#HOPEFULLY ILL BE ABLE TO DRAW MORE TONIGHT

[keywhole]

WAIT PEOPLE ARE ACTUALLY ENJOYING THAT HANK AND DOC COMIC I

[joopacabra]

eeehhh more ramblings I gotta ramble it out tonight..

tonight I am thinking about the beloved Heart princess,, I will never not tear up when it comes time to speak with her,, I love her!

my days have continued to be a bit more rocky,, it’s not really all that bad mentally sometimes, it’s more physically now ,, whatever illness has taken hold of me is kinda worsening, I’ve felt like Shit all day and the past few days,, I couldn’t even eat anything today ,,

I’ve been a bit emotional today for some reason , not entirely a bad thing, started with being so excited and tearing up over really cute princess art among hiccup crying explaining to my sibling why ultrakill’s ost is a masterpiece. happened a few times. that one’s not too out of the ordinary..

I’ve been a bit upset that I can’t really draw lately too,, naturally it’s been difficult over how shitty I feel and im upset at my lack of progress and I want to be able to make things to share… it’s alright though, I know that’s a bad mindset , just a bit upsetting,,

I had a very nice time playing sky: children of the light for the first time,, maybe I am making friends, I haven’t made a friend in a really long time,, it was very nice

all in all,, I think I’d be better instantly if I could squeeze a princess plushie and drift into blissful rest.. reality is often cruel :(

that’ll probably do it for now,, hopefully I won’t wake up even worse and unbearably nauseous again! if anyone happens to read my ramblings,, or venting , I hope you have a good day or night, and thank you <3

[baek-at-it-again95]

Walk The Plank (KHJ x fem reader)

Chapter 10: Your Story

You had grown up hearing tales about the infamous pirate crew ATEEZ—the fearless, power-hungry men that roamed the seas in search of the most valuable treasure they could lay their hands on. You almost didn’t believe the stories your mother had told you as a child...not until you wound up on their ship  

Warnings for this chapter: romance haha, cursing, violence

A/N: Wow...I had begun writing this with the thought that this would be the final chapter, but I wanted to leave room for more potential storyline and now we have this. I guess we have a long way to go now. I seriously cannot thank you all enough for reading this story :) Even if it's just a hand full of you, I appreciate you to the ends of the world! Have a lovely night/day, and see you next week? ;)

Previous: Chapter 9, Masterlist

Chapter 10: Your Story

After arriving back at the ship, the crew is overjoyed and ready to celebrate your victory with a long night. The sun has just begun to set, and preparations have been made to set sail towards the mainland at dawn. There, you will all be able to rest for a bit and recover from your journey at sea. Perhaps you would be able to write to your mother and father to let them know you're alright...they must be worried sick. 

On the main deck, everyone clinks their celebratory drinks together and exchange their words and laughter. You get to see San and Wooyoung dance around and fall over several times, making you laugh so hard you can barely breathe. You have a feeling you would witness them dance like this even when they're not drunk. 

Deciding that just one drink is enough, you sit back and take in the pleasant scene of everyone enjoying themselves. You sit on the steps to the quarter deck with your side resting against the railing, reminding you of the night that Hongjoong had told you a story under the moonlight. You smile to yourself and look out to the sunset.

"Miss Y/N."

Seonghwa appears in front of you. "You do not have to call me that, Hwa." 

"Right. I will get used to it m-....ahem...Y/N." His behavior is odd, his eyes not meeting yours for more than a second at a time...like he usually does when he talks to you about Hongjoong. You think you had finally connected the dots, noticing that he becomes a sputtering mess when he talks to you about one matter and one matter only. The captain. He must have something he's hiding...and you will take the opportunity to play dumb in the hopes that he lets something slip. 

"My, Seonghwa, you truly worry me. Are you feeling ill again?" You stand up to raise your hand to his forehead, but he steps back and avoids contact.

"Oh, no. I am well." He clears his throat. "The captain requests your presence."

"Ah! Why have you not said so?" You smile, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear. "He seems to do that a lot. Thank you, Hwa. Rest well tonight, hm? You deserve it." Seonghwa looks as if he has something to say in reply, but he stops himself, simply smiling and giving you a respectful bow. You head to the captain's cabin, not really sure what to expect. 

As you enter, Hongjoong stands up from his desk. "Y/N," he greets.

"Captain."

He smiles. "I hope I am not interrupting your celebration, my lady."

"Not at all. Why do you ask for me?"

"Well, I have not quite gotten to thank you yet." 

"You have thanked me enough, Captain," you insist. You just now observe how lovely the man in front of you looks in his white button down, his skin like honey in the warm light of the oil lamps in the cabin. Suddenly it's harder to breathe. He takes a few steps forward and you remain in place. "Perhaps you have another reason?" you ask hopefully.

Hongjoong slowly draws closer, the gap between you closing until you are mere inches apart. You don't dare meet his eyes, preferring to look at the necklace on his chest as it rises and falls with his breaths. "You must be aware that since boarding my ship, you have been on my mind day and night." Your eyes find his in surprise and a soft gasp escapes your lips.

"You are a treasure unlike anything I have desired before, Y/N. I have not met anyone as impressive or intriguing as you. You are brave. Your knowledge is expansive, and you have this incredible ability to be kind to anyone. You are beautiful." His fingers gently trace your jawline before cupping your cheek.

"I must confess," you tell him. "You have also been on my mind." His eye seems to sparkle at this. "You are charming and respectable, Hongjoong."

"Thank you, darling." Hongjoong's gaze slowly falls to your lips. You quickly close the distance and bring your lips to his. He tastes faintly of rum and you smile between his kisses, thinking about how you must taste the same. His hand leaves your cheek and his arm finds your waist to pull you closer.

When you pull away to catch your breath, you smile at Hongjoong shyly. You bring your hands to his face this time, gently tracing over the leather of his eye patch, his cheekbones, and his lips that you already crave more of. 

"Shall we go and continue celebrating with the others?" you ask.

"No." He laughs. You pout, giving him another quick kiss. His lips follow yours desperately as you try to pull away.

"Hongjoong?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"I demand that we go and celebrate."

"Are you the captain now?" He raises an eyebrow. You clear your throat.

"Yes."

"I see. Aye, my lady. Let us go." Hongjoong holds out his elbow and you take a hold of his arm with a grin.

***

You sigh after a long while of sitting curled up in the crow's nest, stretching out your back.

"What are you doing, Y/N?" Wooyoung asks, head appearing over the side as usual. You gently shut the journal in front of you, confident enough that the ink has dried.

"I just finished writing about our journey, Woo." 

"May I read it?" he asks eagerly. "I've been practicing with San every day."

"Sure, love." You hand the journal to the curious boy as he sits next to you. You help him flip to the page you had started on, scooting closer. 

"The first of them...that I met was...Wooyoung," he reads slowly, finger sliding across the page as he speaks. He chuckles. "You were so cute, I felt bad scarin' ya."

"And you tell me that now?"

"You're welcome." He looks back down at the page and continues reading. "He and Yunho...d...dragged me onto...their ship. They...b...brought me to their captain. I made a deal...with him in order to keep my crew safe. I did not know then...that I would end up being a pirate. It just worked out that way. Maybe it was m...meant to be." Wooyoung looks up from reading again to meet your gaze, his smile mirroring yours. You're so proud that he's getting better at reading. "I say it's fate!"

"I think so, too." 

"The captain..." He stops as he giggles. "Has taken a liking to you." 

"Wooyoung!" You cover your face as your cheeks start to get warm.

"I see the way he acts, sweetheart. He has always had the individual interests of his crew in mind, but your interests are of highest importance. He makes sure you're safe before anyone else. He talks about you when you're not there. Y/N, he is starstruck."

"Ah!" You hide your face in Wooyoung's shoulder. His body shakes as he laughs his adorable, contagious laugh. "hm tld mh of hs flngs lst nght."

"What?" Wooyoung asks, pulling your head away from him.

"He told me of his feelings last night." 

"And?" he asks, eyes wide.

"And what?" You ask nervously, looking away from him.

"I knew it! You have fallen for him."

"Woo!" You cry, burying your face right back into his shoulder. 

***

"Now that we have the Cromer, the next step is to discover how to harness its power. And that next step is proving to be quite difficult." Seonghwa sighs, scribbling down something in a notebook with his quill. "It figures that a magical artifact would be protected by confusing magic."

"The most stubborn I've ever seen," Hongjoong mutters, tapping on the hourglass with his hook.

"Joong," you sigh, pulling his arm away from the fragile object. It's been a frustrating time trying to uncover the powers of the Cromer before arriving to the mainland. You know the two are growing tired as they shuffle around the cabin, and you don't think it's necessary stress for them. "Let us take a moment away from this." You take Hongjoong's hand and rub small circles with your thumb, hoping it will bring him some peace. "You too, Hwa." You turn and gently take the quill from his hand. He gives you a tired smile, relieved to stop. Hongjoong places a light kiss to your temple.

"Y/N."

"Yes?" you ask.

"Yes, what?" Seonghwa asks curiously. 

"Did you not just call my name?" You look between Hwa and Hongjoong and they exchange confused glances in return.

"No, love," Hongjoong says calmly. 

"Oh..." 

"Y/N." You step back from Hongjoong, confused. You don't think he had said anything. You look over to Seonghwa who has now stood up, looking worried. 

"I heard it again," you say. You all quietly glance around the room before you start to move, first walking toward the door. Maybe Wooyoung is calling you from outside. Or perhaps San is searching for you to help him with something. You slowly open the door and peek out, only to see neither of the two. You shake your head and shut the door, now questioning if you had even heard anything in the first place.

"Y/N." You snap your head towards the Cromer. Seonghwa and Hongjoong look, too. 

"From there?" Hongjoong asks. You nod, cautiously walking up to the hourglass. When your fingertips touch the top, a chill runs down your spine. You feel compelled to pick it up. As you lift it from the desk, you feel a bit strange. You blink a few times, your eyes adjusting to the dim room. Had it been this dark before?

"Hongjoong I-" When you look up, your heart practically stops. He is not there. Seonghwa is not there. In fact, you are not in the captain's cabin of the ship. You seem to be in some kind of building with a high ceiling; something that you have never seen before. Like it is from a different time. "Hongjoong?" you whisper into the quiet. Fear had begun to mix with your panic, freezing you in place.

A sound from outside brings your attention to the large open door, and you realize just how vulnerable you are at the center of this room. You look around for something to hide behind, spotting a large pile of wooden boxes in the corner. You run for them, trying to steady your breathing as the noise gets closer. A minute passes before a person dressed in all black clothing rushes inside, a hat shielding the view of their face. Following close behind is a large figure in white, a mask covering their entire head and neck. They look as if they are from opposite worlds. The figure in white catches up to the other, grabbing them by the back of their coat. In the process, the person's hat falls to the ground, leaving you in shock. It's Hongjoong. Well, someone that looks just like him. His hair is slightly different, but even in the dark, his features are unmistakably the same. And now he is struggling for his life against this mysterious figure in white. 

He is going to be hurt if he continues. A part of you wants to stay hidden, but you simply can't sit and watch. Your hands shake as you abandon your hiding place, running towards the center of the room. "Let him go!" you shout. Both figures turn their attention to you.

The person in white throws the other man to the side and heads straight for you. "Shit." You just barely manage to dodge them as they lunge to grab you. You back away quickly, but they've recovered faster than you expected. They run straight for you again, and you're not sure you'll be able to dodge them this time.

"Move!" The man in black pushes you out of the way and you both tumble to the ground.

"Y/N!" Someone shouts. You manage to break free and jump to your feet, feeling dizzy when you see you're back in the captain's cabin. Hongjoong and the seven of his original crew stand before you. You rush over to the familiar captain whom you had left behind just moments ago, gripping his arms as you hide behind him.

"H-he..." you can barely form a sentence as the man in black rises from the floor where you just had. As he stands to full height, the color drains from everyone's faces. "He's you."

>>chapter 11

[rexscanonwife]

I'd hate to jinx it but today actually hasn't been that bad at work?? And I'm actually kinda in a good mood??

[arcaneyouth]

so i had a thought about my comic. its going in the tags because. i want to.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

“Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

[appalachiananarchist]

hey how did you study for you step1 exam or i guess all exams with your illness???? -_- im studying for step1. i was complaining to myself and then thought of and though i ask... can you tell im looking for motivation? like i have no legit excuse, im able body and not sick..but still cant study like i want to. like genetics and biostats i cant be bothered with. but i know i have to..

Hey, studying is super difficult whether you have chronic illnesses/disabilities or not. I have found that humans are not especially fond of sitting still and reading bland information for hours on end, especially the volume necessary for the Step exams.

I'm not great at studying, so take this all with a grain of salt, but I'll tell you things that have helped me. I think of it like an internal vs. external motivation deal. I never rely on just one; I try to keep both in mind. My internal motivation is always reminding myself that I am studying so that I can be a better doctor. On days when I really struggle, reminding myself why I am studying by thinking about patients I have seen with X condition or mistakes I made in the past about Y treatment can sometimes push me to keep going. Trying to link the things I am reading to real-life patients, people, and scenarios helps me link the practicality of the content in my brain, so I feel more motivated to master it. A lot of times, though, I really need external motivation. Wanting to pass a test is motivating, but rarely enough for me, so I'd also set goals and reward myself for reaching them. I'd say "if I study X content properly tonight, I will let myself go pick out a new book to read, I will make my favorite thing for dinner, I'll get ice cream, etc."

Because I find reading facts from a book extremely boring, I try to make studying a more active process. I take notes and draw pictures and diagrams while I am reading, make flash cards that I can then use to review later, or do practice questions rather than just plain reading. Sometimes if the topic is really boring or difficult, I read about it, take notes, and then pretend I am teaching it to someone else by talking about it out loud. Sometimes I write up little quizzes or flashcards and make a friend quiz me out loud. I'm not a group study-er, but I know some people say they benefit from studying with someone else to help keep each other accountable and bounce ideas off one another.

I also am really influenced by my environment so I always try to make sure I am studying in a good place. I like to either go to my backyard or to a library. If I am inside my house, where my cats and books and games are, I get too easily distracted. I have to physically remove myself from potential distractions.

The other thing is that, with being sick, if I had days where I just felt awful and knew I didn't feel well enough to study, I didn't, and I didn't let it bother me. I still don't. Again, studying is exhausting. Even if you are perfectly healthy, sometimes you just need a break, and that is okay. A car can't run if the tank is empty, and sometimes you just need to pull over and refuel. Sometimes that is the best thing you can do, because then you can come back at it with better focus and a better attitude the next day.

So yeah. Maybe not the best advice in the world, but these are some of the things I have done to get through undergrad and med school and residency. Hopefully some of it can be of help to you, and if any of my followers have any thoughts or advice, feel free to chime in.

[cielcius]

Chapter Three: His Younger Brother

Pairings: Miya Osamu x g/n!reader (ft. Atsumu)

A/N third chapterrrr and a new header cuz I liked this one better. hopefully ill be able to just start the draft of the next chapter cuz it’s a long one but I WILL PREVAIL AND FINISH THIS SERIES !!

Genre: time skip!office!au, comedy, fluff, childhood friends

Word Count: 2k

Notes/Warnings: mentions of food, mentions of bungou stray dog chars.

Can We Meet In The Rain? Masterlist

Previous | Next

The clock reads 12:12. You smile silently to yourself as your eyes travel from the digital clock to the pair of shoes covering your fuzzy-sock clad feet, the heels of your shoes clicking together in a manner similar to the famous brunette who was often seen holding a little black dog and with ruby red heels adorning her feet. Though fortunately for you, you’re already home.

You then grab your keys and walk out with a giddy smile.

You haven’t done this since your college days. The cold air of the late-night blows against your face and greatly contrasts against the warm lobby of your apartment complex, soon to become something of the recent past. Whether you couldn’t sleep or if you were just plain hungry, you couldn’t set your mind on it completely but nevertheless, you decide to venture out to the grocery store that sits only two blocks away.

You swear that the air inside the market is colder than that of the natural atmosphere that’s just a step back now. Dark concrete transitions smoothly to white tiles randomly marked in black and there’s a guard to your right who greets you with a tired smile and a pair of panda eyes. Sympathizing greatly—though not tonight—you greet them back with a mutual nod before setting off on your adventure.

It’s easy to tell that the plastic handle of the store-supplied basket has been roughened up with age and many uses from the past as it scratches your palm, the basket itself swinging back and forth like a motor to power you to your destination. You turn the corner and round into a particular aisle where a nostalgic churn blooms in your stomach at the sight of the many colorful snacks lining the otherwise, color-deprived shelves.

The fluorescent lights overhead only seem to make the packages shine brighter in all of their rich glory, drawing you in as you subconsciously start to lean closer to one of your personal favorites. Immediately, you select a few packages to deposit into the basket, replacing the almost disheartening emptiness before continuing to browse further into the store, remembering now that your refrigerator had been looking a bit empty lately.

Though it does pain you—well, more like it makes your face scrunch up in a somewhat attempted displeased expression—to think of the arctic air that takes up the back area of the market, the thought of being able to eat one of your favorite home-cooked meals later tonight becomes too appealing to ignore, and so you start on your way to the back.

Though as you turn out of the aisle gradually, and reluctantly, you stop a little too abruptly in your spot with a louder than quiet gasp falling from your lips—promptly startling a dazed employee who had been restocking the shelves just a few feet away. After shooting them a smile with a small apology, you focus your attention on the man who stands at the end of the intersection like a prize to your finish line—despite not knowing him.

With his back to you, he holds a package of porkchop in one hand, and in the other is a seasoning that would most definitely make the piece of meat a living hell to sit and eat through. It’s not his bizarre choice of seasoning that makes you stop though, it’s the air of familiarity that shocks you just enough to make you wonder, do I know him from somewhere?

Light blond hair and a height that stands over average with a mustard yellow jacket and black sweats that sag a little too low for your tastes. It’s clear to you that he’s not somebody you know even remotely by their appearance alone, but that doesn’t seem to stop you as you get closer—as if you do know him.

Your attention drifts further away from your initial plan of shopping just as you start to slowly creep up to the man, somehow failing to regard the fact that he had taken notice of the person looking as if they were about to ambush him. You don’t mind, because no wonder he seemed so familiar as he finally turns to face you.

“Osam—”

“Oh! Are ya’ one of ma fans? ’m sorry but I don’t have a pen with me if what ya wanted was an autograph. I wouldn't mind getting a picture though, and maybe even a phone number.” Just as the man turns around in his spot, you pull what might have been the most disgusted face you’ve ever intentionally directed at someone. If it were coming from the man at this moment, he’d probably add his input on how your face put him in his grave on the spot, telling from the horrified face he pulls in return.

Pretending not to hear that last part—and if possible, the first part too—you furrow your eyebrows and blink rapidly in confusion. Again, not at his poor choice in meat and seasonings, but his appearance. You blink rapidly again to clear your eyes, but the man in front of you still seems to have the same face as your friend, Miya Osamu.

“You know what, I think I’m just gonna leave. I’m obviously high as a kite because you look exactly like someone I know.” With a tired sigh, you turn to make your way to the registers upfront, but a hand on your shoulder stops you. You’re manually turned in your spot by the person’s hold on you, forced to face the culprit and the man who you had mistaken for Osamu. Same face, different color palette, but he still looks like him. Is this karma?

“Wait! Are ya sayin’ ya don’t know who I am?!” At the man’s outburst, there’s a hush that goes around the store like how the wave would travel the crowds at baseball games, and the man visibly cowers in his spot under the menacing glare of a nearby employee.

“Wait,” Your words seem to give hope to the man who looks back at you, eyes wide as he waits for you to continue. “Are you that Dazai person from Bungou Stray Dogs? His voice actor, right? Cause you kinda sound like him—”

At that moment, you had never seen somebody—nevertheless a full-grown man—hang his head so low, and so fast, that his chin even hit his chest. But as you continue to survey the man, a memory finally resurfaces and you snap your fingers as it finally clicks.

“Wait, didn’t Osamu have a younger brother?”

“For the last time, I’m the older one!”

Another hush moves through the store but this time, the man in front of you shoots a mocking glare to hushers within the visible vicinity of the two of you. To say that he almost got kicked out would have been undermining it, so one could say that he was lucky that everybody was too tired to do anything. Meanwhile, you tap at your chin and quietly observe his mannerisms, wondering if you should continue your shopping trip or just go home because tapping at your chin ultimately proved to have no effect in getting you out of this situation.

Still, you take a guess. “Uh, Aran, right?”

“No. That’s ma upperclassman.”

“Atsushi?”

“That’s another Bungou Stray Dogs character.”

“I don’t know! I just know that it starts with an ‘A’.”

The man blinks at you. “That’s it? Yer just gonna give up?” By the end, you’re both looking at each other with pursed lips and inevitably awkward expressions that scream for the both of you to just leave. But the man doesn’t budge, now fixed on getting you to remember him.

“Atsumu. It’s Atsumu.”

Then it clicks. How you had managed to forget about Osamu’s identical and yet opposite self, you have no clue. Yet the circumstances of first impressions always seem to make a searing burn in your memory when it involves the Miyas. This one seems to be no different.

“Ah, that’s right! You’re the one who split his pants in—” At the speed of lightning—or maybe even faster—Atsumu slaps his hand over your mouth to keep any other endangering words fall from your mouth and into the ears of the public. If he knows anything about being even remotely popular, it’s that gossip is a bitch to deal with. Though what he doesn’t expect is for you to gently slap his hand away the moment he doesn’t remove it after a reasonable three seconds. “Ow! That hurt.”

Feigning an injury, Atsumu holds his hand to his chest as if you had burned him, and the image of a grown man doing so has you bursting into giggles. “Wait,” Atsumu’s eyebrows crease. “How d’ya even know about that,” He leans in to whisper out of the corner of his mouth. “Ya know, ma pants.”

Keeping firm fists at your side, you furrow your own eyebrows at the fact that Atsumu had yet to recognize you. Though could you blame him? You were really only Osamu’s friend and as someone who didn’t speak out much as a child, you were prone to avoiding the louder kids—kids like Atsumu.

“L/n, Y/n L/n. Ring a bell?” Despite having wanted to avoid him, you inevitably couldn’t when you shared a few of the same classes throughout your primary school days. “No.” Your face falls and you turn on your heels to walk away.

“Wait! ’m just kiddin’. I recognized ya as soon as I heard ya say ‘Samu.” For what seems to be the umpteenth time now, Atsumu clamps a hand down on your shoulder but this time, he’s the one to walk around your figure in order to face you. “I also heard that ya both work at the same company,” Atsumu leans in before whispering. “He talks about ya, ya know. Like, a lot.”

Of course, up until now, you had failed to remember that Osamu had a brother, leaving you with no stance on how close the twins were to each other. Yet, as the blond whispers Osamu’s obscured actions and unheard words pertaining to you—including even the smallest of things—you could tell that they were extremely close.

“Anyways, what brought ya out here? It’s pretty late for someone as cute as you to be walkin’ out n’ about.” As you both stroll through the frozen section of the store, you shrug while simultaneously hiding the small shiver that creeps up your arms. “I was just hungry for some snacks, and I couldn’t sleep.”

At your words, Atsumu can’t help but scoff amusedly. They’re like the same person. Having just come from his brother’s apartment, Atsumu had been brooding silently about how he was still worked as a slave to Osamu, only serving his brother by buying him snacks but if that didn’t get him some valuable quality sibling time, what did?

As you both round to the cashiers and pay for your respective things, Atsumu can’t help but also note the late time. “Did ya walk here?” You nod and point out that your place was only two blocks away, so close that Atsumu didn’t even need to move from his spot in front of the store in order to make sure you got home safely.

With a final wave, he bid you goodbye before turning the other way, a smirk slipping onto his lips as he pulls out his phone. Swiping across the glass screen, Atsumu waits to put his phone against his ear as the dial tone rings, the caller id revealing itself to be his grey-haired twin. “For the last time ‘Tsumu, yer supposed to get the green bag of chips.”

Atsumu isn’t surprised at how Osamu had picked up nearly a split-second after the second ring, knowing his brother well enough to have still not accomplished a decent sleep schedule. “Right, I got it, but guess who I just ran into at the supermarket.”

Atsumu starts his journey back to Osamu’s house just as the twin on the phone begins to question who in the world his brother could have run into at the daunting hour of one in the morning.

[gingeralepdf]

A Little Love

A/N: here she isss!!! this is the piece that i wrote for the Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge that was set up by the amazing @andwhenshesays @for-fucks-sake-h and @oh-honey-styles (thank you for organizing all of this!! you’re all legends!!)

extra big thank you to lydia @youresogolden-h and brailey @daydreamsofh for being such sweet beta readers <3

this is my first ever attempt at writing fic, so i hope you enjoy it!

****CONTENT WARNING**** alcohol consumption

Harry is your best friend and your coworker, but you see him as more. Maybe you both just want a little love.

word count: ~8K

**April 25, 2020, 11:15am**

It’s a comfortable spring day in San Francisco. The windows are cracked, letting in sweet smelling fresh air and the moderate bustle of people out and about. Despite the perfect weather to be out at the market or taking a walk in the park, you’re currently at your neighbor’s apartment, slouched on the couch in the living room and in the midst of a New Girl marathon. Or rather, you are in the midst of a New Girl marathon, but your friend has not looked up from the guitar he is restringing for the past fifteen minutes.

You’ve been stealing glances at Harry from the other end of the couch. He has the guitar laying across his lap. He’s able to take all of the strings off and put three new ones on without a problem, but something about the fourth string seems to be giving him a lot of trouble. Every time he gets the string wound up on the tuning key, it snaps loose, like it can’t hold the tension. After several attempts with the same result, Harry sets his string winder on the coffee table and lets out a frustrated huff while scratching his forehead.

Although you know it’s probably best to not make a comment while he’s annoyed, you decide to make one anyway.

Just as he grabs the winder from the coffee table and goes in for another attempt at the string, you blurt out, “I thought the whole point of watching Netflix at your house instead of mine was so you could work and watch at the same time.”

Harry rolls his eyes and slowly cranes his head to look in your direction, “I am watching.”

“Right, so tell me what Miranda has been up to,” you challenge.

Harry lowers his head in concentration, making another attempt at winding up the string on the tuning key, “She’s like… going on a date or something.”

“Miranda isn’t even a character in the show!”

The tuning key once again snaps loose. Harry’s nostrils flare and he mutters a quick “Fucks sake.”

A moment passes where the only sound in the room is the TV. You’re trying to gauge whether or not you’ve actually pissed him off a bit. You decide to bite your tongue and see what he is going to say next.

Harry finally shifts his eyes from the guitar to you, “Obviously I can’t work and watch at the same time.”

You give him a pointed look, “You think?”

“I promise I can finish this project pretty quick, and then I’ll watch, like, four episodes, uninterrupted. I just need to go get some parts so… would you mind pausing it?”

Once the show is paused, Harry gets up from his spot on the couch, gently sets the guitar on the floor, and turns to exit the living room. However, he is stopped short since your legs are making a barricade between the couch and the coffee table. With a mischievous grin on his face, he uses his shin to slowly push your legs away from him so that your feet slide off the end of the table and onto the floor. Your jaw drops in exaggerated offense. Giggles erupt from both of you as he narrowly avoids your attempts to trip him while he steps over your legs and then jogs across the room to his workspace.

A huge benefit of living a couple of buildings away from your best friend is that any given day of the week can be spent like this. The both of you can always be found at either one of your apartments watching hours of Netflix, working on projects, or sharing meals.

Just as you were enjoying the moment of silence that fell onto the room, your phone and Harry’s phone buzz on the coffee table. With a quiet groan, you slowly sit up from the couch to see a text from your boss, sent in a group chat with yourself and Harry.

Would either of you be able to work the closing shift tonight? Sarah called in sick and the rest of the shift leads can’t work today.

Although you and Harry were both looking forward to having a Saturday off, you knew the bar was a little short-staffed this weekend, so you both kind of saw this coming.

“Is that who I think it is?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, Adam’s asking one of us to work the closing shift tonight. Sarah called in sick and I guess Charlotte can’t work today.”

Harry groans as he makes his way back to his previous spot on the couch and plops down with a screwdriver and a plastic bag containing what looks to be a new set of tuning keys in hand.

Harry takes a moment to look around his living room, taking in all of the instrument cases stacked around the small apartment, scratching his jaw in thought. “I mean, I would take it, but I’ve got a lot of projects that have to get done this weekend.”

“I guess that just leaves me then,” you say flatly, sinking further into the couch and staring straight ahead out of the window across the room.

“‘M’ sorry,” Harry says with a light chuckle at your dramatics, “I’ll owe you one.” His offer comes out more like a question.

You look back in his direction to see him with a wide, dimpled grin staring back at you. You know he’s just trying to make you feel better, and it works.

After sending a quick text to your boss letting him know you would be there tonight, you sit up straight and grab the remote from the coffee table. “That’s a really tempting offer. I’ve got a lot of sick days saved up, you know?”

“Heyyyy,” Harry draws out in a playfully offended tone.

You chuckle before asking, “Can we just finish this episode so I can go home and get some rest before work?”

“Yeah I think we can do that.” He sets the screwdriver and plastic bag on the coffee table and leans back on the couch, folding his hands together to rest on his stomach.

You press play on the remote and settle into another day with your best friend.

**April 26, 2020. 1:47am**

About ten minutes until the bar closes, and there are still three large, lively groups hanging around. You and your coworkers have done as many pre-closing tasks as you possibly could, aside from taking the drink glasses straight out of the customers’ hands. Now it just seems to be the longest waiting game ever until you’re officially allowed to kick everyone out.

While you’re all busying yourselves with wiping down counters and straightening chairs, the front door swings open.

Just as you’re about to put on your best customer service face that you can muster, you see a familiar blue and white plaid jacket and fluffy brown curls. Harry is strolling in, surveying the crowd of customers as he’s making his way to where you’re standing at the bar. You see that he is donning a form-fitting grey t-shirt with a bright yellow smiley face on it, light brown high-waisted pants, and a delicate looking pearl necklace. He always seems to be able to effortlessly look put together, even when he is making bold choices.

You look at him with raised eyebrows and ask with exaggerated charm, “Come here often?”

“Oh god.” He laughs at your ill attempt at comedy through a pained expression.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, “Same as always.”

Harry has made it a routine to walk home with you when you’re working the closing shift. Even when you insist that there’s no need for him to stay up so late when he’s not working.

He glances around before looking back at you, “Is there anything I can help with right now?”

You shake your head. “Just waiting for them to leave so we can clean everything.”

“Bollocks,” he mutters before puckering his lips.

You decide to go around the corner of the bar to the prep area where the music controls are. Hopefully the customers will take the hint that it’s time to leave once you lower the volume.

After a few minutes, all of the staff are breathing a collective sigh of relief when one group makes their way to the door and the other two groups shortly follow suit.

By the time you follow the crowd out and you lock the door, it’s 2:05 a.m. Considering how busy it was tonight, you’re counting this as a small victory.

Harry and your other coworkers are going around cleaning up glasses and bottles and taking them back to the sink while you make your way to the register to start your shift lead duties.

Once the tips are divided, you take a look around and see that your coworkers are steadily making their way through the cleaning checklist. With Harry’s help, things are moving along pretty quickly. You pull the first bundle of cash out of the drawer and start counting.

After getting the cash drawer sorted out, and counting out a new one for Monday, you hear your coworker saying your name. “I think we’ve done everything on the cleaning checklist. Is there anything else you need help with?”

“Actually, all I have left to do is inventory. I’m not gonna hold you hostage for that, so you guys are free to head out if you want to.”

Your coworkers are saying goodnight and clocking out shortly after. Once they're gone, you’re left with the faint buzzing of the refrigerators and the light music over the speakers. You turn around to face the shelves of bottles and notice a few that are running low and need replacing. You go down the ‘employees only’ hallway to the back stockroom and grab all the bottles you need. Hugging them to your chest, you make your way back down the hallway. You walk about halfway when a figure jumps out of the supply closet to your right, causing you to jump backwards and let out a scream.

Harry’s howling laughter echoes through the hallway as you try to catch your breath and will your heart to stop racing.

You finally regain some composure and turn to fully face Harry. His laughter has reduced to occasional soft chuckles falling past his pursed lips. If your arms weren’t full, you would most likely be smacking him for scaring the shit out of you.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You do your best to give him death glare, but your voice is now shaking with laughter as well. “You’re lucky I didn’t drop any of this stuff, you idiot.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry but you should have seen your face. Holy shit.” He opens his arms and slowly steps toward you to bring you in for a hug.

“Well if you’re so sorry, put these on the shelf for me.” You say as you thrust the bottles into his chest, making him grunt out a laugh.

You walk to the front with Harry trailing behind you. All you have left to do is make a few notes for Adam before finally clocking out. You’ve never been more excited for your head to hit the pillow when you get home.

As you’re making your notes, Harry is pacing about behind you, straightening out all of the bottles on the shelves. He lets out a long observant hum.

“What?”

“Just noticed this guy’s almost empty,” he holds up a bottle of tequila and swirls around what little liquor is left in it. One corner of his mouth turns up before he looks at you, “Enough left for two more shots, probably.”

“Is that so?”

“Y’ wanna find out?”

“I don’t know,” you say as you tilt your head up and tap your chin in thought “I don’t know how I feel about taking shots with people who jump out of supply closets to scare me.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t be like that.” He’s exaggerating and drawing all of his words out as he walks over to you. He wraps his arms around you so that his hands are resting on your left shoulder and he rests the side of his head on the back of yours. “I’m sorry. Please take a shot with me.”

Although it's pointless since he can’t see your face, you roll your eyes in response, “Fine. Pour me one.”

His hand gives your shoulder a light squeeze before he moves away and reaches under the counter then puts two shot glasses onto the bar. He reaches behind him for the nearly empty bottle and pours the perfect amount into each glass. Taking them both in his hands, he extends one to you.

You don’t miss the chuckle that he lets out as you take the glass from him. After giving him a questioning look, you notice a slight blush on his face.

“What’s so funny?”

“Was just thinking. This,” he gestures to the two of you and the glasses you’re both holding “reminds me of the day you got into the art institute.”

Around this time a year ago, you had spent weeks pouring over your application for the San Francisco Art Institute and months after that waiting to hear anything back. When you got the acceptance email toward the end of your shift at work, Harry was the first person that you told. Just over a year ago, you were standing with Harry behind this same bar when you told him the good news. Your chest filled with warmth at his reaction. He wrapped you in a nearly suffocating hug as he loudly declared, “I told you you had a kick ass portfolio! So fuckin proud of you.”

Right after he released you from the hug, he poured each of you a shot. Harry then made the impromptu decision of doing a bar crawl after you both got off, deeming the two shots “not enough celebration”.

After a night full of slightly over the top celebrating, you were practically dragging Harry home. It wasn’t until you got to his apartment building that he realized he had left his keys and wallet at one of the bars. Not wanting to drag him back across town, you ended up bringing him back to your apartment just around the corner.

It took a lot of coaxing, but you were able to get him to drink a big glass of water before helping him brush his teeth with your spare toothbrush.

You have a lot of vague and fuzzy memories from that night, but there are two that remain crystal clear. One is the moment when you were clumsily leading him to your couch and he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Wish I could kiss you.” And the other is the way your stomach dropped and your heart nearly fluttered out of control at his drunken confession.

The conversations about that night always turned into jokes about you being able to handle your liquor better than he could. His comment was never brought up by either of you. You weren’t sure if he would even remember it, or if either of you really wanted to.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “we should never be allowed to celebrate anything after that. We were miserable the next day.”

You lock eyes with him and for a split second there’s something in his eyes that you don’t quite recognize. Like a different kind of softness that you hadn’t seen before this moment.

It’s fleeting, however, because he glances down at your hands and clinks your glasses together. You tilt your heads back at the same time, feeling the burn in your throats and letting out sharp exhales once it’s passed.

Harry takes your glass from your hand and silently goes to the prep area. You hear the sink running as you finish up your notes to your boss and you clock out.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah I just need to get my-” you stop mid-sentence when you turn around to see Harry already holding out your bag that had been hanging up in the prep area. You mutter a ‘never mind’ as you take it from him.

Harry grabs his jacket from the pool table and you stroll to the front door together, turning off lights as you go.

You finally step out into the chilly nighttime air. The only noises are coming from the small scattered groups of people gathering in front of the bars on the block that are just closing.

After locking the doors, you and Harry start trudging along the sidewalk up the steep hill. If you had known that it was going to get so much colder and windier during the night, you would have brought a jacket with you. You fold your arms and grit your teeth as another cold breeze hits you from the front.

You don’t even notice Harry taking off his jacket until he’s holding it in front of your face. You pause your walking for a moment to gently take it from his hand.

“Aren’t you gonna be cold?”

“Well I’m not gonna watch you shiver all the way home.”

You frown a bit as you look at the jacket in your hands. You can still feel the warmth from Harry’s body heat on the hand that’s grasping the inside of it. Having that little bit of warmth already makes you feel better, but you hate to think that he’s going to be the one gritting his teeth against the cold.

He says your name through a chuckle and you look up to meet his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Just put the jacket on and let’s get you home, yeah?”

**April 26th, 2020. 5:30am**

It should be considered a crime to be wide awake at this hour, considering the small amount of sleep you’ve gotten. The only thing you had the energy to do when you got home last night was change out of your work clothes and fall into bed. You remember glancing at your clock and reading 3:15 a.m. before your eyelids grew heavy and closed.

The reminder of Harry’s drunk confession that you thought was water under the bridge is now flooding your mind as you desperately try to fall back to sleep. You try to push down the memory of his giggles as you made the strenuous effort of finding the switch on your living room lamp while having nearly all of his body weight leaned against you for support. You try to push down the memory of his flushed cheeks in the glowing yellow light when you finally got him settled on your couch. You try to push down the memory of running your fingers through his soft curls and giving his hairline a soft kiss before going to bed. You try to think of literally anything else.

It isn’t until the very first hints of daylight enter your room that you decide to give up.

The floor is cold on your feet as you walk to your bathroom, rubbing your tired eyes.

After a quick shower and putting on your favorite t-shirt and jeans, you feel less sluggish. You focus on going through your kitchen pantry to find something for your growling stomach.

Although you wish that you were still sleeping soundly in your bed, you think of how rare it is to get to see this city both at the dead of night and when it’s slowly starting to wake up. To be able to greet the light in your living room as it dances across the pictures on your walls and you mill about with your bowl of cereal.

The pictures lined up on your walls remind you of the project that you started last week that you need new photos for. You go to your closet and get the bag that holds your digital camera. Your mind is buzzing at the thought of taking it to the park before it gets too crowded.

You put on a jacket and shoes, pull your camera bag over your shoulder, and head out into the chilly Sunday morning.

********************

You round the corner of your block and start making your way down the steep hill, admiring the multicolored houses across the street that are glowing softly in the morning light. A smile spreads across your face as you reach into your bag for your camera and your fisheye lens. Once you’ve captured a few shots that you’re happy with, you move on toward the park.

You’re coming up on Harry’s building, and you instinctively glance up at the second story bay window that you know belongs to his apartment. Because this side of his building is still in the shade at this point in the day, you can see that his light is on.

“What’s he doing up?” you think to yourself. He’s always been an early riser, but considering how late you both stayed up, you would hope that he had been able to get some extra sleep.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, Harry appears in the window. His blinds are wide open, so you can clearly see him stepping up to his record player and delicately placing the needle on the vinyl. A toothbrush hangs out of his mouth.

What your eyes are more drawn to, however, is his choice of clothing, or lack thereof. He’s standing in front of his window in nothing but a black t-shirt and a pair of underwear. You knew the t-shirt too well as the one he found at a thrift store years ago and became obsessed with after reading the ‘Treat People With Kindness’ logo on the front. He steps back from the record player and tilts his head back to brush his teeth. You watch as his jaw flexes and is accentuated by the light scruff of facial hair along it.

It’s becoming alarmingly clear to you that you are alone in the middle of the sidewalk, about thirty feet away from your best friend’s window, ogling him as he’s minding his own business. As much as your palms are sweating and your stomach is doing somersaults at the prospect of being spotted, you cannot bring yourself to continue walking. You wouldn’t mind becoming a permanent part of the sidewalk if it meant having this kind of view.

Harry turns and walks away from the window. You finally snap out of your daze and hurry past his window, thankful for the help of the downhill slope to move you along. Once you get to the corner of the block, you stop and lean your back against the building. Lightly smacking your forehead, you mutter out loud to yourself, “What the hell was that?”

********************

The trip to the park turned out to be a perfect way to spend the morning. You ended up taking a lot of pictures of murals and flowers before the park started to get too busy.

With your favorite album playing through your headphones, your mind is now buzzing with the excitement of having new photos to edit.

Once you cross the street, you’re now standing on the corner of your block. One way would lead you once again past the window to Harry’s apartment. The other way would help you avoid another potentially awkward sighting, but was much longer and usually includes lines for overcrowded restaurants.

Keeping your head down, you continue walking straight ahead in the same direction that you came from.

As you’re hiking up the hill, you suddenly hear a voice that you know is not coming through your headphones. You turn your volume down and listen to your surroundings. Plain as day, someone behind you shouts your name. You rip your headphones out and whip around to see Harry waving at you from his window.

“Hey! You wanna come up for breakfast?”

Your feet are firmly planted to the sidewalk, much like they were about an hour ago when you stood in the same spot and ogled this man.

You opened your mouth, not knowing what to say, and pathetically jabbed your thumb in the general direction of your apartment. “Actually I… I-I was gonna-”

“I’ve got coffee from Trieste,” he says in a sing-song tone.

You internally roll your eyes and curse him for knowing that you can never deny coffee from your favorite place in town. Plus, wracking your brain for a good excuse to be on your way is becoming difficult due to the hunger pains starting up in your stomach. That bowl of cereal is only holding you over for so long.

You look up at his dimpled face and relax your shoulders, “Okay, yeah. Yeah I’ll come up.”

“I’ll unlock the door for you!” is the last thing you hear before he shuts his window and you make your way to the stairs.

You climb up to the second story and turn down his hallway. When you’re standing in front of his door, you can hear music playing.

You open the door and you’re met with the sounds of trumpets. Harry has Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” playing on his record player. He has it just loud enough to where it won’t annoy any of his neighbors, but it still fills every corner of the living room. It’s not the first time you’ve walked into a similar scene here. You know this to be one of his favorite songs to play in the morning.

You close the door behind you and take in the state of the room as you walk through. The instrument cases are a little more organized than they had been yesterday. Smaller ones are stacked up next to his workstation and the larger ones are stacked up in the corner next to his couch. His laptop sits open on the coffee table and a haphazard stack of blank paper repair tags sat next to it.

The camera bag on your shoulder is now starting to feel heavy, so you plop down on the couch. Your ears perk up at the sound of Harry singing along with the record from the kitchen.

“You can have an aeroplane flyin’. If you bring your blue sky back.”

Following the smell of coffee, you walk over to the doorway of the small kitchen. Harry is  standing at the counter. Thankfully he is not wearing the outfit that you saw him in earlier. He’s wearing brown trousers and a cream colored flannel with black and green stripes. He also has on his signature pair of scuffed up black vans.

There is a small table and two chairs in the corner of the kitchen next to the window with a vase of sunflowers and a couple of books sitting on it. You walk over to the table to inspect the books more closely. Art as Therapy by Alain de Botton & John Armstrong and The Course of Love, also by Alain de Botton. Before you get the chance to flip them over and read the descriptions, Harry clears his throat.

“Coffee’s ready.” He sets the kettle down on the counter and dances his way over to the cupboard where he keeps his mugs.

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face, admiring his ability to always be so energetic in the mornings.

He takes the filter out of the chemex and chunks it in the trash before pouring the coffee into two mugs. The way he turns with a mug in each hand, extending one to you, is extremely reminiscent of last night. After you take the mug from his hands, he scoots past you into the living room. The volume of the music lowers to a faint background noise before he appears again in the kitchen.

“So,” he pauses to reach into the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and setting it on the counter, “what are you doing up so early? Figured you’d be in bed till noon. Seemed pretty exhausted last night.” He takes a long sip of coffee, waiting for your response.

Suddenly you’re doing everything to not look in his direction. Your eyes are shifting from the table to the flowers to the mug in your hands.

“Um… yeah I woke up at like 5:30 for some reason and couldn’t go back to sleep. So I just decided to take a walk with my camera.” Your last few words echo from your mug before you take a big sip.

Harry clicks his tongue. “M’ sorry, that sucks. Did you at least see anything interesting?”

You involuntarily gasp at his question, causing the coffee to go directly down the wrong pipe. Several harsh coughs erupt from your chest.

Harry acts quickly, muttering a quick “shit” before taking the cup from your hand and setting it on the table along with his. He steps behind you and you hear a chair scoot out from the table. His hands gently wrap around your upper arms, prompting you to have a seat. You fold over in the chair, gripping the edge of the table for stability. After a few more strong coughs, you’re finally able to catch your breath.

Harry’s fingertips rubbing soothing circles on your back sends electricity up and down your spine.

His hand slides off of your back as he steps away from you, “Alright? Want some water?” He’s already walking over to his cabinet and pulling out a glass before you respond.

Once you clear your throat, you croak out, “Yeah I’m fine, that’s fine.”

He sets the glass on the table in front of you, turns back to the carton of eggs on the counter and starts cracking some into a pan.

After taking some sips of your water, you say, “So I was going to ask you the same question. What are you doing up so early?”

“Well, funny enough, I also had to wake up around 5:30. I’ve got a client coming to pick up her trumpet this morning and I had to get everything sorted and clean up a bit before she got here.”

Nodding your head, you tease, “Oh yeah, it looks really good in there. Was starting to forget what your floor looked like.”

Your heart leaps at the sound of Harry’s belly laugh. “Wow. Wowwwwww. Already giving me a hard time. At this hour. Jesus.”

You laugh at his exaggerated reaction while he simply shakes his head.

There’s a knock at the front door. Harry reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Must be her, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Do you want me to do those?” You stand up from your spot at the table and gesture to the pan.

“Sure, that’d be great, thanks,” he says over his shoulder when he exits the kitchen.

A moment later, you hear the sound of a woman’s voice greeting Harry. It sounds like they’re just standing in his entryway because you can’t really make out what either of them are saying.

Meanwhile, you go about scrambling eggs, making toast, and getting out plates and silverware. By the time Harry is back in the kitchen, you’re already starting to put everything on the table.

You pick up the books from the table and hold them up to Harry, “Where do you want these?”

“Oh uh, I’ll just put those on the coffee table.” When you hand them off to him, he holds up the copy of Art as Therapy. “This one’s for you though, make sure you take it with you today.”

You tilt your head in question.

“Just thought it looked like something you would enjoy. Saw it when I was looking for this other one.” He holds up The Course of Love.

Before you could say anything, he’s disappeared again into the living room.

Once you’re both sitting at the table and digging into your breakfast, Harry asks, “What are you doing tonight?”

You squint your eyes at him. “I mean, I don’t really have anything planned. Why do you ask?”

“Well that client that was just here offered me two free tickets to her jazz band’s show tonight as, like, an extra ‘thank you’.” He shrugs, “Might be fun to go to.”

With a straight face, you reply, “I can’t, I’m booked tonight.”

You stare at each other for a minute in silence trying not to crack a smile, until you both start snorting.

“I know you’re free because the bar is closed and Sarah is still sick.” Harry tosses his fork on his plate and leans back in his chair like he’s just won an argument.

You mirror him by crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. “What if I have plans with Mitch? Sarah’s boyfriend?”

Harry furrows his brows and looks at you, baffled, “I know who Mitch is, why’d you have to say it like that?”

“Because I knew it would throw you off.”

“Alright, I’ll just take Mitch to the concert then.”

You drop your jaw and lightly kick his leg under the table. “What time is this concert?” You ask, slipping out of your teasing tone.

“It’s at seven.” Harry leans forward and lifts his coffee from the table, holding it up to you.

You grab yours from the table and clink it with his before finishing off the remainder of your coffee.

***********************

Back at your apartment, you’re leaning back in your chair at the desk in your living room, waiting for your pictures from today to upload on your computer. Your hands run over the smooth blue and green cover of Art as Therapy. In the few years that you have known Harry, you’ve swapped countless book recommendations back and forth, and the bookshelves in your apartments are constantly changing due to all of the borrowing you both do. You’ve even gotten each other books for birthdays and other holidays. This is the first book that he has bought for you completely unprompted. You hadn’t even heard of the author until today, so it’s not like he heard you mention in passing wanting to read his books.

You flip the book over and read the description, then flip to the first few pages to see a statement about the authors. “Their proposal is that certain great works of art offer clues on managing the tensions and confusions of everyday life and that, approached in the right way, art can help us answer both the intimate and the everyday questions we all ask ourselves.”

Quickly shaking yourself out of your own thoughts, you check the progress on your photos. Approximately 20 minutes remaining.

You huff, slap the book closed, and toss it on the desk before getting up and walking to your room. There’s an old shoe box on one of your shelves that you like to go through when you’re feeling sad or having a weird day, which feels about right at this moment.

You plop down on your bed and set the box in front of you, opening up the lid. The rush of nostalgia and warmth that comes over you when going through this box is overwhelming sometimes. It’s filled with miscellaneous photos that you’ve taken on your film camera over the past few years. There are some that capture your favorite buildings and murals throughout the city. There are a lot from when you went to the pride celebrations last year. The majority of the pictures in the box capture candid moments of your friends and family. These kinds of pictures are the ones that remind you of why you love photography so much and even after getting high marks on your work for the institute, these are the ones that you end up feeling the most proud of.

You see your friends from out of state standing in front of the Golden Gate Bridge from the time they paid you a surprise visit. Another one shows your cousin at his college graduation. There’s one of your friend and coworker, Sarah, and her boyfriend Mitch from the day you and Harry helped them move into their new apartment, proudly holding up the keys, smiling from ear to ear.

And then there’s quite a lot of Harry. Harry playing pool at a bar across town, Harry at the beach tossing a football with Mitch, a kind of blurry one of him going crazy at an Ariana Grande concert. You laugh out loud when you find the one of him proudly wearing your dress during a drunken game of truth or dare, and the one of him making a ‘kissy’ face at you in those obnoxious Gucci sunglasses that he wore for pretty much an entire summer. Sometimes you don’t realize how much you’ve experienced together until you go back and look at these pictures.

You’ve been flipping through them pretty quickly, but you come across one that makes you freeze. It’s from your friend’s birthday party a few months ago. You got someone to take a picture of yourself with Sarah and Mitch, but Harry decided to jump in. In the picture, Mitch is in the middle of you and Sarah, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, and Harry has his arms hugged tight around your middle and his cheek is pressed to yours. It could be seen as a form of affection, if his face wasn’t covered in icing from your friend’s birthday cake. The photo is perfectly timed to capture everyone’s shocked laughter.

Just by looking at this photo again, you can feel his smile against your cheek and his arms holding you close. It’s a feeling you’ve been wanting more of ever since that night. Maybe that’s the ‘intimate question’ you’ve been asking yourself- Do you really want more with Harry?

**April 26th, 2020. 6:58pm**

You’re sure nobody on the street could miss you and Harry. After saying quick ‘thank you’s to the uber driver, you grab hands and start jogging toward the entrance of the SFJAZZ Center- a three story building with windows wrapping all the way around. The show is supposed to start in two minutes. You would have arrived much earlier if Harry hadn’t left the tickets on his kitchen table. You’re both dodging and weaving through people on the sidewalk, you in your favorite floral dress and Harry in a bold green suit jacket.

Once in the lobby, you both reduce your pace to a brisk walk and you readjust the bag on your shoulder. Harry’s hand is still holding yours as you’re both scanning the lobby for the right place to go. You spot a couple of employees closing doors labeled ‘main hall seating’.

“Over here,” you say, pulling Harry along with you.

Luckily, you’re able to catch the ushers in time to show them your tickets and be let in. The expansive auditorium is filled with the sound of chattering people and musicians warming up their instruments.

Thankfully, your seats are in a row toward the back and to the left of the stage, so you don’t have to make too big of a scene when scooting past people. Right when you settle in, the house lights dim, the chatter rapidly dies down, and the band on the stage goes silent.

The lull is soon replaced with applause when a woman walks out and stands center stage. She introduces herself as the director of programming and welcomes the audience. “Thank you all for being here tonight. Your support means so much to this center as we continue to make music and art and do what we love to do.” She pauses to hold up a booklet in her hands. “As you may have seen in your program, tonight’s performance is a special one.”

For the first time, you glance around the room and notice almost everyone but you and Harry has a program in their lap or held in their hands.

The woman on stage continues. “Some of you may know this, and some of you may not, but April is the birth month of American jazz singer, Billie Holiday. So, to honor her legacy, this lovely band sitting behind me has put together arrangements of some of her greatest hits.” Applause fills the room once again.

“Some of the performances tonight will feature vocalists and some will be done with the band only, so I hope everyone will find something they enjoy. Now, without further ado, I present to you A Little Love, with Billie Holiday.”

There is applause for a third time, but your hands are suddenly too heavy in your lap to join in. As the director exits the stage and another woman, presumably the vocalist, takes her place, your mind is reeling at the situation you’re currently in. How have you wound up at a jazz concert dedicated to love, that you decided to attend on a whim, with your best friend that you suddenly have overwhelming feelings for?

All of the subtle signs and notions of feelings you have had over the years have turned into blaring alarms, and they’re all pointing to one person. The man sitting right next to you, who is also sitting stock still in his seat.

There’s a drumroll from the stage followed by a light and smooth saxophone solo that brings you back into the moment. The vocalist begins the captivating first verse of Billie Holiday’s You Go to My Head.

You go to my head

And you linger like a haunting refrain

And I find you spinning round in my brain

Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne

You slowly sink about three inches down into your seat. You wish you had a program now so that you could at least use it to fan your face. You reach your hand up to dab at your forehead.

At the same time Harry takes a deep breath and lightly trills his lips while itching the bridge of his nose.

The vocalist continues to sing the lyrics that are hitting you directly in the gut.

The thrill of the thought

That you might give a thought to my plea

Casts a spell over me

Still I say to myself “Get a hold of yourself”

Can’t you see that it never can be

You glance around the auditorium as much as you can without turning your head in Harry’s direction, wondering if anyone else is feeling the temperature rise or the tension that seems to be wrapped around the both of you.

You go to my head

With a smile that makes my temperature rise

Like a summer with a thousand Julys

You intoxicate my soul with your eyes

Though I’m certain that this heart of mine

Hasn’t the ghost of a chance in this crazy romance

You go to my head

Your mind is reeling yet again at the situation you’re in. This must be some kind of elaborate prank that the universe is pulling on you. You’re half expecting a spotlight to fall on you and Harry that nobody in the room would even question.

The feeling doesn’t lift as the concert goes on. Soulful songs about a lover’s eyes, falling in love, how easy it is to live when you’re in love. Even where there is not a vocalist, you seem to know what the songs are implying.

Something that comes up in your rapid stream of thoughts is the author’s note you read earlier, “approached in the right way, art can help us answer both the intimate and the everyday questions we all ask ourselves.” You ask yourself the question again: Do you want more with Harry?

You think about the pictures of the times you’ve spent together. Crazy shifts at the bar, days in the park, breakfasts, dinners, late nights staying up talking about god knows what. You know the answer. You’ve always known the answer.

It seems like your heart has caught up with your thoughts, because it’s pounding in your chest.

Halfway through the final song of the night, you decide to steal a glance at Harry. Slowly turning your head, you peek through the corner of your eye.

A quick jolt of electricity runs through your entire body when you see that Harry already has his eyes on you. You turn your head back to the stage, but you can still feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of your head.

When thunderous applause breaks out after the final song, Harry turns his head back to the stage as you both limply clap along with the audience.

******************

This is the most quiet car ride of your life. There isn’t even any music being played in the background. The only words that have been exchanged between you and Harry since the concert ended were when he asked you if it was okay for the uber to just drop you both at your building and you answered with a simple ‘sure’.

There are so many feelings swirling around in you that you don’t know what to do with, and you definitely don’t want all of them to spill out in this stranger’s car, so you keep your jaw clenched as you look out of the window.

The car comes to a stop outside of your building and you both mutter ‘thank you’s as you climb out. You both silently make your way through the lobby, up the stairs, and down the hallway to your door.

Just last night you were making the same trip. You were making light jokes about wanting to steal Harry’s jacket and he was joking back, accusing you of wanting him to freeze to death. You had to remind each other not to laugh so loud so you wouldn’t disturb anyone. Now the only sound in the hallway is your shoes on the floor.

Once you reach your door, you open your bag and start digging for your keys. “Thanks, um, thanks for inviting me. It was a really good show.” You find your keys and push them into the lock before turning your eyes to Harry.

He has one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… Yeah it was... it was fun. Glad you could come with me.” He moves his hands from their places and awkwardly moves his arms out for a hug.

You smile and let out a sharp exhale through your nose at the awkwardness of this whole situation, but you gladly reciprocate the hug. Your arms completely wrap around each other, your hands tightly gripping his jacket. You can smell his cologne, like ginger and honey and cedar, and it’s making your head spin. You embrace for a few seconds and then release each other.

Harry sighs, “Alright, I’ll see you later then.”

“Okay, see you later.”

Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and slowly takes a few steps to turn away.

You turn the key in the lock, then turn your head to watch Harry take his first few steps away from you. You don’t want him to get any further.

“Harry?”

He stops and turns around to face you. “Yeah?”

You cannot believe the question that’s coming to your mind, but it’s the only thing that’s been coherent enough to put into words. You gulp and take a deep breath before asking, “Do you… do you still wish you could kiss me?”

You watch about three different emotions pass across Harry’s face. His mouth opens, his head tilts to the side, then his mouth closes and his eyes shift to the floor.

You feel a flood of regret. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember. That was stupid. He doesn’t remember. Just play it off.

You know your face is flushed with embarrassment as you speak softly, “I’m sorry. I just. That night that you were really drunk and I brought you back here, you said that you wish- that you wished y-”

Hearing Harry say your name stops your rambling. “Don’t be sorry. I know what I said.” He’s eyeing you cautiously and taking a couple of steps toward you again. “And… yeah. I still wish I could kiss you. Felt that way for… a while now.”

Tears are brimming your eyes as you look into his, trying to absorb what he’s just said. Then it’s almost like the floor beneath you tilts in his direction, nudging you to move forward until you’re standing directly in front of him. You can smell his cologne again.

With your eyes still locked into his, you slowly raise your hands to place them on the back of his neck, thumbs stroking the corners of his jaw.

After taking a shaky breath, you whisper, “I wish I could kiss you, too.”

Harry gulps and shifts his eyes down to your lips. He takes a deep breath through his nose before you feel his hand lightly grip your waist and his other hand takes a similar position on your neck.

You both stand there for a few breaths, eyes roaming over each other’s faces.

You start to lean in and then stop about half way and close your eyes. You’re both just waiting to see who will close the gap.

After a moment, you feel Harry’s grip on your neck and waist tighten and you feel him leaning in. Then his lips are on yours. They’re on yours again and again. You tilt your heads to deepen the kisses and he takes a step toward you. You follow his lead until your back is pressed against your door.

As much as it pains you to do so, you have to stop so you can catch your breath. You reach one of your hands into his hair and lightly pull him away. Both of you are breathing  in sync.

Once your breathing is evened out, you lock eyes with Harry. Your heart flutters when you exchange shy but knowing smiles and his thumb gently strokes your cheek.

After clearing your throat, you move your hand to your door knob. “Do you want to come in?”

Harry glances at your hand then returns his eyes to yours. He purses his lips and takes a sharp breath in. “I just want to know what you want.”

What just happened a few seconds ago already seems monumental to you. After the emotional roller coaster of this day, you’re not sure whether or not you’re ready for more tonight.

You take your hand from the doorknob and run it along his shoulder to return it to its previous position on his neck. “Honestly, I’m so fucking exhausted from today.” You watch as Harry nods his head in understanding. “I think all I want tonight is to hold you,” you notice the softness in his eyes, the same softness that you noticed for a fleeting second in the bar last night. “And keep kissing you.” This makes a lopsided smirk pop onto his face. “And I want to talk in the morning. About us.”

Harry leans in and presses a sweet peck to your lips. “I think we can do that.”

*******************

If anyone would have told you that your day was going to end with you and Harry in your bed, your head on his chest, and him running his fingers soothingly over your back, you wouldn’t have believed them.

“Harry?” you say softly, just as your eyelids are starting to get heavy.

His fingers stop for a moment, “Yeah?”

Thinking over the sequence of events that led you to where you are now, you start to erupt into sleepy giggles. “Did you know that the performance was gonna be,” you pause, trying to find the right word, “that?”

Harry lets out a deep belly laugh and when you glance up at him, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t have planned that if I tried.”

Before you know it, you’re both laughing uncontrollably, recounting the insane timing of the whole situation.

Harry rolls to his side so that he’s facing you and places a lingering kiss on your lips. “I’ll have to tell that client that any repairs she wants are on the house now.”

You throw your head back laughing and he pulls you into his chest, smothering your neck with kisses before resting his chin on top of your head.

If this is all you could have for the rest of your life, just a little love from each other, you would never want anything more.

************************************************************

thank you so much for reading!!

if you enjoyed this fic, please remember that reblogs and/or nice messages mean the world to fic writers. <3

you can find my masterlist here and my inbox here

& make sure to check out the other amazing fics on the pypfc masterlist

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

The Game of Camelot (Sat Upon His Throne, All Alone)

Part one of A dark AU for The Coming of Arthur Part 2 where Leon's loyalty is to the people of Camelot alone and he is willing to do anything to save Camelot from being ruled by a tyrannical monster, even if he becomes a monster himself in the process. This is also posted on my AO3 here. 

Warnings for this fic include: Major character death, Murder, Dark Leon, poisoning, nightmares, and hurt no comfort. Please be safe.

~~~

Leon prided himself on his loyalty. He considered himself a loyal knight of Camelot and so did everyone else. It's why no one ever suspected him. Why no one ever stopped to question how he got to where he was today. Why no one stopped to ask why he was king.

~~~

"Sir Leon is a traitor," was a sentence that had never been said by anyone in Camelot. And if anyone had been foolish enough to voice such a thing, they would have, at best, been laughed out of Camelot, and at worst, never left Camelot ever again. Because everyone knew that Leon would die for Camelot. He was loyal to his kingdom to the end.

The misconception was that while Leon was indeed loyal to Camelot, he did not have the same undying loyalty for his king. Uther Pendragon was a tyrant king who ruled with fear and death. He was irrational when it came to magic and his penalty against it was overzealous and extreme. His citizens had suffered under his rule for too long. Someone needed to ensure it ended, one way or another. 

Leon grew up with Morgana, had been her friend since before she became Uther’s ward. When he learned she had magic, he promised to protect her. When he learned about her plans to kill Uther, he pretended to have no idea. When he learned of her parentage and her desire to claim the throne for herself, Leon was supportive but uneasy. When he met Morgause, he faltered. When he learned of the lengths she went to try to kill Arthur by using Gwen and Elyan as bait, Leon's support became an act. Uther was a bad king and he didn't know what kind of king Arthur would be but Leon knew that Morgana would just be another Uther. He couldn't let that happen.

As far as Morgana was concerned, Leon was loyal to her. He made sure this was never in doubt. It could never be in doubt.

~~~

When Morgana told him to kill Arthur, Leon felt uneasy. Arthur was his prince and while he was Uther’s son he was not a bad man. Leon had no ill will towards him and was sincere in his loyalty to him. He didn't want to kill him.

When Morgana suggested he act defiantly when he was brought before Morgana in order to lure Gwen out to make her betray her true loyalties and help Leon escape to find Arthur so Leon could kill both of them at the same time, Leon thought he was going to be sick. She wanted him to kill both the prince and Gwen? Gwen, his childhood friend, his oldest friend? The kindest, sweetest person he has ever known, who wouldn't even hurt a fly? 

Leon wasn't sure he could do that. And yet, somehow, for the good of Camelot, he must.

~~~

There were eight of them. Eight people. Eight witnesses. Eight liabilities. Leon didn't want to kill eight people. Hell, he didn't want to kill the two people he had to kill. But Leon was a strategist. He knew the best shot he had of accomplishing his goal of liberating Camelot from tyranny and fear was to leave no one behind to reveal the treachery he was willing to commit to do it. He didn't want to kill these eight people but he would if he had to.

~~~

"'There is no one else I'd rather die for,'" Leon pledged and maybe what he was about to do would be easier if he was lying. But he wasn't. 

~~~

Leon wasn't comfortable with this. He had killed people before, sure, but in battle as a knight, and those he killed were his enemies. Tonight he would not be acting as a noble knight but as a traitorous assassin, slaughtering people that trusted him. People he knew. Leon didn’t know Merlin well, but he did know that there was more to Merlin that met the eye. He had long suspected that the servant had played at least some part in foiling some of the attacks on Arthur and Camelot over the years. For that alone, he liked Merlin, even before taking into account the boy’s dry wit. Leon liked Gaius as well. And Gwen and Elyan? They had grown up together. He considered them his friends. Hell, he thought of Gwen as his best friend. The whole reason Morgana lost his loyalty in the first place was her willingness to put the two of them in danger. And Arthur…Arthur wasn't his father. He was a good man, and Leon believed he could be a good king, but he also knew that Arthur was like his father in the one way that mattered: he distrusted magic. Leon would even go as far to say he hated it. There was the chance that Arthur may one day change his mind but Leon could not take the risk. There was only one way he could ensure that peace and magic would return to Camelot. In that moment, Leon made a decision he knew he would regret for the rest of his life. He just hoped he would be able to live with it.

~~~

Leon wouldn't call himself a coward. This is not cowardice, he thought, as he laced his companions' food with hemlock. This is not cowardice, he thought as they all began to show symptoms of poisoning. This is not cowardice, he reminded himself as he too pretended to fall ill. It is not cowardice, Leon repeated to himself as he faked a coughing fit while he closed Gaius’s unseeing eyes. This is not cowardice, he thought as he allowed himself to hold Gwen as she wept. This is not cowardice, he reminded himself as he listened to the last of his companions take their final rattling breath. No, he told himself when he opened his eyes and got to his feet, his act of afflicted and dying friend no longer necessary with no one else left alive to witness his deception and betrayal, this was not cowardice. Leon took in the result of his handy work and made himself look at each of them, to look at what he had done. This was kindness.

~~~

Leon knew he couldn't leave the bodies as they were. Morgana expected him to slaughter them, not poison them. He couldn't risk going against her expectations now. If she suspected anything was off, all would be lost and Leon's actions here would have been for nothing. He couldn't let their deaths be in vain. 

So Leon picked up a discarded sword with gold engravings that was not his own and, with a whispered plea for forgiveness, he hacked and slashed the bodies in a manner that mimicked an ambush. He started with the three men he didn't know very well, the three knights he had murdered before they ever had a chance to live up to their new titles. Then he moved on to Arthur, trying desperately not to think of the young boy Leon had trained to use a sword so long ago now as he cut the young man he had become into ribbons. 

When Leon looked down on Merlin, he swallowed roughly. When they all began to fall ill, Merlin had acted as a physician alongside Gaius, but as soon as Arthur had lost consciousness, Merlin threw caution to the wind. He had tried to heal him. He tried several times before he sat back on his heels and let out a broken sob. There was nothing he could do. That didn’t stop him from trying to heal Gaius. Or Lancelot. Or Gwen. With each new failure to even alleviate the symptoms, Merlin’s face crumbled more and his health flagged further. When Merlin approached Leon, the knight had jerked away before he could touch him, afraid not of Merlin, but that he might discover that Leon wasn’t actually dying like the rest of them. But of course, Merlin didn’t know that. He was a freshly outed sorcerer approaching a knight of Camelot who backed away out of fear. There was only one conclusion Merlin could draw. Like many things about that accursed day, Merlin’s expression when Leon backed away would haunt him forever.

Leon moved on to Gaius, taking a deep breath and stabbing once before quickly moving away. Which left him with only two more choices. 

Leon shut his eyes tightly. It was too late for remorse and regret. They were gone, dead. They weren't coming back. He killed them, murdered them, and nothing he did now could hurt them anymore. Of course it could still hurt him but he should have thought about that before he killed his only friends in the world.

Leon whispered a choked apology and raised the sword above his head.

~~~

Leon picked up his own sword and taking a steadying breath, slashed himself in the arm. He clenched his eyes tight against the pain and breathed through it. It wasn’t ideal, but he couldn’t return to Camelot without a mark on him, not with the version of events he planned to tell Morgana. It would also look far more convincing and believable to the knights and people of Camelot the story he planned to tell them. He just needed Morgana to agree to it. 

As he stabbed himself shallowly in the thigh, Leon went over in his head what he would tell Morgana: First he killed Arthur then Gwen and he was about to kill Gaius when Merlin woke up and raised the alarm. He killed Gaius and Merlin swiftly and one of the wanna be knights before the other three all started fighting him at once. They got a couple of lucky shots in but they were nothing against him. Hopefully, it would be enough to pass not only Morgana’s scrutiny, but Morgause’s as well.

~~~

When Leon was "recaptured" by Morgana’s men, Leon told her "what happened." She was pleased. And luckily, when Leon proposed to tell the people of Camelot that it was the immortal men that killed Arthur and his companion and it was only barely that Leon survived, Morgana agreed. And he didn't even need to suggest that he continue to pretend to despise her because she suggested it first. After all, it would look awfully suspicious if Leon was suddenly supportive of Morgana. She could lose the support of the other knights if they believed Leon a traitor or enchanted. And that was something neither of them wanted. 

~~~

The execution of Uther Pendragon was quite the public spectacle. Citizens filled the square, crowded around the large pyre in the middle. To the side, the surviving knights of Camelot were made to watch, each restrained on either side by one of the immortal soldiers. 

When Uther was brought out to the square, the crowd went silent. How far the king had fallen. In the end, his hate was his undoing. It was fitting that it was magic that killed him. From her balcony, Morgana put an end to Uther Pendragon with a flash of gold and a blaze of fire.

Leon’s only regret that day was he could not let his satisfaction show when Uther began to scream as the flames consumed him. Could not scoff at the tyrant’s shouted pleas for mercy. Could not smirk when the screams stopped, knowing what that meant. Could not cheer with relief and joy when the flames died away to reveal a very charred and very dead Uther. No, Leon could not do any of these things because he still had a role to play. Instead of satisfaction, Leon struggled against the soldiers holding him back. Instead of scoffing, he grimaced. Instead of smirking, he stopped struggling and slumped his shoulders in defeat. Instead of cheering, his eyes were wide with horror. Leon played his role very well, just as he always did. 

The tyrant was dead, long live the queen.

Well. Not long. Not if Leon had anything to say about it. 

~~~

Leon was a patient man. He served for years under Uther, a few months under Morgana in order to find a way to take out her and Morgause was easy. All the while, he continued to play the loyal knight to Morgana behind closed doors while acting as the reluctant first knight to an usurper queen in front of his fellow remaining knights and the people of Camelot. It was a dangerous line Leon walked. One misstep and he was dead.

In the end, his patience paid off. Once he learned that those who gave blood to the cup in exchange for immortality were cursed with an existence neither truly alive nor dead and emptying the cup would end those lives, Leon came up with a plan. It was risky and tricky and definitely a bit crazy, but it was the best chance Leon had of killing the sisters without dying himself. 

Getting the blood without them noticing was far easier than he expected and he never wanted to think about how he managed it ever again. Getting the blood to the guarded cup without arousing suspicion or getting killed by a pissed off priestess or an immortal soldier? That was the difficult part. Somehow, he managed to get to the cup in one piece. And somehow, he got the blood into the cup. And somehow, he managed to knock the cup over right as Morgana and Morgause barged in, spilling all the blood onto the floor before they could stop him.

Unlike the last batch of deaths he facilitated, Leon could not bring himself to feel remorse as the immortal soldiers exploded into nothingness around him, and he felt no grief as Morgana and Morgause followed suit, not even when Morgana’s eyes, wide with hurt and betrayal, locked with his before she ceased to be.

~~~

Leon sat upon his throne, crown heavy on his head as he looked out over his people, now his subjects. With Morgana and Morgause dead and no surviving Pendragons to take the throne, the beloved first knight that rid Camelot of Morgana was the obvious choice. 

The witch was dead, long live the king.

~~~

There was a secluded clearing in the woods where eight grave markers sat in a row. Every year, on every birthday, every holiday, and on the anniversary of their deaths, Leon would visit the graves. Sometimes he would talk, sometimes he’d stay silent. Most times, he cried. Every time, he left flowers. It was such a beautiful place for a shrine to the dead.

For the three men he had barely known, Leon searched and tracked down their names until he knew them: Gwaine, Lancelot, and Percival. Their birthdays were far more elusive so Leon picked a day for each of them and returned on that day every year. For Merlin, whose birthday was also unknown, he returned to the graves on the day he first met him. 

Sometimes the visits would be brief and other times they would last for hours. No matter how long Leon stayed it was never enough. No amount of time would ever be enough to atone for what he did. No amount of time could ever undo the damage he’d cause because it was time they never got to have.

~~~

Leon was called a fair and just king. His people loved him, and he loved them. And more importantly, they loved his queen. It wasn't long after he was crowned king of Camelot that Leon opened negotiations with King Rodor of Nemeth. The lands of Gedref had been disputed for generations. Leon agreed to give a majority of them to Nemeth in exchange for Princess Mithian's hand in marriage. Leon knew it would give him a powerful ally and would give him legitimacy in the eyes of the other kings. Rodor agreed. After they were wed, Leon waited. He had already stopped enforcing the ban against magic and stopped arresting and executing sorcerers, and now he welcomed the druids back to Camelot. When enough time had passed to get the people of Camelot used to magic again without fearing it, he made public a fact that he had known since before he asked Rodor for Mithian’s hand in marriage, a fact that few outside of Nemeth knew: Queen Mithian had magic. 

"People of Camelot, for over two decades magic has been persecuted and outlawed from our kingdom. And for over two decades the citizens of this kingdom have lived in fear. That fear ends today. Magic is not evil, it does not corrupt. I know this because I have yet to meet a kinder soul than that of my wife's. Queen Mithian is the sweetest person I know and she loves this kingdom as I do," Leon announced from the balcony overlooking the square where the people of Camelot were looking up at him. Whispers broke out among the crowd as they caught his meaning. Leon reached out a hand to Mithian, who took it with a warm smile. She was nervous about the announcement but he promised her he would let no harm come to her and she trusted him. "Your queen has magic. She has magic and she has only ever used it for good, to help people. Magic is not evil, it is a tool. Just as a sword is a tool for justice and protection in the hands of a knight but a tool for menace and terror in the hands of a bandit, the nature of magic depends on how it is used. For too long all those who dared use magic as a tool for any reason were punished. No more. From now on, magic is free in Camelot. Having and using magic is no longer a crime. But just as bandits are not welcome in Camelot, neither are those that use magic for harm. Crimes committed with magic will be treated the same as every other crime of that nature, and dark magic with the intent to harm others may be punishable by death. But those who use magic peacefully have nothing to fear. I hereby repeal the ban against magic in Camelot." 

~~~

Leon sat upon his throne, his wife by his side. He had done it. He freed his people from the rule of tyranny and fear. Magic was free. Camelot was free.

But Leon was not free and he knew he never would be. There was innocent blood on his hands, blood of people who trusted him, people he called his friends. 

Leon may have Mithian but she didn't know the truth about his rise to power. If she did, she would rip herself away from him in disgust and horror and look at him as if he were a monster. Then he would be truly and utterly alone. 

Leon sat on his throne with his Queen at his side. He may be lonely but he was not alone, not as long as he had her. And as long as he had her beside him and he had the people of Camelot to take care of, Leon would not become the monster he saw in his reflection. As long as he had them and he held onto his reason for becoming king in the first place, he would not succumb to his guilt. 

Leon had blood on his hands that he could never wash clean, skeletons in his closet he could never get rid of or share with anyone, and a monster in his reflection.

~~~

Leon jolted awake with a gasp, his body drenched in cold sweat. He let out a long sigh as his surroundings filtered in and he recognized Mithian sound asleep beside him. Quietly, so to not wake her, Leon eased out of bed. He had gotten a lot of practice over the years of shaking off the nightmares without bothering her. He walked over to a basin of water and without looking, he cupped some in his palms and splashed it over his face. Leon didn't need to think very hard to remember what his dream was about. It was the same thing it was always about. Tonight it was Elyan and Gwen that had taken the central role in his nightmare. 

Gwen was struggling to breathe, her eyes wide and panicked as she held her baby brother in her arms, his head cradled in her lap with his eyes half closed and his breathing growing steadily weaker and weaker. Elyan was dying. They were both dying, but there was no question who would go first. A jolt of guilt ran through Leon and as he stood looking down at his childhood friends whom he had condemned to death, a tear rolled down his face. Gwen’s head snapped towards him, her eyes hardening with hatred and betrayal. "You. You did this. Why, Leon? Why did you do this? How could you do this?" 

Leon shook his head sadly, another tear sliding down his face. "I had to, Gwen. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's for Camelot, I had to for Camelot. I had no other choice."

Gwen scoffed and narrowly avoided a coughing fit as a result. "'In life, you always have a choice. Sometimes it's easier to think that you don't,'" Gwen rasped angrily. "You chose this, Leon. You didn't have to kill us, but you did anyway. You chose this." She looked away from Leon and instead turned her gaze on Elyan, who had gone still in her arms. "Elyan? Elyan!" She shouted, shaking him to wake him. He didn't wake up. He couldn't. "No!" Gwen screamed in pure anguish.

Leon let out a shudder and splashed more water over his face to banish the lingering tendrils of the nightmare. It was only temporary. It was always just temporary. Leon was haunted by his actions in the castle of the ancient kings and the things he did that day would haunt him til the day he died. He would never be free of his guilt and he didn't deserve to be free of it. Gwen never knew it was him. If she had, she would have pushed him away when he sat down next to her with tears streaming down his face and held her as she sobbed over Elyan while dying herself. She wouldn't have clung onto his arm as if it would protect her and keep her afloat. Just as Elyan had died in her arms, Gwen had died in Leon’s. With his oldest friend dead, Leon had let himself collapse onto the floor and close his eyes, feigning severe illness himself. He had laid there listening to his victims die knowing he was responsible as Gwen grew cold beside him. Leon shook his head sharply and took a breath to steady himself. He let it out slowly, opening his eyes as he did so. His eyes found his reflections' in the still water of the basin. For just a split second, his reflection changed and the person he was seeing was not himself, but Uther Pendragon. Leon blinked tiredly and when he looked again his reflection was his own again. Leon’s hands curled into fists as he looked at his reflection. Uther Pendragon was a monster and a tyrant king. He deserved to die. Leon still believed this and never once had his conviction wavered on this stance. Uther had so much innocent blood on his hands he was drenched in it. The world was a better place without that monster in it. It troubled Leon but didn't surprise him when he caught a glimpse of the long dead king in his own reflection. After all, Leon was a monster too, with hands crimson with innocent blood, blood belonging to his friends. In many ways, Leon considered himself more of a monster than Uther ever was. For Uther Pendragon was driven by hate and anger. The murders he committed came from hatred and self righteousness. He thought his actions were justified and right. Leon was driven by love and determination. Leon murdered eight people who never did him any harm, five of whom he considered friends, when he knew doing so was wrong. They did not deserve to die, there was nothing just or right about it and Leon regretted his actions every day of his life. He hated himself for it because he knew he would do it again. He knew what he did was wrong but it was necessary to save Camelot and it's people and he would do it again if he had to. That's what made him the bigger monster.

~~~

King Leon sat on his throne, lonely, but not alone. He was a monster and that fact was unknown.

King Leon sat on his throne, lonely, but not alone. He now had children and was slowly growing old.

King Leon lay in bed, dying, frail, and old, but never alone. Leon’s eyes drifted closed and all his sins remained unknown.

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

Hello! Can I request the companions reacting to a cute, sleepy female sole who suddenly becomes affectionate (through words or actions)? Pls make them have a huge crush on the ss ^.^

so cute! i love all your requests! (i’m not proud of this(?)) ❤️

-

“how much farther is diamond city?” sole whined loudly. she didn’t mean to complain, really, but the fact that she’s been on her feet nonstop for 3 days and getting only 4 hours of sleep every night had been killing her. of course, he noticed this and wanted her to catch more z’s but they were definitely vulnerable and short on time, so they had no choice but to keep pushing. he shot her a glance and noticed how exhausted she looked, sole looked like she could barely even hold a gun properly. “we can always stop by a shack or something.” hearing this, soles head shot up, a relieved sigh escaping her mouth. “well, what are we waiting for then?” he yelped as sole grabbed his hand, running to the nearest building they could find, “h-hey! slow down!”

soon enough, they had both settled down in a small house they had found not even a mile away and dusted off the beds that had been laying there for god knows how long. sole stretched tiredly as she made her way to her companion, who gazed out the window for any nearby enemies. he felt his bed sink as she sat next to him, letting out a yawn. “you should really be getting some sleep,” he muttered, “ill keep watch for tonight.” he was expecting her to head back to her own bed but little did he know, it was the quite opposite of what she was told to do.

Danse:

danse felt his body stiffen as sole rested her head on his shoulder, a choked sound escaping his mouth. “hey, w-what are you doing?! this is inappropriate..!” flustered was an understatement this man was feeling. his heart was thumping inhumanely loud, and he felt like he was gonna pass out any minute. “sorry,” sole sleepily murmured, “i just like having you ‘round me..” he wanted to chide her so bad, but something in him wanted to push her to say more, “i-i, um,-“ he cleared his throat, embarrassed, “am i able to know w-why?”

“i dunno,” god, her voice was so soft when she was sleepy, “i feel safe around you.” he felt his face flush 50 different shades of red as he stuttered, “i-i’m glad i make you feel that way..” he allowed his shoulders to relax as she began to drift off to sleep, her voice getting quieter by the second,

“you make me feel more than that, yknow..?” danse felt his body grow rigid as her words repeated in his head, “what do you mea-“ before he could finish his sentence, sole had fallen asleep against him within no time. as bad as he wanted to wake her up to find out the real meaning behind that message, he decided it was a conversation for another day. for now, her words imprinted on his mind, keeping him wide awake for the rest of the night.

Deacon:

he observed how sole laid on his bed and moved into a somewhat fetal position, her eyes not budging from a certain spot in front of her. out of curiosity, he followed her line of vision and realized that she had been staring at his hands, which were currently fiddling with the gun. with a confused look on his face, he joked, “what? are you into hands or something, charmer?” sole let out a soft chuckle as she used an elbow to prop herself up and punched deacon playfully on the arm. “you’re so stupid deacon,” she bantered, a soft smile playing on her face, “but i can’t lie, you do have nice hands.” deacon let out a dramatic gasp as his free hand covered his mouth, “and what about the rest of me? i’m hurt.” rolling her eyes, sole lightly brushed her fingers against his knuckles and soon rubbed his fingers with her thumb. “well, i never said anything bad about the rest of you.”

“heh, guess you can’t get enough of me.” he was beyond nervous, and was more than grateful that his sunglasses hid it. he hadn’t felt this kind of feeling since barbara, and knew there was no escape to his attraction for her, no matter how hard he tried.

“yeah, i guess i can’t.” she said as she continued to draw figures on his hand, her eyes growing heavy. he noticed how sole kept waking up, trying to keep her hand on his as she (unsuccessfully) fought her sleep. with a small smile, deacon laced his fingers with hers as she slowly fell into a deep slumber. his eyes fixated on their intertwined hands, wanting to take in the sensation just a little longer. oh man, he was so ready to tease sole about this the next morning.

Hancock:

he felt arms wrap around his torso from behind and was nearly shocked at the sudden affection. “sunshine?” he felt her grip tighter onto him, “is there something wrong?” sole shook her head and only spoke softly, “nothings wrong, i just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” she nervously tapped her fingers against his abdomen, “i know i’m not the easiest person to travel with, let alone, help every single day.” hancock smiled softly and let out a chuckle, putting his hand on top of hers. “you’re the best person i’ve ever met, and i’d do anything for you. besides, there’s nobody else i’d rather have as my partner.”

“i hope you know i’d do the same for you.” he took in the silence that followed right after, only staring down at her arms that were enveloping him. he enjoyed the feeling of her body against his, and how her arms fit so perfectly around him. after what seemed like forever, sole broke the stillness of the atmosphere. “can we stay like this for a little? i just-“

“no need to explain yourself sunshine, take as long as you please, i don’t mind.” sole only muttered a small, ‘thank you’ as hancock hummed a little tune of approval. he felt soles breath slow down, and he carefully turned around to face her, taking sole into his arms. hancock let out a grin as he moved a piece of her hair out of her face, he never really had the chance to see sole up close, but was glad he was blessed to have that opportunity. hancock placed her onto the bed nearby and sat by her side, her touch still lingering on his torso.

Maccready:

he felt his heart race as he noticed sole staring right at him, a inquisitive look on her face. “uh, what’s up, boss?” maccready began to feel anxious as sole continued to eye him, “um, earth to sole, are you still with me?” sole tilted her head cutely, making maccreadys cheeks turn red. “sorry, it’s not everyday i get to look at you up close,” her eyes fluttered tiredly, “actually, i never had the chance, we never really have time.” she was right, they never really got to see each other eye to eye and this was the very first, and hopefully not the last, time that he’ll get to experience it. he took in her features, and knew that the commonwealth barely had anyone as attractive as sole. sole was really beautiful, almost too beautiful to be existent in the commonwealth.

his train of thought was cut off by soles soft voice, “you’re really attractive,” maccready felt his ears heat up in embarrassment as sole took in the view, “i wonder how you’re still single. i’m surprised i haven’t caught a girl checking you out yet.”

normally, maccready would make some snarky remark or say something like ‘quit it’, but his undeniable and obvious crush for sole told him otherwise. he felt his confidence skyrocket thanks to sole, it really wasn’t everyday maccready received a compliment, especially from the girl he admired. “thanks boss.. it really means a lot coming from you.” he rubbed his neck sheepishly as sole stretched, getting up on her feet to head to bed. oh how maccready wished he could grow the balls to say the same to her. “of course mac, i wouldn’t be lying to my favorite partner!” he watched as she laid on her bed, giving maccready one final stare before closing her eyes. “goodnight, mac.” “night boss.” he felt his heart jump in happiness as he realized how lucky he was to have someone like sole by his side.

Nick Valentine:

of course, nick being the sweetheart he is, had set the bed for her as she changed her clothes in the other room. the bed was in the living room where he was sitting peacefully at, so it wasn’t hard to hear some turning and tossing against the hard mattress. he took a peek at sole who was staring at the ceiling wearily. “having trouble to sleep, doll?” sole nodded as she saw nick stride over to her in no time. he sat beside her bed and opened a book next to the counter, but before he let a single word out, sole had slowly shut the book.

“nick, i wanna talk to you and get to know you as a person. all this time i’ve been your partner, i haven’t really asked about your personal life.” nick sent her a surprised look, “and why would you want that?”

“well to be fair, i have told you a lot about my life so far,” she spoke shyly as she fiddled with her fingers, “and you’re an interesting guy, nick. you’re just so nice and caring towards others. i really do look up to you. no one in the commonwealth has a reputation like you do.” sole was way too nervous to even stare up at him as she continued talking, “well to me, at least.” if nick had a heart, it’d be melting at the words that shot out of soles mouth. he knew damn well that she meant every word of it and no one could tell him otherwise. nick let out a content grin as he spoke with a hint of joy in his voice, “well i guess great minds think alike, don’t you think? i suppose i can do that for you.” he felt so at home with her and he couldn’t place a finger as to why, but he decided to wave it off. nick rambled on about his life as sole felt a sense of tranquility, her eyes slowly closing at the sound of nicks soothing voice.

[aching-tummies]

Fiction Mirrors Reality

Hmm..so apparently I lived out a sort of kink fantasy of mine on accident today. Well, doing part-2 as I write this.

I treated myself to milk-tea after work today. They're sold in heat-sealed cups (bubble-tea). Considering there's a mandatory-mask bylaw thing in effect in my city I realized that it'd be better to save stabbing my straw into the drink for when I got home and could remove my mask. I was going to take transit home and I didn't want to accidentally spill my drink when I knew I wouldn't be able to sip at it with my mask on. So I stashed it in a pocket and headed to the nearest bus stop to try to make my way home. Unfortunately, the bus came and went five minutes early and blew passed me on my way to the stop. Checking the bus schedule revealed that I had another 45 minutes before the next one was expected to arrive so I ducked into a fast-food restaurant right by the stop and ordered a coffee to sip on while I waited.

Apparently, the milk in the coffee was enough to upset my stomach. I'm not super lactose intolerant or whatever. My stomach doesn't aways react badly to milk. Sometimes it's just a minor ache that goes away after a while on it's own and other times the same amount of milk will cause my guts to cramp up and try to purge the offending milk from both ends. I mainly use it in coffee so it's usually the same amount of milk each time I take any. Welp, apparently today was a "cramp and purge" kind of day. After I got home I put the sealed milk-tea in the fridge and spent a majority of the night in my bathroom. Hours later, my stomach is sore and still grumbling, trying to purge the trace amounts of the offending milk from my system...but the milk-tea is still here. If I leave it in the fridge one of my family members will take it--even if I write my name on it...and I worked hard to treat myself to this thing. It's been a hellish week at work so I wanted to treat myself.

Tomorrow's a day off and I woke up this morning with tummy-kink on my mind...had to put that on the back-burner 'cuz I needed to head to work though. So...yeah...here I am preparing to drink a large milk-tea on a stomach that's only just managed to rid itself of my first, ill-fated dose of dairy ^^ hopefully the sensations will finally give me the push I need to write some decent things for the stomach-ache tag.

Currently I've got this as a sort of snippet of a RP starter or whatever:

"Uhm...I don't think...I don't think my stomach will be able to handle all this." A mutters sheepishly, turning the sealed drink around in their hands as though sizing it up. "Oh? I'm counting on it." B smiles sadistically and gestures for A to start drinking. A opens the drink, resigning themselves to what will happen. They start with a large swallow, hoping to get this over with quicly knowing full-well they just "got over" another lactose-induced upset stomach. The cramps only just started ebbing in the last twenty minutes and they've been feeling twinges and spasms in their intestines as their upset guts try to purge the trace amounts of dairy left clinging to their insides. They rub their stomach as they begin to swallow, still feeling the soreness of their last upset tummy and knowing that their stomach is not going to like this new influx of dairy. With each gulp their abdominal muscles clench tighter and tighter. It feels like their guts are slowly being gripped by a vice. By the third mouthful their stomach grumbles to punctuate each swallow. A wants to stop and allow themselves to burp, to try to relieve some of the pressure in their abused gut. They keep the drink firmly pressed to their mouth and soldier on, knowing that B has been preparing for and looking forward to this 'game' for a while now. Sharp pains sting at their stomach--along their rib-cage and under their navel. The twinging cramps occur in a rapid-fire, random sequence and there's a low, inaudible rumbling behind the stinging twinges, a subtle hint at the horrors that await A's sickly belly. The image of swallowing a dozen live wasps comes to mind as A fights to continue swallowing--to continue ingesting the 'treat' that would normally be delicious but currently is more like a toxin for their sensitive gastro-intestinal tract. A swallows what they hope was a burp--the pressure in their gut is too much for them to tell if it was only air coming up or something with more substance. The sour, burning feeling at the back of their throat suggests it was the latter. They don't want to find out. B reaches over and runs a palm over the crest of A's bloating tummy. Their upper stomach area has bloated outwards and is fairly solid. B licks their lips as they imagine the mix of liquid and gas that's causing the distension. Unable to hold themselves back, B presses into A's side, forcing some of the pressure upward. A groans as a short and abrupt burp interrupts their determined swallowing. B relents the pressure of their palm and strokes A's stomach lightly in apology, though they're not really sorry. After two more swallows A breaks their rhythm again and lets out a quiet moan around the drink. B's hand has been swirling in gentle circles over A's stomach, causing the contents to swirl and burble in their fleshy prison. They pause as they feel a massive shift under their palm. A's moan sharply increases in pitch--they're in pain--and barely a fraction of a second later an impassioned groan resounds under B's palm, harmonizing with A's moan. B gently rubs their thumb over the taut surface of A's stomach, feeling how the muscles are still squeezed together in a massive cramp. A wet 'squelch'ing noise from A's left side draws B's attention and their hand flies to the spot, following the wet noises to rest directly over A's navel. The milk is percolating through A's gastric system much faster than anticipated. B frowns, disappointed that the fun may be over too quicky tonight. The sickly squelches and rumbles that are now resounding all over A's abdominal area alleviates B's disappointment. The sounds are audible and it sounds like the dairy is tearing poor A's belly to shreds. A has given up holding in their belches and every swallow is accompanied by a sharp release of gas--some more wet-sounding than others. The hiccups that ravage their diaphram also serve to upset their stomach, forcing more belches and more activity under B's palm. B pauses their hand over the center of A's straining belly, debating whether or not to give it a bit of a push.

So...what would you do? Are you going to press into A's distended tummy? Will A puke or will it all come out the other end? Or will it come out at all? Leave your ideas about what you'd do or what you want to see happen in my ask-box!

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today III

A/N: Hello everyone!  So, a little bit of foreshadowing has begun, and we have a brief insight into the relationship Aethelind has with Alfred! I really wanted to be sure to explore that relationship, since it will be so integral to the plot later on. So, a smaller chapter, focused on a smaller scene, but no less important to the plot! Next week, much of our cast will return for the feast. Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

---

The servants all knew to stay away when Aethelind and Alfred were having one of their disagreements. That, or they knew if it went on for too long, to go get their mother. The struggle with these two was found in the conflicting parts of their father they each embodied. And, truthfully, Alfred did want to help the Vikings who had turned up on his and Aethelind’s door. He just…

He knew what they were capable of. He knew the destruction brought to the shores of Wessex by these Northmen. They weren’t safe, and couldn’t be trusted. But at the same time, he remembered the kind eyes of his grandfather’s close friend, the curiosity in the eyes of that man’s son. He couldn’t quite make the two go together, sometimes, in his mind. Perhaps that was why his sister was now pleading with him to assist the Vikings. She had gotten it all straight.

But then, he realized the same men in her villa, Björn and Ubbe Ragnarsson, had killed both his grandfathers, and he suddenly couldn’t bring himself to see them the way she apparently did. He couldn’t understand her heart for them. They had betrayed their grandfather, Ecbert. How could she know they wouldn’t betray her, too?

He had voiced that question, and that, he knew, was the cause of her absolutely bewildered look. Clearly, he’d messed up in asking that. He could tell by her expression exactly what was going through her mind.

“You let fear control you too much,” she finally said, after a few moments of simply staring at him. Perhaps he hadn’t known exactly what, then. “Our father would be absolutely appalled at this. There shouldn’t even be any discussion. You and I both know he’d jump to assist them.”

"Our father destroyed their settlement, Aethelind,” he countered, and then her expression turned pointed, unimpressed. He’d known what she meant, and dodged it, not wanting to admit she was right.

“Our true father,” she said lowly. “Athelstan.”

Ah, yes, thought Alfred. The closest friend of Ragnar Lothbrok. And what good did that friendship do him?

“He was betrayed by the Vikings,” Alfred pointed out. “We know one of them killed him. Grandfather told us this before he was killed by them, too.”

“Grandfather was found dead in his bath, you don’t know the Vikings killed him,” Aethelind argued.

“I know they brought their Great Heathen Army here, and when we returned, Grandfather was dead. Don’t be naïve, Aethelind. He turned Ragnar Lothbrok over to Grandfather Aelle. The Heathens came, went to Northumbria, came here to Wessex, and both our grandfathers died while they were here. What else can be assumed by this?”

“They never came here on that trip.”

Alfred sighed. He should have known that would have been kept from her. The truth of these sorts of matters could be jarring, he knew that, and so he understood why she wouldn’t have been told- especially as she’d continued speaking of that boy, even as he helped lead the army that killed their grandfathers.

“They did,” he confessed. “It’s why we left, right before Grandfather Ecbert passed. He knew they would come, and sent us away for safety. They killed him in his bath, and that’s why we returned to find him gone.”

Alfred watched as she seemed to grow cold, distant from him. That was never good. She was angry. Her brows creased together, her eyes hardened, and she let out a slightly bitter laugh.

“And no one saw fit to tell me of this?” she questioned, voice low. “No one thought I should know that Vikings came and killed both our grandfathers? Why? Was I deemed to be too fond of one of them to be trusted with this information?” Even though her voice hadn’t changed overly much, wasn’t too hostile in nature, Alfred flinched. This was almost worse than when she yelled. “You didn’t even see fit to tell me this, Alfred?”

“You… were too close to both sides of the conflict,” he said, and from the way he spoke, it sounded to her as if he were trying to soothe her. The idea was like salt in the wound he’d just reopened. “And it was difficult news to bear anyway. I thought to protect you by never saying-”

“No, you betrayed me by never saying,” she interrupted. “All this talk of how the Northmen will betray me, and you already have. And what harm could have been done anyway? I already sympathized with the Northmen. The worst case already was the case. If anything, you might have won my sympathies back! Yet now all you have done is solidified my convictions.

“And if nothing else, I know our father would have helped them. Our father left Wessex to be with them in Kattegat. He loved Ragnar Lothbrok. Despite all their differences, even when it came to faith, our father was the one at his right hand, even until his death. If he were here, he would advise that we send aid at once. I, for one, wish to uphold his legacy. I wish to be friends to these people, even if you find it ill-advised.”

Alfred regarded her with a very interested expression. He knew, of course, that she was right, but the way she was talking… “You sound just like him,” he said. “At least, how Mother says he sounded. His love for the Vikings… It’s as if you have inherited it from him.”

His comment seemed to lighten things a bit, though the mood became heavier in other ways, and she smiled a little. “Perhaps you have too,” she suggested. “You simply need to see them in a better light.”

“A better light?” Alfred asked. “What other way is there to see them?”

“Spend some time with them,” she suggested. “And perhaps, speak with our mother about them, and about our father’s relationship with them. She’s told me much of how it used to be, how they helped our grandfather take Mercia. How he, in turn, gave them land here to settle on to farm. How they lived there peacefully. All stories have more than one side to them, Alfred. Perhaps you should learn theirs.”

“Is that what you’ve just done? Spent time learning their story?”

Aethelind nodded, and sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. “It’s terrible. What’s happened to them… It’s nothing I would wish on anyone. Björn and Ubbe’s brothers have betrayed them- Hvitserk and Ivar. They took Kattegat from under Lagertha, who was apparently its rightful ruler. He murdered their other brother, Sigurd. And even more, Lagertha and Björn knew our father, very well. They loved him, and were loved by him. If you don’t want to help the others… can we at least agree to help them, Alfred? They are no ordinary Northmen. They were friends of our father’s.”

He sighed once more, his brows drawing together thoughtfully as he looked to the table. “Alright,” he eventually agreed. “Lagertha and Björn… I will agree to help, though I cannot say yet in what way. The others are your guests, and I will not take ask you to turn them away. In the meantime, while we work on a plan to offer them aid, I will order a feast to be held to welcome them tonight. Hopefully, this will ensure them of our good faith. And, in accordance with your request, I will… spend some more time with those who our father did not know- Ubbe and… what is the other’s name? The woman with him?”

"Torvi,” Aethelind supplied. “She’s his wife, yes. She seems to be very sweet so far. I wasn’t sure she trusted me overly much, when we first met, but multiple times throughout their explanation, she advised them to go more slowly, to give me time to process what I was learning. I like her.”

Alfred nodded a little, and smiled. “Ubbe and Torvi, then. I will try to know them better, to please you, dear sister.”

Aethelind smiled at her brother, and nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “I will be trying to know them all well, especially in the event we must work more closely with them toward anything. It is imperative that they be able to trust us, not only that we be able to trust them. If we’re to accomplish anything, we must trust each other. We must become with them how our father was with theirs.”

Alfred chuckled softly, an amused smile on his face. “You are very passionate,” he commented affectionately. “They are blessed to have you on their side. I might have turned them away, otherwise. And yet, here you are, arguing for their good. I wonder what else you may try to talk me into, the longer they’re here?”

“Nothing too drastic, I shouldn’t imagine,” she teased. “Though, I’m not sure… Björn may be unmarried.”

Alfred nearly choked, his eyes widening exponentially. “That will not be happening. I am saying no to that right now. You will not be the wife of Björn Ironside. No.”

Aethelind giggled at how easily Alfred had fallen for her joke, a wide grin splitting her face, and he sighed. He should known better by now than to take such a comment seriously. As all their family were rather serious, he couldn’t be sure where she’d gotten such a penchant for mischief. But, it was amusing, and it broke the common monotony of daily life around the castle. He couldn’t be too upset about that, could he?

“One of these days I’ll learn to stop falling for your little tricks,” he told her, and she only laughed more.

“Oh, where would be the fun in that?” she asked. “No, if there’s something I can always rely on you for, Alfred, it’s falling for my ‘little tricks’. And, for coming around to the right way of thinking about things.”

“Or, more accurately, for supporting you. Even in the strangest of your endeavors- of which I’m sure this is one. Helping Vikings reclaim their village. Grandfather Aelle must be turning in his grave, right now.”

The smirk Aethelind wore made Alfred realize that didn’t upset her in the slightest, as did the comment she made.

“I don’t quite see the harm in that.”

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you!

[memoriashell]

seashells and shores ( and something a bit more )

Characters /  Pairing: Fukawa Touko / Naegi Komaru, ensemble class 78; varyingly background / implied ships are sakuraoi / ishimondo / celeschi / naeleogami

crossposted on ao3

Notes: a very late day 3 for @tokomaruweek​. beach prompt! yesterday i was feeling a little burnt out so i decided to not write since i didn’t want to put out something half assed. hopefully this being a bit longer helps make up for it! ( and by a bit, i mean i basically doubled the word count compared to what i’ve done for this week so far lmao rip so much for hoping i’d catch up tonight )

rated t for touko's trauma. and also for junko having her tits out. thanks junko.

anyways tw for like trauma, the general self-depricating / self-concious stuff for toko but also like. her trauma w/ water is brought up since it's. beach? and also drowning doesn't actually happen but it is brought up. and touko mentions claustrophobia in relation to her trauma offhandedly once, and again, just generally feeling insecure.

also it's kinda implied that chihiro and celes are both trans thank you!!!

Summary:  going to the beach isn't exactly an exciting thought for her, given the fact she has no desire getting in the water.

komaru seems dead set on making sure she makes some memories anyways.

Do you want to come to the beach with us? That is the first text of the morning that she receives, courtesy of Makoto Naegi. Touko considers asking who he means by us, gathers that he probably means some assortment of their classmates, and ( while it is very tempting to say yes ) concludes that she can safely say no. And she intends to do exactly that, but she gets a set of texts that stops her from being able to do so.

touko-chan!!!!

ur coming with us, right?

you should come with us!

itll be fun!

So Komaru would be there too— their...friendship is odd, all things considered. Not that the knowledge of knowing she’d be there makes the offer any more tempting, but she bites her lip and considers what to say. Not that there’s really much of a question, just keep it blunt and to the point as per usual. No point in sugar coating things.

I’m busy. Maybe next time. She’s not that busy, current manuscript aside. Not that Touko intended on ever not being busy. It’s not her fault that Komaru is too dense to take a hint.

awww :(

pls?

if u don’t wanna get in the water, ill make sure they’ll leave you alone. im sure you won’t be the only one that doesnt want to!!

Ah. She might have to ( partially ) retract her statement on Komaru being dense. Had she figured out her reluctance without her even mentioning it, or had that just been a lucky guess? Maybe it was just Makoto’s luck rubbing off on her...

i understand if you don’t want to come

and i’ll leave u alone if u rlly dont wanna come.

but it wont be as much fun without you there :(

Urgh. Yeah, this girl doesn’t understand a thing, does she? She’s probably not even realized the impact her words have on her. Touko grumbles under her breath, but figures she should respond before Komaru sends another text begging trying to convince her.

Fine.

I’m not going in the water, though.

If this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.

That is a lie. Even if worst comes to worst and Syo feels the need to front for her, she won’t hold it against her. She’s the one who agreed, after all. It’s just one last attempt at offering her an out. To change her mind. Like she should. But Komaru is nothing if not stubborn, so she doesn’t really expect that offer to be taken up on. She starts making a mental checklist of what she probably needs to take with her, doesn’t get very far into that list because Komaru’s response is nearly instantaneous.

yayayayay tnk u touko-chan ily!!!!!! :D

we’ll pick u up k????

ur staying @ the place near the dorms right? see u soon!! ♡♡

Touko grimaces at the butchering of language that is Komaru’s texting ( and ignores her own fluttering heart upon seeing the casual hearts sprinkled in at the end ), and sends back, If you love me, fix your grammar.

The car ride over is mostly uneventful. In that she means she feels like she’s going to have a headache before they even get there and Makoto keeps giving her a sympathetic look. In other words, she’s learned that Komaru and both Asahina siblings should not be left to entertain themselves for the hour-long car ride, but the only silver lining here is that it was only an hour-long ride and hopefully they would be tired out for the ride back.

The highlight of the hour was that even if it’d been a tight squeeze in the backseat, that meant she’d been ( somewhat ) uncomfortably sandwiched between the door and Komaru herself. She’s a little surprised that it doesn’t set off her claustrophobia, but reckons that might just be because it’s too bright to remind her of being locked in a closet. And also because Komaru is generally distracting in close proximity, from the way she’d been halfway sitting on her lap, to the faint scent of what Touko figures to be her shampoo.

She also considers it a victory that she did not dissociate in the midst of that, but probably only because Komaru kept checking on her and apologizing for how close they are: she’d had to bite her tongue several times from saying something harsher than she’d really mean. She doesn't hate Syo, but probably counterintuitive to let them front today: whether they are aware of this, or simply just disinterested in trying to front right now, she is thankful. If nothing else, she would consider this some kind of learning moment. Maybe. Something to draw inspiration from?

Still, once she’s free from the confines of the car, she can actually relax a little— or does for all of two seconds before Komaru has grabbed onto her free hand and started dragging her towards the loud group that she recognizes as her class. Yuta and Aoi had bolted out of the car the moment they’d come to a stop to race to the waters ( she can’t imagine being that athletic and feels tired watching them ). Touko gazes back longingly at the confines of the car and the consideration that she might’ve been able to isolate herself there, but her grip’s pretty tight on her hand. Which is nice, and distracts her from thinking about escaping until it's way too late, and she’s forced to look at the group before her, and—

Slaps a hand over Komaru’s eyes with a groan. “Enoshima, wh-what the fuck, you—” She holds off on the ( derogatory ) word she wants to say, and just scowls at the sight before her. “This isn’t a...a nude beach? Are you t-t-trying to get us in trouble or something?” Granted she’s not technically completely nude, but also more revealing than she should be. Seriously, she would’ve figured that Ishimaru would’ve already told Enoshima off already because what else is he good for ( then again, he is single-handedly the only person who would probably take no real issue with it, or be naively convinced by her that it wasn’t really a problem, so maybe she really shouldn’t be that surprised ).

Enoshima cackles at her. “Don’t be a prude, Fukawa! Or are you jealous? I’m just trying to get a sick tan.” While she’s at it, where the hell is Ikusaba to keep her sister in check? Whatever, that’s not really important, and she refuses to dignify that with a response given that Enoshima probably only wants to get a rise out of her.

Instead, she makes sure to put a decent distance between them before removing her hand from over Komaru’s eyes with a huff. “Urgh, honestly...what on earth m-made her think that was a, a good idea?” She grumbles, glancing around now that she doesn’t have to stare directly at...that.

Actually, now that she looks around, the only seemingly responsible person from their class currently present was Oogami— and honestly, she seems too busy being in love with her girlfriend to count ( if it wasn’t kind of heartwarming, she’d probably be disgusted. Not in a homophobic way, in a general ew PDA sort of way ). As for any else viably responsible: Kirigiri being absent wasn’t a surprise, Fujisaki’s too soft to really keep people in check, Byakuya is...his own entirely separate category, and she would rather die than count Hagakure as responsible in any capacity. And Makoto might be a voice of reason, but she’s pretty sure he’s utterly useless here. Which is probably a horrible sign of things to come, but what else did she expect from anything involving her peers?

“You don’t want to go in the water, right?” Komaru’s voice cuts in through her thoughts, watching her closely before taking her hand to start pulling her along then. “We should set up somewhere to sit, then!”

We? She thinks, but instead attempts to free her hand from her grip and voices, “...Don’t you want to go in th-the water with the rest of them? You don’t have to, uh, to stay with me, you know. I’m not a k-k-kid.”

Her expression looks conflicted. “Well, yeah, of course I do want to! But only for a bit, probably? I mean, it’d be kind of rude to leave you alone since I asked you to come?”

She ignores the way her stomach twists at that, and purses her lips. “Technically s-speaking, Makoto asked first. You aren’t— it’s not rude of you to want...to want to have some fun without me. I know I’m n-n-not fun to stick around.” She knows she wouldn’t want to stick around herself if she had the choice. “It’s not like, like I wasn’t prepared for th-that.”

“Yeah, but— that’s the thing. You shouldn’t be! And I want to spend time with everyone, and that includes you too.” And now she’s sulking. God. Fukawa is about to growl back something she’ll probably regret saying, but is saved from doing so by a much calmer voice interrupting, having overheard their argument.

“Why don’t you go join your brother for a bit? Fukawa-san can join us if she would like to. We have an extra seat.”

Celes looks hot— and she means that in a very literal sense ( mostly ), decked out in one of her usual frilly black dresses. She looks out of place in the hot summer heat. Touko is also not sure where and how she managed to get a table out here ( and tea, apparently, and you know what she’s just not going to question it ), but Fujisaki is already pulling out the extra seat in offering, and she sighs reluctantly. Better this than feeling like she’s holding Komaru back.

“G-G-Go. Or...or I’ll let Syo toss you in the water.” Not really a threat - if anything, Syo would dive bomb into the water with her. Argh, maybe she should’ve just let them front today...

( No, no she shouldn’t have. The only person currently present that Syo would’ve mostly listened to would be Komaru— and maybe Makoto or Fujisaki if they were feeling generous— which is an entirely different set of issues she doesn’t want to linger on. Needless to say, she doesn’t particularly want Syo to cause chaos today )

Touko is saved from having to argue further with her on this because as Komaru opens her mouth to protest, Yuta comes to steal her away, blabbering on about something about a game they should play: and while he’s definitely as oblivious as his sister, she’ll consider that a good thing, just this once. The only words Komaru manages to get in is to ask Toko to keep her bag for her, which she would’ve done anyways, picking it up from where she’d dropped it. She watches them wander off ( and only looks away when Komaru starts discarding the clothes she’d been wearing over her swimsuit ) before trudging over to sit next to Fujisaki, who flashes her a small smile as she types away on her laptop.

“I am surprised you came, Fukawa-san. You do not seem like the type for these activities. You are usually quite disinterested in participating in these kinds of things, in fact. Did something change?” Ugh. This is why Touko hates being around Ludenberg. Because she’s observant, generally only bested by Kirigiri in that regard, and is generally good at picking people apart when it comes to lies and acts and fronts ( though Touko would argue this is from personal experience, and not from being a gambler ). And this fact would have irritated her, quite honestly, if she had not self-sabatoged herself by taking it as an insult, instead.

“I-I-I get it. No one really wants...wants me here. That’s what you meant, right...? You don’t have to r-remind me.” She grits her teeth. If nothing else, when she isn’t busy lying, Touko can appreciate her honesty. The tiny hand that wraps around her wrist stops her from saying anything further, even if it doesn’t take much to wrench her arm out of Fujisaki’s grasp: but she gets the feeling she is only able to do so because she isn’t actually trying to hold on too tightly.

“I’m sure th-that’s not what she meant, Fukawa-san...” Ever quick to play peacekeeper, she supposes. Touko simply grumbles at her and rolls her eyes. “...Especially since not everyone was available today, it’s nice that you were able to join us!”

“Yes, it is a shame. I would have liked for Yamada-kun to have been able to help with my tea, today.” Celes sighs as if disappointed— really? That’s what she’s on about?

Touko does a second look at who is not currently gathered, and denotes, “Is Maizono st-still out on tour...?” She thinks Komaru had mentioned something like that in passing.

“Yes! Maizono-san is on tour, Yamada-kun is at an important convention, Ikusaba-san, she’s...doing some kind of training...? I think Kirigiri-san is supposed to be on the tail end of a rough case, and...” Here Fujisaki pauses to giggle into her hand. “I sh-shouldn’t really laugh at this really, but Ishimaru-kun got sick. Oowada-kun had to force him to rest since he had been trying to work through it and made it worse for himself... or so that’s what I was told.”

Oh, so that’s the reason she hasn’t heard the loudmouths today? She might take back her sentiments on Ishimaru being useless, but he’s on thin fucking ice. Of course the overachiever would get sick during the summer holidays— apparently, she’s not alone in that thought.

“Only Ishimaru-kun would get sick during vacation and still manage to find a reason to not take a break.” Celes rolls her eyes, but Touko gets the feeling she’s amused too.

“So wh-what you’re saying is, uh, is that Oowada’s going to get sick next...right? I guess— we’ll find out if idiots get s-s-sick or not.” Touko quips— which earns a softer laugh from Fujisaki, so that’s pretty good.

Of course, it wouldn’t be like her if she didn’t put her foot in her mouth almost immediately afterwards by asking why they aren’t going in the water: she’s not really surprised because Celes rarely participates in gym ( and coming from Touko that says a lot ), but she was pretty sure Fujisaki wasn’t that self-conscious of herself. Not as much? Not that she really has any place to talk in that regard.

“Well, we already went to the beach at the start of the summer holidays! I’m not really missing out on anything, and it’s probably not my last opportunity to go during this break anyways.” And then, a little more sheepishly. “...Also I’m close to making a breakthrough on this code, I think. I wanted the fresh air, but I don’t really think I can afford to take much of a break right now.”

“She would have stayed on the train if I did not warn her we were approaching our stop, I believe. And not all of us can be like Enoshima. The brazenness of that woman is truly something else.” Touko is not sure if she says that from a place of respect or fear, and honestly she relates. And also doesn’t say any further on the subject because Celes gives her a dirty look.

Her gaze goes back out to their peers— she is pointedly avoiding needing to look at where Enoshima is— and spots Komaru and Yuta splashing around with Aoi and Oogami. Well, it looks like just splashing at least, from where she’s at. And Hagakure, who really just looks like an out-of-place sea cretin with the way his hair floats on the water’s surface, so. There’s that?

( No, she’s not at all envious of the fact that all of them get to have fun because they don’t have crippling fears: the ocean does not instill the same fear of confinement that a cramped bathtub does, but fear— there is still the fear that something will tug her down and her body will simply let herself dragged underneath out of instinct, a fear of something worse if she tries to fight for survival— )

Focus. She can feel the way her breath catches a little, the uneasy way her heart beats and concentrates on calming down. She doesn’t seem to have gotten Syo’s attention yet, nor anyone else’s, thankfully. She’ll just...watch Komaru for now, yeah. It takes a moment to relocate her, head breaching from underneath the water and surfacing like...like one of the sea’s legendary enchantresses. She means that in a wholly respectful way, of course, watching the way she shakes the water from her hair, mouth open in a wide grin while she laughs. Touko doesn’t need to hear her to know that on the sole basis of her appearance— the bright look in her eyes is enough to say she is happily enjoying herself without her.

On that note, hm. Maybe she can use some of that for the basis of her next novel— something about a siren and a lady visiting the sea? Tragic romances are always a hit, aren’t they? Okay maybe a tragic lesbian romance is more self-projection, but that's besides the point. No one has to know its self-projection if people eat it up like anything else that has her name on it.

Or maybe you need to talk to a therapist more often? Syo contributes helpfully, apparently having become more conscious at some point. Maybe her panic hadn’t gone as unnoticed as she thought. Not that they’re wrong, but talking to a therapist isn’t exactly going to help with her gay pining ( unfortunately, she wishes it were that simple ).

Yeah, that’s not something she really wants to linger on, and as if Celes can read her mind, says, “How do you ladies feel about a bet?”

“Pass.” Touko says immediately, because she is arguably far from a smart person, but she is smart enough to know to not take her chances against the ultimate gambler. Celes ignores her.

“You see, I would bet that Komaru—”

“No. We’re leaving h-her out of it.” Toko interrupts, and Fujisaki ( thankfully, like the god sent angel she is, even if she seems too good to be real ) nods her agreement.

“I don’t think Naegi-kun would be really happy if he heard us talking about his little sister like that...” Her reasoning is fair, if nothing else.

“Fine. Do you think Naegi-kun is going to interfere on Togami-kun’s behalf, or help Kuwata-kun?” A painted fingernail points out the trio by the sea. Kuwata seems pretty intent on forcing Togami into the sea, suit and all, much to his disdain. The duo is yelling, probably. On the other hand, Makoto just looks like he doesn’t know whose side he’s supposed to be on here.

In the end, it doesn’t matter because by some luck ( or lack thereof ) Togami manages to trip on a washed up stone and ends up taking the other two boys down with him. The heir doesn’t even look all that mad, really, as Kuwata dunks him back under the water in retaliation: she knows what his angry face is, and that is not it, even if it looks kind of like he’s swallowing a lemon.

Or maybe that’s just her and her sour mood feeling like she’s swallowed several lemons raw because Touko doesn’t know how to make lemonade out of all the citrus life has handed her.

“By the way Fukawa-san, about Komaru—” Celes starts, but is interrupted by Komaru’s sharp yelling, which is followed by the wet feeling of her arms wrapping around her. Touko frowns, pushing her away.

“You’re w-wet.” She states the obvious as she makes a face, not that that seems to stop her. “Are you...you're done going in the water f-f-for now?”

“Mhm! It’s too cold in the water, honestly. You’re nice and warm.” Komaru hums happily, and she grabs a towel from her bag to wrap her up in it before she ends up being the next sick kid. “I was thinking we could maybe spilt a snack...? And then we could make a sandcastle! Asahina-san was telling me about shells she saw earlier that we could use?” Touko bites back a small snort at how childish she sounds.

“Yeah, yeah— let go of me, s-so I can get up...” She agrees, ignoring the curious way Celes’ watches their interactions. She mutters something that passes for a thanks before she leaves ( not that she thinks Fujisaki notices at that point, full enraptured by her laptop screen ).

By snack, Touko realizes that this is more of a way of making sure she eats lunch— Syo had not so accidentally let it slip once that when she gets caught up on things, she has the tendency to skip meals. She bites her tongue on saying that it wasn’t necessary and instead pays for their meal because she can do that, she has the money to spare for that kind of thing: and she knows she doesn’t need to, but sometimes she feels like she needs to make it up to her before Komaru gets sick of their friendship.

And if it comes off like a date, that’s simply just coincidence.

When they return to the shore, Komaru drags her off to an area a little more secluded— she doesn’t really realize this at first, simply accepting her fate to follow along, but notices she can’t really hear anyone else. It helps her relax, feel like she doesn’t need to be so guarded.

( It doesn’t stop Touko from briefly complaining about how sandy she’s going to get because of this, which is annoying. And then immediately shuts up because Komaru offers to let her borrow her clothes, and she has nothing coherent that she can say to that. She eventually manages to spit out a no when it becomes obvious Komaru is waiting for her to say something )

“Well, okay then. You can always let me know if you change your mind.” She says, then, “Oooh, Touko-chan! It looks like there are tide pools over here!”

Komaru leaves her to pick out shells for them to use while she does the dirty work of constructing a sand castle. “So you won’t end up too sandy,” she explains. “And I trust your eyes to pick out nice shells.” She can’t really complain— although she almost makes a scathing comment about the fact that her eyes can't really be trusted when she wears glasses— and just keeps away from the waves for the most part. The water laps at her feet while she lingers around the tide pool, and then returns with the fruits of her search.

It’s...not an awfully constructed sand castle. Well, that’s probably more than a little generous to say. You know, if she was going to compare it to something kids made. As it stands ( or doesn’t, if Touko is being honest ), it’s probably not the most...concretely built and looks like part of the base might fall apart at any moment, but doesn’t say anything as she dumps an assortment of shells at her feet. And then pulls out a towel, so she can sit and watch her work. It feels like there’s another problem with this, but she can’t quite place what it is; it’s probably not important enough to point out.

Going back to the novel idea: maybe it’s not about a siren after all. Maybe it’s about a sea princess instead. A lonely girl drowning in the waters called home, in a lonely castle, and—

“Here you go!” Komaru plops a shell into her hand with no warning and beams at her. “It’s nice and pretty just like you, Touko-chan. So you should keep it!”

She definitely doesn’t almost tear up upon hearing that, swallowing thickly as she bites back a self-deprecating, Are you sure it’s not just ugly like me? Instead, she picks out a small shell from the pile and holds it out to her.

“...H-H-Here. Completely plain and, and average like you.” And cute, but that’s not important. Still, Komaru looks like she’s actually said something of worth as she throws her arms around her neck.

“Thank you! I’ll take good care of it.” She acts like she’s given her a houseplant or something of actual value, and not a shell.

Stiffly— because she still really doesn’t know how to respond in these kinds of moments, despite being friends for a few odd months now— Touko pats her back and mutters, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is!” Komaru pouts at her. “It is to me. Isn’t that enough?”

She opens her mouth to point out that she’d really just been reciprocating a gesture, but the wave crashing over them interrupts the conversation— oh yeah, she thinks absently. That’d been the other problem that she’d noticed when Komaru had started building, but hadn’t thought it was a big enough issue to point out.

Once she processes that yes, that happens, her first thought is how cold she is now, soaked to the bone. Touko represses a shudder and tries to ignore the fact that she will need to shower later because salt water gets itchy. The second thing that occurs to her, in the midst of this, is that now Komaru is wailing into her shoulder.

“I should’ve been more careful, I’m sorry Touko-chan! You’re okay? You aren’t upset, are you? I thought th—” Touko leans forward to cut her off. Her lips taste like salt, and vaguely reminiscent of the sweet snack Komaru had coaxed her into splitting. She wants to bite down on her lip, a nervous habit, and pulls back before she can accidentally manage to bite the other’s lips instead. The implications of that are a lot more than she’s willing to handle right now, and averts her gaze as soon as she leans back, so she does not have to acknowledge her actions.

That doesn’t stop Komaru from throwing her arms around her a little too eagerly, a grunt at the impact of their bodies colliding. “Too m-much.” Touko manages to wheeze out, and before she can start apologizing again, follows with, “I’m not upset. I should probably just...just buy something overpriced from one of th-the nearby shops since our clothes are soaked now...”

She takes this in fairly good stride, jumping to her feet and pulling her up by her hands. “Can I pick out an outfit for you? It’ll be fun!”

Their ideas of fun are very different quite frankly, but considering Komaru won’t overthink her appearance like she does, thus meaning it’ll be more time efficient. And quite frankly, she’s tired, so she just agrees. On the condition they can just go take a nap in the car afterwards.

Touko doesn’t quite agree with Komaru’s fashion choices, but she picks out clothes that cover up everything that needs to be hidden, so she can’t exactly complain. Nor does she complain when they do less napping and more snuggling in the backseat. Which means on the ride back, Komaru ends up falling asleep on her shoulder. She thinks about how pretty she looks in the light of the sunset.

Maybe she can rethink her next novel being a romantic tragedy.

[we-are-the-amb]

Placebo

Alan had never enjoyed bathing. At least, he had never been able to draw a bath he could enjoy. The feeling of wet hair and dripping skin had never been pleasant, but he could endure it with the water at a comfortable temperature. Even now, at thirty-eight he thought he could more easily fold his bathwater that get it to a comfortable temperature. He had never been able to get it right. If ever he had taken a bath that had not near suffocated him, or sent him away shivering for hours afterwards, he could not recall it. This was the reason he so seldom took them. His whole life, since the early days of screaming and thrashing beneath a pouring jug, he had held a reluctance to bathe. He would wait until the greasy film of dry sweat and dirt began to itch like a new skin, before stripping it away. Then, he would usually utilise a basin and dish rag, or better, half a packet of baby wipes, scrubbing and drying inch by inch. Much easier to conduct and control, than stewing in a tub. As both he and Edgar had been similar in their bathing habits, as had Issac and Eleanore, he had rarely noticed his own smell. Outsiders, young patrons of their shop, usually, did notice. Most of them had told him so. 

“Ugh, take a shower, Goblin!”

“You fucking reek, gross!”

Alan wondered, idly, if he smelled any worse these days. He thought back to that summer, in the dark bowels of those caves. That stink so hot and pungent it felt like two clawed fingers up his nose. Funny, he had not noticed any such odour coming from Sam, and he could not recall Sam disappearing into the bathroom to fill the tub since he had settled in. Never heard the shower spray, either. There were bottles of cologne in their room, lined up atop the chest of drawers where there had been nothing but dust before Sam’s arrival. Purple, black and golden bottles with names like “Noir” and “Electric” embossed on their sleek fronts. He knew Sam dabbed himself with perfume before he slipped out, because when he returned, engorged and warm, Alan could just make out the alcoholic tang beneath that horribly inviting crust of blood. 

Alan shuddered, swallowing the saliva that pooled at the memory. He twisted off the water, not caring to dip his fingers in again to test it, and hurt his pruned skin on the tap. He had taken more baths since his half turn, than he ever had in his mortal life. Not because he was conscious of smelling bad, but because of the sickness. A half turn came with ailments from which (as Sam frequently reminded him) a full turn would free him. As a human he had frequently been ill, weak, unable to rise from his bed. Now, he suffered such familiarities and infinitely more. Frantic desperation had taught him that a hot bath could dull the pain and reign in the destabilising nausea that came with a vampire’s hunger, as well as giving the illusion of fullness for at least an hour. He was no biologist, but he supposed he had remaining humanity to thank for that. Would hot water do so much for a corpse?

Settling down after slowly immersing himself never seemed to get easier, or quicker. He never lay there with every sinew solid as a stone relief and his belly caving for less than twenty minutes, he guessed. Not that he was ever inclined to keep count. Counting, equations, numbers in general, had never done much to soothe him. He just felt himself beginning to numb to the heat, his stomach slowly swelling into it, when the click of the door startled him back into stone.

It opened to reveal Sam, scratching his scalp on the doorframe, like a cat. The faint scent of fresh blood hit, just before Alan glimpsed the blotchy, pink stains around his mouth and chest. He had scrubbed himself as clean as he could before finding him, Alan realised, though saliva filled him mouth once more. He was bare from the waist up. Hopefully, his jacket was wiped clean and his shirt soaking in the kitchen sink, removing any insidious temptations from Alan’s reach. 

“How are ya, Sweetheart?” Alan’s eyes snapped back up to Sam’s. He saw they were blue, but bright from the feed, and tenderly studying him. He felt he should not be so bashful in front of Sam at this stage, and guilt nipped him as he drew his thighs up to his front. 

“Business as usual.” Came his reply, as he rested his chin on his damp knees. Sam hummed through his blunted teeth, his eyes drifting over what little of Alan he could see. 

“You want me to get ya a glass?” He asked, then frowned, quizzically. “You won’t throw up in there, if you eat, will ya?” 

Hungry though he was, all the more for a bloodstained Sam in the doorway, Alan’s cold guts clenched at the possibility. Sam must have seen him wincing.

“You sure, bud?” Alan nodded, and Sam mirrored him, blinking slowly and lazily in his own, full bellied satisfaction (That was not quite true, Alan thought. Vampires do not digest blood, they circulate it). Silence buzzed between them for a moment, then; “Mind if I slide in with ya?”  

Alan considered, his arms tightened around his folded legs. Sam was usually quite insatiable after a feed. The request would have excited Alan, were he not trying to remedy himself. 

“Sure. But, I don’t feel like I can do it, tonight.” Sam snorted at his coy phrasing, though there was no mockery in his grin. Alan had long ago begun to use deliberately prudish language, when he realised Sam found it cute. 

“Didn’t think so, Treacle.” Sam crossed to the tub, picking at the zipper of his PCV pants. They creaked as he leaned down to peck Alan on the forehead. “Just been a while since I took a bath. Might as well take one with you, huh?” 

He braced each foot on the edge of the tub, unzipping his boots. Then he seated himself to peel off the constricting pants. Alan tapped, tunelessly on his shins as he watched Sam undress. How things had changed. He remembered when Sam had been a little wisp of a thing. When he had felt dense and hefty beside him. Even when Sam shot up almost a head taller than him, at seventeen, he had still been willowy, with very little definition from his fondness for dancing. When Sam stepped back into his life almost a year ago, as breezily as though through his own front door, Alan found him transformed in more ways than one. A healthy appetite near the close of his mortal life had given him a generous form. Broad and sturdy, yet soft. He seemed more whole, now. The gangly, doll-like assemble of his youth now properly fitted and smoothed out with age. Alan found himself feeling rather frail and shapeless by comparison. On the occasion that Sam forwent his spot on the ceiling for a share of Alan’s insubstantial bed, Alan felt him at his back and was sure this is how a hermit crab must feel, enveloped in the safety of it’s shell. 

Alan was jolted from his meditation on Sam’s now naked body, by the feline shift in his eyes.  

“You sure you’re not up to it, bud?” He swatted him, lightly on the knee before he could manage an answer. “Spin.” 

Awkwardly, like a swollen cork in an old bottle, Alan shifted himself around in the narrow tub. A low groan escaped him as his head and stomach protested the action. Sam stepped in and settled down behind him with minimal sloshing. He steeled himself to scoot back towards him, but was stopped by a still dry hand on his shoulder. 

“One sec.” He heard the splashing and the slick sounds of Sam scrubbing away the last traces of blood from his skin. Gratitude ached in Alan’s chest. On nights when Sam returned from feeding, Alan felt like a starving prisoner with a heaving kitchen, bubbling and sizzling away just outside his cell. Sam reached for him again, careful in touching him with wet hands. He coaxed Alan backwards, easing him down into his chest. His thumbs kneaded him, softly whenever he paused to gulp, or shiver. He purred soothingly into Alan’s ear, when he finally had him cuddled against him. Sam was still warm with his meal coursing through him, so he did not chill Alan and he held him. 

“We got any soap?” He asked, after a time of comfortable silence. “I could give you a massage, if you want?” 

Alan thought of the encrusted half-bottle of body wash, collecting dust at the foot of the bath. 

“I think I’m good.” He nosed at Sam’s temple, restraining a purr rising in his own throat. “Unless you want to get cleaned up?” 

“Nah.” Sam chuckled. “Don’t need to.” 

“ ‘Was thinkin’,” Alan could feel himself beginning to relax again, in the water, against Sam. “I don’t remember th’ last time you took a bath.” His pillow huffed into his hair.

“Why, do I smell?” 

“No, I just...don’t remember.” 

“Hm, ‘cause I haven’t taken one since I got here.”

“No?”

“Uh uh, don’t need to, anymore.” Sam pressed a gentle hand on Alan’s thigh. “Straighten out, it’s not helpin’ ya being all curled up.” 

Alan submitted to his pressing hand, like a ball jointed doll, his previous shyness melting with his pain. 

“Why don’t you have to wash?” He asked “You not get dirty, anymore?”

“I don’t sweat!” Sam said, with the pride of a child who sleeps without a night light. “I mean, I get dirt on me, sure. But I don’t sweat anymore. Don’t you feel it, when ya touch me?” 

He lifted a hand, hot from the water to Alan’s jaw. He used one, wet knuckle to nudge his face close to his own, guiding his lips to his cheek. Alan obligingly brushed his lips over Sam’s skin. He had felt it before, beneath his hands, his body. Only now, against the sensitivity of his chapped lips did he feel the dryness of it. Not a flaky dryness, but the sort of smooth, supple dryness that comes from the bite of a winter day. He tutted against Sam’s cheek. Vampires don’t sweat, huh? The stink of those caves flittered across Alan’s mind again, and questioned if the smell really was the smell of those boys. Perhaps, he thought, they had left one of their victims, forgotten and rotting in some corner. 

“ ‘M sorry. I must feel like some sort of eel to you, now.” 

Sam had to turn away to splutter out a laugh. “Honestly,” He managed, once he had recovered, “honestly, I like it. Feels close to home, ya know?” He kissed Alan on his stubbled cheek. “You’re a nostalgia trip, buddy.” 

“You make me sound like some old movie.” Alan sniffed.

“Well, I mean, if you’d rather be compared to a fish-?”

“Alright, okay.” 

They did not say anything after that, laying together in a bath that was now only warm. Soon, Alan could sense the incoming dawn. Sam’s purring had become constant and rhythmic, and Alan was finding it more and more difficult to keep his own down. Through a hair thin gap between the window and the cardboard covering, where the cardboard had begun to curl slightly with the damp, he could make out a sliver of hazy blue. Gently, he dug an elbow into Sam’s plump flank. 

“We better get out.” 

Sam tried to shake his drowsiness away, long enough for him to dry off and head to bed. “You feeling better, Sweetheart?”

“Yep.” It was not entirely the truth. The droning pain in Alan’s head and limbs was somewhat muted, but ever present, and hunger still gnawed at him from every side. Yet, Alan was content for his hot bath. He thought, as he and Sam replaced the towel on the rail and headed to the bedroom through the draughty corridor, that perhaps he could enjoy his baths from now on. 

[thecaptainhelm]

Good Love

ayyy, ch.1 to a however long i say series, it’s daminette, it’s wet, and i’m raring to go babey. *sips hot tea from a champagne glass, like a classy mofo* imma bout to fuck y’all up

Enjoy!

Damian Wayne knew two things that morning.

He was sore. 

Marinette took another one of his firsts.

His body was heavy, his eyes itched, his back hurt and his arms felt like lead. Everything without a doubt indicated his form bearing a dull pain. It was his own fault, though.

He didn’t want to break up with her. Marinette was one of the few good people he knew he could keep close without the threat of being stabbed in the back, both figuratively and literally. She was someone he could lean on wholeheartedly, through choking tears and bright, breathless laughter. Marinette loved to laugh, especially with him, it seemed.

All of that was the problem, surprisingly..

Looking back, it was never a problem, more of a false dilemma that wouldn’t leave him alone, whispering from the corners of his mind whenever things felt too good to be true.

You don’t deserve this.

What made you think you could be happy like this?

How dare you, after all you’ve done!

It was only a matter of time until he ruined her. So he made a choice. He ended it, rather mundanely too, considering the life he led.

So, while every fiber of his being was protesting, he headed home to Marinette, for the last time.

When he got to the apartment, his mood was somber. This was going to be rather sudden, an actual spur of the moment decision after all. Marinette would be devastated. His girlfriend was in the kitchen, pushing chopped vegetables into a pot next to the stove. She’d been excited to make soup for them tonight for the past two days. He was going to ruin that. 

Better now than later, he’d felt.

“Marinette, we need to have a discussion.” She looked up from the counter as she stopped mixing the batter, and he gazed at her softly. He wouldn’t be able to do things like this with her anymore. Not ever.

“Yes, cheri? Oh, you don’t look so good,” she swiftly wiped her hands on the embroidered towel he bought for the apartment when they first moved in together and raised a hand to check the temperature of his neck and forehead. He slowly pulled away and she frowned.

“You don’t have a fever, is it something else, maybe? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this pale.”

“It’s not an illness, Marinette,” he grabbed her hand and pulled her to the loveseat they argued over getting. She wanted a love seat, while he would rather have a small armchair. He admitted  grudging defeat when he saw that it fit the decor more, while allowing more intimate room for cuddling. He tried to stop thinking about the sudden memories, but they were everywhere. The furniture, the charcoal drawings on the wall, the throw blanket on the couch, the tapestry next to the balcony window, all of it.

Once, before he’d come to this decision, these things filled his chest with warmth, a soft and gentle happiness that he was growing more addicted to by the day. Now he didn’t want to look, not anymore, not ever.

“Marinette, I’m,” Damian choked, peering earnestly into her eyes. Under the fluorescent lighting, they pulled him in with their sweet and understanding look. He could say anything else. He could tell her that he used to be an assassin, that he used to be Robin, that he was going to become Batman, anything but this and she would never have to know that he had almost ended their relationship. He could marry her, instead of going through with this, but...

Not anymore, not ever.

She silently patted his hand, and he grabbed it, hating himself as he steeled his nerves.

“I’m,” he breathed. “I’m, my therapy is doing well. Going well, I meant to say, that is, I’ve--” The speech he prepared was all but useless, a mere guideline. Marinette gazed at him with patience.

“I’ve come to understand myself a bit more, and I decided that I needed to do some things,” he lamely stated.

“I need to go back home, to do that. Back to Gotham, where my family is, but I’m,” Here it was. Fuck.

“I’m not taking you with me, Marinette.”

Silence, then: “I understand, Damian. Whatever you need, I’ll support you, okay? I love you, so much.” She moved to hug him, but he painfully leaned away from her touch, letting go of her hand in the process. He would never be able to hold her again, not ever.

No, you don’t understand, he thought, and hopefully you never will. 

“Marinette, I’m breaking up with you,” he swallowed harshly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow myself to use you like I have anymore.”

“...What, use me? Damian you aren’t making sense,” she reached for him again, but he scooted away to the other end of the loveseat.

“I had realized that, sometime ago, I began to use you as a crutch. You constantly support me, love me, and listen to me, to a fault, in fact,” he looked somberly at the floor before meeting her gaze again.

“I started to treat you like you were my therapist, not my girlfriend. I’m sorry, Marinette. I’m so, so sorry.”

She laughed wetly. “It’s fine, Damian, cheri, I promise it’s fine. As long as we know about it and address it together, then we can fix this, together. I promise, so, please…” She started to choke back tears.

He shook his head. “I’ve made my decision, Ha-- Marinette.”

“Well, what do I get to say in all this?!” She snapped. “I don’t want to break up with you, at all Damian Wayne, I,” she blinked hard. 

“Damian, I want to be with you, for a long, long time. I want...” She stopped trying to get the words out, and started trying not to cry instead. She seemed to be resigning herself. Good, he thought as his chest twinged. This is for the best.

Once more, you’ve proven yourself a monster.

Even she, whom you claim to love, gets hurt in the end.

You really are a bastard.

“I’m sorry. I,” I never wanted to hurt you. It’s better this way, I promise. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry. So, so very sorry. I love you. I’ll always love you, Habibti, Rabia. Ya Amar. 

"Au Revoir, Marinette.”

It had gone as smoothly as a breakup could, in the end. He dreamed of turning back countless times, made himself sick from it even, as though his body knew that he couldn’t live without her..

Damian began to move his things out the next day, to be directly shipped back to the manor. He’d already sent the message to Alfred, though his reply gave the impression that he would have a lot of explaining to do. She was his first crush, his first girlfriend, and now his first ex. 

The hardest part, unsurprisingly, was avoiding Marinette.

She was the only person he knew in New York, besides his therapist and his coworkers at a finance firm, but the part that made it impossible to avoid her was that she was a self-employed businesswoman. Quite successful in fact, successful enough to pull vacation days on his ass as she got a second wind to persuade him back into her arms. 

That night, he’d slept on the couch, but he could hear her muffled crying, so he slept in his car for the rest of the week. During that time, she tried talking to him again, wanting an explanation. He gave her the same thing in different words each time, so she started to change her approach.

She came at him softly, gently, and lovingly, every time. They talked, they discussed. He would say the same things again, and she would come up with a new reason for him to stay. He would waver, and she would hold him like he could shatter at any moment. Then he would get mad and she would get mad, and they would start to argue and argue and argue, all while he packed his belongings, and she pleaded behind him like she was doing everything to keep him from leaving. 

He wanted to turn back so many times, fall into her embrace like nothing ever happened. He wanted to be with her, be in love with her, and her to be in love with him. He wanted that for the rest of forever and far beyond that.

You’re undeserving of her love.

You don’t have emotions, you never have.

You can’t be like other people, not ever.

“Not ever,” he whispered.

He stood in the doorway, looking out into the hall. Marinette was behind him, leaning against the door.

“So, I really can’t change your mind?” He turned around. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, a defeatist smile on her lips.

He shook his head.

Marinette gazed up at him, and he was struck by the sudden fact that this was it. He would never see her again after this day, for the rest of his life. He burned her image into memory, the way her long skirt fell as she stepped up to him, the slight sound of her rustling turtleneck sweater, her scent lightly wafting around them as her hair fell from her shoulder, all as she moved towards him. For the last time.

I love you, his heart pleaded him to say, I was wrong, Rabia, I’m still in love with you! Please, take me back. I’ll never be so foolish again.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

“I know,” her lips pulled into something kinder, but she didn’t seem to have the strength to smile. Her arms made an aborted motion to hug him and he appreciated her restraint. He had to leave, before he crumpled.

“Damian,” she called as he was halfway down the hall. He stopped but didn’t turn back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he heard her shuffle. Silence, then:

“And, I am so very proud of you, Damian. Thank you, for loving me. Thank you for allowing me to love you as long as you did. I’ll always cherish our time together.” This was…

"J't'aime et au revoir, Damian. Toujours, j’t’aime.” He whirled around as the door clicked shut.

Marinette had given him her blessings, as well as bid him farewell. It’s truly over.

He swallowed, and headed down the elevator, walked to the parking garage, unlocked his car. He sat in the passenger seat, unthinking, before closing the door and sliding behind the wheel. At some point he started driving, but halfway through he realized that he wasn’t on the way home to Gotham. He pulled over in the middle of nowhere and cut the engine. Nothing and no one was around. He started to feel a little lonely and heartbroken. He didn’t want this, not all.

He wanted Marinette. Damian tightly gripped the wheel, knuckles pale.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed to himself. “Don’t even think about it. Just, go home.”

Home was in an apartment in uptown New York. Home was where Marinette was. 

No! His vision went red.

He grabbed the penknife from under the dash and he viciously stabbed himself in the leg, over and over again, shouting and shrieking in accordance with his true nature.

“You’re going back to the manor! Habibti doesn’t deserve someone broken like you! She doesn’t need you, any of your problems, any of your burdens, any of your so called love!” He stopped, breathing frenzied.

“She needs someone human. That someone is not you, Tafrukh Shaytan.” He slumped, panting.

It would never be him. Not anymore. Not ever.

-----

no more me 2000 bc twinges in two thousand words or less. class of ‘06 (3006) 

lmao i meant wet with tears, psh, you thought, have you seen my icon?

My ao3