings you guys here?”

Zayn hissed in pain. “Don’t ask—” but it was too late.

The back of Angie’s palm hit her forehead.

“A horrendous tragedy,” she moaned with her eyes shut. Faux grief made her lips tremble. Though sadness transformed her face, a bitter scowl soon tugged at the end of her lips. “You know apparently I have a thirty percent assignment due tomorrow? Like a whole thirty percent. And I found out yesterday.”

“Ouch,��� Genevieve sympathized.

“It’s your fault for not going to the lectures and sleeping in.”

“Zayn, who’s side are you on?” Angie challenged. He dodged her attempts at giving him a twisting pinch to the ribs. “Anyway, Z here has taken the course before so he’s being a sweetheart and lending his brain. Well, whatever is left of it anyway.”

“Angie, I’m helping you. If you don’t tone down your quips, I might as well put in the wrong answers on purpose and poof! That thirty percent of your grade will amount to a zero.”

Angie narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t try me.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Angie faced Genevieve and motioned a limp hand towards Zayn. She resembled a bored weatherman with a greenscreen behind.

“Ignore her, Gen. Can we get a computer?”

“‘Course,” Genevieve laughed. “Do you need a tutor with you?”

“That would be a dream,” Angie added as she pulled her hair into a ponytail with the band wrapped around her wrist. “The more the merrier, you know! There’s strength in numbers.”

Zayn leaned his weight on the slab of counter in front of them and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s only an assignment, you’re not going off to war.”

“With the amount of torture I am enduring, I might as well.”

Zayn and Angie’s conversation went back and forth like a tennis match. Genevieve’s fingers robotically put in her login and password because the monitor had gone to sleep. Genevieve examined the calendar that popped up on her screen momentarily, her lips puckered in concentration. “You’re good for a computer, but I’m afraid the next tutor isn’t available for four hours.”

“Shit.” Angie rubbed her temple to ease her climbing stress.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for a lack of availability between tutors and students. Genevieve scanned the page in front of her once more to find any possible way to squeeze them in. Usually when an appointment was a no show, it was possible. But when the screen showed no cancelations, there was not much to do. “What course is it anyway?”

“It’s an intro course to stats.”

“Oh, I might know a few things about it here and there.” Genevieve clicked the x on her window and met Angie’s pleading gaze. The desperation in her eyes disappeared with her next words. “I’m here to help if you need it!”

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I had to take it first year, it was very straightforward.”

“Speak for yourself, I went to one lecture and felt like the prof had taken a baseball bat to my face.”

“I’m guessing you need the computer for the SPSS software?” Genevieve recalled they had one assignment in that course. The tricky software was already installed on campus computers, but cost a fortune if purchased individually. It made sense as to why they didn’t do it on their laptops.

Zayn piped up. “Yeah, there’s like a tonne of raw data to analyze. It’s gonna take a while.”

Genevieve nodded, already clearing her station. “Ah, well, I’m not doing much right now, I can take a look.”

“You’re an absolute angel, godsend!” Angie would’ve jumped over the desk to crush her in a hug if Genevieve hadn’t rolled back her chair to step around the table. She turned a small sign towards the middle of the desk. Ring bell for help.

Genevieve brushed off her thanks. “Oh I’m far from, just doing what I can. It’s no problem, really.”

Genevieve was making sure that her textbooks were shut and put away along with her expensive calculator when Angie started again. “This is what we need in our life! More selflessness! Everyone is so greedy now days, don’t you think? So noble of you. In fact, I’m gonna write your name down for the nobel prize for math!”

“That’s not how it works, Angie, but sure knock yourself out.” Zayn chewed his gum so slowly that his jaw flexed with each bite. “I think it’s not even called that. Right, Gen?”

“It’s called the Field's medal. It’s like the nobel prize, but it’s awarded every four years.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to. Same thing.” Angie shrugged and threw an arm over Genevieve’s shoulder when she was close enough.

Genevieve lead the duo to the assigned computer, their row was thankfully empty. The room was shared with two other students seated further away; with their headphones on, they seemed oblivious to the world. Angie logged into her account and Zayn took it from there. He sandwiched himself between Angie on his left and Genevieve on the right.

The chairs in the lab weren’t as comfy as the one Genevieve was previously seated on. Without a cushion, it was just hard blue plastic which made your behind sore.

Zayn double clicked the software icon. His screen filled with horizontal and vertical cells similar to excel. He split the screen, on one side there was SPSS and on the other there were instructions. He copy pasted the raw data assigned by the professor, numbers in the squares from A1 to G93 rolled in like a lottery machine.

“Okay let's sort this out,” he sighed under his breath. It was the most redundant part of the assignment. The variables needed to correspond correctly or else your analysis would not be fruitful.

Genevieve frowned, confusion pressed her brows together. People had different ways of doing things, and of course, there is no harm in that. But the more she observed Zayn’s cursor, she realized his approach was inefficient and clumsy. “Are you doing it manually?”

“Isn’t this the only way?”

“Nope, I can just plug in a few formulas to set the parameters and the software will pick up how we want it organized.”

“You’re kidding,” Zayn deadpanned. He turned to Genevieve with his mouth parted and eyes popped. “Last time, I hand sifted through pages and pages of data.”

“All 900 points?” Zayn nodded enthusiastically at Genevieve’s raised brow. “That must have taken hours. Here, let me show you.”

It went on like that. Zayn mainly lead the direction; Genevieve added in her two cents and supervised. Angie was busy picking her peeling gel nailpolish. There was a solid fifteen minutes where she put in effort, but her clicks ended up deleting two rows. Then a mutual agreement was reached that Angie fingers would remain far away from the mouse or keyboard. She was free to voice her concerns from a distance.

Genevieve sneaked a few glances at the front desk, but there was no one in dire need of help.

“Fucking hell,” Angie seethed in a hushed whisper. The way she jumped off her seat suggested someone lit a round of firecrackers under her chair. She darted to grab her bag and hold it in front of her face. Behind her disguise, her face twitched with fear and she slouched to make herself smaller. “What on God’s green Earth is she doing here?”

“Who?” Zayn said without peeling his eyes from the screen, used to her dramatics. Angie scampered underneath the empty space of their desk. It was remarkable how quickly she could get her body to fold into a fetal position. From her cramped place on the floor, Angie still had Zayn and Genevieve’s view.

“Don’t look now, but it’s Rebecca by the front.” As if it was a staged cue, their necks snapped towards the red head exiting off the elevator, in sync. She carried a binder with papers and a textbook topped it off. Rebecca had a phone pressed to the side of her ear as she spoke into the receiver. Angie’s advice was lost in thin air which resulted in her face contorting into a snarl. “I said don’t look, great, you’ve both made it painfully obvious now. Wonderful.”

“Who’s Rebecca?” Genevieve whispered as low she could.

“Angie’s ex.” Zayn informed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Zayn finally noticed Angie’s ridiculous hiding spot and a look of second hand embarrassment flushed his cheeks. “Get out from behind there, Angie, you look like a loon.”

“Is she gone?” Angie inquired.

“No.”

“Then I’m not coming out.”

“Great.” Zayn had learned how to pick and choose his battles with Angie. This was a time to let her be.

Genevieve felt like she had heard the thirty second trailer of the topic. It was difficult to string the beginning, middle, and end of the saga that seemed to be Angie’s relationship. “What happened between you guys?”

“She broke my heart, smashed it and then threw a party like nothing else happened. I caught her in bed with a first year and she said they were cuddling. Cuddling! Can you believe that?” Angie scoffed. She had taken a bite out of a chewy bar that she swiped from her bag. The plastic crinkled loudly in her fist. “I’d rather be left at the altar, it would’ve been less painful. The smugness of the first year didn’t help matters, went around campus gloating. Menace.”

“She fucked Angie over real bad. She had commitment issues and shit.”

“She didn’t fuck me over, Zayn. I’m plenty fine, can’t you see? I’m lovely, I’m—”

“—Hiding pathetically under a desk?”

“—great. Splendid, even. Perfectly intact.”

Zayn eyes were like a bowling ball going full speed down an empty ally. The mouse double clicked under his index finger as his attention diverted back to the task at hand. “Save your breath, you’re sounding more and more like Harry.”

“Why are you comparing me to him, have you gone mad? He was ten times worse than me.”

“I’m saying both of you are like kicked puppies. Moping and basking in your misery every second of the day. So what you lost someone, people come and go! That’s life!”

Angie scoffed again. Her competitive streak was bold and prominent and very visible. “Give me some credit, I’m much better at coping than Harry. He’s a complete mess, makes me look like an angel.”

“What do you mean?” Genevieve prompted, leaning forward. She chewed on the corner of her mouth. The skin was soon to be raw and agitated.

“When we first met Harry, he was a wreck. He doesn’t talk about it much but we assume he went through a nasty breakup of some sorts.”

Genevieve didn’t have experience with what hot flashes felt like, but she was sure this was it. The room was suddenly a couple degrees colder, but her skin was flaming hot. The warmth was most intense over her face, neck and chest. The tips of her fingers felt like she held onto ice cubes for a moment too long.

Genevieve ran her tongue over the dry cracks in her bottom lip. “Oh.”

Angie bit off another piece of her bar, a few crumbs falling from her mouth. If Genevieve was in a decent state of mind, the mind numbing hours of training videos would’ve reminded her to enforce the no food policy in the building. Instead, her tongue sat heavy in her mouth.

“He sulked for at least a year before getting over whoever it was, he won’t give us a name. I tried prying it out of him when he was sloshed, but he’s a stubborn little knob.”

The steady percussion of Genevieve’s heart raised in tempo. A dagger twisted in her gut which explained the sharp pain in her abdomen. The four walls of the room took gradual steps towards her. The space became limited, suffocating, and the oxygen was being slowly sucked away.

“But the difference between you and Harry is that he got over it! Whereas you, on the other hand, can’t get past the first stage of grief.”

“Stop talking, you sound more and more like my therapist. And I’m not paying you, so don’t get any ideas.” Angie narrowed her eyes at Zayn, then peered up at Genevieve with a sorry gaze. “If I got a dime for everytime Zayn psychoanalyzed me, I’d pay off my tuition and get a fancy bungalow in The Bahamas. Maybe even a minifridge. He thinks he’s the next Freud, don’t you?”

Zayn laughed. “Do you see what you’re doing? Deflecting the actual problem.”

“Oh come off it! Less talking and more doing my assignment, chop, chop! It won’t finish itself, you know?”

“While I’m here slaving away, would you like to tack on any more insults, Your Highness?”

“Now that you mention it….”

Gen exhaled in hopes to loosen the winding nerves in her shoulders and chest. Her eyes focused on the digital clock at the bottom right hand corner of the monitor. “You guys good with this? I’m gonna run to the loo then head home since my shift ends in five.”

“Thanks so much for doing this, Gen. Absolute lifesaver,” Angie dropped her teasing in a second. A soft smile spoke of her gratitude with great conviction.

“No worries, text me if you need any more help.” Genevieve stood up from her chair. The sudden movement made her head dizzy. Her legs were as stable as jelly.

“Hope that won’t be necessary, but go ahead and feed your number just in case, you know? Zayn isn’t the brightest bulb at times.”

“I’m not the brightest bulb? Are you listening to yourself? You haven’t touched the keyboard once!” Zayn snapped his eyes over to Genevive as she handed back Angie’s phone. An exasperated rage glossed his features. His hair pointed a million different directions from the countless times he ran his fingers through it. “Gen, get out while you can or else you won’t get another chance.”

“You guys are too much,” Genevieve chuckled shaking her head. “I’ll see you around.”

Genevieve’s bladder wasn’t the reason behind her brisk steps towards the toilets. She needed to splash her face with ice cold water to balance out her temperature. It was overwhelming, to say the least. All the information thrown at her needed time to come down to a simmer, currently, it was bubbling at an all time high and slipping over the edge.

Her fingers pressed to the polymer of the salmon coloured sink. The skin under her nails turned paper white from the pressure of her weight. Her breaths were laboured, so she shut her eyes tightly and steadied all the possibilities her mind was running to.

A flush sounds loudly. The high pitched noise dwindles when the tank is refilling. A lock turned and out comes the click click click of tall heels.

“Genny? Is that you?”

“Hannah?” Migraine Morton wore a tight leather skirt that did wonders for her legs, which of course were covered in fake tan. She waved her manicured hands under the sink, the sensors blinked a blue light and water rushed out of the tap. “How are you?”

“It’s been forever, you’ve changed so much! And look at those cheekbones, you look straight off the runway.” She ripped paper towels from the dispenser. The colour becoming a dark brown as it soaked the water off of her. “It’s the Keto Diet, isn’t it? It’s been working for so many of my girlfriends, but I can’t get even keep five pounds off. Anyway, how’s everything?”

The way she tilted her head assumed that they were lifelong friends who spoke everyday. That wasn’t the case whatsoever. The most Hannah knew about Genevieve was from a boy that once connected them. They probably qualified as acquaintances rather than friends on facebook. But Hannah had a knack for befriending anything with a living pulse—fucking too, if you listened to the gossip on campus.

“Yeah, it’s been going well! Lectures, the diner, bouncing back everywhere.”

“It’s… it’s good to keep yourself busy, you know.” Hannah’s tone transformed into that of a sympathetic one. It probably came from a good place. But when her brows crumpled together, Genevieve wanted the ground to swallow her whole.“I know how hard it must be after...”

“I’m actually doing alright.” Genevieve smiled, an on command customer service grin.

“It’s just when I heard, I thought you would be absolutely devastated! I mean, who wouldn’t be right?” Hannah twirled a stupid blond lock of hair around her pointer finger. “Both of you were always joined at the hip”

“People learn to let go. It’s only natural.”

Hannah’s face morphed into one thought provoking one, as if Genevieve’s words were a part of some philosophical theory.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right!” By her face, you would assume that clouds had parted and a beam of light shone down. This revelation was probably the first and last of the century for her. “Do you remember Amanda Wang? From first year sociology? How we were inseparable? Well she literally disappeared off the Earth and I haven’t heard from her. Just between us though, she was a bit of a pretentious bitch.” Hannah smacked her glossy lips. The shine seemed sticky and too bubblegum. “Of course, there’s no comparison to be made between our situation, you knew him for years.”

“Yeah,” Genevieve answered weakly.

“Shit I’m sorry!” Her eyes widened as she registered what she said, palms coming up in defence. Her brain had a tendency to lag a couple steps behind. It was always a few seconds too late. “I’m not making things any better. That probably sounded really daft.”

“It’s all good.”

Hannah threw away her used paper towel. She hiked her purse in the crook of her elbow. “Keep hanging in there girlie, it gets better!”

“Don’t I know it!”

She reached forward and squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, Genny! You’re still the jokester as ever! I’ve got to run off to my next lecture, but it was nice seeing you! Don’t be a stranger, we should meet up again! Text me!”

“See you, Hannah!” Genevieve grinned, fake and compulsory.

She wiggled her fingers, like a main character of some cheesy 2000’s movie, and clicked off.

Genevieve’s palms held her face as she tried her utmost best to not scream from frustration. There was one thing clear as day, she had to get away from the library. All the Harry talk, all the Hannah talk, was only depleting the count of her brain cells. She needed them to finish her untouched module. There were fifty questions. At one glance, she knew they would suck her soul.

Genevieve grabbed her coat and bag from her desk. The person who was assigned the next shift was signing on the computer to punch in their hours. She waved a quick goodbye and pressed the button to the elevator.

Her car returned from the shop. After a hefty oil change and the addition of four winter tires, it was safe to drive. Her seats were frozen so she turned on her engine and blasted the heat. In turn, the radio automatically switched on to the station set as the number one setting.

Liam: —That was Strangers you just heard by The Bell. I’ve been listening to them quite a bit, they’re bound to play stadiums soon, you can take my word. Now it is time for my personal favourite segment of the show. Usually it’s you guys listening in, but I’d thought we better switch it up! This is Listen Liam! Where you tell me what’s going on in your life and maybe I can offer an ear. You’re on the air.

Caller: Liam! I am in a bit of a pickle.

Liam: I’m all ears, go on!

Caller: I think my friend has a drinking problem. She went so overboard last night that she started chewing her bare foot thinking it was a piece of meat! She’s vegan! How is that even possible?!

Liam: [Laughs] Now, that has got to be the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. We all have a friend that’s like that. I’ve got Niall. Blonde, loud, talks a lot. You heard of him?

Caller: I think he was in one of my lectures.

Liam: Great! As soon as I think something is going iffy with one of my friends I just compare them to Niall. If they’re worse than him, I’m rushing to the closest rehab. If not, all is well!

Caller: That actually puts so much into perspective. Thanks Liam!

Liam: Always here for help! Thank you for your call. Our next song is very fitting, Here is Drunk in Love by the Legend herself.

Genevieve didn’t know she was in the parking lot of Liam’s radio station until she put her gear in park. If she couldn’t get peace in the library, the next resort was the couch generously offered to her on numerous occasions. Liam was only found here at wee hours in the night since he did night radio. Today was one of those odd days his show was on during the day—the same time she needed a place to study. It all seemed destined.

The architecture building was all points and sharp edges. The drop in quality design amplified as soon as she hit the basement. No longer was there fancy glass and shiny mirrors. The tiles on the floors were unevenly aligned and she didn’t want to analyze the yellow mold dripping down the side of one wall. She passed a custodian’s quarters, and in the corner was a door with a makeshift sign announcing the station’s territory.

Liam leaned against the wall beside the shut door. One of his foot was over the other. His phone glued to the side of his face. “Yes, yeah that apartment is no longer available.”

His eyes snapped up at the sound of her shoes against the floor. He grinned. Genevieve gave an excited wave as she walked further down the hallway and his eyes brightened.

“No, unfortunately,” he continued to mumble into the receiver.

When she got close enough, she could hear an angry accent blaring through his phone. Liam rolled his eyes and spoke into the receiver once more. “I’m sorry, there’s not much I can do.”

He pointed towards the door beside him, motioning to go inside. His phone call was probably going to take him a minute to sort out. Hopefully, he had queued up a couple songs to avoid a dead line.

Genevieve walked into the humble space, the door shut gently behind her by Liam.

There were two parts to the room. On the right side was a booth, the cramped size meant it was most likely used as a supply closet. All the equipment was squished in there. A computer sat on an ikea table and a foldable picnic chair did little to compliment it. It was a mess of wires and stray headphones lay lifelessly.

Adjacent to it was the second half of the room. A worn out rug was cut up on the floor to fit the small space. Then there was the infamous pissed on couch. The quality implied it was from the goodwill down the block. It’s ancient floral pattern proved it was previously owned by someone in their 60’s. On one end of the couch, a head of dark chestnut hair rested against the arm.

She should’ve stayed at the library.

She should’ve gone home.

She should’ve gone to a coffee shop.

Now looking at the sight in front of her, the possibilities were endless.

When Genevieve was twelve, she was sure she had lived through the worst day of her life. It was in Mrs. Webster’s afternoon math class. She hadn’t been keeping up with doing her homework. And Mrs. Webster picked on her to answer a simple multiplication question scratched on the board. She blurted out the first number that came to mind— two.

The whole class hollered with laugher and she sunk down in her assigned chair with red cheeks. Sixty-eight multiplied by nine was never, ever, two. If only she had made an educated guess and gave a number that wasn’t a single digit, she wouldn’t have seemed like a complete loser.

That night she went home and reviewed the chart of times table and made sure it was burned in the back of her eyelids.

The multiplication table, the public humiliation, and the sight in front of her was ingrained deeply in a part of her brain she would never voluntarily revisit.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” His eyes did not part from the novel cracked open in front of him. His nose wiggled when he found a particular line amusing. An awkward beat passed and Genevieve was at a loss of words. “Have you become a statue? Do I need to unfreeze you?”

He laid horizontally on the couch. The length of his legs —spread out across the cushions— shrunk the size of the furniture, making it seem smaller than it actually was. He propped his head on a folded arm, a makeshift pillow.

“You’re here.” Their disagreement from before was still a fresh wound. The alcohol aided her bravery last time, but now without its push, Genevieve wondered if he took those words to heart. She didn’t know where they stood. “Yet again.”

“I am.” He closed the book after folding a dog ear at the top right hand corner. His neck craned to look towards where she stood. “Hello to you, too.”

Genevieve clutched the strap of her bag. She noticed there was no resentment in his voice. “How… what are you doing here?”

“Liza’s show just finished up, I’m usually here for it. The million dollar question is, what made you decide to grace us with your presence on this fine Tuesday?”

She blinked quickly as panic flushed up her neck. She had to be tactical about her response. Admitting to needing a study space was the cheese at the end of a mouse trap. She didn’t want to trap herself in a room with Harry for God knows how long. Her day had gone through enough loops and twists and Genevieve wanted to get off the rollercoaster. She had to get out of here. “I came to drop off something for Liam, but I’ll get going.”

Genevieve turned around to grip the doorknob, but before she could twist it, Harry spoke up. “What is it?”

“Hm?” She asked looking over her shoulder. He sat upright, the book of his interest was now face down on his lap. He wore a simple black shirt, a red flannel was unbuttoned over it.

“The thing you were here to drop off.”

“Yeah, oh, I um, already gave it to him.”

“That still doesn’t answer the question.”

“It was a...” she mulled through an imaginary list of objects to fit this scenario.

When she took a minute too long, a knowing smile quirked his lips. “Lying isn’t a good look on you.”

She scoffed. “I’m not lying, Harry.”

“Yes you are and it’s written all over your face.” He pointed it out like a simple observation as if saying the sky is blue, birds fly, and Genevieve lies. “You do that thing when one part of your mouth is higher than the other and you avoid eye contact.”

The swinging door almost knocked her out from the sudden force. She dodged it just in time. It was a hair’s length distance away from breaking her nose. Her eyes widened in shock. Harry mouthed karma.

“Shit, Gen.” Liam stumbled in. “Why are you standing so close to the door? You alright?”

“Was actually leaving.”

Liam’s brows creased. “Rubbish, you just got here. You’re definitely staying for longer. I was thinking of popping to that pretzel shop right beside to get myself something to chew on. Which one do you want?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Liam looked over Genevieve’s shoulder. “Harry?”

“Anything, as long as it’s not super sweet.”

“You got it.” Liam nodded and gave a gleaming smile his way. “And you—” Liam turned to Genevieve with a pointed finger, it didn’t hold much authority “—Better not be gone until I’ve come back or else I’ll be very cross. I mean it, don’t even think about it.”

Genevieve huffed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “What am I even supposed to do here in the meantime? Queue up songs for you? I’ll play the Highschool Musical soundtrack for your listeners and soon there won’t be any left.”

“I’ve already got that taken care of. Don’t you have a mountain worth of coursework? Get a start on that.”

Genevieve felt like she was reaching into a magician's black hat and pulling out a rabbit. But in her case there were no furry animals, only poorly threaded excuses. “I… I don’t have my calculator or any pens or—”

Liam shuffled into the booth. His back curved as he bent over the desk. A cylinder container was situated at the corner beside the workplace lamp. It was sparsely filled with a couple highlighters, paperclips, and a single pen.

He plucked the utensil quickly before handing it to Genevieve. “Here, use this. I think I may have my finance calculator in my bag. It should have the same functions.”

The pace of everything slows down as the cheap plastic rolled between her thumb and forefinger. It was a classic blue BIC pen, the type offices bought in bulk to save money.

There is a reason why Genevieve only used black inked pens. Every time she saw blue on paper, she felt his thumb on her lip. It was too distracting, like a herd of bees buzzing collectively around her in threatening circles. Multiple stingers pierced nostalgia deep into her arms, legs, shoulders, lips. Her skin broke and red painful bumps erupted. Her chest tightened and her throat clamped shut.

“Gen, Gen? You alright?” Liam squeezed her forearm and Genevieve woke from her trance.

“Hm?”

“You became really pale.”

She cleared her throat to delay her response. “Um… I—can’t. I don’t use blue pens. It’s just…” She knew she sounded delirious. Though her left hand was fisted, the slight tremor was not well hidden.

Liam’s inquisitive look wasn’t judgemental or contemptuous and for that she was thankful.

What differentiated Liam from others is that he understood without needing to know the details. He didn’t ask questions because he knew if Genevieve wanted to share, she would at her own time. Most often times, her lips were the zig zag teeth of zippers—tightly fastened—but he remained on the sidelines, patient. With one look he appraised her and knew this stemmed deep.

“I’ve got another,” Harry interrupted, making Genevieve’s neck turn towards him. She forgot for a moment that he was in the room. He waved a pencil in the air. The pink eraser on the end was salmon coloured and the tip was a bit rounded. It wasn’t a pen, but it would have to do.

“That settles it,” Liam concluded with a clap. “You’re staying.” There was no room to rebuttal. He grabbed his wallet and cell phone and pulled the door open. Liam was gone, only leaving a gust of wind in his departure.

Genevieve rubbed her palm over her face.

“I don’t bite, you know?” His tone was steady. “Being in a room with me isn’t as dreadful as you’re making it out to be.”

“Oh, it’s worse,” Genevieve mumbled under her breath, but it was drowned out by Harry’s backpack hitting the floor. The spot on the couch beside him was now vacant.

“We need to set boundaries.” It’s ironic for her to say this as she walked over to empty space he set aside for her.

The only other place left to sit was the floor, she didn’t need to add back problems to her list of already growing concerns. This list had Harry’s name at the very top in red ink; underlined, and multiple exclamation marks surrounded it. If it was anytime to acknowledge it, this was it, when he was an arms length away on the opposite side of the couch.

“What do you mean?”

“Like we need some parameters. Some sort of rules to abide by if you’re just gonna end up popping up everywhere.”

He laughed, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back like Genevieve was on stage behind a microphone at stand up night. It took a minute for his chuckles to dwindle down. Harry’s brows almost met his hairline when Genevieve’s face remained stoic. “Oh wait… you’re serious.”

“I’ll go first.” Genevieve distracted herself by pulling out her notebook and flipping to the last page she worked on. She picked up the pencil he dropped beside his thigh. It was easier to get her thoughts in order when she didn’t make eye contact with him.“We can’t let anyone know about how we know each other. I haven’t… haven’t told Liam, Meena or Niall about any of it and I'd like to keep it that way.”

“It’s not something to hide.”

“For me, it is.” Genevieve breathed out a sigh. Her back hit the cushion and she folded her legs underneath herself. “And from what I’m hearing from Angie and Zayn, they don’t know much either.”

“It just never came up so I didn’t bother.” Harry shrugged cracking the novel open to his marked page. “Alright, I'll give you that, only if you agree not to be so...”

His sentence was a loose piece of thread, floating freely. He purposefully let it dangle between them.

“Go on.” Genevieve tilted her head. “Finish your sentence.”

His face contorted as he tried to find the right word. A tongue poked the inside of his cheek.

“...Tense.”

Genevieve threw the pencil at Harry. The gesture is so natural that it startled her. It bounced off the side of his forehead with a clunk. His fingers rushed to apply pressure on the sore spot. His pink lips pouted.

“Jesus, woman,” he groaned. He pretended as if Genevieve had chucked it at full force, when in reality it was a lousy throw, she had noodle arms. “I gave you that to use, not to assault me with.”

“I’m not tense.” Her jaw hung open in disbelief.

“Then it shouldn’t be a chore to agree to it.” Harry countered.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “It shouldn’t.”

The radio switched tracks, Liam’s queued up a song sounded softly in the silence. An acoustic guitar strummed in the background as Genevieve started a problem and Harry went back to his book.

He spread out his legs in front of him, his back moulded against the couch in a way that would leave him to complain about an ache in a couple of hours. Genevieve refrained from pointing it out.

Two songs finished and a pre-recorded ad played. The brief thirty seconds advertised the fundraiser a student group put together to raise funds for Angie Wu’s family. The next song started, an upbeat tempo and rhythm.

“Never thought I'd see the day you’d say no to pretzels.”

She didn’t realize she was nodding with the music until she stopped and turned her head towards him. She raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Those were your favourite.”

“Yeah, I’m just not hungry.”

“You were so crazy about them. I took one bag from the pantry and you bit my head off. How was I supposed to know it was yours?”

Genevieve’s eyes flickered down towards the cover in his hand. “Never thought I’d see you read something by Toni Morrison.”

“It was on the list.”

“You still have it? I thought it was lost.”

“I do, the bloody thing never ends. Just when you think you’ve gone through a big chunk, you flip the page and there’s more.” He peered over the top of the book at her. “I’ve went to the library enough times, they know my name without checking my card.”

Genevieve dotted an equal sign and then a row of numbers. She collected like terms and simplified the problem. “I tried looking for it everywhere in the flat. Spent two weeks.”

“Should’ve checked the car.” His voice was low, almost lost in with the music, but she heard it. A sad smile played on the ends of his lips as he flipped the page.

Genevieve noticed his adam’s apple rise and fall. There is a distant look in his eyes that she had never seen before. Harry’s lashes fluttered quickly, to blink away the memories playing in his mind. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Most of them are confusing as shit, don’t make sense. Feels like reading in circles, but so far I’ve liked four of them.”

“Yeah? How many have you gone through?”

Harry’s forehead scrunched in thought as he mentally counts the different titles, using his digits to keep track if needed. His lips—puckered in concentration— were red and bitten, yet appear feather soft.

“Not many, maybe nine?” His ring and middle finger scratched at his hairline, light bounced off the metal bands wrapped around his digits. His posture softened as a blush rose up his neck. “‘I'm a slow reader,” he admitted, his tone timid and bashful.

Genevieve’s eyes rolled involuntarily, a breathy laugh danced through her lips. “Oh, I know.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that you take two years to read a take out menu, always have.”

“It’s called browsing the options and specials.”

“Yet you order the same every time? Do explain.” Playful offence is threaded between them. It was starting to resemble the easy conversations they once shared over a cereal breakfast, lazy Sundays, in passing here and there. The smallest things they had taken for granted became a bitter recollection.

His throat grumbled in defeat. “Be nice.”

There were days where Genevieve wanted to put a halt to whatever distance they had carved from each other. Harry felt oceans away, but it would be cruel to put all the burden on him. Genevieve wasn’t standing there with warm welcoming arms either, she was rather stone cold.

They were dropped beads of a broken necklace, scattered on a tiled floor. The thread that joined them had snapped. There had been occurrences where Genevieve’s thumb hovered over his contact name, the number so old that she wasn’t sure if it still worked. She almost sent him a text, left a voicemail. She missed her friend, that wasn’t in question, but she couldn’t bring herself to go through with it. He was to blame.

But there they were. Harry was still Harry. And Genevieve was Genny. Sure, his shoulders were slightly broader, his hair a bit shorter, and his posture more crooked. It was also okay that they weren’t the same. There was an awkward space that separated them, one that didn’t exist before because Harry would have had his arm thrown over her shoulders and her head would comfortably align with his chest.

“Is it—” Genevieve gulped loudly, hesitant as nerves circled her belly like sharks do the ocean. She twisted her sleeves in her palm before starting once more. She didn’t know if her request was intrusive or disrespectful in any way. She hoped it wasn’t. “Is it okay if I maybe take a look at it?”

Harry had found the list, so it belonged to him. Much like how Genevieve protected some photographs and a lighter with her life. It would be reasonable if his answer wasn’t what she was pulling for. He had ownership and the right to say no.

A pause followed, it made her sure that she was twisting knobs on locked doors. Harry’s face remained impassive. Had she not said it loud enough? Her limbs felt heavy and heat began to crawl up Genevieve’s face as she realized rejection wasn’t a reality far away, but it was rather staring her in the face.

Genevieve deflated when he nodded eagerly.

“‘Course, yeah. I’ll bring it around sometime.”

The door swung open and Liam came in clutching far too much than he could balance. A bag hung from between his chest and chin, there were three more in his hand. The paper wrinkled loudly as he moved. He shut the door behind him with the heel of his foot.

Genevieve shot a confused look at his small buffet.

“They just increased the student discount for these! Can you believe?”

***

November 15, 2019

Genevieve was a match burning at both ends. Sometimes it would be too much of a chore to step in the shower or brush her teeth. The smallest tasks that once would come so naturally now demanded significant energy. Sure, she could blame it to her course load, and juggling jobs at Flo’s and the student help desk. But she knew self care was pushed to the back burner way before any of that started—three years ago precisely.

Today, she opened the shared document on her computer.

A long needle injected into her spine; the pinch was sharp. Stress shot through every nerve ending when the cursor scrolled down the screen.

Group assignments did more harm than good, if only professors understood that. The assignment was to be done between four random people in her course. The groups were preselected and Genevieve didn’t know a single face. The dropbox to hand in the report closed at midnight. Currently, the fifteen page report only came up to three pages.

She tried to get hold of her remaining group members, but the group chat was only a string of messages from her end. The shower she planned to take was now an unaffordable luxury. She cracked her knuckles and began pulling the dead weight of three people.

Her phone buzzed, disrupting the quiet in her flat. She was so caught up in editing the null hypothesis she didn’t check the caller ID and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Genevieve?”

“Mum, hi,” Genevieve breathed out and the rush of air created static on the line.

“Are you in the middle of something? You sound busy.”

Genevieve skimmed over a research paper she wanted to reference. Her mouse copy pasted the citation. “Just doing an assignment last minute. I could throw up from the stress.”

“Baby, you need to take it easier, that is no way to live, no matter what deadline you’re under,” she scolded with gentle concern. Like always, it went through Genevieve’s ear and came out the other. “Anyway, I called because Sarah—the nice lady down the street—has started a donation drive for Syrian Refugees. I’m giving her your old clothes, is that alright?”

“The ones in boxes up in the attic?”

“Yes, if you need them I can—”

“No, give them away. I can’t remember the last time I wore them, it’s better they get some use out of them.” Genevieve selected two lines on the document. The words highlighted a sky blue, then she hit backspace.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Plus, it would clear up some space up there anyway.”

“Don’t go too intense with your cleaning, you get a bit kooky.” Genevieve giggled and pressed the phone between her shoulder and cheek. She continued her work on the laptop.

“There’s no harm in having a clean, tidy space!” Label makers and organizing bins got Margaret White more excited than any man. Spring cleaning happened quarterly at their residence. The attic was full of abandoned scrapbooks, VCR cassettes, old furniture, and her broken bicycle that had a neon pink basket. “While I was up there, I did find something.”

Genevieve smiled. “Did you cry to my elementary school pictures? Again?”

“Oh hush!” Genevieve pictured her crossed brows. Waterworks were in ample supply when taking a trip down memory lane with her mother, it was like forgetting to shut the water tap off. Genevieve found it amusing to poke fun at her for. “You still have a box of his stuff. Do you want me to get rid of it?”

The pause was deafening. The clicking of Genevieve’s fingers on the keyboard came to a definite halt. Her laptop screen became muddled as it went out of focus. She felt the back of her eyes sting as she recalled the specific box. She smelled August.

“Gen?”

“No, no, don’t do that.” Genevieve clutched the receiver with a sudden desperation. There was apparent sniffling on her end of the line. Genevieve cleared her throat and tried to disguise it as a cough. “Mum I just...”

“I can post it to you. There are a lot of pictures.”

��Can you, please?” Genevieve choked back a sob.

“Of course.”

Genevieve clamped her eyes shut and breathed deep through her nostrils. She assumed she owed her mother an explanation for the sudden onslaught of emotions. “I’m not crazy, it’s just this course, this assignment, is really putting a stress on me.”

“I know, Darling,” she said, but didn’t sound convinced in the slightest.

Genevieve swallowed sour bile. “It’s not… it’s not because of him, I swear.”

“Didn’t think it was.”

“Really?” Genevieve’s word squeaked.

“Genevieve, baby,” her mother began. Margaret pursed her lips and it built a bustling silence. Words were tricky in sensitive situations like these. If not cherry picked with care and caution, they can ruin relationships—even of blood—with a snap. “He left, he was a great boy, but he left. And a part of me tells me you’re not coping.”

“I am. I promise I am.”

Genevieve covered the mouthpiece on her to muffle any whimpers. She rolled her lips tightly.

Margaret sighed. “I just worry about you, is all.”

“No reason to be, I’m doing much better.”

Blue sky. Birds fly. Genevieve lies.

“Alright.” There was shuffling on the other side of the line. “I’ll ring you another time. Take care of yourself, please.”

“Will do, love you.”

“Love you, too.”

When the call ended, Genevieve bowed her head in shame. Her phone clattered on her wooden desk, then laid dead. The squares aligned in even rows on her keyboard were black. The font of each letter was simple, and the colour of winter. The U,G,S,A,T keys were dotted with small puddles of tears.

***

Beta: @drivingmekiwi @at-least-im-1 @angryniall @pagesuponstpages @feminarrie @fireawaynjh

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[atinyidea]

Glitch | Ateez Gang! AU | FOUR

⟶ gang!au, hacker!au, love triangle? poly? female!original character

How curious it is, the fact that the police just gave a media conference, confirming ATZ’s involvement in Kyungri’s families newly-appointed murder, just as she sat down for her best friend, Jaehyeon, to be tattooed by one of the gang members?

⟶ glitch ml! main ml!

⟶ prologue | previous | next

⟶  note! @atinyluna @iis4d @untainted-memories !! if anyone wants to be on a tag list for this fic just let me know!

⟶ 4417 words

⟶ edited 08.03.2020

FOUR: The Club, 22:18,

Saturday 25 October 2025,

The two girls walked hand in hand around the streets, holding each other up and letting out quiet giggles now and then, the people around them not even bothering to look at the two ‘drunk girls. When they got to X-Clusive, they dropped hands, setting off in different directions and not looking back at one another as they walked, the ground beneath them was almost vibrating under the intense bass emanating from the club.

“Remember, you two have roles to play. You’re Lee Chanmi and Pyo Hyeri, two overly rich girls who went to school together, haven’t seen each other in a while so go crazy like stereotypical sorority girls in those cheesy movies you girls like to watch.”

“Yes GM, we know. Plus we only watch those movies to make fun of.” Chaeyoung grinned as she stepped out of the car. “You’re the one that buys them.”

After she left Kyungri shook her head with a small smile, “We’ve got this. I’ll keep you updated, keep watch, will you?” She asked, tapping the hidden camera in her choker before leaving to catch up with Chaeyoung.

While Chaeyoung went straight to the front of the long and snaking queue, ignoring the shouts of protests thrown her way, grinning at the bouncer who stood at the door with a clipboard in his hand and letting her pass by – “Name?” “Lee Chanmi.” “Right this way Miss Lee.” – Kyungri used this distraction to slip ‘round to the side of the building unnoticed in her black trench coat.

She pulled out one of her phones (Huawei) which had been upgraded explicitly to a wireless decoder and started the process at the back door. The door was locked with seven different types of locks.

The first two were done in a matter of seconds, two distinct clicks from separate parts on the door sounded out in the quiet alleyway. The third lock was different, a network-based electronic lock, taking a single minute to crack.

The fourth and fifth locks were the same type of lettering password locks just with two different lengths. Each took two minutes to figure out the random letter combinations, even with Kyungri tinkering away on the phone to help speed it up. (“Oh my God, how long are these passwords.” She grumbled.)

The sixth lock was similar to the previous two only this time it was a sequence of random numbers, taking just under two minutes – to which Kyungri had to force herself not to roll her eyes into the back of her skull out of frustration because of how long she had been just standing at a door, for anyone to come around the corner and see her.

The final lock was different, taking over her phone to display a virtual deadbolt and a twenty-second timer. Kyungri raised an eyebrow, only swiping her finger over the deadbolt to unlock it with five seconds left. “Oh shit?” Her eyebrows raised as the door pushed itself open for her, having nothing to hold it closed anymore. “Glad I brought the phone and not the laptop then.”

She slipped in the awaiting gap, pulling the door closed behind her and waiting for a couple of seconds to make sure the door was locked, more out of habit than curtesy, before making her way to the cloakroom. She blended into the middle of a group of girls as she removed the trenchcoat from her body. When she found Chaeyoung’s jacket, she simply hung the coat over the same hook and exited the room after making sure her clothes were presentable and popping a stick of gum in her mouth.

Using the same phone, she sent the whole process of the hack to Gongmyung so that he could make a case for their official job. Getting the simple reply of ‘good work, switch this phone off and get to playing.’

She smiled gently, switching the phone off and slipping the electronic into the back pocket of her shorts before fishing out another phone from its place in her bra, bumping into someone she didn’t catch to say sorry in the process. She stopped in her stride, in favour of not bumping into more people, but when she looked up to the corner of the club, she faced Kyungri noticed something a little peculiar.

She found her looking at a group of boys – men? – huddled in a shadowed corner. She wouldn’t’ve noticed them if she hadn’t stopped where she did but now she had seen them she didn’t know how she hadn’t spotted them before. Especially because one of them was standing outside of the little huddle like the worst bodyguard, she had ever seen. “Be a little more obvious; why don’t you?” She mumbled under her breath.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, a text from Gongmyung, reminding her to ‘record everything remotely suspicious’ and that he ‘couldn’t focus on them from her choker’s camera’ so she decided to use her setting to her advantage. She pulled up the camera feature on her phone, almost smug because she knew how good the camera on the device was, and set it going to record a video.

“Group selfie!” She shouted over the music in a high pitched nasally voice, holding up her phone that was already on record. The camera wasn’t facing her but instead the dark corner of huddled men; she was utilising the onslaught of flashes from the tens of camera’s taking several selfies around her, the high-pitched squeals of two dozen girls almost making her wince. Kyungri slipped away from the group once she was satisfied with her video and made her way to the bar.

As she sat down she watched the video back, muting it because the sound didn’t matter – it’ wasn’t like she’d hear anything. She was grateful for the brightening tool that automatically illuminated the shadowed corner for her to see the group, which she could now tell was a small number of three plus the ‘bouncer’, committing whatever features she could make out properly to memory. She lifted a hand to play with her dangling earrings, bouncing her leg that was crossed over the other: she had a role to play.

One man stood out in particular. He was the only one to look back past the ‘bouncer’ – who Kyungri had determined was either extremely new to the task or wasn’t particularly a part of their group – and towards the commotion, Kyungri had caused. She paused the video on his face, the one-second, he seemed to be looking directly at the eye of the camera.

His hair looked silver under the blue and purple neon lights and darkened by the shadows. It was on the long side, slightly hanging in his eyes, but only on the top as it didn’t reach past the base of his neck. His eyes were dark, from what she could see, but they weren’t small emphasised by the dark eyeshadow that lined his eyes. Kyungri couldn’t deny he was attractive, with a strong jawline, Romanesque nose and full lips. She scrolled the video away from his face, not wanting to let herself think about his lips. She was here for a job, not to ogle at an attractive man she had sneakily taken a video of. As she went to send the video to Gongmyung she noticed she had stopped the video at just the right moment to see the ‘bodyguard’ turn his body to show off the gun tucked into the pack of his pants. Kyungri grinned to herself, smacking the chewing gum in her mouth, as she sent the video with two simple words. “Got ya’”

“What’ll it be?” A new voice startled her out of her happy mood, but she didn’t drop her smile as she looked up to the bar girl who had come to serve her.

“What do you recommend?”

The bar girl rose and eyes brow at her so Kyungri pulled out the card Gongmyung gave her, her grin almost turning to one that mocked her. “Actually, I’d like the–”

“Let me guess, the most expensive drink we have?”

“No.” Kyungri raised an eyebrow; now it was getting fun. “I was going to say your second most expensive drink, I know just how much the most expensive is, and I don’t particularly like it anyway.” She said, giving her card over and turning her attention back to her phone, deleting the video, so she had no option of being found with it. Honestly, she had never been to the club before, but when the bar girl looked away and took her card, Kyungri couldn’t help but feel accomplished – one point for her snobby rich girl persona.

“Take a tip too, however much you want.” Kyungri winked as she looked up again, leaning more onto the countertop. She grinned as the bar girl handed over her card with her drink, “thanks,” she said, taking a sip as she kept eye contact.

Kyungri turned, slipping out of the seat to lean back against the bar on her elbows, looking out over the club – she might as well start looking for Chaeyoung. Only when she cast her gaze over the crowds dancing, it met the gaze of the man from her video. Now he was looking directly at her she Kyungri couldn’t find it in herself to look away.

He was now in the middle of the dancefloor, under bright blues and purples and she could finally see him. His silver hair, eyeliner, hips swaying in circles. She could now also see the array of ear piercings he had, giving off little gleams every time the metal caught a ray of light. When he noticed she was looking back at him, he got cocky – rightfully so – twisting his body and biting down on his lip. As his body moved so did his shirt – such a low-cut shirt Kyungri could see just about everything – the thin material not giving much for the imagination.

She looked away for a second, not wanting a blush to raise to her cheeks, and ran her tongue along her bottom lip, biting down gently a second after. When she looked back up to him, he was closer, making his way towards her. She simply raised an eyebrow, blowing a bubble from her chewing gum.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a place like this?” He asked, stopping in front of her. He hadn’t had to shout, the music much quieter by the bar than on the floor. His voice wasn’t the deepest thing she had ever heard, but it wasn’t high pitched either. She didn’t quite know how to describe it, especially after one sentence, but she knew right away; she liked it, which was weird. She liked the sound of a stranger’s voice?

“Oh, wow.” Her eyebrows raised, and her nose scrunched a little in disgust.

“What?” He asked, the corners of his lips twisting up as he lent on his side against the bar.

“Okay, maybe if you come up with something better I’ll think about telling you.” You teased, pulling her glass up to her lips again.

He grinned. “I would if I could think straight. Kinda hard when you’re the only thing in my head.”

She shook her head as she smiled in amusement, letting out a breathy snort of a laugh and putting the glass down on the counter and turning on her side to face him, the camera in her choker getting a close up of his face. It would be handy for later. “You don’t even know my name.”

“But it was better, Right?” He gave her a smirk, bringing her glass to his lips and watching her watch him take a drink. “I’m Wooyong.”

Kyungri waited a few seconds, deciding if she should keep entertaining him. “Hyeri.”

“Pretty name for a pretty woman.”

“These are getting worse.”

Wooyong let his head fall back as he laughed loudly. A smile lifted to her lips once again as she found herself laughing along with him. The sound was nice to her ears, his laugh was childlike – high pitched and almost innocent – and she liked it. As he calmed down his eyes descended her body, following the contour of her collar and the definition of her exposed abdomen and finally down to her long legs that were bare due to how short her shorts were. He could tell she’d be slightly taller than him at her full height and while he didn’t particularly care, he was a little grateful for the flat trainers she wore.

“Would you like to dance?” He asked, looking at her through his eyelashes.

“I hope your moves are better than your lines.”

He grinned at you, taking her hand in his and pulling to gently to the dancefloor he was just on. Then he was behind her, pulling her back to his chest and wrapping his arms around her waist, his mouth right by the shell of her ear.

“I didn’t say you could touch me.” Kyungri teased. He went to lift his arms from her torso, but she placed her left hand over his, pressing down slightly to keep his hands on her body, her right-hand curling around the back of his neck to play with the ends of his hair.

She really wasn’t that much taller than him, no more than a few centimetres anyway, but she still let her head fall back on his shoulder as the BPM of the song picked up. Their bodies moved together as one, no space between them as hips swayed and hand roamed. He was warm, and he knew how to dance, and Kyungri was enjoying herself.

“How are my moves?” He asked, his voice clouded with emotion in her ear.

“Better than your lines, that’s for sure.”

One of his hands lifted to take hold of her chin gently, their faces grew closer together, and her breath hitched. They were interrupted before their lips could connect.

“Hyeri? Park Hyeri? Seoul University Park Hyeri?”

Kyungri broke out of his hold, whipping around to come face to face with Chaeyoung – or rather her new persona – watching as her expression changed from one of curiosity to one of excitement. Chaeyoung had gotten better at acting.

“Chanmi? Lee Chanmi!”

“Hyeri!”

“Oh, my God!”

Both girls had erupted into squeals and high-pitched shouts, clinging onto one another for dear life and jumping up and down in an exaggerated way.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!”

They pulled each other in for a tight hug, Chaeyoung talking in her ear low enough only Kyungri could hear. “The deal’s going down in ten minutes. Upper east wing through the second door on the right.”

“Time to get away then. Plan A?”

“Plan B will be more effective, especially with Mr Let-me-fuck-eyes over there. Jeeze, you’re reeling them in these days.” She pulled away from the hug before Kyungri could respond. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“When did you get back from Italy?! Why didn’t you text me!”

“Like yesterday!” Chaeyoung giggled. Then her gaze flicked over Kyungri’s shoulder where ‘Wooyong’ stood, having not moved yet, and gave him a smirk. “I hope you don’t mind me stealing her for a bit!  I’ll give her back later, I promise.”

“I, Yeah. No problem. What?”

“You’ve got a catch of a girlfriend!” Chaeyoung winked at him, her smile widening as she noticed how shocked he was before turning and dragging Kyungri towards the bar. “SHOTS ON ME!” She screeched, holding her hand up in the air. They used the commotion of people who flocked to the bar for free alcohol as a getaway, slipping through everyone and almost running up a set of stairs in the back.

“You know you’ll still have to pay, right?”

“My card’s behind the bar. Just remind me to tell Daniel to cut it off when we get back.” Chaeyoung grinned. Daniel was Gongmyung’s name for the job – his mission name as Chaeyoung called it. It was simple and not related to his name in any way. The girls were always careful never to slip on a job.

Kyungri smiled at her best friend, shaking her head slightly but making no comment.

“So, a new boy toy?”

“Oh my God, can you not right now?”

“He was cute! All glistening like he was all oiled up. You two seemed close.” Chaeyoung said, not bothering to keep her voice down as they rounded a corner. “He didn’t even deny being your boyfriend.”

“You dragged me away before he could say anything.”

“You wanted to hear if he denied it?” Chaeyoung’s voice dropped to a whisper, spotting a man standing guard outside a door. He hadn’t noticed them – for some reason; they were quite loud – his gaze straight ahead to the wall opposite him. Chaeyoung motioned that she was going to go to him, that she had this, and Kyungri gave her a single nod, pulling out her phone – she just wanted to record this moment.

Chaeyoung was confident in her stride, her heels clicking against the tiled floor, with a sweet smile on her face as she approached the man. He was taller than her and bulkier than her, but he was the one at a disadvantage. Especially as she smiled at him before lifting her foot and stomping down on his foot with her heel, hitting his nose with her right elbow as he doubled over in pain and coming down with her left hand to ‘karate chop’ the back of his neck. In a matter of seconds and a flurry of specific movements, the guard lay on his front passed out, and Chaeyoung flipped her hair over her shoulder and shot a kiss toward Kyungri.

They two girls pulled the man into an empty room, making sure to lock the door after they left – it wasn’t a secure lock by any means, just a simple turn of the old-fashioned lock inside the door’s handle. However, the door was only lockable from the outside. It would ensure that he wouldn’t be able to get out of the room even if he woke up.

Then the girls assumed his position as if they had been there all along.

Continuing their conversation, Kyungri spoke up as she looked back own to her phone. “I don’t even know him.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Wooyong.”

“Then, you know him.”

“Oh my God,” Kyungri muttered under her breath, pressing the call button. “Daniel can hear us now.”

It was a few long seconds of silence before Chaeyoung spoke again. “You are allowed to have fun, y’know.”

“We’re doing a job.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” She paused when Kyungri sent her a look, eyebrow raised. “Okay! But you didn’t even get his number!” She exclaimed.

Kyungri closed her eyes, clenching her jaw.

“You’re getting all the attention today. Mr Tattooist and now Mr X-Clusive.” Chaeyoung continued, not caring about Kyungri’s current expression. “Too bad Mr Tattoo is shady.” She pouted.

“Everyone is shady.”

“I guess.” Chaeyoung agreed, looking over at Kyungri with a teasing grin. “You’re shady too, a match made in heaven.”

“Please shut up.”

“And Mr X-Clusive? You two are both sexy as shit. Another match made in heaven. Or Hell. He looked rather sinful, don’t you think?”

Her voice was practically a whine when Kyungri spoke. “Stop,” She said, dragging out the vowel.

“Excuse us, ladies.” Came a male’s voice, attracting their attention to a group of three. The one who had spoken, the one in the middle, had dark red hair and a charming smile upon his lips. Next to him were two men, a tall one to the right with black hair, pulled back away from his face and the other was of average height with dark brown hair.

“Should you be up here?” The tall one asked.

Immediately Chaeyoung perked up, plastering on a wide smile across her face and greeted them in a high-pitched and sickly-sweet voice. “Hi, there!” She exclaimed, waving her fingers innocently. Kyungri leant back against the wall, looking down to her phone, remembering she had called Gongmyung, so he could hear what was going down. It saved time and made her look less suspicious – if she were texting away every time the men said something they would take more interest in her and right now, she wanted to be next to invisible. Gongmyung sent her a text, ‘call muted, they won’t hear anything’ it said, and Kyungri let herself smile a little.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Can I help you?”

“You sure can.” The red-haired one smiled. “Take your pretty self and your friend here and go backstairs for me, yeah?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“And why is that, lovely?”

“Why should I tell you?”

Getting annoyed, the one of the left took a step forward, moving his jacket, so Chaeyoung (and Kyungri) had a clear view of the gun in his possession. “I think you should be more serious, little girl.”

“Oh! That’s a nice one! Sig Sauer P226 Handgun, right? I have three of them.” Chaeyoung winked, not phased even a little bit by the sight of a gun. She thanked the stars for the one helpful thing her father gave her. Kyungri couldn’t help the smirk forming on her lips, failing to stop the small giggle that left her lips at the shocked faces of the men. Gongmyung also expressed his amusement, in the form of a text. “My daddy taught me.”

“Your father?”

Chaeyoung simply nodded, the grin never fading from her lips.

“Who is he?”

“Where’s the fun in telling you that?” She teased, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a child.

“Look, girl. You need to get out here before you regret it.”

“Why would I regret it? Not looking for someone who can take it rough?”

“We’re here for a meeting not to fuck around. Forget you saw us and leave.”

“Well, finally! We’ve been waiting almost half an hour for you guys to show up!” It was a lie, they hadn’t been there more than five before they showed up, but Chaeyoung sold her lie impeccably.

“What?” The angry one raised a brow while the other two furrowed theirs.

Kyungri stepped forward, lifting her eyes from her phone, attracting the attention of the men who had almost forgotten her presence. While Chaeyoung had kept them busy, stalling them with her circular words, Kyungri and Gongmyung had got to work, hacking into their phones and downloading everything from their texts, pictures and emails to the encrypted files tucked away under passwords. It was child’s play. While Kyungri herself couldn’t hack directly, knowing it would cause too much attention, Gongmyung had been successful, downloading everything they had and finding some critical information just at the right time.

“We’re already running late, just cut to the chase and give us the password so that you can get on with the trade, and we can get on with our jobs.”

The tall one looked down at Kyungri, not that she was much shorter than him, with a raised brow and a small scoff. “You’re with ATZ?”

“That’s the wrong password.” Kyungri deadpanned, not looking away from his gaze, her face expressionless. She hadn’t hesitated, showing no indication of the shock she felt. The other gang was ATZ? Great.

While she hadn’t explicitly said she was with ATZ, her lack of hesitation and the conviction of her words had almost won over the members of NCT. The red-haired one narrowed his eyes slightly as he thought.

“I’m starting to think you just have a problem with women.” Chaeyoung giggled, running her fingers through her hair. The man of the left shot her a glare and went to step forward, being stopped by the man in the middle who stuck out an arm.

“What is at the end of a rainbow?”

“That’s the wrong password, are you sure you’re not the intruders here?” Kyungri couldn’t help the small quip.

“Listen, you little bitch-“

“Woah! Hey now! No need to be so rude!” Chaeyoung exclaimed, shoving a finger into his face. “We’re just doing our job! What Mr Boss Man says goes, no objections.” Her smile dropped now, only for a few seconds, but it was enough to get the message across. He stepped back, and the red-haired one sighed before he spoke.

“What gets broken without being held?”

“A promise! Thank you!” Chaeyoung thanked, her voice sickly sweet and her smile plastered back upon her face before she turned to Kyungri, her tone dropping to her natural deeper pitch and asked, “is Daniel Ready?”

“Yup,” Kyungri said, showing Chaeyoung her phone with the latest text from Gongmyung, the three names of the men in front of them.

“Well then, nice meeting you, Yuta, Johnny, Taeil. See you around!” The orange-haired girl lifted a hand to wiggle her fingers as they stepped aside, granting access to the door for the three of them.

The two girls shared a short look, leaning against each other and the wall before erupting into giggles as the door opened. Chaeyoung waved to the men once again this time, her expression was flirty, before she stumbled away from Kyungri, making sure she looked drunk. Kyungri followed suit, linking her arm through Chaeyoung’s and throwing her head back in a giggle as the people inside the room began talking.

“What took you so long?”

“Your girls!”

“What girls?”

The girls were thankful for the cameras they wore as they didn’t have time to see who was inside the room for themselves before they were rushing away from the hallway, gone from the wall when the three men turned back to motion to them.

They didn’t exactly run down to the main floor, but they did make it down to the cloakroom pretty quickly, pulling their jackets from the hook, not bothering to put them on, and making their way out the front door to where a car had pulled up on the street right in front of the club.

“Nice job, girls. Let’s get home yeah, I just ordered chicken.” Gongmyung grinned out at them, still dressed in his pyjamas, as the two girls shared and accomplished smiled and got in.

“We’re gonna have to change my hair tonight.”

[judyhopps934-mt-zd]

Thoughts on Heart Hunter (Loveater)

Warning: Major Spoilers! Read at your own discretion. Also, you may or may not want to scream at the end of this. I wanted to throw a temper tantrum after this. Press “Keep Reading” to continue.

Marinette had a wonderful narration in the beginning. Its heartwrenching, yes, but wonderful. It’s also foreshadowing, so take notes.

Master Fu’s first love died???? WHAT THE HELL??? YOU CAN’T DO THAT TO ME!

Did Chloé forget that she will no longer receive the Bee Miraculous??? Was “Miraculer” thrown out the window in this episode???

Chat saying he has a girlfriend to make Ladybug jealous??? I started to feel uneasy as he was losing patience and heartbroken. WHY MUST THE SHOW MAKE TWO YOUNG TEENS SUFFER???

Marinette hopelessly looking at photos of Adrien and getting excited over Luka’s message. And then there’s Adrien looking at photos of Ladybug only to see a post from Kagami. This is more foreshadowing and left an anxious knot in my stomach.

Luka stops by the bakery to play Marinette her melody. AND ITS BEAUTIFUL! THIS KID HAS TALENT! But that appreciation moment was short-lived as the knot in my stomach is growing. I fear for the Love Square here.

Also, he’s a pizza delivery guy. I would want to order pizza just so he’d deliver it to me just to meet him.

Bicycle ride to Le Grand Paris? And a kiss????? I seriously fear for the future of the Love Square. And the knot in my stomach grows.

I am fine. There’s no actual knot in my stomach.

Gabriel purposely made the “Love Cloak” to activate his plan. Why? He apparently knows that the Bourgeois couple hate each other’s guts. Audrey is awful to Andre. Even with distance, how did they not divorce each other yet. Better question, why did they get together in the first place????????

Adrien and Kagami were withheld from helping Marinette by their guardians until they told them that it would be for awhile. And they are grateful that she fell over so they could help her and escape. That’s genius to be honest. Simple, yet genius.

Adrien and Kagami fencing with kitchen utensils was everything, but also heart wrenching, especially seeing how Marinette feels when she gave it more thought.

Gorilla coming in the kitchen to look for Adrien and Kagami only to find Marinette. That was gold. And they were grateful that she covered for them. It warms my heart that the three are great friends.

And they invite Marinette to escape with them WITH CARDBOARD BOXES! THAT WAS AWESOME!

Why was Nathalie there, disconnecting her Bee light?

Adrien, Kagami, and Marinette jumping into what looks like a ball pit was the best moment in the episode. I appreciated that moment so much that it loosened some of that angst in my stomach (figure of speech).

And that was the moment where we see Marinette’s hair let down. AND SHE LOOKS LIKE AN ANGEL! OUR PRECIOUS CHILD!

Kagami comments that she looks beautiful and so does Adrien. I SUPPORT BI MARI!!! More on this later on.

Due to Marinette and her genius idea to distract Gorilla, they all escape the hotel. YAAAS!

But that was when the Akuma strikes and Heart Hunter (Loveater) emerges.

Chloé is more determined than ever to obtain the Bee Miraculous so she can save her parents. Oh boy…

Back to our trio, they find André, the ice cream guy. They decide to get ice cream, but once again, oh boy…

Oh Kagami. I know you don’t believe in the myth, but if only you knew.

André said bi rights. I repeat, ANDRÉ SAID BI RIGHTS! He is willing to sell the ice cream combo for Adrienette, Adrigami, and Marigami! If there was no Love Square or if it wasn’t drilled into my head, I would definitely ship Marigami (or is it Kagaminette?).

But why is he against a threesome? If he allowed it, then what comes next would not have happened. I’m keeping an eye on you André. I’m silently blaming you for what comes next.

Adrien and Kagami had let Marinette choose. And she chose selflessly. The ice cream was set for Adrien and Kagami. So that’s what that knot in my stomach was for.

Marinette leaves upset and they worry for a second before eating the ice cream. 

Can I note down that André was concerned for Marinette when she chose the ice cream for Adrien and Kagami? He was in a way screaming “Adrienette Rights!” But he allowed it. 

But, if she hadn’t chosen selflessly, then no one would have noticed Loveater (its shorter to spell, so I’m calling them Loveater). But still, she was so sad that I was willing to jump into that scene to hug her.

Hawkmoth and Mayura were observing Ladybug battle Loveater so that she would lead them to the Guardian (Master Fu). Also, where are you Adrien? Ladybug needs Chat Noir! (I know he’s with Kagami, but still. You are needed!)

Ladybug tried to manage to escape Mayura’s view, but because she saw Adrien and Kagami together, she got distracted that she CRASHED INTO A TREE! And Hawkmoth then SPOTTED HER AND FOLLOWED HER. This whole love sacrifice is starting to take a toll on my precious bean.

And that’s not all unfortunately. She showed up to the merry go round (really Master? Really?) as Ladybug! And did not notice Hawkmoth following her. Oh boy…

May I take a moment to put Chloé in her place? You did not earn the Bee Miraculous. You stole it when Ladybug accidentally lost it. What makes you feel entitled to it if it wasn’t meant for you in the first place? Also, I feel like Chloé forgot what happened in “Miraculer”, where she was told that she will no longer get the Bee Miraculous. Or she is just purposely being a brat about it. (Remember, she was NOT happy with Ladybug by the end of that episode).

In distraught, Ladybug chooses to recruit Ryuko because it also creates a diversion for Adrigami. In other words, it separates Adrien and Kagami. Which is still an effect from Marinette’s personal sacrifice. No wonder why this is a “fatal mistake” according to Wikipedia.

I think this is a good time as any to say that in this post, I will not blame Marinette for what happens because she’s going through so much at this point and I don’t blame her. I’ll explain later on what I mean. 

Kagami was very shocked that Ladybug recruited her after her identity was exposed in “Ikari Gozen” (see Chloé, Kagami understands the risk). Also, this is because Ladybug interrupted her moment with Adrien.

Kagami knows that she would be hurting everyone. Although what touched my heart was that she does not want to hurt Marinette. But all that shatters in 2 seconds as she states that she and Adrien are meant for each other and even her friendship with Marinette would not stop her. Excuse me while I die inside even more.

Hawkmoth found Master Fu! And he has the Miracle Box! And he’s fighting Master Fu! WHO’S NOW JADE TURTLE! If only he were not losing, I would enjoy Jade Turtle more.

Gabriel, do you not care about Nathalie? I thought you prohibited her from being Mayura since “Ladybug” (the episode)!

Chat Noir finally shows up and recognizes Ryuko, whom he compliments. And Ladybug takes it as a ploy to make her jealous. Uh-oh

The trio battle Loveater and when Chat thanks Ladybug for saving him, he...doesn’t call her “M’lady”??? What??? I’m going to be the Keke Palmer meme and be like “I don’t know who this man is.” This is so out of character for Chat...and I am once again fearing for the Love Square. The fact that Ladybug points this out has all of us like “is she jealous?” At least in the Ladynoir dynamic, are we going to get the reverse? It seems like it. Please let it be the reverse! My heart cannot take the end of the Love Square on all sides!

Chloé being as petty as always tosses her Bee Light when she sees that she will no longer get the Bee Miraculous. What I want to know once again is what makes you entitled Chloé???

Then, Hawkmoth shows up and asks her to be his queen. Getting “Queen of Mean” vibes here, but seems creepy, no?

Of course, Chloé initially rejects. Note that I said initially.

Hawkmoth uses psychological manipulation to say that Ladybug has never done anything for her. And she takes the bait. Umm...did you forget that Ladybug saved you several times Chloé despite everything???

But she does not take the offer if her parents are not deakumatized. So he deakumatizes them as he’s a man of his word. Huh.

Ladies and gentlemen, people of all ages, you are about to witness history. Get ready to meet Nooroo 2.0: Pollen! Pollen tries to talk some sense into Chloé to no avail. Chloé now treats Pollen as Gabriel treats Nooroo, saying that Pollen can only speak when spoken to. RIP Pollen and her freedom.

While the trio of heroes are coming up with a plan to defeat Loveater, they were deakumatized, leaving everyone in distraught. But everything is fixed...for now. 

The Akuma now heads back to Hawkmoth so he could use it to make Chloé even more powerful, turning her into Miracle Queen: the villain that will construct an army of villains. Oh boy...so this is the deadly plan.

Curse my computer for placing caps on the letters that I don’t want! This is irrelevant, but still.

Marinette seeks Master Fu...only to find that his post was abandoned. This obviously does not sit well with her, even though Tikki assures her that he is wise and will know what to do.

But I ask...is he dead or held captive? I feel like if Hawkmoth kills him, then who’s going to decode the book for him?

Also, I saw that some people in this fandom wanted Master Fu gone so Marinette becomes the guardian so that if a reveal happens, even by accident (like in “Kwamibuster”, of what am I saying, “Kwamibuster” is the reason why the fandom is acting this way), no one has to give up their Miraculous (see “Kwamibuster”). I wonder how you all feel now that he’s gone. I don’t think this is what you all meant by wanting him gone.

Kagami and Adrien reunite and Kagami confesses his love for him...and they are about to kiss. Look, I respect every ship that exists, but it breaks my heart.

Now for all of us who support the Love Square, note that Adrien does not hold Kagami. And how he wants Marinette to be present with them. I don’t know what to tell you all, but don’t lose hope? I am uncertain of how this will go down, but all I’m saying is be cautious with your hope? I don’t know, I don’t want to give false hope to you all, but on the other hand, I don’t want to be like “Its all over” because who knows? This show likes to toy with out emotions.

Also, he walks away without Kagami, although who knows?

And speaking of emotions, I WANNA CRY! (Keep it together 934, you still have to write the concluding statement Okay) This is the most emotional scene in the whole episode, if not the whole season, or even the whole series. 

As Marinette leaves the park, she sees Luka, who asks her if she’s okay. At first, she says she’s fine. But...

The fake smile that she puts on when something goes wrong breaks down completely and she starts crying over how she’s tired. Tired of all the responsibilities. Tired of always having to put on a front. Tired of not being able to be who she truly is. And let me break this down to all. 

Yes, we’ve seen Marinette be sad before, but never to this extent. The mixture of sacrificing her love for Adrien so that he would be happy with Kagami, feeling that she’s responsible for Fu’s disappearance, and all of the stress that comes with being Ladybug has finally consumed her and she is tired. For someone her age, that is all too much. 

I was about to cry at that moment (but I watched Loveater in a family reunion and I was not going to explain to my family that I am crying over a TV show because they wouldn’t understand) because this was all in some sort of way familiar and relatable. Marinette and I are about the same age (she’s either 14, 15, or 16 at this point and I am currently 16) and even though I cannot relate with the whole being a superheroine, I do relate with the whole putting up a front and pretend that everything is fine when really, everything is consuming me inside. This scene hit me really hard as it smacked me in the face with these emotions. Emotions that I am familiar with, but I have to repress them because everyone judges me. For Marinette, she has to repress these feelings for the sake of Paris. This was the strongest characterization that I’ve ever seen in this show. Her being selfless at her own emotional expense (think about how she tried to separate Adrien and Kagami earlier in the season until “Ikari Gozen”) AND how we see one of the most optimistic characters break down in front of Luka, who was willing to drop his guitar to comfort her. It felt so familiar to me and I was just waiting to cry. Cry for the Love Square’s collapse, cry for the future of the show, and most importantly, cry for Marinette and all the hell she has to go through. In this essay I had.

Boy if the ending to this episode broke me and the writers are saying that “Miracle Queen” brought them to tears, I don’t know what I’ll do. I have a hard time crying while watching sad programs. But what I’m trying to say is that this episode broke me and I will definitely bawl in part 2!

Overall, I WANNA CRY! (Keep it together 934-) SCREW KEEPING IT TOGETHER! I am an emotional mess because of this episode! The Love Square collapsed, Marinette is going through so much, and Hawkmoth has an upper hand now! WHY SHOULD I BE CALM??? This episode screwed me over and I was not ready for this!!! I was not ready for the angst, the drama, or what will soon happen. This episode, while having a horrible Akuma design, was a masterpiece. Yes, Adrigami and Lukanette are probably going to be around for awhile and the Love Square collapsed (which might be the ships that will reign for season 4 and explains why Christina Vee ships Lukanette), but this made me feel emotions, which means they did good. The episode gets a 10/10 for writing even though I was anxious and sad throughout. This post took a span of 24 hours to compose, being in idle for 12, and several revisits of the episode no matter how much it pains me. To be continued when Miracle Queen is released, which might be the longest post ever.