#He can be so placid and so excitable and so frightened and he's just an eyeball with legs! I'm love him <3

[sysig]

Stop celebrating so loud, you’ll wake everyone up! (P1 | P2 | P3) (Patreon)

[Panel 1] Hater: *sigh* What a waste of my precious time. [SFX: beep boop!]

[Panel 2] Peepers: ...

[Panel 5] Peepers: YEAAAA

[Panel 6] Hater: QUIET OUT THERE!

[Panel 7] Peepers: Sorry sir! Hater: Hmph!

[bittermuire]

Hold My Hand: Part One

Gwynriel (and Nessian) modern au, told from the perspectives of Gwyn and Azriel.

---

The face in the mirror is one Gwyn has slowly come to recognize as her own.

Tired, wan, pale. Messy; freckles scattered carelessly. Cracked lips and circles beneath placid teal eyes. Dull coppery hair, caught up in a braid long enough to brush the small of her back.

She doesn’t know long she might have stood there—still, motionless in the dimness of her bedroom, staring at a face which always stared back—but then there’s a clinking of noise coming from the kitchen, and a distant hum. Plates are being set on the table, glasses are being filled, breakfast is being cooked, by Emerie.

Emerie always cooks, saying she loves to, that it’s a good way to start the day. Gwyn is grateful for it. She’d probably have cereal every morning if not for her friend.

“You coming?” Emerie calls.

Gwyn feels a little rush of warmth. “Yeah, one second!” Without a backward glance she grabs her sweater, pulling it over her head as she steps out into the hall.

Emerie is perfectly put together this morning, as always. Her gleaming black hair is in a bun at the nape of her neck, makeup needless with her smooth brown skin. But it’s her smile that’s most beautiful.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she says, giving Gwyn a healthy helping of eggs and bacon. Their two dogs, Geri and Freki, lift their heads as the aroma meets their fuzzy snouts.

“Good morning.” Gwyn smiles too, and Emerie sits across from her. “I thought Nesta was coming over for breakfast.”

Emerie shakes her head, shoveling a forkful of eggs into her mouth. “She just texted. She can’t make it. Something’s up with Feyre.”

“Feyre?”

“Feyre.”

The disdain is clear in her tone. Emerie’s never liked what Nesta refers to as the ‘Inner Circle,’ knowing that their friend has always felt distinctly apart from it.

“Weird,” Gwyn mutters, and Emerie grunts in response.

“Anyway,” she says, “I gotta run. I’ve got an early appointment at…” she trails off, checking her watch. “... Oh, shit. I have to go.”

Gwyn laughs as her friend frantically slings her back over her shoulder and grabs her in a quick hug, rushing out the door.

“Bye!”

“Bye, Emerie!”

And then the lock clicks, and the silence falls, and Gwyn hurries to fill it with mindless cooing to the dogs and lazy singing, knowing what ugly things will find her in the dark.

Her work at the library starts soon, and so she clears the table, still singing and still cooing, the dogs now jumping around with new energy. By the time she’s done, she’s ready to leave—with a pat on each dog’s soft head, Gwyn locks the door behind her, and heads down to the lobby of their building.

•

“Gwyn!”

The word is a shouted whisper, followed by the rustling of a raincoat and papers. Gwyn turns to see Nesta striding through the library, usually stormy face bright and smiling, arms full of folders and hair damp from the drizzling rain. Gwyn sets down the stack of books she was shelving and pulls Nesta into a quick hug, happy to see her.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

Nesta shrugs. “I’m focusing on Scandinavian history right now and Merrill,” she leans in close, voice lowering, “that heinous woman, is the one to go to.”

“Yikes.” Gwyn grimaces, seeing her boss’s stony face in her mind’s eye. “Do you like it?”

“The research? Yes. I love it.” Something warm flickers in her ice blue eyes, and Gwyn is struck by the wave of protectiveness she feels for her friend.

“But besides that,” Nesta goes on, “I’m still coming over to your place for dinner, right? It’s our nineties rom-com night.”

“Of course you are, but I’m picking.”

Nesta laughs dryly. “Sure you are. I’ll fight you.”

“Emerie wants My Best Friend’s Wedding.”

“I could do that,” Nesta says thoughtfully. She cocks her head, gaze falling down the aisle to the desks beyond. “There’s Merrill. I’ll see you tonight.”

She strides off, commanding as ever, and Gwyn looks after her.

It’s strange. The Nesta Gwyn knows is a brilliant woman, kind and loving and caring, protective and loyal and beautiful. The Nesta she knows so often curls up on the couch with a blanket, sipping hot chocolate on a simmering summer night, crying over a Disney movie. But then there is the Nesta so many others know—cold and hard and ruthless, stunning like a frigid winter morning.

She is, in a way. But everyone, Gwyn thinks, stops there. They never try to find anything beyond Nesta’s exterior. And that’s where they always go wrong.

•

The doorbell rings when all three of them are snuggled under a blanket, My Best Friend’s Wedding rented and ready. They all look at each other, wide-eyed, like young sisters home alone and too afraid to open the door.

With a heaving sigh, Emerie throws the blanket off of her legs and goes to the door.

“I’ll get it,” she says, and Gwyn and Nesta laugh.

“Thank you, darling dearest!”

Whatever spiked retort that’s most surely on Emerie’s tongue is swallowed when the door clicks open. Gwyn cranes her neck to see, and goes still.

Two men are in the doorway —tall, broad men, dark-haired and handsome. They aren’t so frightening until she sees their hands. Big hands. The hands of men accustomed to getting what they want.

Gwyn shrinks farther into herself, and it’s that which makes Nesta look at her, brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and turns as well to see who is in the doorway. Gwyn can see, painfully clearly, Nesta’s face drain of color.

One of the men steps forward. He smiles rakishly, raising a hand in an awkward wave. “Hi. I’m Cassian.”

Something like a hiss slithers from Nesta’s throat, and Gwyn places a hand on her arm. “What’s he doing here?” she murmurs. Nesta looks at her, and there’s something pleading in her eyes.

“I don’t know.”

Emerie opens the door wider. “Uh, come in.” They step inside, and Cassian’s attention is wholly fixed on Nesta. Gwyn wants to run.

It’s funny—the way they treat the apartment like a fortification. Gwyn thinks that the three of them have found safety in each other, but only in each other. Anyone in the doorway is a threat.

The room is quiet. Cassian rocks on his heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Nesta, you’re having dinner with us tonight.”

“She’s having dinner with us, as you can see.” Emerie crosses her arms.

The second of the two men shifts uncomfortably, and Gwyn’s eyes catch on him. He’s… beautiful. In a way she did not find most people to be.

Cassian sighs. “Feyre wants you for dinner.”

“I just had breakfast with you all,” Nesta says, quietly. “I’m with my friends for tonight.”

Gwyn and Emerie share a look. Their words are clear.

She never talks like that to them. What happened at breakfast?

Something’s wrong.

Gwyn looks again to Nesta, but somewhere along the way, she meets the curious gaze of the second man. His eyes are dark and shifting. Something flickers in them as they meet hers; she feels, suddenly, as if they are sharing a feeling.

She wonders if he noticed her little exchange with Emerie.

“It’s just one dinner,” Cassian says impatiently. “One, Nesta. C’mon. We gotta go.”

Emerie lets out a sharp breath. “I told you—”

“It’s fine. I’ll go.”

Nesta rises from the couch, smoothing out her shirt. With quick fingers, she ties up her hair and grabs her bag. Cassian watches closely. As she passes, he looks like he wants to touch her. He doesn’t.

But the second one—as he goes to leave, he looks over his shoulder. Those eyes aren’t as dark as they meet hers again. And Gwyn isn’t afraid.

She isn’t afraid at all.

The three of them are gone in a matter of seconds, and steam is nearly coming out of Emerie’s ears as she closes the door.

“Those assholes—who do they think they are? Seriously! Just dragging her out of here!” Emerie huffs. “‘It’s just one dinner, Nesta.’ Oh, yeah, for sure—go ahead, fuck with her life, then hold her hostage for just one dinner, I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Gwyn wants to share in her mockery of those two, but she’s stuck in those ten seconds prior, when she was looking at a man and he was looking at her, and she wasn’t afraid.

That doesn’t really happen anymore… at least, it hasn’t happened in years. Gwyn had firmly believed that it wouldn’t ever happen again.

Until this.

Emerie flops down on the couch, and looks at Gwyn with startling ferocity. “We’ve got to save her.”

Gwyn smiles wryly.

“We’re going to save her.”

---

To be honest, I don’t really know what I’m doing? I got this idea for a modern au and then really wanted to write it, but I’m terrible with anything longer than a one-shot so... we’ll see how it goes.

Basically, this is going to be half-and-half Gwynriel and Nessian (told through Gwyn and Az), as well as lots of scenes with the Valkyries. I’ve got a rough idea of a plot, but right now it includes more emphasis on the girls’ friendship, Nesta’s separation from the IC, Gwyn’s friendship with Az, and Emerie’s struggle to grow out of her past.

So yeah. I’m nervous to see where this goes, but excited too :)

Tags: @lovelywordsandwine @gwynkyrie @princessofmerchants-reads @gwynrielsupremacy

[austarus]

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) Integrated Revelations (3/3)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me.

**Hey guys, enjoy the final installment! Meanwhile, I’m going to go cry about physics because our physics department is shit and I’d rather much learn from Eo or Harry physics since they’ll actually teach me. Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds! 

Part 1   Part 2

Word Count: 5770

“Right here,” future Barry responded calmly as he entered the Cortex. Both versions made eye contact before future Barry sighed to himself. He knew he royally screwed up big time. The speedster was supposed to be in and out with the speed equation. I didn’t intend to get them all tangled with- with that Time Wraith… What’s done is done, but at least I know Thawne and I are in the same boat. Barry took a glimpse at you. Not that it’ll matter anyway. He won’t deny the immense hole that would dig itself in your chest a year from now. Stoic and devoid of any of the warm emotions you normally bring to the labs. It… is what it is. Eddie made his choice that day, ‘there are no such things as coincidences’.

“Okay,” Cisco stepped out of the small lab with Caitlin following behind. “Not how I expected today to turn out.” You gave Eobard a look as if to say, you trained him. Eobard ignored the meaning behind your glance while you both remained in the side lab, observing the interaction between these four.

“Yeah,” Future Barry agreed quietly to himself.

“Okay, so I'm-who are... who are you?” Present Barry stumbled over his words, his mind trying to catch up with what his eyes were seeing.

“Who is he? Who are you?” Caitlin chimed in with an arched brow, eyes moving between the two Barry’s

Present Barry frowned at the biological genius. “What do you- I'm Barry. I'm Barry. Your Barry. He's-”

“-Your doppelganger.” You face-palmed at Cisco’s revelation, whispering an ‘oh my god’ to yourself while directed your gaze up to the ceiling. Eobard started to wheel out of the small side lab, where you and held be at the back of the standing group.

“No, not yet.” Eobard gave Future Barry a subtle incredulous look as he continued to talk. He clenched a fist tightly, resting an arm on the armrest of his wheelchair You mouthed, ‘Bro, just shut up!’ and even made hand gestures to your mouth. “I am you, Barry. Just… different.” Present Barry nodded in awe.

Cisco looked between the two, an urge to know which Barry’s a fraud or not, and if any of this is actually real, “Wait a second, how do we know which one's the real Barry?”

A hurt look crossed Present Barry’s puppy-like expression, “Dude, okay, I've watched ‘Wrath of Khan’ with you like five times.”

“Imposter!” Cisco pointed an accusatory finger at Future Barry. You know, the one that’s been running around this entire time after the comms incident and insistence on a speed equation.

Eobard just shook his head at the nonsense between the two Barry’s and Cisco, trying to somehow keep it together before he popped a blood vessel. “Yeah, and every time at the end, you turn to me and you say, ‘I have been and always shall be your friend’."

“Haha! You, imposter!” Cisco cried out in frustration, both arms directed at the two different Barry’s. Caitlin just narrowed her eyes to a squint at Present Barry. “What is going on here?” You were just baffled at this point and 1000% done with Bartholomew Henry Allen aka the best person to run his mouth and reveal everything.

“Okay, guys, I'm sorry. This was not supposed to happen. The tranq dart that Caitlin made,” Eobard started gesturing for Future Barry to not mention anything, “was supposed to last a lot longer.”

“I did not give him a tranq dart,” Caitlin defended herself, arms up as an act of innocence.

“Okay, no, yes, not you, the you from the time that I am from.” You were now just screaming on the inside because Future Barry just kept talking, revealing things he shouldn’t be and exactly what he did to knock his past self out. Eobard just gave up sending visual signs and mouth words to stop talking like any sensible person. You just gave Eobard an a ‘I don’t know what to do with this one anymore’ look, and you’re pretty sure he was have the same thoughts. You sighed inaudibly when Eobard just shook his head in defeat and shrugged his shoulders at you.

“The time that you are from?” Present Barry asked with a high level of disbelief, the words sounding foreign on his tongue.

“I think what he's trying to say is he's from the future,” Eobard finally stepped in (not literally, just figuratively), wheeling himself forward. His eyes hadn’t left Barry’s, maintaining a sort of placid look, but the emotion behind his eyes were far from stoic. Of course, now he was dealing with two ridiculous speedsters of his archnemesis. You saw Eobard run his thumb over the tips of his fingers on one hand while the other remained on the control panel of the wheelchair.

“The future?”

“Yeah.”

“The future?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, the future,” Present Barry was cut off the third time he asked.

“Yes,” replied for the third time in a flat tone, Eobard’s mind already launched into various ways to keep Present Barry from learning the truth of his identity and intentions. More importantly, all the ways the yellow speedster can keep you safe and out of the scarlet speedster’s grasp for any sort of leverage against himself.

“Are we saying I can time-travel?” Present Barry finally questioned his future self.

Future Barry chuckled lightly, nodding gently, “One day.”

“Oh, that explains the white on the symbol.” Cisco piped up once more, ideas whirling through his mind already. You saw your other best friend’s excitement rise at the possible time theories. “Well, wait a second. Suppose we now change your emblem. Will it be because we got the idea from this? Or, I mean, that would mean-”

“Stop talking.” Eobard shut Cisco up before rounding his heated gaze to Future Barry with a pointed finger. “You stop talking too, all right? More you say, the more the timeline is disrupted. Now I'm going to assume that your presence here is the reason that thing is attacking us. Hm?” Eobard tried a 3rd time to signal Barry to play along without giving any more information of the future to his past self and the others. The tone change should have been a clear indicator too.

“What? What thing?” Present Barry’s face contorted in confusion at Dr. Wells.

He legit looks like a lost puppy.

“Have you ever seen ‘The Frighteners’?” Cisco asked his present time buddy, who nodded at the reference. “It's sort of like that, but scarier and faster and it's after you-after him.” The mechanical genius corrected himself, pointed at the future version of his best friend.

“Yeah, it's been chasing me ever since I got here,” Future Barry confessed.

“Okay, so how do we stop it?” Present Barry looked to everyone for some kind of answer.

“We don't know.” You responded with Eobard, glancing at one another before running a hand through your hair tiredly. You wanted to just go home and lie down on a bed with a fluffy blanket with your boyfriend beside you, threading a hand through your hair while you give him teasing kisses just to hear that deep chuckle. Three Barry’s is too much in one day, if I’m going to be honest.

“Then what are we gonna do?” Present Barry raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“The one thing we can.” You and the others watched Eobard roll away, he had a plan or came up with some sort of reasonable plan. Both Barry’s glanced at each other once more, but this time a look of awe and a wave of thrill definitely rushed through both. Possibly infecting Cisco along with them. But they knew better, knew that this Time Wraith creature could hurt anyone and that the Team needed leveled heads to eradicate it.

***

“What-What are we doing here?” Future Barry questioned, entering the Time Vault with you and Eo. His green eyes couldn’t help but glance over the yellow suit with Dr. McGee’s Tachyon device attached to it. The staged night mulled through his mind rapidly thanks to his speedster abilities. How they were all tricked into essentially handing it over to the Reverse Flash. Either way it seemed that Thawne was going to get it. Charging it up for the next time Eobard would need it. Pressing your lips to a thin line, you immediately drew up the necessary schematics and scans for the city on your tablet.

“We're here for the answer to your speed equation...” Eobard held up an odd flash drive as he stepped over to the plinth, popping it in. The villainous speedster turned back to you and Barry. “The reason that you traveled back to this time, and the key to running faster. Tachyon enhancement.”

“The tachyons should give you just enough speed to time travel back to your time without getting caught by the Time Wraith.” You added in, not really knowing if this Barry has actually used Tachyons before or not. “If anything, you just need to time things right to get through the breach and have someone on the other side destroy the Time Wraith. Either way once you start using your speed it’ll find you.”

“I know what it does, I just don’t see why you’re needed here when you can be helping the others out there,” Barry scowled at you, to which you rolled your eyes with lips pressed into a thin line. You’re already done with this shit attitude since he’s been here, but the frostiness in his demeanor honestly did hurt in some part of your heart. The corner of Eobard’s mouth twitched with the amount of disrespect that he’s been showing you since this version of Barry Allen had traveled here.

“That’s it, if you keep talking to her like that then there’s going to be more hell to pay for it. You won’t be just dealing with the Time Wraith, Allen.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning,” Eobard looked at Barry with dangerously feral eyes. “You have a problem; you deal with me. Don’t you dare think of involving her in this feud.”

Barry kept his mouth shut for a moment, “This was not the deal.” He gestured to the plinth.

Eobard retracted the flash drive from the white column plinth once everything had been correctly copied to it. “If you think that I'm gonna hold your hand this entire way, you're sadly mistaken. Everything you need is on this drive. You follow its instructions; you will enhance the Speed Force in your system and run faster...” He dropped it in Barry’s open palm, “than you ever thought possible.”

“If this doesn't work, I'm coming back.”

Yeah, please don’t. I’m content without dealing with another Barry-time incident.

Cisco’s voice erupted from the comms set up all over the labs. “Dr. Wells, we need you.”

Eobard gave Barry one last look, whether it was a warning or a threat, you couldn’t tell. “Time to go home, Flash,” he responded sardonically.

***

The futuristic speedster exhaled through his nostrils, rubbing his face harshly as we stepped up from his wheelchair. The labs were vacant at the moment. His mind reeled through all the events that happened today. Tropical waters blue eyes flickered to the windows, he noticed that the sun was still in the air from the amount filtering into the Cortex. Eobard shifted his focus to the computer monitor, a thought whirling in his mind ever since both versions of this present time’s Barry had showed up. Words, phrases, hints. Everything that both had said to him about his future. I can’t trust either. With furrowed eyebrow’s, the dark-haired Wells impersonator ran a finger over the knuckles of his opposite hand. Not with my life on the line and her heart caught in the crossfire of it all. Guilt welled up in his chest, causing his stomach to churn uncomfortably.

A few seconds passed, he pulled out his phone to check the time. That was the excuse he gave himself because Eobard Tiberius Thawne knew exactly what time it was, there were clocks almost on every monitor screen in the cortex. But really, he was checking his lock screen picture. It was a picture of you on the beach of Coast City, gazing out onto the shoreline with the sun setting behind you. The fluffy clouds were dusted with velvety pinks and fiery oranges while the sun dipped to meet the cool blue waters. A candid picture, if you will. The sight of you allowed his tensed muscles to relax slightly. Eobard remembered how his heart had forcibly stopped, urging him to take a picture. How you added even more beauty to nature’s elegant scenery. How the waves gently glided with each, only to cascade onto the beach. You had coaxed Eobard to finally get out of the labs for once, to just take a trip somewhere for the evening. He had some speed after all. Just some time for you and him, that Barry and the others can handle one evening without him for guidance. “They’re adults Eo, let them handle a meta situation by themselves.” His heart ached if he were to… pass, leaving you here to face the others… alone.

His thoughts flickered back to the current situation at hand. He didn’t- He didn’t want to go down that trail of somber thoughts. Eobard had finally managed to convince you to go home for the day, he saw the exhaustion on your tensed shoulders, and he worried. He had allowed Barry to speed you home, that way you’d have arrived safely. The speedster knew what you would exactly do once you got home. Change into that new set of pajamas she recently bought, make some food while singing at the top of her lungs. Probably scare off a few birds and squirrels in the process. It’s sushi night, tonight. That’ll be interesting to see her make. Reluctantly, Eobard had to push thoughts of tonight off to the back of his ind.

“Alright.” A long sigh left his lips as he plopped down on a chair, adjusting his dark-clear glasses and recording remote in hand. Eobard slipped off his glasses, pressing his lips together tightly while avoiding the gaze of the camera. He needed to record some kind of will in case… Finally, looking up, he saw the determination in his own eyes, the realization of how his words could also be a possibility of occurring. “Hello, Barry. If you're watching this, that means something has gone horribly wrong.” While Eobard gathered his thoughts, he paused as an image of you popped into his head, he looked away. He swallowed thickly, “I'm dead and the last 15 years have been for nothing. Bummer.” He quirked an eyebrow ironically as his eyes meet the camera once more.

***

You pouted slightly, staring down at the bottle of painkillers on the granite-top island before your eyes glanced to your boyfriend’s alcohol cabinet. The headache would just not go away! With socked feet, you stood in the chilly kitchen in a new oversized sweatshirt and cotton running shorts. Your hair was in a loose, messy bun with the hood up over your head because the bum look is the most comfortable look, if we’re being honest. Do I want to make good choices tonight? You swallowed a bit and tapped a finger to your chin with your eyes flickering between the two once more. Your left arm crossed over your chest with your right elbow resting in your left palm, clenching and unclenching your right hand. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, you chanted in your head as a pointed finger went back and forth between the Ibuprofen and alcohol cabinet. Halfway through the nursery rhyme, you found your gaze lingering more and more to Eobard’s tempting stash. Bad choices it is. With that you push the pills further away on the island and stomp over to the cabinet.

Why the fuck is bourbon the only thing here? You tilted your head with a raised eyebrow at the two fancy glass bottles. I swear this is the only thing he drinks when he needs to let loose a bit. Fancy bastard. Puffing out a breath, you grabbed the weighty glass bottle and shut the cabinet. I should get him to try a margarita or something. Pouring yourself half a cup of the amber-ish liquid, adding in a few ice cubes as you had seen Eobard do. You sealed the alcohol and put it away. You took a small sip, mentally knowing whether it tasted good or bad, you’d finish it. The liquid burned the back of your throat, allowing you to cough a bit before really tasting the drink. You shrugged looking at the cup. Not bad… I can see why he’s addicted to it. Though I still prefer my fruity drinks to hard liquor.

You saw a torrent of red lighting flash past the front door and to the direction of your shared bedroom. Someone’s home early. Shutting your eyes for a moment, you leaned back against the opposing counter to the island close to the fridge.

After a few moments, your speedster boy toy (yes, you use that phrase to describe Eobard mentally, ignoring its actually meaning because well… he’s your man and… he vibrates. Like a toy. You’re welcome.) strides through his home and to the kitchen, a towel hanging around his shoulders as he uses one hand to dry his hair. Eobard shot you a concerned look after seeing the bourbon and painkillers out.

“Don’t worry, I decided to make bad decisions with only alcohol.” You stand with one leg crossed in front of the other, handing him the cup so he can take a sip. He wouldn’t ever refuse his bourbon. “What happened to conserving your speed?”

“Couldn’t miss out on sushi night, also I wanted to wash up from all the... You know. I had too many Barry’s around me and I needed to scrub that off.” He shrugged at you, sipping the whiskey drink. You giggled, shaking your head at his dramatics about ‘Barry germs’. Eobard smiled to himself at your giggle, the sound of it made his speedster heart do multiple flips. He threw the towel in an empty bin by the laundry room.

“Sushi is located on the bottom shelf of the fridge.”

Eobard set the cup down and slightly narrowed his eyes at you. “Oh, you’re evil.”

“Learned from the best,” you winked at him, taking back your cup and downing the alcohol. Payback’s a bitch for all the times you purposefully put my things on the highest top shelf.

Slipping out the plate of sushi, there were six rolls left because obviously you ate some while you waited for him to come home. To be fair, you would have devoured the rest if he decided to stay in late at the labs. He took a roll and ate it while you poured yourself another drink with a second cup for him as well. “Mm, these are actually good. Nicely done, kitten.” He teased when he fully indulged in its taste and texture with that boyish smirk of his. You couldn’t help but play along.

“Are you insinuating that I’m not a good cook?”

“You’re just questionable at times, depends on the recipe.” Eobard continued eating, savoring every delectable sushi roll.

“At least I didn’t burn the pasta last time.”

“That was one time and I had to deal with Cisco and Barry on the phone!”

“Excuses, excuses,” you replied with a satisfied hum, pushing his glass to him.

“What about the time you added sugar instead of salt to the Königsberger Klopse?”

“They look the exact same and they were beside each other! It was an accident and you know it.”

“Excuses, excuses,” he mocked you with a cheeky grin, picking you up and setting you to sit on top of the cool granite island top. He leaned down to plant a kiss to your lips, a hand trailing to up your thigh. You shivered at his touch.

“You know, I didn’t notice it until today, but Barry’s a bit taller than you.”

“Your point?”

“Think it’s kinda ironic though. You’re shorter than he is, and you don’t have all your speed right now.”

“…”

“Is that also another reason why you hate him?”

“He’s like an inch taller than me, hardly anything to compete with him about. And my speed exceeds his own, especially in the past and with experience.” Eobard growled lowly, “Less thinking about him, more focus on kissing me.”

A cheery noise left your lips when he leaned once more for another kiss. This time hungrier with a hint of possessiveness. You knew how to push his buttons. Wrapping your arms around him, you pulled the speedster closer to you which allowed him to slot between your open legs. He smirked against your lips, feeling himself press against you. You played with the little hairs at the back of his neck as he began to nip at your lips. A little gasp left you which allowed his tongue to enter, exploring your mouth as you made a little satisfactory noise. His lips devoured your own. Your body moved on its own, pressing closer to him, his hands roughly wrapped your legs around his waist. The air felt hot and sticky, his speedster body warming up significantly at your every touch. Your hood fell off your head from the passionate kiss, loose strands of hair falling out from your messy bun. It felt exhilarating! Pulling away with one slow and sensual kiss, Eobard rested his forehead against yours as a heavy breath left him. His half-lidded eyes glossed over yourself- cheeks tinted red, breathing raggedly from the intensity of the kiss, and lips wonderfully swollen.

You both shared a small breath, feeling the world spin and spin, but the moment was just intoxicating. Neither of you wanted the moment to end. Letting out a yawn, you covered your mouth and Eo just chuckled lowly. Your hands now rested against his chest, feeling the pounding of his pulse underneath your palm. Eobard licked his lips at you, kissing your neck and nibbling lightly on your collarbone. You sucked in a breath, one hand running through his dark locks. His ears perked at the sound of his name leaving your pouty lips. Kneeling down for a moment, Eobard kissed the inside of your thigh before glancing up at you. You had your bottom lip between your teeth, gently gnawing at it as you observed him. The speedster only winked at you, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively before giving you a few more kisses and nibbles. He stood up once more to tower over you, kissing your temple as another yawn fell from you.

You’re too cute, my precious queen.

Eobard sped you to the bedroom with fiery red eyes and a coy smirk on his face, plopping you on the plush king-sized bed. A bed you had to continually badgered him to get with the promise that ‘rolling around in it’ would be much more fun than just with a queen-sized bed. He had already propped you up against the large pillows and under the comfort of the blankets. Eobard took the spot beside you, carding a hand through his now wild tresses. The speedster noticed your pained expression when you reached for your forehead, his insides churned at the sight. He reached out a cool hand to gently massage your temples. A little hum of relief escaped your lips, shutting your eyes at his cold fingers. The scientist assumed your alcohol consumption tonight was to lessen any pain from your head.

“That feels nice,” You mused to your boyfriend, curling up beside him. He curled his arms around you, your head resting on his sturdy chest. “The Barry that traveled with his daughter, I saw a few things when they talked.”

“I figured, have… you seen anything else?”

You shook your head ‘no’. “Only Savitar and Cicada, just the general foresight of their appearance,” you fiddled with the necklace he had given you, looking away. Eobard’s eyes caught the shift in your mood.

“What’s wrong, kitten?”

“Hm, nothing.”

“You only ever play with your necklace when something’s bothering you.” Eobard ran his teeth of his lower lip before taking one of your hands in his. “I swore to you that I would tell you whatever’s on my mind, especially when prompted by you. We both promised to be honest with each other, especially when it’s about our feelings.” His thumb rubbed soothing circles on your skin. The dark-haired man’s other hand hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head to look at his softened gaze. He waited patiently for you.

You pulled away from him, “I just-I don’t know which Barry to trust. You… what if your plan to go home still fails? Even after they’d assured you’d go home when you help them? Both versions!” Your headache started to form once more, but not from your psychic powers. There was something else you weren’t entirely sure of either…

“…” Eobard exhaled through his nose soundlessly. He hadn’t wanted you to pick up on those clues… It broke him that you did. “I can only do what I can to go back. Failure isn’t an option. Not anymore, especially with how far I’ve gone.” The murdering, lying, stealing, scheming, and masquerading. All of it. “Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Then trust my plan… I’m doing everything I can with the least amount of collateral damage being caused in this time period.” You just nodded at his words, but that didn’t alleviate the certain weight you now secretly carried in your heart. Sighing to yourself, you decided to push it aside for the night.

“I hate how you can read me like an open book.”

“I hate that that beautiful mind of yours doubts yourself.” Eobard ran a hand over his face. I like that I can read you because then I can understand you. Especially if it’s when I can be doing better when it comes to us. I’m harder to read because… I’ve never really had someone quite like you in my life. Someone I can trust with no doubt in mind that you’re using me or going to backstab me. I’ll do better, I promise. For you, I’ll be good.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you shift away from him on the bed to sit up with a serious look in your eyes. “I-I need you to be honest with me.”

“Always.”

“No lies. No shading the truth. None of that.”

The dark-haired speedster nods, returning your seriousness by adjusting himself. He wouldn’t dream of lying to you, ever. When he came clean to you and swore to you, Eobard intended to keep his word. You were the one thing that… that he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with. Someone as precious as you that had grown so close to his crooked heart. His love that he could confide in all his fears and doubts and thoughts. You’re his special person.

“Eobard,” you started, “What do you think of me? Like, when you look at me?”

He remained quiet for a moment, looking past you before refocusing his eyes onto your locked gaze. A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “I think of a cheeky and persistent person that can be a real pain in my ass sometimes.” You raised an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms as he continued. “But a spectacle, nonetheless, put together with strong willpower and fierce determination to achieve whatever she puts her mind to. I think of that kind heart of yours and… how it accepted a flawed and corrupt man as myself. I see a queen that keeps me grounded, a person that encourages me to grow and achieve my goals. I think of home.” You had unfurled your arms, your gaze softening as your heart ached at his words. “A home that I can return to at the end of the day with no shame. I can just be a man with none of my baggage or sins. I-I can love you with no guilt or shame or doubt. All your imperfections and quirks, they’re mine to cherish.” The scientist had traced the side of your face as his piercing gaze held you down, hypnotizing you.

“Eo,” you trailed off as he took a hold of your hand, softly kissing each knuckle. Leaning forward, you place a chaste kiss on his forehead before reaching for his lips. The kiss was soft, heartwarming, pure. All the things that the Reverse Flash was not because of his atrocious deeds in this time period and hunger for revenge against Barry Allen in whatever way possible, yet… Another thought flickered through your mind as your lips parted his. “Is Gideon able to tell you what happens to your future?”

Eobard simply shook his head, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “It only reveals the article about Barry, my supposed final battle with The Flash before he disappears.” After a Crisis, but which one would come first?

“But then what happens to you?”

“I don’t know.”

You sucked a breath in before opening your mouth once more, “I don’t want to be without you.” Is that selfish?

Eobard’s eyes widened a fraction, his stomach fluttering.He licked his lips slowly, eyeing your desperate gaze. “If I wasn’t a selfish man, I would have stayed away. But I am selfish and just the way you look, even then, it fuels my desire to be by your side. At every moment. Until death do us part.”

Your breath hitched; you should have been scared- terrified- repulsed- by his words. Red flags that would have gone off in any person’s mind, but- “I’m selfish too,” you whispered the words that came from the heart. Eobard watched you with electric blue eyes, a feral flash of red flickered behind his irises. You trailed a hand over his chest and over his heart. “Your mind, your heart,” You glanced at him under your eyelashes, “are mine. I don’t want them to belong to anyone else.”

“I’m not a good man. I can’t be what you want me to be.” I will never be good for you.

“…” You pressed your lips into a thin line. “You’re not good man, Eobard, but you’re more than enough for me.”

“You should have run the first time you found out.”

“I should have, but I don’t regret choosing you… I don’t want anyone else but you, Eo.”

“I am yours, and you are mine.” The speedster was truly smitten by you, gingerly he cupped your face with a firm hand as his azure eyes met yours. “I would do everything in my power to come back home to you.” He craned his head down to reconnect your lips together. There were no limits to how far Eobard Tiberias Thawne would go for him to remain by your side.

Even if it meant killing another person.

***

Barry and Nora ran through the speed-force, memories and events weaving past them as the sped through to return to their present time. “Back in Time,” by Huey Lewis still played in the background right as the touched the concrete ground of the Cortex.

“Did you even go?” Ralph asked with a terrified-ish look on his face.

Caitlin and Cisco just chuckled at their friend. Cisco shut of the music, “Told you time travel was weird.”

You had stopped in the corridor, overhearing the team in the hallway. Frozen in place as things started to set in your mind. A headache washed over you, but you had gotten used to them by now. You had to after Flashpoint. But you knew things had gone south, and by south, they had to take a detour. You were digesting the immediate revelations, all of it integrating together as things in the past now made sense. Both versions of Barry Allen knew the outcome. Yet Nora and her father revealed more than they should have to Eobard. After all, your psychic abilities allowed you to see what happens if the timeline that you’re involved in. Especially when it had to do with one handsomely intelligent and driven speedster by the name of Eobard Tiberias Thawne.

But did things really change? I’m still here. And Eobard…

You ran a hand over your face, pinching the bridge of your nose. Your feet carried you to the Time Vault while the others prepared for tonight. Pressing a hand to the wall, you unlocked the futuristic door into the neutral-colored room. A chill ran down your spine as you approached the plinth. Waving a hand over the circular center, you activated Gideon. The AI appeared in all its holographic form.

“Yes, Ms. (Y/N)?”

“Gideon,” your fingers ran over the chain of your necklace, “I need your help with something.”

“I am at your service.”

“I need you to…” you ran your tongue over your lips. Heart pounding in your chest as you chose your next words carefully. “I need you to tell me where Eobard is?”

“I’m sorry Ms. (Y/N), but I am unable to process your request right now.”

“Why?” Your voice rose, red was now seeping into your vision.

“It is not within my programming capabilities.”

“Is Eobard alive?”

“I’m sorry, but that is also out of my-”

“Then what good are you for?” You yelled in pure frustration, a fist slamming harshly onto the white column. A tear had left your eyes. Your body trembled as your voice shook when you spoke up again, “Gideon please, anything. Any news about Eobard is all I need. Any sign that he is alive. I can’t-”

Until death do us part.

“…” The AI was silent for a moment while you collected yourself miserably. “There is a hidden message for you that Dr. Wells wished for you to receive. Would you like to read the message?”

“A-a message, what-” You ran both hand through your locks, glassy eyes searching the placid look on the AI. The stone of doubt was slowly eroding away from your heart. “I-I, yes! Please!” The AI pulled up a screen, three simple words were configured in medium-sized black lettering. Your heart stopped for a moment as your hands tingled. Blinking a few times, you reread the words over and over and over- as it stared back at you.

Wait for me.

[folderolsfollies]

Sangyao Arranged Marriage.... III

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Word Count: 2.7k  Rating: T Warnings: None to date (Besides discussion of canon events)

Nie Huaisang idly notes that it had taken three servants blanching and running through the halls of the Jinlintai at the sight of him freely wandering through its gilded passageways before he’s caught. He tears his gaze away from a beautiful and entirely inaccurate mural commemorating Jin victories during the Sunshot campaign. There’s Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun in front of him, pieced out in larger-than-life gold. Jin Guangyao, the hero of the Sunshot campaign, is absent from the scene.

He fully turns when he recognizes a quiet but unmistakable pair of footsteps. Jin Guangyao, alone, moves with a leopard’s prowling grace.

“San-ge, thank god you’re here! I got so lost…” he lies hurriedly before Jin Guangyao can say anything, clasping onto his arm. This close, the warm, spicy smell of cloves curls towards him. “Oh! You smell nice,” he says, entranced into losing his train of thought, and leans forward, to where the scent is deepened by the heat radiating out from Jin Guangyao’s jugular. “Have you remembered my trick with the incense?” he says, remembering frozen nights in Qinghe carefully draping his long sleeves over the incense burners. At the time, Meng Yao had kept his sleeves sensibly bound to the wrist, but Nie Huaisang had noticed the hungry way that he had stilled to watch all these invisible tricks of the gentry from out of the corner of his eyes, even back then. It had been the first time anybody had wanted to imitate Nie Huaisang. It had been the first time Nie Huaisang had felt the urge to impress someone, stirring new and strange within him.

“I will always remember your kindnesses, Nie Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao replies in the present, polite to a fault, and admirably suppressing his clear desire to ask what exactly Nie Huaisang is doing in Koi Tower. His San-ge, always so thoughtful! “The Jinlintai welcomes you.”

Nie Huaisang finally remembers his twice-stated promise, and, releasing his arm, darts backwards from him like a startled fawn.

“Jin-er-gongzi, thank you for the hospitality,” he says formally, and bows as deeply and as properly as any Lan.

Strong hands catch him from beneath the elbows before the arc of his bow is complete, and he’s hauled back into a standing position. They stand there for a long moment, with Jin Guangyao’s hands wrapped tight around his forearms, and Nie Huaisang’s hands gently draped on his arms. For a moment, Jin Guangyao’s face is startled into openness, as he looks at Huaisang with his large deer-soft eyes, and Huaisang looks back at him.

There’s a lock of Nie Huaisang’s hair, braided for the dust of summer travel, curling around Jin Guangyao’s sleeve and tickling his wrist. Jin Guangyao swiftly tucks it behind Nie Huaisang’s ear, his thin, cold thumb briefly brushing over Huaisang’s cheekbone. His fingers flex against Nie Huaisang’s scalp, briefly, before he releases him, and Huaisang beats down the brief impulse to envelop those cold hands in his own warm ones.

“Let’s go to my office,” Jin Guangyao finally says, and smiles, a small, reflexive thing.

The room Jin Guangyao brings them to is bright and well appointed, and utterly impersonal. There are no decorations. It is the office of a bureaucrat. It is the office of someone who can leave it at any time. Nie Huaisang, kneeling across from Jin Guangyao at his plain desk, feels suddenly desolate at the idea of bright Jin Guangyao entombed in this dingy room. Even in Qinghe, stark as it was, Meng Yao’s office had a few scattered effects, even if it was mostly scraps given by Nie Huaisang. Huaisang wants to give him something beautiful, something that would chisel him into the very walls.

He’s been silent too long. “San-ge, if I get you a fan, would you hang it there?” Nie Huaisang says, pointing randomly at an alcove in the corner. He’s sure to make the words sound artless, casual. Nie Huaisang knows enough to spare Jin Guangyao the sensation of pity.

It must work well enough, because Jin Guangyao says indulgently, “Of course, Huaisang.”

“Don’t just agree with me! What if it’s awful?” Nie Huaisang says.

“I doubt you would ever choose anything that was not in exquisite taste,” Jin Guangyao demurs.

For some reason, at that, Nie Huaisang flops on his elbows and sighs heavily. He thinks he sees Jin Guangyao’s lips twitch up briefly from the corner of his eyes, but when he darts a glance up at him his face is smoothed into placidity once more.

A servant comes in, bearing a tray laden with the dainty little walnut cakes Nie Huaisang favors, placing them on the table to Jin Guangyao’s polite murmur of thanks.

When she leaves, Nie Huaisang leans in, hiding them both under his fan. “Ah, San-ge, what was her name?” he asks.

“Tang Zhu,” Jin Guangyao says in response, and doesn’t ask why Nie Huaisang was curious, sparing Nie Huaisang from having to answer that he simply wanted to see how quickly he would answer, plucking facts out of his well-ordered brain. Sometimes Nie Huaisang’s thoughts spin out from him, wild and untethered and frightening; at those times, Jin Guangyao’s straight-pathed mind settles something deep within him.

When Meng Yao had first entered the Unclean Realm, there had been a long stretch of months when Nie Huaisang had been anxious and sulky about this new addition to Qinghe’s roster, the slight figure at his brother’s right side who carried no saber and who had nevertheless earned such a large portion of his brother’s respect. It had lasted until the day Huaisang had trailed him silently through the secret passageways of the realm to see him pinching off crumbs of bread for one of the stray cats that jostled around the gates. He had felt an affection tinged with the bloody edge of loneliness. He’s like me, he had thought. He could be like me.

He had looked at him then. Jin Guangyao, only two years older than Huaisang, had seemed to have a steady presence that burned brightly within him, outshining any golden core. And Nie Huaisang never really stopped looking at him.

He spreads his fan in front of his face. He has a sudden hope that Meng Yao remembers how they’d use his fan as a silent method of communication with each other back in Qinghe, the way a brisk tap meant rescue me, a shift from hand to hand meaning, watch out! Da-ge coming. When he twists his wrist he thinks with each flutter: trust me, trust me, trust me. “Jin-er-gongzi, how are you settling in?”

Jin Guangyao looks trapped between exasperation and banked amusement, and Nie Huaisang feels such a rush of nostalgic affection that it makes his teeth hurt. “It would be best if you do not refer to me as such in Koi Tower,” he says instead of replying, lightly scolding. “Our positions are dissimilar.”

Nie Huaisang tilts his head unhappily, but smiles to cover it. “Then you’ll be my San-ge. What would you like to do while I’m in here distracting you?”

“I’d like to do my work , Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, pointedly, picking up a sheaf of papers on the table.

It gives him pause. In Qinghe, Meng Yao was as familiar to him as the downbeat of his own heart; Jin Guangyao in his Lanling gold has new expressions he doesn’t know how to read. Has he been presuming too much on a friendship grown stale through time? He doesn’t know. He has to know.

“Then forgive me for encroaching on your time, San-ge,” he says, penitently. He may have pulled the words from a drama. “I can see myself out.” He stirs to leave.

“Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, and stops. Hope blooms in Nie Huaisang’s chest like a rose, flowered but barbed. Jin Guangyao’s lies are quick and fluent, easy to surface. Deliberation means he’s close to the truth. His smile is a little sad at the edges. “I can spare some time,” is what he settles on. “What brings you to Lanling?”

“Mostly, just avoiding Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang says, shamelessly. He feels giddy, pricked all over with excitement at the familiar cadence of the conversation.  “He’s been after me to keep to a training schedule.”

“He only worries for you, you know that,” Jin Guangyao says patiently.

“Ah, I know, I know that,” Nie Huaisang says, “but this is peacetime! Surely the point of the war was to actually enjoy the rewards of peace.”

“Sometimes leadership demands sacrifice, even if it is peacetime, Huaisang,” says Jin Guangyao, offhandedly. Nie Huaisang puts his fan on the table.

Are you happy? He thinks. But then again, when he knew him best, Jin Guangyao was many things, and happy wasn’t necessarily one of them. When he thinks that he feels such a melting tenderness towards his old friend he has to hold his own hands.

“You always work very hard,” Nie Huaisang agrees. “But San-ge, shouldn’t you enjoy some of the rewards of peace too?”

“Nie Huaisang, you are not subtle,” Jin Guangyao chides, but his smile has turned more fond.

Caught out, Nie Huaisang grins back at him. “I’ve badgered Da-ge into finally letting me host a yaji for the next full moon, you should come, if you can make the time.”

“If I can make the time,” Jin Guangyao echoes neutrally.

“San-ge,” Nie Huaisang, pouting, “I’ll even sweeten the pot; should I invite someone for you?” Jin Guangyao will suggest Lan Xichen, who will be a good buffer between Da-ge and San-ge; he waits for confirmation.

Jin Guangyao looks down at his papers. “It would be a good opportunity to strengthen your relationship with some of the tributary sects. Some of the smaller sects produce fine artisans, like Laoling or Dingtao,” he says, neutrally.

Nie Huaisang tosses his hair back in exasperation. Jin Guangyao looks up again, tracing the arc of its movement. “You know that’s not what I meant, San-ge - wait, since when does Laoling produce artisans?” Laoling, a minor city kissing Lanling’s borders, produces golden maize in the summer, sticky purple jujubes in winter; it does not, to Nie Huaisang’s knowledge, produce any scholars of the Great Arts. Jin Guangyao’s smile freezes; Nie Huaisang feels triumphant. “You’ve been holding out on me, San-ge! Who’s in Laoling?”

Jin Guangyao ducks his head, affecting a modesty Nie Huaisang is sure is feigned: “Lord Qin’s eldest daughter. Now that my brother’s engagement is secure, it’s time to start thinking about my own marital duties.”

“You wish to marry... Qin Su?” Nie Huaisang asks, astonished. Qin Su is sweet, Qin Su is pretty, in a delicate fashion, and Qin Su has a winsome manner that would, Nie Huaisang imagines, make a person who cares for such things want to sweep her up in their arms. Nie Huaisang would rather be swept up, but he is not blind to the appeal.

“She is a generous and loving woman, and she would make anyone a fine wife.” says Jin Guangyao, and there is an admonishment cloaked in his even tone. There’s Jin Guangyao’s protective streak again, and it sends warmth into Nie Huaisang’s chest even as it feels odd, to hear it directed on the behalf of someone else.

“No, I know that,” says Nie Huaisang, so blankly that it seems to mollify Jin Guangyao. “But I had thought… Zewu-Jun…” he trails off, suddenly aware that he is shown more of his hand than he had planned, but helpless against the rush of curiosity. Zewu-Jun is the top cultivator of the cultivation world, the pride of Gusu Lan. Nie Huaisang could never possibly strive to his heights - it exhausts him thinking of trying.

That would be the caliber of a suitor that he would find for Jin Guangyao. That was the caliber of a suitor he had thought he had found for Jin Guangyao.

Jin Guangyao’s eyes glint, and for a second Nie Huaisang is pinned under a piercing gaze. Jin Guangyao has not looked at him like that for a long time, and there is a small, hungry part of Nie Huaisang that would take the anger, if it means having the honesty. “You should be careful about what you think, and who you tell your thoughts to,” Jin Guangyao says. There you are, Nie Huaisang thinks.

Nie Huaisang makes his mouth twist. “Ah, I’ve upset you,” he says mournfully, “I only want you to be happy.” Jin Guangyao doesn’t smile, precisely, but his gaze softens slightly.

“I’m sure you do,” he says.

But something within Nie Huaisang thrums like a badly plucked qin. So that’s the type he likes, he thinks, without knowing why. Agitated, he taps blindly at his wrist with his fan. It’s then when he realizes that to many, a betrothal to Jin Guangyao would be seen as an insult. It feels like a betrayal to remember, but a greater betrayal to have forgotten.

(Once, Da-ge and him had overheard a chef say “What a pretty child the young master is, too bad about the mother.” Da-ge had her thrown out the next day.)

“I’ll set aside your usual room, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says, in lieu of asking how long Nie Huaisang is planning on staying, which is rather deft of him. Nie Huaisang squirrels the phrasing away for safekeeping and raises his hands placatingly.

“Ah, no need, no need, San-ge, I just stopped by to say hello before proceeding to Lanling! Between the two of us, it’s a little difficult going shopping in Qinghe, everybody knows Da-ge there,” he says, knowing that his face is steadily turning more flushed and batting cool air at his face with his fan.

Jin Guangyao’s face is as smooth and impassive as a creamy block of white jade. “And what would Nie-er-gongzi need in Lanling that you wouldn’t want your brother to know that you’re buying?” He tilts his head, smiling as serenely as ever.

Nie Huaisang squirms and points at him with his fan accusingly. “Ah, you’re teasing me! That’s so unfair, nobody would ever believe me if I tell them that you have a sense of humor.” He wrinkles his nose against the laughter that threatens to bubble out of him. Decorum, Huaisang.

Jin Guangyao raises his eyebrows. The dimples deepen. “And who would you plan on telling?”

Nie Huaisang grins back at him. “You know I can’t tell anyone, you’re the only person I can actually gossip with.”

“I don’t indulge in gossip, Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao says primly, which is an obvious lie, and has been since the day Nie Huaisang had first met him. “It’s frivolous, and detrimental to the spirit.”

“But San-ge, I’m very frivolous,” Nie Huaisang points out. “Spare a thought for us lost causes.”

“You’re not a lost cause,” Jin Guangyao says, and for a moment he looks almost angry, the raw emotion rippling across his features the way a shark fin breaches water. He calms, and smiles placatingly. “You’ve been raised to this, you and your brother both.”

Jin Guangyao lies. Huaisang knows this. But sometimes, he lies to craft the world into a better shape than it is.

Nie Huaisang smiles at him. “I’ll invite the Qin family at the end of the month; I want to help you.”

He watches Jin Guangyao come to a decision. “You’d be putting me in your debt,” he says, as if doubtful.

Nie Huaisang thrills. “No debts between us, San-ge, we’re brothers!” he says, full of innocence, and watches Jin Guangyao relax in increments - softening his brow, the corners of his eyes, the rigid line of his shoulders entombed in layers and layers of fine silk. That’s never been true, but what would the thoughtless Second Young Master know about obligation? The trick with trapping a wild animal is that you can’t let them know that you see them, or it gives the whole game away.

“I have to go now, there’s only so much time before Da-ge figures out I’m not actually at Lotus Pier,” Nie Huaisang explains, with a trace of regret. He places a hand on Jin Guangyao’s slim wrist as he moves to leave, silk and skin nearly indistinguishable to the touch. “But it was good to see you again, Yao-ge.”

Jin Guangyao blinks slowly down at the hand at his wrist, and then upwards at him. “The pleasure was mine entirely, Huaisang.”

[bored-storyteller]

Okay, I humbly apologize. I had a bad time - and unfortunately it's not over 😩- but here's the second part with three other leaders. I know I know I know! Malleus is missing! I'll try to post Mal today too- tomorrow, it depends on where you are - I promise.

Please I know you love him so much but love me anyway 🥺

14- Dorm leaders x down!s/o pt.2

Kalim Al-Asim

· Kalim is magical and exhausting at the same time. Yes, s/o love him from the bottom of their hearts, but dealing with him in times of stress is exhausting.

· The young nobleman does not really know the stress, at least, for what s/o can see, and this leads him to overcome any worries. It's not that he doesn't want to see other people's problems, it's just that he can't think of them.

· S/o as the days go by they feel worse and worse. The head often hurts and tiredness brings them into a state of almost half asleep. If Kalim saw this he would be very worried about them, but their presence for him is a fact. He is convinced that if something went wrong s/o would tell him, right?

· But no. How could they say no to his requests? That is, actually there is not even time to refuse.

·  Jamil is worried. He sees what is going on and tries to marginalize the problems. S/o should rest, they could ask him for help - as if he wasn't already doing everything in the dormitory-. But s/o know that the vice leader is already very busy, burdening him with their study problems and their worries is not the case.

Having to deal with Kalim really means having almost never breath. Even his affection can sometimes be a problem.

Yes, s/o certainly love him, but three days before the start of the test session, the thing more than making them happy is shaking them.

They have studied practically nothing and really feel their strength failing. While everyone is studying carefully, they are struggling to finish their homework for the next day.

The nights for s/o are now nothing more than a staring at the ceiling in desperate search for information that does not exist in their head. And the lessons are so heavy in the morning that their hope of getting through the year is almost zero.

Sometimes the idea of dropping out of school even went through their mind. They would certainly be freer.

Right now, s/o they are hiding in the bedroom, surrounded by study books.

It doesn't matter how much they read and reread those words, their overfull mind wanders over their fears, not making them memorize anything.

There is no way they can overcome this. They curl up on the bed, clutching their knees to their chests and doing everything they can to keep from crying.

Suddenly the door swings open. Kalim comes in with his cheer, filling the room with his happy voice.

It seems that he is excited about something, but s/o can’t help but look at him with wide eyes without understanding.

His exclamations echo in their heads as if it were empty, breaking the delicate crystal walls.

"Stop!" They cry when even the last fragile column of their sanity is brought down.

"Stop!" They repeat, bringing their hands to their faces and collapsing supine on the bed.

"Stop it! I can't take it any more! If I continue like this I will go crazy!"

The arms cover the face wet with tears. They are not really shouting at Kalim.

He stops suddenly, a little frightened by that reaction.

What happened? Where did he go wrong this time?

When the silence weighs too much, they still speak: "I ... I need to get out of here, I... don't want to be in this school anymore. "

Kalim listens in silence for a few moments to their sobs, then slowly, shyly, sits beside them on the bed.

"No ..." he murmurs, "I will help you, whatever your problem is." His voice is that of an injured child, but his arms raise s/o to his chest, to hold them against him and protect them.

"Everything will pass, I promise you. But I can't be without you."

The fingers pass slowly through the hair of s/o while his crimson eyes scan the books around them.

Kalim's arms hold them desperately. Right, how could they leave him alone? In short, who would help Jamil then?

That thought makes them smile, and while s/o get up seated they give to the boy a simple and light "ok", and then they resume the study with a quieter mind.

Kalim no longer talks, but neither does he leave, he simply remains close to them a little to comfort them, a little for the fear that they will move away from him, until he ends up falling asleep on their lap.

Vil Schoenheit

· Here, another guy who made stress his life. Some type of stress. Obviously, he must meet expectations.

· This also applies to those around him, or rather, to those who are close to his heart. If he demands so much from someone, it means that he cares about them. In a sense, even his insult when it is constructive is flattering.

· But for an already stressed s/o, dealing with him is extremely anxiety-provoking. You have to be perfect, everything has to be in order, and for an already fragile mind, well, the step to break is not far away.

· Still, he bears a great deal of stress on his shoulders without showing it, but he doesn't notice that others can sometimes be overwhelmed, and his manners aren't exactly delicate when it comes to appearances.

·  S/o are almost afraid of him every time his eyes meet them. What will he say? What's wrong with them?

Yes, they know how important the smile is, but they can't do it. In the library they leaf through the book they hold in their hands with empty and dull eyes.

They don't have to look good, on the other hand disappointment for themselves keeps them up all night.

There is no way they can get through this period, not for how they are.

They sigh, placing the book on the shelves and giving up. They fold their arms on the table as they sit, and there they hide their tired faces.

S/o  would like to go into hibernation, everything would be easier. No commitment, no judging eye ...

"S/o, my dear." The firm voice of the Poemfiore leader makes itself heard. It is firm, severe even if placid.

What's up now? Oh sure. They are not sitting upright with their backs. Hair is probably a mess and their eyes have been ruined for days. They already know to suck, there is no need for him to say it. They already hate each other, and there is no need for him to see how ugly their sticky face is with tears.

S/o do not move, as if he were not there, they remain closed inside themselves, in such a state of surrender that not even Vil can grasp immediately. But he understands that something is wrong. It never happened that they ignored him.

 “S/o.” the name is repeated again, but this time it is accompanied by the delicate hand of the leader who touches the hair of s/o.

As soon as the fingertips touch the head, as if they were of fire, s/o spring back, scared as if they had a ferocious beast in front of them.

Vil stares at those eyes so full of fear. Afraid of him.

In their dark circles he sees all the suffering of those days, all the dozing sadness. And in that situation of desolation, they feared him as if he were their enemy, the one who wants to harm them.

"No… Please..."

A prayer comes out of their fragile lips as if he is ready to kill them. He's not sure if they're clear-headed... no, they seem to be in another world. A dark and lonely world.

Vil's white fingers caress s/o's chin. They do not retreat, but tremble as if they were blades.

"I won't hurt you. I'm just worried about you."

His words are clear, as always, but a little sweeter than usual. He patiently sits in front of them, without losing contact.

"You can tell me what troubles you."

Finally the gaze of s/o meets the beautiful eyes of the boy. Eyes so beautiful, admired, and at this moment sincere.

S/o they bend down again, resting their forehead on Vil's hand while holding it with theirs. There they cry, for once without the weight of the angry gaze, but only surrounded by affection, while Vil gently caresses their head.

Idia Shroud

·  Ok, how to say, this guy is made of stress.

· Idia fears the social relationship, people stress him, what is not his room and his computer stresses him. He is not an easy person to manage.

· S/o are practically elected. They are fortunate to be admitted to his. In short, they can remain curled up on his bed without him saying anything.

· Usually are s/o who take care of him, who try to support him and calm him down, but sometimes of course they are the ones who need support ... but well, Idia practically doesn't exist.

· It is not his fault, but even if he cares about s/o in a way that even he did not believe possible, he is not good at social relationships. Very often he will limit himself and stay next to them, still connected to the internet. They don't mind, usually.

But this time the boy's body isn't even close to them. He is far away, in the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the screens. Yes, they are not even totally sure that he is aware of their presence.

Ortho, to their disappointment, is not present.

S/o don't need to be there, but for some time now they have felt a lump in their throat that they can't swallow. They have failed a test, and there is no way to recover it, or so they believe.

The truth is that they are nothingness.

They have to study, but loneliness echoes in their head. Nobody wants them.

So they slipped from the leader of Ignihyde to find comfort. It would have been fine even if he had been silently beside them, but no, he was elsewhere. They had seen an excited light in his eyes when they arrived. Maybe chat with someone online? Of course, those friends are better than them.

A failure, a weight, that's s/o.

Small tears wet the already dimly lit page.

In the darkness in which they find themselves, they sink into the anxiety and fear that they have been holding inside for weeks.

That horrible feeling of emptiness that causes the brain to tilt.

Idia does not notice the sobs. S/o are hidden, curled up into a ball on the boy's bed. Nothing makes sense to them anymore. More they cry, more they lose consciousness of their surroundings, and everything disappears.

Idia is too caught up in his game. He does not really notice that s/o are not well.

Only when he turns enthusiastically to communicate something to them does he hear them.

Sobs are louder now, but they don't know it.

Heart breaks in Idia. How long have they been crying? Two hours will have passed since they arrived. Why didn't they speak?

Oh God, it's his fault ... he sucks with people so badly, and he always ends up hurting them.

Maybe they came to him because somehow they believed he made them feel good, didn't they?

He gets up from his chair, unsure of what to do. Embarrassed he approaches them.

God, they seem so fragile. Will he break them if he touches them?

Slowly, as if he were dealing with a kitten, he places his sweatshirt on them, and then, a little scared, he sits next to them.

They seem lost, s/o don't react.

Idia feels the butterflies in his stomach from agitation. Suddenly, it seems to him that the figure of s/o is fading away in the dark of the room. It's scary.

Shyly he stretches his arms around the small figure and carefully pulls them into his chest.

He feels their sobs freeze for a moment, almost frightened, and then finally the muscles relax, while they abandon themselves to him.

"Sorry, I'm a delusion..." They murmur, clinging to him.

So is this what they think?

"No ... you ... I ... find you beautiful ..."

He speaks shyly. He's not exactly that these words are what they need, but that's what he really thinks.

His cheek is warm against their head. Maybe he's blushing.

How can they not smile at this?

[jj-lynn21]

Santa’s favorite Elf Part 2:  Ch 5:

Warnings: male masturbation, hot tub flirtation, other flirtation. Can Bill handle “being friends” before lovers again very much longer?

Santa’s fav elf Part 1: ch 1, Santa’s fav elf ch 2, Santa’s fav elf ch 3, Santa’s fav elf ch 4

Santa’s fav Elf Part 2 ch 1, ch 2, ch 3  ch 4 ​ ch6

“You can go faster.” You scream with laughter as you sped across the open snow-covered valley on a snowmobile. “Catch up already.”  

Bill sped to your side jumping a mogul on his machine that put him ahead of you. “What did you say?” He yelled back at you. “Something about you will try to catch up if you can.” His competitive side was not going to let you win a race back to the rental place easily if at all.   

You put the pedal to the metal. Your machine right on the tail of his. You were sweating underneath your hat and heavy clothes. But your eyelashes had snow built upon them. Your nose was red with frost. You were ready for some hot tub time. Gunning the throttle, you ran neck and neck with him. You both slid in opposite directions towards the sign that said stop.     

“I guess you don’t have any fear driving these things.” He got off as two workers came over to drive the snowmobiles into their parking shed.   

You got off the machine. Thighs were a bit sore from having them spread over the seat. Your legs a bit like rubber as you wobbled a little. “No fear at all. Can we go to the hot tub now? I can barely walk normally.”  

“I could use some heating up myself.” He walked you to the rental SUV. “I turned on the heat with the keys when we pulled in on the snowmobiles so it should be about heated up. Do you want to stop at the wiener hut? I heard they have a mac and cheese hotdog.”  

“I’ll eat anything with lots of cheese especially mac and cheese.” He helped you into the SUV.   

Bill chuckled. “That is what I thought.” He patted your hand before driving off to grab lunch.  

Later you were immersed in the hot tub. The area closed off to others for the next half hour. You sat with your head back. A smile on your face as the steam rose. Your frozen toes and nose were now thawed. You breathed in the chlorinated steam clearing your sinuses. You let out a long “mmmmmm” as you relaxed. 

Bill was doing much the same. His eyes were closed. That is until he heard your sound of pleasure. One eye popped open. Then the other. He looked over barely able to see you through the heat. The heat he felt deeper than just his skin. “Hey come over here.” he beckoned.  

You glide over on the water. You ducked your head under to flatten your hair back when you get close enough for him to reach out to you. “This warmed me up quite a bit. How about you?” Your eyes connected with his in a slight flutter of flirtation.  

“Yeah.” His eyes gazed into yours then drifted down over your flattering bathing suit that clung to your breasts. He took a deep breath. “Can I hold you?” 

“If you can handle it.” You grinned.  

He smirked as he pulled you forward. Your eyes on his. Your knees rested on the ledge on either side of his lap. You held on to the wall behind him making sure not to touch him at all. You thought if he was going to break his own rule you were not going to make it easy.  

“Is this how close we will be when we fake it for the camera tomorrow?” You teased. 

“Closer.” He licked his lips. “We will kiss as we have done before.” 

You leaned down to press your lips to him gently before pulling back. “Like that?” You tiled your head questioningly.  

“I think our characters miss each other more.”  

One of his large hands rested on your lower back. The other crept up your back, along your neck, pushing his fingers through your hair until he was palming the back of your head. He coaxed you back down for a more passionate kiss opening his mouth and you reciprocated. You could feel it through your whole body letting out a small moan you did not want to make.  

He pulled you back. His eyes sparkled with lust. The rest of his face placid as if it was all part of the job. “Something like that.” He breathed. “They will stop use several times to position us differently. Do you want to go over your lines and more of this scene back in the room?” 

“I do know my lines but maybe you can give me some pointers.” You suggest. “Work on this scene more also if you think we need it.” 

“It is never good to go in blind.” He moved you to get up. “It is best to be as prepared as possible.” 

“I agree.” He helped you step out of the hot tube wrapping you in a blanket like towel.  

You go into the changing room to dry off. The hair drier there is weak but it is better than nothing. You don’t want to go out in the freezing weather without being as dry as possible. You try to convince yourself you will only be studying lines and working on blocking scenes like they are in the script, but the process excites you.  

Bill is feeling some excitement of his own as he dries his hair. His mind might be telling him to get to know you better, but his body is showing signs of dissension. He decides to rub one out before leaving the changing area. They have a nice bathroom with comforting aquamarine tile. He closes his eyes as he takes his throbbing cock out to stroke. Thinking of.. ”oh fuck” the way the water rolled off your nose to the cleavage of your swimsuit. The way you giggled. The way you looked when you got mad. The way you called him out when he needed it as no one had ever done. How would he ever be able to hold back his desires much longer he thought as he bit his bottom lip so he would not come loudly. 

You waited for Bill patiently near the check-in desk. People were waiting for the pool and hot tub to be open for the general public again which  was supposed to be five minutes ago. Bill came out wrapped in his winter wear. The scarf around his face barely showed even his eyes. It was a way to hide from the public. You knew it was him. He nodded for you to come to the SUV with him. You told the desk clerk thank you for letting you and Bill use the hot tub alone. Then went to join him. 

“Which scene do you think we should go over first?” You asked as he started the vehicle.  

“Do you want suggestions on your big monologue?” He watched the snow-covered road without a glance towards you. 

“Sure.” You turned on the radio and hummed the song playing until it got to the chorus you knew well. Then you sang along.  

Bill just started smiling as you sang. When you noticed your cheeks got hot with embarrassment.  

“Keep going.” He prodded as you got quiet. “The chorus isn’t over yet.” 

You laugh. “I don’t know it that well.” 

He pulled into the hotel. Ease's car rental would pick up the SUV Monday and drop it back in the parking lot Friday evening for Bill to use on the weekends. Joe would drive during the week. After he stripped to his briefs, he jumped in the bed cupping his hands behind his head. 

“Show me how you will bring Santa back Miss. Winterblows.”  

You smirk. Your eyes narrowed as you wrapped your arms around an invisible caldron for your wintertime spell. You carried it across the room as though walking through the winter’s snow. You look up and back down into the mouth of the caldron. Then toss the invisible bag of ingredients beside you. 

“As the bright lights in the skies above as my witness, my Santa will return on this night to seek revenge on those who dared to slander his name and kill him before last Christmas morn. Snow is falling. Christmas Eve is near, There's plenty of magic this time of year.” 

You pretend to dust the caldron with snow and add a handful inside. You keep adding ingredients as you speak. 

“I give to thee freshly fallen snow. A splash of brandy to let spirits flow. I made fresh cookies so into the pot they must go to bring Santa forth. A carrot and orange with colors so bright to feed the reindeer pulling his sleigh tonight. I stir it, please come to me Santa, please come.”  

Your eyes look to Bill, big saucers of freight. You bow to him with a smile. “That’s the first part of the scene. What do you think?” 

“You did that good.” He got up. “Maybe try it bigger. I mean more chanting than conversational. It was sexy how you said it in a lower tone. And I’m not sure they will want you to go bigger, but it is best to have a few different ways to present the material in your back pocket. I always go big first before they calm me down.” He chuckled. “You might want to try it just how you did it first. They will love you have it memorized so well.” 

‘I will probably fuck up a billion times tomorrow in front of the camera.” You tense up a little at the thought. “It will be a little different with all the props and when to pick up what as I am saying the lines, and everyone is watching.”  

“Just stay in the scene,” Bill suggested. “Let the character guide you not the people around the set. They don’t even really exist in the world we will create on film.”  

You nod.  

“Now take a breath.�� He took a breath with you. “Do it again. I will come in when Santa makes his appearance. The big fearful eyes worked great. I am not as holly jolly as I once was in the first movie. I think your expression will be much like you just gave me.” 

You repeated your monologue giving that big, frightened look towards him as he stood feet away. “...please come to me Santa, please come.” 

He took a few steps as your eyes were pinned to his. “Santa” You whispered. His (cold dead: the script says) hands reach out for you. You look away. He turns your eyes back on him. Your heart races as it should be according to the script. You cringe as Santa’s tongue licks the side of your face. Bill does this even though the tongue will be a little bit of CGI magic.  

You gasp even though you want to giggle. You close your eyes. The character is supposed to remember Santa as he was and kiss him passionately. You kiss Bill which is much easier than the grotesque dead zombie Santa he will become on set. He kisses you back as his hands reach behind your head to grab your hair roughly. He pulls your head back for his lips to graze and suck at your neck as you make a small coo.  

Bill steps back taking a deep breath as he muttered “cut.”  

You open your eyes standing before him. Chest heaving slightly.  

Bill gazes at you as he licks his lips. “In the script, they cut there to Santa and his girl fucking in the snow. We can do some basic blocking since I have done this before or wait until they tell us how they want it tomorrow?” 

“Teach me everything you know, Bill.” You bite your lips nervously. 

“Take off everything but your panties.” He swallows hard. “I will teach you everything you always want to know about filming a sex scene and more.

[marmolady]

Growing Pains: Part Three

PART ONE     PART TWO

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f)

Summary: Post-ending. For Liv and her mothers, Taylor and Estela, a turbulent period of transition is afoot. Set primarily in the distant future of 2033.

Word Count: 5678

More Liv fics here: Livita, Teething Problems,  Milestones and Memories, Mutual Comfort,  All That Matters

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Tagging: @brightpinkpeppercorn, @mrsmontoya, @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @quinnkellys-wife, @greengroove 

La Huerta, 2033

The sun slowly began to set, and a cool breeze came in from the sea. The reunion was in full swing, and Taylor, had found her way poolside, the traditional centre of all activity. The energy all around her was wonderfully refreshing after all the time she’d spent hiding herself away from the world; the sounds of the most familiar of voices as her friends caught up with one another, therapeutic. She was far too much of an extrovert to isolate herself; she knew that now.

Sitting down at the bar, it only took a few skilled flourishes of bottles before Raj was handing her a signature drink.

“It’s been a little while since I’ve had one of these,” she laughed. The joys of pregnancy. Worth it, but she’d be lying if she wasn’t a little relieved it was all over in time for the reunion. “Mm, that’s fruity! And just the right amount of kick to it. I say this every year, but you really do know me.”

“Another happy customer at the BhandarBar? You know there’s nothing I’d rather hear!” Raj beamed. He came around the bar and sat beside Taylor, sensing a need in her. “I feel like we haven’t hung out in ages-- last time I saw you, you had a baby on board. How has life been treating you, Taylor, my friend?”

“Oh, you know. My whole body gearing up for looking after baby, and then trying to tell it ‘no, that’s not what’s happening, here’; that’s been a bit of a challenge. My mood swings have been epic. I know she already did deserve one, but christ, Estela deserves a medal. Liv as well. I swear I’ve been like a walking hormone or something.”

“Well, if you need someone to lay it all on….”

He didn’t even get to finish. Taylor had her arms around him, hugging him tight. Where the tears were coming from now, she didn’t quite know. Maybe it was just a release of everything she’d been carrying these past months. But come they did, thick and fast.

“That’s it, bro. Let it all out. I’ve got plenty of shirts if you get boogers on this one--”

Taylor spluttered, laughing until she made herself choke and cough. “I don’t even know why I’m crying! That’s just me right now. A little bit useless.” Well, if you talk like that, you’re gonna be sobbing all night.

“You? Never. We have witnesses! You are definitely not useless. You just need a bit of Taylor Time right now. You’re allowed to take some Taylor Time.”

“For how long?” Taylor sighed. “Liv’s only nine-- sorry, nine and three-hundred-and-sixty-four days. That distinction is important to her. But she needs me. My body’s all geared up to be a mom, but with Liv I feel like I just can’t do anything. Some days I couldn’t even get out of bed.”

“Trust me. I’ve had those days. You know I’ve had those days. And listening when your mind and body need a rest isn’t a bad thing. If Liv was feeling the way you were, what would you have her do?”

Taylor pouted. “Who told you you could use my double standards to pep talk me? Fine! I’d tell her to be kind to herself. Every time.”

“So. What are you going to do?”

“Be… kind to myself,” Taylor said begrudgingly. Damn you, Raj. I can’t argue with that logic.

“We’re going to home-school Livi. For a year, use that time to reassess where we want to be in life. I’m a little nervous, but… I like that I’m going to be more proactive in her life. I’m glad I had Michael; having him was one of the best things I’ve ever done, but I want to be able to put my energy into Liv, and Estela, our little unit. Mostly, I’m excited. I am so, so ready to feel like a mom again.”

“Aw, Taylor-baby, you always were. But I getcha, sometimes you kind of lose a part of yourself in all that life throws up. And whatever life wants to throw at Liv, you guys got her back. She’s done all right for herself with you two.”

Exhaling, wiping away those stupid tears-- hadn’t she cried enough?-- Taylor nestled into a warm hug. Raj was a talented man, but no more so than in his ability to make everything feel all right. Together, her family had weathered many storms, and their bond would carry them through any still to come.

  _____________________________

La Huerta, 2027

 A resounding crack of lightning had Liv dive under the blankets, shaking in her Batman pyjamas. To her, it felt as though the storm had been raging for hours. Never had she heard the sky sound so angry. She burrowed under her Mama Estela’s arm.

“Mommy, it’s so loud,” she whimpered.

“I know, mija,” Estela said gently, stroking her four-year-old daughter’s hair. “But it can’t hurt us in here. Our house is strong and safe.”

The creaking of wood in the wind made Liv nervous. If the house was safe, why did it have to complain so much? Was it trying to scare her?

“It’s okay, Livi-sweetie,” Taylor soothed. “We’re all gonna sit this one out together.”

The family trio were sharing the big queen-size bed, Liv tucked up snuggly between her two mothers. There had been no talk of attempting to settle Liv in her own room; she was distressed, and that meant she could take security in the maternal bed.

As the howling wind became a frightening roar, Liv whined softly. At the foot of the bed, the little dog, Fenix, was sleeping soundly. Fenix didn’t have the best of hearing, which on this occasion struck Liv as quite lucky. The cat, Madam Mierdita, seemed more grumpy at the disturbance than frightened, growling and changing colours with every scary rumble.

“Hey, Liv,” Taylor said cheerily, hoping her easy tone would lessen the tension, “Knock, knock!”

Liv peered over the covers. Was now really the time? She’d humour her silly Mama Taylor. “Who’s there?”

“Europe.”

“Europe, who?” Liv asked, then her eyes went wide and she gave a shout of laughter. “Ha! You’re a poo, Mama Taylor!”

“No, you’re a poo!” Taylor chuckled. Saved, once again, by some good old fashioned toilet humour.

Estela rolled her eyes and shook her head exaggeratedly. “Oh, cariňa, you blow me away with your comedic wit.”

“Yeah!” Liv affirmed enthusiastically, apparently still oblivious to the art of sarcasm. “It was super funny!” She flinched at another crash of lightning, but didn’t hide under the covers.

“Well, my fan club, here comes another one!” Taylor smirked at Estela’s dramatic groaning. If it eased Liv’s fear, they could and would do this for hours. “Why did the toilet paper roll down the hill?”

“I dunno, Mommy. W-why?” Liv asked, her voice wavering as a rumble of thunder seemed to shake the very earth. But if the world was ending, it would surely wait to hear the rest of Mama Taylor’s joke first.

“To get to the bottom!”

On queue, Liv squealed with laughter. “You said ‘bottom’!”

“You know, Taylor, I’m sensing a theme here.”

“Hey-- toilet jokes aren’t my favourite, but they’re a solid number two!”

“Dios mío! Why do I feel like I’m in for a long night?” Estela reached to tickle Taylor’s belly, which served to push Liv ever deeper into her giggle fit. She could never adequately express just how grateful she was that their daughter had that gorgeous dork to see her through the scary times. Don’t you ever change, mi amor.

The storm raged on. Cocooned together in their humble sanctuary, the small family saw it out-- or at least, Taylor and Estela did. Liv nodded off amid the thunder and the lightning, the wind and the rain… safe in her mothers’ arms.

 _______________________________

 La Huerta, 2033

 “Livi-- be careful!”

“I am careful!” Liv hollered down from a towering palm tree. She had everything under contro--

There was a thud, and the squeak of breath being forced from Liv’s lungs as she hit the ground hard.

“Ow.”

Taylor rushed over, but her view was quickly blocked by young Isla, who had gotten there first.

“Where are you hurt?”

“I’m not hurt, Isla. See?”

“Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.”

“Can you move all your arms and legs?”

“Yes!”

“On a scale of one to ten--”

Taylor cut in, feeling simultaneously relieved and incredibly fond of her friends’ little nurse in training. “Thanks, Isla, sweetheart. I think we’re good from here. Right?”

Liv scowled and jumped to her feet as if nothing had happened. “I’m fine, Mom.”

“Oh, Livita, foiled again by your old friend, gravity?” Estela laughed from her comfortable spot on the beach. She’d seen Liv through enough bumps and scrapes to know when there was nothing to worry about.

Taylor snorted, and ruffled Liv’s short hair. “Gravity’s a bitch. Try and respect her in the future, okay?”

Gravity wasn’t just a bitch. Gravity was Liv’s nemesis. A literal pain in her ass. Someday, Liv had decided, she was going to get a pilot licence like her Uncle Jake. That would teach bloody gravity.

A yell distracted Liv from her plotting.

“Hey, Livia! Livia!” Reggie hollered as he pelted up the beach. “The big tortoise came back! Diego said we can feed him! Quick!”

That got her attention. The past two years, the mighty Shore Guardian had lumbered into their midst during the reunion, and it had been an incredible thrill. In an instant, she was off and running.

“Liv, when I say to be careful…,” Taylor started.

“I know!” she called over her shoulder, “ Actually be careful. But you know I’m not scared of some old Shore Guardian, right?”

The tortoise was colossal. Built like a tank; the peak of his pyramid-like shell reached the height of a man. It had come as an immense relief to everyone when the creature started appearing on La Huerta’s shores, that he was of a docile and placid disposition.

“Helloooo there, Shelly!” Liv called, clambering up and over the rocks, a bunch of glowing flowers in her hand. “I brought you a snack.”

“See,” Diego said from his perch, overlooking the beast, “I told you he’d come back. He’s pretty smart. He must know that the reunion happens every year, and that the reunion means kids bearing flowers. I think you’ve started something, though-- the Vaanti kids are all over this guy when he hangs near Elyys’tel.”

“He’s less scary than the yeti-bear. I like the yeti-bear, but Mom and Mom say I’m still too young to give her a pat. Do you think I should make friends with the Sea Guardian next?”

The Sea Guardian was rarely observed. It was something like a plesiosaur with scales all the colours of the rainbow, and even after more than a decade since Cetus’ demise, it seemed as though the monster was only gettng larger. Sighting the beast was something of a badge of honour for young Vaanti, with the bolder among them daring to touch its back-- some even managing to take loose scales when the beast was shedding. There had only been a few serious injuries over the years, but the practice was largely frowned upon-- especially by those old enough to remember Cetus’ wrath. If there was one thing everyone agreed upon, it was that they did not want another Cetus.

Diego chuckled nervously. “Better stick to old Shelly. He appreciates your friendship.”

“Yeah, Livia, you should look after the friendships you’ve got,” Reggie said, huffing and puffing as he came over the ledge. “It’s not like you’ve got many.”

“Hey!”

“Was I insensitive again?” he asked sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“A little,” Diego said. “Why don’t you come closer and feed Shelly with Liv?”

Reggie eyed the hulking beast. “No… no, I’m fine just watching. A good scientist never interferes with wildlife. You know Jane Goodall used to feed chimps bananas? But that was like… years and years ago. Now we know that is not the best way to science.”

“Whatever, Reggie,” Liv laughed, “but don’t cry to me when I’m Shelly’s best friend.”

Down on the sand, Liv could feel the enormous presence of the giant tortoise as he towered over her, sniffing.

“Good boy, Shelly. You wanna flower?”

Diego watched her, ready to swoop down and pull her to safety if the beast appeared bothered. “Good job, Livi. Nice and slow so you don’t freak him out. Like… like you’re Hiccup and he’s Toothless.”

Liv chuckled, and peered into Shelly’s mouth as it gaped open to take a flower. “I think he is toothless.”

“Yeah, but I bet his hard mouth could break all the bones in your hand!” Reggie piped up.

“Shelly would never,” Diego assured. “He knows better than to bite the hand that feeds him.”

The tortoise gave a rumbling grumble of pleasure as he swallowed a flower.

“How have you guys been recently?” Diego probed, keeping it light, but knowing that life had recently been a rough ride for the kids. “I heard Maia moved schools; that kind of sucks. She was pretty great.”

She was pretty pretty, Liv thought, though she kept that to herself. “I’ve been really sad and lonely. But it’s all better now-- we’re all back here! No mean dumbasses. I wish Maia didn’t have to leave though.”

“I decided I don’t like getting in fights,” Reggie said. “I am now officially a pacifist. But… I guess I’ve gotta make exceptions if people are gonna say stuff about my sisters. They’re only little. They can’t stand up for themselves.”

“Better stick to fighting with your words, Reggie,” Liv said with a little smirk. “I have never seen such a weak-ass punch in my life….”

“Hey, I did pretty good!”

“If I hadn’t jumped in, they’d still be mopping you off the floor now,” she laughed.

“Well, maybe I’m better at more important things, like actually using my brain! You should try it sometime.”

“Okay, okay,” Diego intervened. “Easy, kids! You don’t want to freak old Toothless out.”

Liv looked up at Shelly. He was calmly chewing on the last flower she’d offered him, not batting an eyelid at the raised voices.

“Tio Diego,” she murmured. “Can I tell you something? And Reggie-- you can know too.”

“Of course, you can, Liv.”

“Well… it’s kinda… embarrassing. But I know you won’t laugh. Not when it’s important. I like liked Maia. I thought everyone would laugh at me if they found out I had a crush on a girl. I know it’s not something to be ashamed of, but I was still… too scared.”

“You’re telling us now-- that takes a lot of guts,” Diego told her. “It is scary. You never know how people are going to react. Most people are pretty cool these days, but it only takes one mean person to make you feel sad and small.”

Liv climbed back up onto the rocks to sit by her uncle’s side. “Yeah. Some of the kids already teased me about my moms. I thought there would probably be at least one mean person.”

“That’s fair,” Reggie concluded. “I mean, you’re probably right. If they were jerks about Erin, probably they wouldn’t be any nicer to you. They already think you’re kinda weird.”

Diego put an arm around his niece, and she leaned close. After all these years, he could always tell when she needed a hug. “Coming out and showing yourself to the world should always be on your terms. If you didn’t feel ready, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. It means a lot that you feel comfortable enough to share with me.”

“Of course! You’re my tio. I can tell you anything. Even the things that are just silly and annoying… you listen anyway.” Liv sighed, and threw down her last flower to the great, lumbering tortoise, who scarfed it down eagerly. “I’m sad that Maia is gone. I thought eventually I’d be brave enough. I can be brave with stuff like protecting people who need help, but feelings are harder.”

“Feelings can be the absolute hardest. But we’re on your side, whenever you’re ready to share them. Me and Varyyn, and Reggie, and your moms. Your moms are so proud of you, you know? Being sensitive and caring can be tough, but those feelings are what make you strong. Your Mama Taylor told me you’ve been helping her get up every day when she’s been feeling really down. You make a difference-- a good one. You don’t have to be brave enough for everything all at once.”

“Thanks, Tio. You’re smart. No wonder you wrote like, two whole books. All teachers should be as nice as you.”

“Well, I do my best. And in the end, that’s all you really can do. Do you remember from Cinderella? ‘Have courage, and be kind.’ I’d say you’re both pretty good at that already.”

  ______________________________

La Huerta, 2031

 Seven-year-old Liv reached out her hands to a stricken bird as it flailed in distress. The sound of it being slammed against the window of the house by a larger, more aggressive foe had made her all but jump out of her skin, but if something might be hurt, she had to get over her fright quickly and help.

“Hello birdie…,”she cooed. Her fingers gently stroked the feathers on its back. It stopped flapping, but its breathing was laboured, as if it was struggling for air. Blood had risen from its eyes and nose. “It’s okay… I’m a friend.”

Gently, Liv scooped the wounded animal into her hands and cradled it, crouching over the grass in front of her home.

“Tio Diego! Varyyn! I need help!”

Of course, her uncles came running. They were never far away when tasked with keeping an eye on her; by now they were too well aware of her propensity for wandering into mischief not to be.

“Livita, are you okay--”

“Tio, she’s hurt. I think she’s gonna die. This great big bird got her and hit her against the window.”

Diego was pretty sure Liv had heard the talk about not touching wild animals, especially if they were injured and likely to lash out, but the reminder could wait. One look at the bird told him it was not long for this world.

“She is dying,” Varyyn confirmed, sadly. He exchanged a look with Diego. “It’s very sad… but we must make sure she doesn’t suffer.”

Liv sniffed. It wasn’t fair. This little bird used to hang around their home, foraging in the garden Mama Taylor had grown. They liked hearing her singing and calling to the other birds.

Varyyn squeezed Liv’s shoulder. “We’ll give her a minute to see if she fades away on her own.  Do you trust us to do what’s kind for your friend?”

“Yeah… but I don’t want to leave her. I think she’s less scared with me holding her.”

Diego put an arm around Liv. “That’s good. You’re making her feel safe. Everyone deserves that. Just keep talking to her, okay? Hopefully, she’ll go peacefully.”

“It’s okay, birdie,” Liv whispered. “You’re not alone now. You can go to sleep.”

The bird gave a few more rattling breaths, then was still.

“Tio Diego… I think she’s died.”

“Yes, she’s gone, mija. You did amazing.”

Liv wept, held by her uncles.

“Death is always hard,” Varyyn said gently, “even when it’s kind. You always feel the hole where there was once a life.”

“S-she shouldn’t have died! She wasn’t hurting anyone… o-or doing anything wrong… she was just in that other bird’s way.”

“I know. It sad, and it’s not fair at all. But you made her last moments so much better; that counts for a lot. Everyone dies sometime… all you can hope for is that you go feeling loved, and you made that happen. It’s like… the circle of life. Nature can be really cruel, but that doesn’t take away the good bits. This little bird probably helped lots of plants spread their seeds.”

“Yes. Even if your friend’s life was short; it had great value.”

Liv raised her head, eyes wide. “Her body becomes the grass, right? Like Mufasa said? She’s got to at least get to be part of the circle of life if she can’t live anymore.”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s pretty much how it works. If we leave her body somewhere nice where it won’t be bothered, she can feed the earth.”

“Okay. I wanna do that, then.”

A sombre procession carried the little broken body to the edge of the meadow. Liv laid the bird beneath a bush and draped her body with a fallen leaf. Then, she sat and looked over the resting place of her friend, tears filling her eyes. Varyyn was right; already there was a big empty hole. An echoey feeling right in her heart. Liv would miss hearing the bird’s chirruping as she played around the garden with her Mama Taylor. Hopefully, she’d remember that, not just this sad, sad feeling… of knowing she couldn’t protect an innocent, of seeing a life fade to nothing. Mama Estela told her that was important. That nothing should ever take away what was beautiful about something or someone once they’re gone.

She got to her feet, brushed off the dirt from her hands, then slipped one into Diego’s.

Bye, bye.

  __________________________

La Huerta, 2033

“Penny for yours?”

Estela sat down beneath an old familiar banana tree, settling beside Taylor, who appeared to be a million miles away.

“Oh… I was off in my own world, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, it looks that way. But you looked happy.”

“I am. Just being here has been a breath of fresh air. I feel like I’m me again, and it’s been a long time coming.”

Estela gave a contented hum and rested her head on her wife’s shoulder. “I’ve missed happy Taylor.”

“Well, thanks for sticking by and waiting out for her. Happy Taylor appreciates it.” Taylor chuckled at the sound of Estela’s quiet laughter. It was infectious. Hell, just Estela’s smile was like the embodiment of sunshine, it made coming out the other side of her dark cloud all the more glorious. “I think we’ve got our Livi back. Or I think we’re on the right track.”

“I know we are. It’s been a slow decline… I don’t think I even realised how miserable she’d gotten until I saw her snap back to how she should be.” Estela shrank in on herself. What excuse did she have? She had one job; to keep that kid happy. She didn’t have a war to contend with, or the struggle to get by between pay-checks, and she still couldn’t manage it. “I should have done better. I’ve been trying… I’ve been trying so hard… but somehow I couldn’t make everything better for her. Or you.”

“Don’t you even think about it! No.” Taylor pressed a fierce kiss to Estela’s temple. “We hit a few bumps in the road, that’s all. I wasn’t counting on an intense case of the baby blues… or what might actually have been full-on post-partum depression. The timing was unfortunate; really, it sucked. But you carried us through. When Liv got suspended and I couldn’t fucking stop crying because I just couldn’t handle it, you did handle it. You’re pretty great. Ask Raj; he gave me a magic pep talk earlier, I’m sure I could rope him into a repeat performance.”

“Thank you. You’re good at putting things in perspective, I’ll give you that. I know I set my bar too high. Just because Liv has her struggles, doesn’t mean I’ve failed… it means she’s a human being. And that’s probably what we were aiming for….”

Taylor giggled. “Godammit, my otherworldly influence has been foiled!”

“Actually, while we’ve got a chance to talk… I was speaking with Aleister earlier.”

“Yeah, I thought I saw you two hanging out.”

“Well, it seems like we’ve inspired him and Grace. Reggie’s not going back to that school next year either. It sounds like Livi’s gonna have a homeschooling buddy here on La Huerta!”

“Oh, wow! Ohmygod, that’s perfect! It’ll be just like old times; almost half the gang back home again. And… and the girls? Are they waiting a year, or are they going to teach them as well?”

“You’ll have to ask them, but it sounds like they’re going to get started with Erin and Immy. It’s going to be so good for Liv.”

“Yeah. Really that’s… that’s wonderful. God, I’m so happy right now!”

Estela found herself laughing. Her dork was back. She took Taylor’s hand. “And then, moving forward, Aleister says they’re considering a permanent move to San Trobida-- obviously under the assumption that we’ll be heading in that direction ourselves.”

“Oh my… holy crap!” Taylor flung her arms around Estela and hugged her tight. Something in her knew right away… yes, that’s right. That’s where we’re all meant to be. That gut feeling overshadowed any qualms or fears. “Tio Nicolas is really not gonna know what’s hit him, hey?”

“No; and I think it will be a dream come true.” Nestled in Taylor’s embrace, the scent of her mingling with the La Huerta sea air… it was, to Estela, the very essence of happiness. The excited yells of children at play had her look up over her lover’s arms; there was her Livita, piggybacking little Erin through the shallows while the terror, Immy, sent up wild splashes of water at their faces. It was time to try something new. For them.

“Aw, ‘Stel, just look at them!” Taylor snuggled in, a giddy grin on her face. She needed a change, and she had a feeling that for her, for Estela, for Liv… it would be a step towards their best lives. The year to come, and even beyond that, was to be a thrill ride of the most exhilarating kind, and they’d take it on hand in hand. She exhaled her fears and sadness, and let the wind carry them away. “I really love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too, Taylor. Forever.”

 _____________________

Midnight over the Celestial. Or rather, two minutes to midnight. The countdown to Liv’s tenth birthday was on, and the kids-- save for the two little ones who’d long been in bed-- were just about hanging onto the non-grumpy side of overtired.

Ten years. How could that even be? Taylor could see the years in her face and Estela’s, but it still could have been yesterday that they were interrupting the festivities with the announcement that… ‘uh, I think baby might be coming’. What had followed was a period of some of the most intense hours either of them had lived through, a culmination of two lives’ dreams and emotions. And at the end of it, Taylor had found herself holding in her hands the second love of her life. Her sunshine. As children do, Liv grew. She’d tested her mothers, putting pressure on their weak points and making them stronger. She’d brought them closer, something Taylor wouldn’t have believed possible… but sharing their daughter’s journey was like watching a miracle unfold; to be touched and changed was inevitable.

Michelle joined Taylor, a knowing look on face as they watched Liv’s impatient jiggling.

“Crazy night ten years ago… my one and only midwife job.”

Taylor chuckled. “Crazy, crazy night. The best night of my life. I don’t think I’m ever going to stop thanking you for getting us through.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome. Ten years on, it’s stuck with me. It’s amazing to see the young woman she’s growing into. I’m not going to lie, I’m proud of my small part in putting her in the world.”

That change was coming so fast. The transition from that rosy-faced bundle of cuddles into a bright, opinionated adolescent was going to be underway in no time at all. Even now, looking at that giggling ten-year-old, it was hard to imagine.

I’m going to embrace every moment. Every one. You, me, your Mama Estela, we’re on this adventure together. And I can’t wait to see where it takes us next.

Estela put her arms around Taylor from behind, smiling into her wife’s shoulder.

“Is it my birthday yet?” Liv asked, bounding over to them.

“One minute, mija.” She tugged Liv into the hug and covered her forehead in kisses. “Come here!”

The cake was unveiled, and the small girls, Isla, Erin and Immy, erupted into ‘ooh’s, while Liv did a dance in her mothers’ arms. Her family around her sang, all together, celebrating her milestone, and she knew belonging. She looked up to her mothers and grinned, face aglow with candlelight.

The future was bright.

[akanemiura]

Peace

Genjiro’s eldest daughter took the long way home, over rough waters and through meandering paths threading between towering stone peaks in the karst lands of Yanxia. The wagon caravan carried her aching bones toward the last harbor before Kugane, and she savored the peace on her back with her hands folded over her ribs as the sky sizzled vermilion into twilight overhead. The low, persistent rattle of wooden wheels on packed dirt had lulled her into a sense of complete placidity, and as they passed through a field of gladiolus stretching hungrily toward the last rays of dying daylight, the acrid tang of war that still singed her nostrils was, at once, replaced with serene and drifting floral. It was here that she had seen mass graves and broken families too shocked to do so much as weep for the ones they buried. The contrast gave rise to a curious sort of optimism that she was promptly denied access to contemplating.

“You alright back there?”

“Fine. I’m fine.”

The man’s curious glance turned forward once more, but his tone remained unsatisfied by her response. “Wounds aren’t weeping anymore?”

“Dry since the last change. You said to rest, didn’t you?”

“Ah, I did, I did. Were you asleep?”

She couldn’t help but respond with a scoff, eliciting a chagrined laugh from the man in turn. “...Yeah, alright. Sorry,” he conceded. He seemed content for the barest moment to let the conversation die with his apology before he couldn’t help himself but to press. “...It’s just you’ve been quiet since we left the Front. If I can be honest, it’s a little unnerving.”

“What’s to say?”

“Well,” he began, drawing out the word for several seconds. “Are you excited to get back home to your family?”

A beat passed before she offered a mild assessment. “I look forward to telling them of my accomplishments.”

“They must be pretty proud.”

“Mm. They should be.” Before the thought could linger, she pressed on. “My father’s wife had a baby while I was deployed. I’ll meet my half-brother or sister.” She paused, a deep frown slowly sending ripples through her serene expression as the remembrance dawned on her. “Shit. I forgot to bring a gift.”

The man laughed lightly, in his easy way. “I think they’ll understand that you’ve been busy, huh?”

“My father’s relentless. I’ll have to think of something before I get back or he’ll take it as a slight.”

“He’s gotta be getting on in age, hasn’t he?”

An eyeroll precluded the next. “Old men will scatter their seed until their tools cease to work,” she remarked flatly, finally conceding defeat to her attempt at rest and pulling herself with a grunt into a seated position to see out over the swaying stalks of flowers at their flanks. “I know a man who has something like fourteen children over...seven? Eight wives? I can only guess how many more he’ll sire before someone finally puts him in the dirt. Knowing the whims of fate, he’ll live to a ripe, old age with a full village all related to him.”

A louder guffaw escaped unbidden, frightening a handful of hidden birds out of the brush at the side of the road. The wagon’s occupants both tensed, breath held fast in their tightened chests in expectant silence until the beating of wings was lost in the distance. When the ripple had passed, the driver was the first to laugh, albeit absent his usual careless note.

“...Ah...well, uh...I guess you’re awake now, huh?”

He had nearly turned his head to look back when the silence dragged on just a second longer than expected, but the response came through a lump in her throat she was struggling to swallow whole. “...Wide awake. Yes.”

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

SC - Family Ties

Well that last upload was a huge bust so I APOLOGIZE but I’m putting it out again. This is in response to a prompt ask by the lovely @rufinagertrude SORRY FOR THE DOUBLE POST.

A mostly-direct sequel to this piece, 3078 words, set after that very uncomfortable conversation between Alex and her father.

-----

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” said Alex, for the third time in almost as many hours.

She and Tahir stood at the edge of a sagging little homestead just past the edge of Poole’s city limits, watching the door from the safety of its meandering fenceline. Alex had cut them a path from harborside at a pace just shy of jogging, and put the city’s crowded boulevards behind them in less than an hour. Now she stood motionless at the gate, frozen, her hands gripped around two of the pickets with enough force to turn her knuckles white.

“He might not be home,” Tahir said after a moment, nudging her gently with an elbow. “He’s got a business of some manner, doesn’t he? It might even keep him away sometimes.”

“As likely as I am to be named the next king of England,” Alex muttered, but something about the words loosened her grip on the fence posts. She took a deep breath, then squared her shoulders and prodded the gate beside them open with the toe of her boot.

“Stay behind me,” she warned Tahir as she slipped in ahead of him. “They’re like to frighten if you appear on their doorstep unannounced.”

Tahir snorted. “The captain flatters me with his kind regard of my appearance.”

“Oh, belay all of that.” The look she spared him over a shoulder was half apologetic, half wry. “You know I mean it as a slight against their delicate sensibilities more than any aspect of yours."

“So you do mean some slight against me, then?”

Alex rolled her eyes, but Tahir caught the edges of a smile on her lips as she turned away.

The lane leading up to the house with a trim little thing, overgrown near the edges like whoever tended it couldn’t be bothered to finish their job. The same was true of most of the lawn, in fact; Tahir could see the edges of flower beds and half-grown vegetable patches peeking out from between tufts of grass, of wildflowers, of weeds. It folded back into something near-groomed as they drew closer to the house, but Tahir thought that was more the work of the pair of goats lingering near the fenceline than anything their owners had managed. He opened his mouth to say so, but one look at Alex told him that if she had noticed it at all, she wasn’t ready to do much more than turn on her heel and sprint back into the city.

She stopped a few feet away from the door, her shoulders as stiff and rigid as stone.

“We’re not staying,” she said after a moment, turning over her shoulder to pin Tahir with a glare like she expected him to argue. “Politeness and the like can hang. If they offer coffee, or dinner, or anything else -”

“Then I shall remind you of some pressing horseshit that needs your tending,” Tahir finished with a roll of his eyes. “Take heart, Alex. There’s not a thing on God’s green Earth that I want less than to find out where you’ve gotten your sense of taste.”

Alex blinked, and Tahir watched as her face flashed with a brief panoramic of emotions; offense, relief, confusion, a bright, powerful something almost like pride that lingered for a split second too long to hide. Then she huffed, and combed them all back into a drab little smile.

"And here I didn’t imagine something as simple as taste could stop you from eating clear through anyone’s larder.”

Tahir grinned. “Hey, now! Am I supposed to just take that lying down? Keep teasing and I just may leave you to tend this on your own -”

“Tend what?”

They both wheeled as another voice drifted out of the shadow of the house beside them, soft and quiet as a breeze. The boy it belonged to stood knee deep in a thicket of weeds, watching them with a placid sort of interest, a freshly varnished wooden soldier clutched in one hand. He looked to be about six by Tahir’s estimation, a stocky thing with dark, thoughtful eyes that seemed like they had been shaped by God to be perfectly suited for peering up from beneath the too-large brim of the hat he wore. A very familiar look from beneath a very familiar hat, Tahir realized with a start. Suddenly it was everything he could do not to laugh.

“Denny," Alex said, her voice soft with a mix of relief and surprise. She spared Tahir a single glare over her shoulder to silence him, then cleared her throat and swept into a deep, exaggerated bow.

“Begging your pardon, Master Sheffield,” she said. "We didn’t mean to interrupt you, or the, ah, decorated gentleman in your company.” She gestured to the toy soldier with a little smile, and the boy’s face split into a grin. “I do believe that I have left something in your care, however accidentally. You haven’t seen anything unusual lying about, have you? Anything that perhaps didn’t belong to you?”

Denny’s wide grin grew even wider, and he clutched the edges of the hat down around his ears, giggling. “Nooo.”

“No?” Alex's frown was perfect theater. “Damnation. And I was so certain that I’d left it here. You’re sure you haven’t seen it, then? It’s about so wide -” She put her hands a few span apart, mere inches away from Denny’s face, to the exact width of the hat that he was currently hiding beneath. “- about so wide, you see, and made of a fine black felt, with a feather pinned on the crown. Nothing like that? You’re very sure?”

Denny shook his head again, his cheeks glowing painfully red with the force of his grinning. Tahir sympathized; he was just shy of biting at his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Well,” said Alex with a sigh. “Well, I suppose it can’t be helped, then. Come along, Tahir. We’ll take a look back through the Ranger and hope it reveals itself to us sooner or -”

“It’s here!” The boy, unable to keep his wits, finally broke into a fit of giggling, and let go of the hat’s brim so that it sprung back into place. “It’s here, see? I’ve got it!”

Alex turned slowly back to face him, her smile fighting between fond and wry.

“Well now,” she said. “So you have. May I?”

She held out a hand and suddenly, the theatrics vanished; captain Alex Sheffield had returned. Denny bowed his head slightly as he tugged the hat off and gingerly placed it into her waiting hand. Alex’s smile softened, all fondness now.

“There’s a lad,” she said, ruffling his hair with one hand as she pressed the hat back onto her head with the other. It seemed to Tahir to look not very much different on her than it had on Denny. “You know not to lie except for this sort of fun, don’t you?”

“Yes,” the boy said, suddenly as pious as a priest, folding both hands in front of him. Tahir coughed to hide his laugh. Alex snorted.

“A lucky thing that nothing depends on my believing you. Now, we’ve intruded long enough. You have my thanks, Denny, and you’ll pass them on to -”

“Are you really a captain?”

The question came without preamble, like he’d only just remembered to ask it, with a frown and a twist of the wooden soldier in his hands. Alex’s expression flickered.

“I am,” she said slowly. And then, with a thin smile, added, “You’ve seen my hat, haven’t you?”

"Well, I know," Denny huffed, exasperated as only a scorned six year old could be. “But father, he said you couldn’t be. He said, he said you couldn’t be, because a girl can’t be a captain!”

It felt all at once like the air had been siphoned away from the lawn around them. Tahir sucked a breath through his teeth and stole a glance sidelong; Alex was the disquieting sort of still, a predator in sight of prey.

A heartbeat passed. Two.

Then she sighed, with a resignation that made Tahir’s heart do something painful and wrenching deep in his chest.

“Well, now,” she said, forcing a smile that should have rightly cracked her face in two, “it is a mightily good thing that your father doesn’t know me well, isn’t it? I’m not a girl, Denny. Nor a woman, nor a man. Rather just myself, understand? And… and too fine at my trade to be kept from it, anyway.”

“Oh.” Denny’s brow furrowed, but Alex’s words seemed to align with whatever opinion he’d begun forming in his head because after a moment, he nodded. “Okay. I guess, well...I guess you can be a captain, then.”

Alex huffed a strangled little laugh. “Well, I should hope so, or you would set my mate here to the very difficult task of telling the crew that their pay is as imaginary as its tender. I don’t envy your position in that, Tahir.”

She turned a glance his way, and the look there begged - no, commanded him to play along. He managed a dutiful chuckle, conjured from memory and absolutely fuck all else.

“You’ve, ah, not gone see-through yet, I’m afraid."

“Not to you, anyway,” Alex muttered under her breath, then cleared her throat and swept back to where Denny’s wide, too-thoughtful eyes waited. “Now, lad, we really ought to be away. You've my thanks for keeping an eye on my hat. Next we’re in port, I’ll come and you can see -”

She paused, blinking like she hadn’t expected those particular words to leave her. Denny’s eyes immediately went as wide as tea saucers.

“Your ship?” he asked, his voice quivering with excitement. “I can see your ship? Please? Please?"

The look that Alex turned to Tahir this time was begging, and it pleased him very much to be able to shrug, and to bite down on a grin when she cursed him with her eyes.

Eventually, though, she ran out of ways to glare him into an early grave, and turned with a sigh to take an unsteady knee at Denny’s side. The boy straightened like a soldier suddenly called to attention.

“Perhaps," she said slowly, "if you speak to your father, he might be keen to teach you what little he knows of sailing. Perhaps, if you tell me what you’ve learned when next I’m here, there may be a place at the wheel for you. But only if you learn, hey? I've no patience nor room for untrained deckhands on my ship."

Denny was nodding before she finished, so furiously that it scattered the fair curls on his head into a proper mess. Alex’s smile came back like a crack forming in stone, fond even in piecemeal. She ruffled the boy's hair to further cement the damage he’d done to it, then heaved back onto her feet.

"Right," she said, straightening. “You’re to set yourself to learning; I’ll have the Ranger ready and waiting for you when next we make port. Reasonable accommodations on both sides. Do we have an accord, Master Sheffield?”

The boy swung himself into something that very nearly resembled a salute. “Yes!”

“Very good!" Alex's own salute was the more seamanly sort, accented with a jaunty tip of her hat and a slight bow. "Then we will be away this very minute, so that we may return all the faster. By your leave, sir."

"By your leave!" Denny cried, parroting the words - and when Tahir looked back, his much improved salute - with greater and greater enthusiasm as they started down the lane. "By your leave! By your leave!"

By the time they reached the gate, the boy had turned and was trundling off towards the back of the house, still excusing their exit to someone Tahir couldn't see. He chuckled quietly to himself.

"Stirring the tar in his blood already," he mused as Denny's shouts fell out of earshot. "Just what I'd expect from any brother of yours."

"Half brother," Alex muttered. Her mood, which had held for their short walk to the road, had gone immediately black again. “And that is being charitable. Hell and all, I don’t know why I told him I’d come back here…”

“He’s a child, Alex,” Tahir said, irritation twinging at the back of his neck. “And keen for your attention, besides. Surely you can spare him and all of us the act of pretending you’re not taken with him.”

“Act?” Alex looked up, genuine offense painted into the furrows of her brow. “What act? Of course I'm taken with the boy. I’ve only just met him properly, and I’d as soon see the world and every goodly treasure in it burned before disappointing him. But he’s my father’s son if he’s anything at all, Tahir. Knowing him means accounting for the opinion of good Mister Sheffield, and I would hang before -”

“Before you trouble yourself with it?” The little itch on Tahir’s neck swelled into a fire. “Well, isn’t that a sensible fucking thought. What a revenge you'll have! Allowing your father to keep his fool poor regard of you, while you give up the chance to know the only kin what has any regard for you at all -"

“And what else would you have me do?” Alex suddenly appeared in front of him, her voice one shade away from shouting. “Shall I defy him? Take visits with the boy at leisure, without his blessing? Give no heed to what happens after I’ve left? After everything that’s passed between us, do you truly imagine that my father would look fondly on the boy that takes a shine to me?"

Something in her cracked on the word; she stepped back as it left her, turning so the wide brim of her hat swept low across her face. Tahir suddenly felt his anger cool, then flee all the way down to his feet.

“You think your company will call your father’s wrath on him,” he said quietly. A soft snort came from beneath the edge of the hat.

“Wrath? No. No, my father would never raise a hand to a child. But Denny is the bright sort. Eager. Keen on approval. I was too, at his age.” Another sigh came from behind the hat’s brim, long and heavy. “It is a… profoundly unhappy thing, for a child like that to be ignored by someone he'd like to please. I wouldn’t see Denny come within a league of the path I walked, Tahir. Not for anything.”

She turned back after a moment - eyes dry, expression held carefully steady - but Tahir didn’t need a near-decade’s worth of experience with Alex Sheffield to see the effort it cost her. Shame began its warm ivy-creep up the back of his neck. Hadn't they fought this battle before? Hadn't she made it clear, as recently as last night, even stumbling drunk and grieving, that she wasn't running away again? Hadn’t he learned?

"Aw, hell,” he muttered, rolling back onto his heels with a sigh. Alex glanced up just in time to brace herself before he stepped forward and collared her into a fierce hug. He felt her shoulders stiffen against his arms, but she didn’t try to pull away until he did.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he had righted himself. “You’re right, of course. I haven’t got the slightest notion how to manage your father. I’ve been fortunate to have never enjoyed his company. I just… I know the look that boy was giving you. Been on the receiving end of it myself, for how sorely I haven’t deserved it.”

“Your sisters,” Alex said quietly.

“And Mihail. I’ve as good as lost any chance of knowing him. Of knowing any of them, understand? I wouldn’t have seen you lose that, not if you wanted it and not if I could help it. And Christ, Alex, you wanted it. When you said you might give it up just to avoid your father, well…”

“You should know better that I would irritate my father for the simple pleasure of it, were that all I had to consider,” Alex said, and the stinging note of affront in her voice made Tahir wince. Then she sighed, her shoulders sagging like a weight suddenly let go. “I can’t say I don’t agree, though. Not entirely. Perhaps my father is only half as vengeful as I imagine. Perhaps I take my leave for good, and leave Denny to be ignored by quite everyone around him. Perhaps nothing at all comes of my company, and I’m free to watch Ade fall over herself about the boy. It’s all as much as guessing.”

“Ah,” Tahir hummed, smothering a grin. Alex had begun invoking Adelina’s name; something in their conversation had started to soothe the rawest of her nerves. “A problem, I see. Worse, a problem best solved by turning it over and over until you put yourself into a fit! Lucky that I’ve been assured those are a specialty of yours.”

Alex’s mouth twitched towards a smile. “Tahir.”

“No, no! Don’t pay me any mind. I’ve said my piece. Now that you’ve heard it, I expect you’ll be wanting a room to fret in for the next several months while you figure it out - ow!” He flinched away as Alex shoved him hard in the ribs, laughing. “Hey now, no need for that. I’m simply paying you my every assurance that you’ll find some solution to this mess. I could imagine no one better suited.”

“And I can think of no advice less helpful than ‘you’ll figure something out.’”

“Oh no,” said Tahir with a grin. “No, I’m rather done with advice of any sort. You saw my last try at meddling, didn’t you? No, I think I’ll put my full confidence in the opinion that Denny has stumbled into the best possible hands.”

“I expect you’ll come to regret that,” Alex said with a roll of her eyes. “What if I do win him over? Or if he takes to sailing as I did? What makes you of the notion of the pair of us? Of ‘Captain Dennis Sheffield,’ eh?”

Tahir shrugged. “Suits very well, I think.”

Alex snorted, but even the brim of her hat couldn’t hide the little smile that stole its way onto her face as she turned and started back towards the city.

“Aye,” Tahir heard her say, very softly. “Suits very well, indeed.”

[aworldoffandoms]

In The Land Down Under

Author's Note: Okay, so I got an ask from @ritachacha​ asking me to write a short fic about what would happen if Liam and Riley went on a diplomatic trip to Australia. Considering she and I are Australian -- I jumped at the chance to write a fic about our country. It’s fun lol. Thank you so much, Rita for all your help! It means a lot. Hope you and the rest enjoy it!

Tagging some fellow aussies who might enjoy this: @cynicalworlds @pb-boeboe​ @the-everlasting-dream​ @topsyturvy-dream​ @shreyamistrys​

I’m also using my tag list I use for my story ‘Runaway’ so I hope that you guys like this but please let me know if you’d like to just be notified about ‘Runaway’ or if you’d like to be tagged in any other fics I might post :)

Pairing: Liam x MC [Riley]

Word Count: 3, 779 (oops)

Rating: T 

Warnings: Nothing -- just some (hopefully funny) Aussie jokes

Summary: Liam and Riley enjoy their time while on a trip to Australia. What will they get up to?

Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Pixelberry and all characters belong to them. 

Tag list:  @hopefulmoonobject @annekebbphotography @am-i-invisible777 @blznbaby @khakie4 @lauradowning29 @blackcoffee85 @captain-kingliamsqueen @moneyfordiamonds @super-secret-fandom-blog @jovialyouthmusic @zaffrenotes @ao719 @umccall71 @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @pixieferry @pixelpenny @rainbowsinthestorm @dcbbw @thecordoniandiaries

The clouds parted and the royal jet descended towards its destination. A jolt of excitement raced through Riley as she caught a glance of the Sydney skyline: the famous Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House standing tall against the glittering blue of the ocean. 

Riley clapped her hands in overzealous joy. "I can't believe we’re here, Liam! I've wanted to visit Australia for so long! I can't wait to see everything - climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge, see the Opera House, go on a ferry ride...oh! We have to go to Taronga Zoo!" 

Liam couldn't help but smile at his wife's childlike glee and her plans for the next two weeks while on their diplomatic trip to Australia. Riley liked to believe it was a holiday, but it was also a chance to talk trade and other endeavours with the governing power of the country. 

The Prime Minister of Australia officially invited them at the start of the year and the King and Queen of Cordonia finally had a break in their busy schedules to allow an overseas trip. 

Liam rested a calming hand on Riley's arm and she eagerly looked out the window as the plane dipped further towards solid ground. 

"Sweetheart, while I admire your enthusiasm for this trip, I must remind you of our original goal in being here. It's important that we cinch deals with this country. It'll be in our best interest."

Realisation poured over Riley like a bucket of cold water. Mirth slowly slipped from her face and in its place was a barely controlled disgusted grimace. The anticipation of coming here was almost snuffed out because of her husband's words. Great. Forgot about that. 

The only word that escaped to convey her feelings was an, "Oh."

Liam chuckled at the despondent note in that syllable. "We'll have plenty of time to explore Sydney, my love, but for the next few days, it's official business with Prime Minister Morrison and a few royal engagements. You know as well as I do that Cordonia needs to branch out and connect with other foreign counterparts and Australia is a strong ally to have." 

Riley was still glancing out of the window as she nodded, a sigh escaping her. "I know. I was just so excited. It's hard to differentiate between queen and excited wanderlust tourist in times like these." 

Twenty-four hours on a plane and I still have to shake hands with random men when I could be enjoying my time on Bondi Beach and ‘chilling’ with the locals. 

In anticipation of this trip, Riley had the time to research the country and their customs and memorise some key facts, mind you, most of these facts consisted of things she had learned from movies. She was fascinated with Mick in Crocodile Dundee and couldn’t help but swoon at Hugh Jackman as The Drover in Australia. Damn, that man almost rivalled Liam in looks. Maybe she should get Liam to grow some scruff, although, being a King, a beard would likely raise some eyebrows. 

By the time they were ready to leave for the Cordonian International Airport, Riley had compiled a list that ended at three pages long. Maxwell was rightfully impressed when she showed him and he expressed his desire to feed, as he said, a ‘fluffy koala who would be a perfect addition to the menagerie’ at her estate in Valtoria. Riley had laughed but her stomach twisted when she read up and realised that they were a vulnerable species and it was illegal to own one anywhere. That made Maxwell deflate although within minutes he had emailed her a follow-up list requesting emus, dingoes, wombats and kangaroos.

Riley scanned her own list. Some facts surprised her while others she thought were a no-brainer. For instance, Australians used slang for nearly everything so a simple word like 'afternoon' was more accepted as 'arvo' and it was definitely not a shrimp but a prawn and they did not put them on a barbie for those wrongly informed individuals. And contrary to popular belief, animals in this country would not kill you. Although, Riley had made a note to steer clear of forests. Drop bears seemed to be plausible. 

Liam laughed as he leaned over to press a kiss to her cheek. "I know, Riley. We'll have all of next week to explore." 

The royal jet finally landed as the plane whurred to a stop and the engines disengaged. The door separating the back of the plane to the royal couple's seats slid open and Bastien stepped through.

Bastien bowed once he reached them. "Good morning, Your Majesties. I have received word from the Cordonian ambassador that you'll be escorted to the Cordonian embassy as soon as possible. However, before that, you'll be having a photocall with the Prime Minister and Mayor of Sydney." 

Liam nodded at Bastien, heaving a quiet sigh. Royal duties never stopped for the lives of monarchs. Liam had half a mind to damn trade talks and alliances to hell and join Riley in her obvious zest to see Sydney's wonders, yet, he knew, that could not come to pass. Cordonia needed all the allies it could gather and Australia could be beneficial for Cordonia's growth and strength as a nation.

Liam glanced over to Riley and found her gnawing at her bottom lip, her fingers drumming against the armrest of her seat. 

He reached over and gathered her hand, twining his fingers with hers as she glanced up at the contact. He pressed his lips to her knuckles and gave her a wink. 

“You’ll be fine, Riley,” Liam said, naturally understanding her nerves. They’d been married a year and it still surprised her how easily he read her. All those years of body language lessons had paid off. 

She gave her husband a nod as she tightened her hold on his arm and followed him out of the plane and into the awaiting fanfare. 

****

“Oh my gooosh...look! Look it’s a kangaroo! And a dingo! Is that an emu over there? If Maxwell was here, he’d be freaking!”

The week of trade deals and diplomacy were over for the royals and they now had the all-clear to travel and explore one of Australia’s most famous cities. Currently, they were at Sydney’s Taronga Zoo and being guided through a section of the park that housed Australia’s more famous land creatures. 

Liam’s heart swelled as he stared at his wife, his grin spreading when he saw her bouncing on the tips of her toes like an over-excited school girl, her finger pointing to the kangaroo hopping over to them and a dingo perched on a rock face watching them with curious eyes. 

“Would you like to feed him, ma’am?” A zookeeper handed over some fresh carrot for the king and queen to take. 

Riley squealed at the suggestion. “Would I ever!” 

The Zookeeper smiled at her obvious delight and lead her over to a fairly placid looking kangaroo, his kaki fur soft to the touch. It surprised Liam how friendly some of these animals were. It was almost as if this was a daily occurrence for them and considering how popular this zoo was, he thought he was right in his assumption. 

“Love, don’t be so loud. You don’t want to scare the poor creature away.” 

Riley rolled her eyes at her husband but her smile was still blinding as she turned back to the keeper. In her enthusiasm, she almost snatched the carrots from her fingers. 

As she approached the kangaroo, the large mammal quirked its head to the side as if contemplating if it should approach the beaming human nearly skipping over to it. 

“Now, Your Majesty, you want to approach the roo as calmly as possible. Although they are friendly, any sudden movements can frighten them and you don’t want one of their claws to snatch 'ya. They'd tear you to shreds.” 

Riley faltered at those words, a flash of worry marring her face. The zookeeper saw her hesitance and chucked good-naturedly. 

"Not to worry, Your Majesty. These roo’s are more likely to engage in a harmless game of tag with the food than they are to attack. They've had a lot of experience with people." 

A barely heard sigh of relief escaped the Queen as she approached the kangaroo. She held out her hand, palm flat, and guided the vegetable to the kangaroo. Riley's eyes widened in joy as she watched the native Australian mammal sniff her hand and gently grab the offering with its claws and nibble it. 

Riley stood there, staring, long after the kangaroo has finished, her eyes darting to the enclosure around her. 

“This is so cool. Why haven’t we visited sooner?”

Liam chuckled and wrapped an arm around Riley’s waist, pressing a kiss against her temple. “I don’t know, my love. But if seeing all this makes you happy then I must make this venture to Australia more often.” 

Riley gave her husband a smirk. “Don’t you mean, ‘The Land Down Under?’” 

The last syllable was exaggerated to the point of it being comical as Riley attempted the Australian accent, emphasising the last syllable of ‘under’ so it ended more in as ‘unduh’, yet she failed spectacularly. Liam laughed at her attempt. It was endearing. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say the Australian lifestyle is catching up with you.” 

Riley shrugged. “What can I say. This country is fascinating. Their accents too. Whew,” Riley paused to fan herself, pretending to swoon. “Have you heard their accents yet? Hot.”

Liam frowned. “I thought you liked mine?” 

Riley laughed, stepping away from him and following in the footsteps of the zookeeper who was taking them to the koala enclosure. “Oh, maybe so, but have you heard the way they say, ‘G-day'? That’s my kind of greeting.” 

Liam gave Riley a half-mocking serious look and then his mouth lifted, his eyes glinting in mischief, "If it'd suit you...I can greet you in a way that has proven very popular in the past." 

Riley had the good sense to stop and stare at Liam for a minute before giving him a mischievous smirk of her own, ending with a wink for good measure. “Nope. I think I’d rather leave Hugh Jackman to do that for me.” 

***

"Can we please go to Bondi now?" 

Liam nodded at his wife while trying to finish up his conversation with Olivia who had decided to call while they both were enjoying their morning tangled together between the sheets of their beachfront hotel suite. 

Apparently, decisions on the Cordonian Golf Tournament couldn’t wait until next week when both the King and Queen would arrive back, yet Olivia felt it necessary because ‘Neville would surely make it a point to prattle on about how important it was because of its location on Cormery Isle’ and Olivia couldn't stand his voice as she was threatening to stab him in the leg. 

Liam advised her that would not be wise and to go ahead with the finishing touches of the marketing and contracts for vendors and finalise the competitors who were scheduled to play. 

“Liam! Come on! Bondi can’t wait any longer!” Riley’s voice was loud in his ear as he said his final goodbyes to Olivia and told her to he’d see her next week. 

He hung up and glanced over to where his wife was standing and his jaw nearly dropped at what he was seeing. 

The swimsuit she had on hugged her curves and revealed her cleavage in a tasteful yet sexy way and the elegant cut-outs at the side of the material made her become exceptionally beautiful than she already was. She was one voluptuous woman and Liam could not take his eyes off her.

Riley glanced up and found Liam’s gaze a little bit south of where it was meant to be. “Hey. Liam. My face is here. You’ve seen these,” she waved to her chest area for emphasis, “...far more times than I can count so I’d get that look off your face. No surprises here.” 

At her words, Liam’s jaw snapped shut and he shook his head, grinning at Riley’s words. She was right, of course. Some days he had free reign to worship every spectacular inch of her body and he could spend hours upon hours doing it and she’d gladly let him, yet, now was not the time. 

Riley wanted to go to Bondi and so they would go to the beach she so desperately wanted to visit. He could fantasise later. 

“Okay. I suppose I can wait till later to appreciate the gift of your body but I suppose we should go to this so-called ‘Bondi’ you are so fond of. I wouldn’t want to make you unhappy.” 

Riley jumped up and down, clapping her hands in excitement. “Yay! Hurry! I want to see the lifeguards!”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek as she went to the balcony of their suite and looked over to the not too distant horizon to see the white sandy beach that was a notorious spot for people of all ages and ethnicity.

Riley couldn’t help the spring in her step as she stared at the beach that she would soon be visiting, plucking the list of the activities she wanted to do while here and ticked Bondi Beach off her list. The edges of the paper were tattered now from the constant opening and closing of the parchment yet it was still stable enough for her to still be able to cart it around with her. 

Riley smiled as she ticked it off and glanced up finding the temperate at a hot 28 degrees already and it was just before 11:30 in the morning. 

Jeez. New York can get hot but the Australian sun is murder.

She felt a bead of sweat already gathering at the nape of her neck. As she gathered her stuff that was needed for the beach she called over her shoulder to her husband in the bathroom. 

“Don’t forget your thongs, Liam!” 

Riley couldn’t help but jump at the voice that bellowed through the door. “Don’t forget what?!” 

Liam opened the door and gave his wife an incredulous stare, shocked at hearing the words that came out of her mouth. Surely, she wouldn’t subject him to that kind of humiliation. Yes, he was all for a bit of roleplay now and then but...in public? He was a king. He could not and will not subject himself to that. 

“My love, you know that I adore your quirks and your enthusiasm in certain aspects of our travels. And it surprises me even now that some of the words you say still perplex me, after all this time together, but if you subject me to wearing a thong -- I will call Bastien and arrange for the royal jet to take us home to Cordonia immediately.” 

Riley stared at her husband in muted silence, her lips quirking up into a smile hearing the words coming out of his mouth. The laugh that had started to bubble up in her throat burst forth after Liam lapsed into silence. 

Riley was laughing so hard that she had doubled over, her arms clutching her chest in silent laughter, tears in her eyes. “Oh my...gosh! Liam!” Another burst of rambunctious laughter escaped her and reverberated throughout the suite. Any other time Liam would find her laughter endearing for it was one of his most favourite sounds in the world yet this time he found himself quite irritated at the fact that she was laughing at him. Yes...he was very well aware that she was laughing at him. 

Annoyance stirred in his chest and he could not help it seeping into his tone as he said, “Well...by all means laugh at me but I stand by my words, Riley. I will not engage in this sort of behaviour.” 

Riley was still laughing as she stood upright, bursts of laughing still spilling out as she made a solid effort to control herself. “Behaviour? What kind of behaviour? Liam--”

She cut herself off and stood up straight, shaking away her mirth as she walked up to Liam and grabbed the swimming trunks that were grasped tightly in his hand at his vexation. She stared up at him with a neutral mask but Liam could see the unsaturated glee behind her eyes. “Honey. I never said anything about a thong. I said, thongs. Plural. These.” 

She points to her feet and Liam follows her finger and his eyes widen at seeing what she had on and then his brow furrowed in confusion. “But these are called flip-flops.” 

Riley chuckled. “You’d think, right? No. Here they are called thongs. Different use and a very different context here.” 

Liam’s eyebrows knitted together as he ran his hand along his jaw, an obvious sign of confused contemplation. “How strange…”

Riley nodded. “Strange indeed but I’ve learned to embrace the strange. I’ve noticed that in the Australian people. They’re more laid back than even I thought I was. It feels freeing to be here than in Cordonia with all those uptight, stuffy nobles.” 

Liam lips quirked in a smile. “Yes. Well. I have come to understand why you love seeing new places and I can’t say that I haven’t enjoyed my time here.” 

Riley raised her eyebrows at him as she got a pair of thongs for Liam and placed it alongside the beach bag. “Oh, and who was griping at me a week ago at all the trade deals and enquiring about alliances to this country with disdain?” 

Liam rolled his eyes. “Yes, but I was simply saying that after a long day of meetings. In the end, Morrison granted us that alliance...did he not?” 

He did. Though it was not for a lack of trying for some constituents and other specific requirements for Cordonia to meet with Australia's standards. The Prime Minister asked for a fair amount and Liam, at the end of a very long day and at the end of a very long week decided to grant Morrison his stipulations because not only would it be good for Australia but the added revenue it would bring to Cordonia and its tourism will increase ten-fold. Australia had three times as many citizens as Cordonia and this was an opportunity not to be passed up.

Riley sighed. “Yes, he did but made every opportunity to persuade you to give in at every roadblock that he made. Gosh... that man irked me.” 

Liam raised his eyebrows. “And here I thought you said you thought he was a nice ‘bloke’” 

Riley grumbled. “Well...I’d rather him be forthcoming and be a little more flexible with his demands rather than railroad my husband into an alliance where we are giving more to them than they are to us.” 

Liam’s heart warmed at her care for him and the care that she had for Cordonia, yet, despite her words being right, Liam knew that this was the right thing to do for Cordonia. His country needed all the friends and strength it could get from outside of the realm. Australia was an undeniable force and Liam would be damned if he didn’t take it. 

“Morrison might be a bit...direct...but he did make some good points. And we came to an agreement. Now…” 

Liam goes over to his wife and wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I believe we have someplace to be right now?” 

Riley leaned into Liam’s touch and squeezed his forearms that were cinched around her waist. “I believe we do, my king. Get ready to soak up the sun and enjoy all that these Aussies have to offer!” 

Liam chuckled and rolled his eyes as his wife left his embrace and grabbed the few last things and waited by the door, bouncing on her toes in her overzealous excitement

“Okay, my love. Let’s see these Aussie locals and the lifeguards you are so desperate to meet.” 

“They are called sheila’s and blokes here, Liam. Get it right.” 

Liam just chuckled as he followed his wife down the corridor to the elevators to begin their day with sun and sand.

***

“Oh! Can we get this for Hana? She’ll love this! Maybe we could get this for Chance?” 

Riley traipsed around an Australian souvenir shop, a spring in her step, as she plucked item after item in their waiting trolley. The knick-knacks she had gathered for their friends included a small plush kangaroo for Hana to add to her collection, a few fridge magnets to adorn their kitchen once they return to the palace, a life-sized koala plush doll for Maxwell, and a few t-shirts for them all. Riley also had a few bottles of Australian whiskey for Drake and a boomerang for Olivia. Riley was sure that a boomerang would come in handy. It wasn’t sharp but it could do some damage to those who wielded it properly. If anything, Riley thought, Olivia would appreciate it. She liked weapons of variety. 

Liam watched in admiration at his wife’s constant energy during this whole trip. They were set to leave for Cordonia tomorrow and Riley had suggested a shopping trip. And how could Liam refuse anything his wife desired? 

Liam stopped when Riley came to a hat stand, jumping on her feet in excitement as she pulled off an Akubra with strange string hanging from the brim and at the end of said string were corks you’d find in a champagne bottle and it followed around the circumference of the wide-brimmed hat. What in the world…?

A small exclamation of delight escaped her mouth as she admired herself in the mirror. “Liam! Don’t you think this would look good in my hat collection? It’s so unique!” 

Liam chuckled as Riley moved her head from side to side, the dangling corks at the end of the string swishing in front of her face. “It certainly looks charming.” 

Riley grimaced at his words, turning so that she had her full glower on him, the hat sat firmly on her head, not budging from the quick pivot of her steps to face him. “Charming? You think I just look charming?”

Liam raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms along his chest. “What other words should I have chosen, my love?” 

Riley’s grimace transformed into a light-hearted care-free smile. She tipped the hat towards Liam, just like the Drover in Australia as a show of acknowledgement. 

“Why, mate! I’m a true-blue Aussie, of course!”

[signorformica]

Ladies and gentlemen! Bibliothèque Infernale is proud to present —again!—under the big top tonight!:

*THE BIBULOUS BABY*

Another bizarre, freakish short story by the Master of the Grotesque — TOD ROBBINS!

***

“THE STRANGEST event in my life happened last summer," said my traveling companion. "I have only ventured to tell this story to my wife and brother. It is so unique and apparently so beyond human belief that if I published it broadcast I would be looked upon by the world as an impostor of the first water."

"And did your wife and brother believe you?" I asked.

"Well, not exactly. Yes and no. They believed that I thought I was telling the truth. The one imagined that the tale sprang from the effects of strong drink; the other blamed the strength of the summer sun. But I assure you it was neither. I had had a few glasses of absinth, certainly; but I have been accustomed to this drink since childhood. The sun, indeed, was very hot; but it was as nothing compared to the heat I have experienced in the tropics."

"The story, doctor?", I ventured.

"Ah," said he, "you will laugh; but nevertheless I will give it to you. Mirth is the reward one gets from the world when one gives something new to it. People laugh entirely too much, and smile only with their lips. Look into a man's eyes — they alone are the true mirrors of emotion.

"On the fifteenth of last August I was living at a seaside resort not far from the city. It was the warmest day of the summer, and the people had taken to the water. Sitting on the veranda of the hotel with a glass of absinth on the arm of my chair, I could see the blue expanse of ocean stretching out from the beach like a velvet rug lying on a floor of whitest marble.

“Not a breath of air ruffled that placid surface; not a wrinkle of thought rested on the calm forehead of the sea. And above it the sun hung stationary in the heavens, resembling an open porthole of a burning ship seen through the blue haze of evening.

"On the beach, men and women were running about, caricaturing by their grotesque, awkward movements the play of children, as grown people do when they attempt to cheat could be seen bobbing up and down like pieces of cork, and it seemed strange that these little globes should be moving about, guided by the brains that they contained; and stranger still that, if one should suddenly sink out of sight for several moments, a great excitement would turn these shouts of laughter into screams, these movements of animal joy into gesticulations of horror.

"Sitting all alone on that hotel veranda, I continued to sip my absinth and to meditate on the scene before me. Suddenly I saw a very pretty young girl approaching, pushing a baby carriage before her. The child was evidently sleeping and was concealed under a canopy of mosquito netting; the girl looked longingly out to sea, while two lines of irritation furrowed her forehead.

"Acting on a sudden impulse, I spoke to her: 'You'll pardon me, but couldn't I be of some assistance? I see that you like bathing, and it's quite a wonderful day for it. I could take care of the baby while you have a plunge.'

"She hesitated and again looked out to sea. 'I'm very much obliged,' she began, 'but mother told me to take care of — at this she hesitated, and I thought I saw her face darken — 'of my little brother,' she finished.

"'But I could take care of him for a time. He won't be any trouble. He's fast asleep.'

"'Yes, he is asleep,' she said, lifting the mosquito netting and looking down at the little red face lying on the lace pillow. 'Thank you so much; I think I will go in bathing.' And, wheeling the baby carriage up beside me, she turned and hurried off toward the bath houses on the shore.

"Again my eyes returned to the bathers, and my hand lifted the glass of absinth to my lips. How black and tiny some of the heads looked far out on the water! Here, in this bathtub of the city, life was a precious thing; yet there was an abundance of it, a superfluity of it. I had been in thinly populated countries where it was not thought of so highly.

"'I beg your pardon, sir,' said a voice beside me which sounded like a key turning in a rusty lock, 'but I'm very thirsty and absinth is my favorite drink.'

"I turned about in surprise, and was thunderstruck to see that I was apparently still alone. No one stood back of my chair; no one was behind the pillar on my right, and no one crouched behind the baby carriage, as I had first suspected. But as I stared about me the voice again spoke in its strange, quavering tones.

"'Lift up the mosquito net over the carriage,' it said.'It's damnably hot in here!'

"Almost mechanically I did as I was told, and in a moment more was looking down into the little, red, wrinkled face of a baby. As I gazed at the shapeless nose, at the bald head and loose-lipped mouth, the eyes opened and looked up at me. What I felt then you can never imagine, my friend; I cannot describe it to you. I can only say that it was horrible — horrible past belief. I had expected the frightened, innocent stare of awakened childhood; in place of it I saw the vicious, knowing leer of wicked old age. With a cry of horror I reeled back and put my hands before my eyes.

" 'Well,' said the voice again, and now I knew that it, too, was old — as old as an echo in a haunted house; 'well, my young friend, do I get a taste of your absinth or not?’

"'What are you?' I cried as soon as I could speak.

"'Young man,' said the baby, squinting evilly at me over his blanket, 'I'm about the dryest child in the world. Do you know what I've been getting to drink lately? I've been getting milk — milk from a dirty, blue-nosed bottle! Everybody takes advantage of me be- cause I'm too old to kick up a disturbance. Why, my own grandchild — the one who was wheeling me just now — takes advantage of me. Family pride is all very well, but what is getting me is I've only got four more weeks to live, and I might as well be a live one till the very end.'

"'Just a moment,' said I, taking a long drink of absinth to steady my nerves. 'Now you can tell me every- thing. You may unburden yourself to me as though I were your father.'

"'Well,' he snarled. ’If I tell you the story, will you empty the milk out of my bottle and fill it up with absinth?'

"'Yes, readily,' I answered.

"'So I'm selling my family pride for a bottle of absinth,' said he. 'Well, no matter, here it goes. My grand- father owned a large plantation before the war. Like many another Southern gentleman of that time, he preferred the joys of the body to the joys of the spirit. Wine in plenty, women in plenty, tobacco in plenty — that was his idea of life. But there was one thing that worried my grandfather.'

""What was that?' I asked.

"'Old age,' said the baby solemnly. 'It was his one fear. And when it finally came — when gout laid hold of his feet and time pulled out his hair — he was a pitiful object to behold. Lying on his back, he cursed life and said that it started from the wrong end; that if men were born old and grew younger year by year, then they'd have something to live for, instead of cursing every day that came. And on the night when he died he sold his soul to the devil, or so my old negro nur.se used to say. On the following morning I was born.'

"'And how long ago was that, my little friend?' I asked.

"'Eighty-five years ago last December’, said the baby. 'Of course I can't remember as far back as that. My first recollection is of standing before the mirror while my mother combed out my long gray beard. Yes, I had a beard then; and they say it was snow white when I was born. But when I remember it first it was gray —a beautiful silver gray. That was a long time ago, and I wish I had one now.

"'And yet, even then I wasn't happy. I'd try to get the old men in the village interested in blindman's buff and tag; but they wouldn't play with me and I felt lonely. People began to talk when they saw me rolling my hoop in the street or playing marbles with the boys; so mother had to tell them that I was an uncle of hers in his second childhood, fearing that they might guess the truth. Sometimes the old men would beckon me into the tavern, buy me some absinth, and, when I had drunk it, send me home tottering on my feet.

"'And so time passed. Gradually I grew taller and stronger; the gray began to fade out of my beard in patches, and mother was now thought by strangers to be my sister. I no longer played marbles with the boys or rolled my hoop along tire pavement. No, now the girls whom I met on the street would make my heart beat all out of tune. But they never looked at me; or, if they did, they would say, "He is old enough to be our father," and pass by. But there was one who said, 'What young eyes he has!' I married that girl and settled down with the optimistic belief that nothing could shatter my happiness.

"'But the years went by, and each one that passed made me younger and my dear wife older. Finally we met on the tide of life, each drifting toward a separate goal. And we could not hold each other. We passed by swiftly, unable even to clasp hands. I must have suffered then, yet my hair lost all its gray; I was growing to be a comparatively young man. And I had children, and they soon grew older than I ; and they had children, and they grew older than I — till now all that is left me is a taste for absinth, the taste that I acquired when the old men used to send me home from the tavern in the days of my drunken, gray-haired childhood. How I used to cry when they wouldn't play marbles with me!

"'Ah, well, ah, well, now I'm eighty- five and a baby with the tastes of an old man. Yet they won't give me my absinth, and expect me to say nothing about myself because of family pride. It seems I am a monster — something to be hidden away in a perambulator. Ah, but the ladies give me privileges sometimes which they'd scarcely give if they knew my age! I have four more weeks of life. How do I know ? Why, the doctor of the hotel examined me this morning and said that I am just four weeks old. But give me your absinth, sir. Don't take advantage of me because I am old and helpless.'"

"And did you give him your absinth?" I asked.

"Yes," said my friend. "I filled his milk bottle with it. He was so weak that I had actually to put the nipple in his mouth. Then I went up to my room, leaving him sucking peacefully. Four weeks later I read his death no tice in the paper. Well, what do you think of that, sir?"

"I think it is quite remarkable," I answered.

*Tod Robbins: The Bibulous Baby. First published in The Thrill Book. July 1, 1919 • via Bibliothèque Infernale on FB

[gospelofsam]

PASSING DAYS

OOI.

           Twin ravens circled the clear Vanaheim skies, their mix of blue and green feathers glistening in the summer sun like newly polished gems. Below them, a wild landscape stretched on for miles in either direction. It was beautiful, yet untamed, much like the Vanir who resided there.

           Campsites dotted the plains, going on for as far as the eye could see. An arena was nestled somewhere in the middle of them all, hidden behind tall blades of yellowing grass and wildflowers. The entirety of the Vanir realm was overgrown, as were most of its occupants in their own right. Wild, untamed and free.

           One of the ravens, Hugin, perched on the branch of a lone oak tree. He ruffled his bright blue feathers. His beady green eyes followed two bodies as they travelled down the tilled path. Interested was the bird. Interested and watching, as was his job.

           The two stopped in their tracks, resting at the tree where Hugin had perched himself. They took a seat under the shade the expanse of leaves provided, talking and laughing amongst themselves. One, the boy, tossed a square of wood between each of his hands, his golden hair falling out from the man bun and into his face. He had sharp features, but not the kind that might scare someone off. No, they were gentle in their own ways, soft where it mattered the most. His eyes were as green as the landscape he was sitting in, as were the girls who leaned into him.

           Hugin, from what he could see from his place on the branch, could immediately tell the two were related. The girl’s hair, though, was much darker, as red as the autumn leaves. Yet they shared the same flawless complexion, the same emerald eyes, and the same pointed features. Elves, the raven assumed, possibly from Folkvangr, the Vanir parallel to Valhalla.

           “We should really get going,” the boy piped up, dropping his moving hands to the ground. They still fidgeted, Hugin noted, always ready and anxious for something new. Something more exciting than simply resting in the grass. “The others are probably waiting up for us, you know.”

           The girl rolled her eyes, a strand of her auburn hair popping out from the braid that rested over her shoulder. Her face was speckled in dirt, but that didn’t keep from the fact that she was a looker. “They know their way back. A couple of more minutes won’t hurt them.” She beamed at the other. A bright, happy grin like that was infectious. It made you want to smile, to keep her happy for as long as you could. The boy, who, like the girl who accompanied him, still remained nameless to Hugin. Munin, his sister, might have known, but she was still surveying the area, keeping watch over the realm their master dared not to go.

           The boy chose to return her smile, though he seemed hesitant to do so. He took the small wood black back into his hands, passing it under and over his slender fingers. Possibly to occupy himself, Hugin was unsure.

           After a few moments of silence, Munin, who’s feathers were more green than blue, landed on the branch opposite of him. Her eyes were a shining blue, much like Hugin’s feathers. She nodded at him, pointing her beak downwards at the brother and sister. Ah. So, these were the two they had been sent to find. Together, their bodies changed and shifted to look more human. Twin shapeshifters sat on the branch where the birds had once been. They couldn’t have been older than fifteen, maybe sixteen, but time and was easily disguisable.

           Munin plucked unruly feathers from her dark green hair, setting them in a neat pile beside her. Her hair fell in waves above her shoulder, but her eyes remained the same piercing blue. She looked accustomed to Vanaheim’s wild terrain, donning Doc Martin boots, denim jeans and a flannel. In her usual fashion, the articles of clothing all shared the green color scheme.

           Hugin, on the other hand, had much shorter, much more vibrant blue hair, mirroring the bright blue feathers his raven form bore. He and Munin’s color schemes were inversed, hers being mostly green, while his consisted of various shades of blue clothing. Unlike his sister, he was undoubtedly unprepared for the realm of the Vanir, having dressed in an oversized blue, almost black, sweater, jean capris, and sneakers. Munin gave an annoyed look, which Hugin countered by blowing a raspberry. He was mature like that.

           The two raven spies of Odin dropped down from their oaken perch, frightening the elven siblings as they landed. Well, more so when Munin landed. Hugin, who hadn’t timed his own jump right, hit the ground with a thud. His hands were scraped, bleeding slightly, but nothing felt or seemed to be broken. Still, the boy looked concerned. As Hugin got to his feet, brushing the grass from his palms onto his sweater, the blond elf rushed forward, dropping the wooden block from his hands. It was a rune, Hugin realized. Instead of the warmth that crept from the elf’s body into his own, he attempted to focus on the wooden rune. Distracting himself, really.

           Munin coughed, breaking up the boy’s healing session. She was clearly impatient, and Hugin couldn’t blame her. They had been given a task. They couldn’t afford to be held back by minor inconveniences such as injuring a hand. The boy backed away, but he and Hugin continued sharing eye contact. Even without words, the elf’s message was clear. He wanted to know if the shapeshifter was alright. Hugin nodded, silently assuring him he was. His scrapes had vanished, the only trace that he’d even injured himself in the first place being the trickles of his own blood staining the blades of grass crimson.

           “Stop gawking and do your job,” Munin grumbled, her elbow connecting with Hugin’s ribcage. He moved his emerald eyes away from the elf, his face burning, mostly out of embarrassment of being caught. Truthfully, he hadn’t realized he’d been staring.

           He cleared his throat, clasping his newly healed hands behind his back. The girl, he noticed, had been chuckling, but had been quieted by her brother, who looked as embarrassed as Hugin felt. He fidgeted behind his back, he looked over the two elves, attempting to piece together the signs that they had once trained under the Vanir deities Frey and Freya. The rune etched into the boy’s wooden block was fehu, the rune dedicated to Frey. That was the only indication the two were connected. His sister had a quiver slung over her back, which had a distinct triskelion pattern sewn into the fabric. It was a motif that had been associated with Freya for many winters. How had he just now noticed them?

           “You know, you two are easier to find than I thought you’d be.” said Hugin, keeping his tone light and humorous. Only the Allfather knew what these two could be capable of own their own, much less as a pairing. He wasn’t keen on returning to Oscar, the new Odin, with his wings clipped. “Frey and Freya’s…successors, am I right?” Replacements and successors. The two words were interchangeable now. The old gods were long gone, leaving behind legacies, prodigies, to take their places. That’s what Hugin and Munin were. Carbon copies of their parents with the same ultimate goal. Live, serve, and then die at Ragnarok.

           The elf’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Hugin thought she’d draw her bow and send him stumbling back to Asgard with an arrow lodged in his chest. She nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, we are. Why does that matter to you? What even are you?” She studied Hugin and Munin, like a hunter stalking prey. She was watching their moves, he realized. She was frightening, sure, but not intimidating.

           Beside him, Munin clicked her tongue. It wasn’t the first time they’d received the question and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last. “We’re shapeshifters, elf. I am Munin, and this,” She gestured to herself, then to Hugin. “is my brother, Hugin.”

           “Yeah, Thought and Memory. I’ve heard about you two.” The elven girl rose from her seat amongst the blades of grass. She smiled at them both, but there was a hint of disgust laced in her words, like the shapeshifters’ names had left a sour taste in her mouth. She almost reminded him of Munin. Almost. “Aerin and Olive.” From they way they had introduced them both, he could only assume that she was Olive and her brother was Aerin. Oddly enough, knowing their names was more comforting than knowing them solely by their predecessors. “There something you need or are you just stalking us?”

           Before Hugin could speak, Munin, as usual, took the lead. He didn’t mind. The less talking the better. “The Allfather wishes to see you,” she said, her tone placid and her face emotionless. Yet, he knew better than anyone that she was anxious. Asgard was their home. Vanaheim was uncharted and unfamiliar territory. “The matter is urgent.”

           Aerin’s light brows knit closely together. The Vanir and Aesir, despite the truce that had been put in place, had a strained relationship. It was a childish feud Hugin hoped had passed with the old gods. Now he knew that was far from the truth. “Why didn’t Oscar show up himself? The guy can come and go between the realms whenever he feels like it, but not drop by Vanaheim when it matters?” His sister shot him a warning look. If Aerin noticed it, he didn’t choose to acknowledge it. Or perhaps he didn’t care. Either was a plausible explanation.

           How Munin had stayed so calm was beyond him. She sighed, “It’s not my place to question the Allfather. My brother and I simply deliver his messages and watch whoever catches his interest.” Munin caught Hugin’s eyes and nodded to the twins. He made an ‘o’ with his lips and cleared his throat.

           “It’s just a meeting. A quick one, hopefully.” He added with a shrug of his shoulders. Oscar – Odin, same difference – hadn’t told him much about the topics of discussion, not that he ever did. Not that he wanted to keep the information to himself, but because Hugin and Munin had no real importance to the Allfather.

           The elves seemed to ponder the idea, each distracting themselves by fidgeting. A shared habit, he guessed. “Maybe we should talk somewhere else,” Aerin interjected, tucking his fehu rune into the pocket of his denim jacket. Olive nodded her agreement, dropping her hands back down to her side.

           Munin looked skeptical, and for the first time in awhile looked to Hugin for advice. He shrugged, a darkish smile adorning his features. He watched as the two elven deities started down the path once more.

           “Let’s not go back to Ossie on an empty stomach, yeah?’ Hugin urged his sister along, calling to Olive and Aerin to slow down. Munin groaned, annoyed, but hurried off after her younger brother.

[yamyell]

preview of some str stuff

====

During Garrosh's first few months in Azeroth he had accompanied Warchief Thrall on many a business trip, familiarizing himself with the planet, its inhabitants, and the faction Thrall reigned. He wanted to say the worlds were similar, but it was not within his experience to judge. Draenor had been in tatters as long as Garrosh could remember. Rocks, trees, earth; all were present on Draenor, as one would expect the Portal to lead somewhere inhabitable. The atmospheres and natural landscapes between the two worlds did not vary too drastically. That is, until he had met with the outriders in Warsong Gulch.

The Warsong were elated to see him, of course. "Hellscream lives!" they cried, cheering and saluting and bowing their heads. "Son of Grommash! Glory to the Horde!" His presence alone was emblematic of the enduring lineage of the Warsong, festooned in gleaming armor and atop a black Orgrimmar war wolf. Removing his helmet, however, to greet his people, appeared to make their stomachs turn. Warm Mag'har skin dabbled with sweat from the oppressive heat of the Barrens was a sight many at the gulch were not prepared to see. Some faces were contorted with confusion, disgust. Hellscream was welcome. But the son and his mocking skin were a sick joke. A Mag'hari Hellscream was a beggar with a full stomach. 

He does not know our pain. He is not like us. He is saddled with no sin and therefore absolves us of none. 

Their initial enthusiasm waned, focusing intently on the words of the Warchief. 

"To my noble outriders, I bring you news from beyond the Dark Portal. Though I am sure the Warsong have already heard, the great Grommash Hellscream survives by his son, Garrosh, who stands before you!"

Many salute solemnly, more out of respect for Thrall than for his companion. 

Tuning Thrall out, Garrosh focused on the forest in the distance. It was a sight unlike anything he had seen on Draenor, the closest comparison being the towering fungi of the Zangar marsh. The Gulch was bordered by colors unthinkable for foliage, as if gems and velvet grew out of the ground. So dense was the forest that it blackened on the horizon, the yellow dirt path from the Barrens engulfed in royal purples and glassine greens. 

It was called Ashenvale, Thrall had said, and Garrosh yearned for its riches. He was drawn to it. Tempted by it. There was something in its dusky boughs that curled a finger toward him. Fanciful and fae, the forest set forth a cool breeze that swam through the Barrens air and kissed him.

"Garrosh."

He shook away the dreamy sensation and turned attention to the Warchief. 

"You have agreed to join the Horde, have you not, Garrosh?" 

"But of course. Your people have much to offer, and much to be proud of."

"It is true. And these outriders here have fought with great endurance to secure this area for the Horde, many of which are your own clan."

"Bloodshed is inevitable. The weak shall be crushed beneath us!" A few hollered out in excitement to hear the Mag'har hearkening to the old ways.

"The kaldorei may be stubborn, but they are not weak. I have drafted many treaties and agreements to open trade—lumber for our ore—but they refuse. It is a shame to see so many lives ended over the coveting of these resources."

'Shame'? There is no shame in protecting your people. "It is best they die. The weak cannot progress the Horde."

"Is that what you believe in?"

"Of course. I believe in strength. I believe in the strength of our people. And through the Horde, we will secure a future for the orcs."

"All orcs?"

"Yes. All who are strong enough."

"Our people have many strengths, Garrosh, many which are often overlooked. Consider if I had been the same."

"But Thrall, you are strong. And a great leader."

"Thank you," Thrall smiled. "But that is not what I mean."

"Then—"

"Your father was not only strong; he was my friend. The little family I had ever known. If I had shunned the whole village of Garadar for its 'weakness', I never would have discovered what remained of my family, my people, or my true namesake. And I never would have met you or brought you into the Horde, son of my brother. You are family, as the Horde itself is family."

"But I— I am a warrior, Thrall, and it is my strength, and the strength of my father, that makes me worthy of the Horde."

"You place such emphasis on this," the Warchief said, amused. "You are a great warrior indeed, but strong too of mind and heart. The Greatmother Geyah herself agreed."

Garrosh shifted uncomfortably at her mention. 

"Even when you suffered physically and your body was weak, you were still worthy of the Horde, Garrosh. Even when you could not be a warrior."

Some of the Warsong exchanged glances among themselves. 

"It is better that I am a warrior," Garrosh spat, feeling self-conscious. "Those in the Horde should earn their place."

"So long as the Horde is looking out for one another, we all belong within it. They have earned their place by right of belonging."

"I... know little of these other people," Garrosh admitted. "I have met with a few tauren in Nagrand. But no trolls, no elves, none of these walking dead you have come to ally yourself with. How can they be trusted? We struggled to trust outside our own clans, orcs all." 

"Azeroth is our home. It is new to orcs, but together we share it with tauren, trolls—"

"But what do they offer? How can we trust them if they sit idly, watching our people starve? What home is this to have made?"

"—even the Forsaken of Lordaeron have come to be our allies. And the sin'dorei of Quel'thalas also sought refuge in our Horde—"

"You must listen to me, Thrall!" Garrosh spoke out of turn, voice overtaking the Warchief's. "Of all places on this planet, we call that desert our home? Orgrimmar is impressive, yes, but look where you chose to build it! It echoes the steps of the Portal itself!"

"The orcs are proud to call Durotar home."

"You make that land worthy of your father's name?" The Mag'har began to look exasperated. "Have we truly chosen to inhabit the one part of the world that closest resembles what we tried to escape from? Have we chosen to hide there in a corner like frightened dogs, whipping ourselves for falling to fel? Is it any different?" 

Thrall rests a hand on Garrosh's shoulder. "It is not your burden."

"So long as I carry the name Hellscream, I shall carry this burden!"

"I have told you before, there is no such burden to this honorable name. What burdens you must be different, son of my brother, for Grom's noble sacrifice freed—"

"He is NOT your brother. He is MY father!" He wrenched himself from Thrall's gesture. "Yes, so you told me he had atoned, but I will not stand by your blind veneration of him when he brought me and my people so much shame!" 

"Yet I knew him better than you ever could," Thrall said, grimly uncharacteristic of him. His demeanor remained placid but the scorn was palpable. 

A voice arose in Garrosh's head, one that sounded just like Thrall's but was not spoken by the Thrall that stood before him. "How many of my brothers will you take from me, Garrosh?"

The brown orc stood speechless, dumbstruck by the phantom voice and publicly humiliated by the present one, harnessing all of his will to fight the red fury edging into his vision. He remembered the tauren, suddenly, yet did not know why.

"You are not your father," Thrall needled, his veneer of tenderness faltering. "You may be Hellscream, but you are Garrosh also. You must choose your own fate."

Recuperating, he only nodded.

Thrall sighs, regaining patience and a swirl of pity. "I tell you again that the Horde will ensure a fulfilling life for you, for all orcs, and for the rest of the Horde as well. They give their lives just as any orc would, and with strength to match. Through our allegiances, there is a future here on Azeroth. A chance for peace." The shaman subdues himself further. "Inner peace."

A green hand reached for him and Garrosh bat it away. "I shall not trust these allegiances until their promises are realized. Should we fail to secure these forests for our people, the orcs will find such peace only in their emaciated deaths. And death is where, I, too shall make my peace, glorious on the battlefield, as an honorable orc should. As my father did." 

Some Warsong cheered. "Son of Grom! Truly, son of Hellscream!"

Garrosh looked pleased with himself, but inside his heart boiled and screamed with fear. Thoughts skittered frantically in his mind, some of them not his own, foreign and bleeding into his head. The cheers of the Warsong began to sound distorted, desperate, as if suppressing and edging into tortured shrieks. 

I mean no dishonor to you, Thrall, please, let me not bring dishonor to another clan, to more orcs, to this new world, who knows how far, please, do not let me shatter this one too, please, do not tempt my black thumbs with ruin, please—

"Truly, son of Grom!"

—please, do not let me—

"Hellscream after all!"

Thrall, you brought me into this world—

The silver trees and dark moss taunted him, hearing their thousand-year murmurs strain over the din of the Warsong lumber mills. Louder and louder, the ancient static smothered all.

—you must be the one to take me out!

Deep in Ashenvale, whether on the wind or in demons' whispers, the spirit of Grom called to him. Dilated and wide, his pupils vibrated with surmounting madness, the voice of his father drowning out the Warsong. It was close. It lingered. Something, someone, some energy, channeled itself into him with claws and tendrils and thousands of eyes with lashes like daggers. Rivers of blood once spilled from Mannoroth pulsed in the soil beneath him, a grueling heartbeat under his feet, tasting the smoke and charred flesh of the demon's presence.

"Son of Grom! Son of Grom!"

"The demon's fire," Grommash croaked, "has burnt out in my veins..." His immortal words thundered in his son's head. The midnight soil spoke. "The fire... in my veins..."

As another set of eyes within his mind, a spirit, he saw Thrall, younger than now, knelt by the body of Grom. "No, old friend..."

"The fire... the fire..."

Booming and rattling, the pit lord's words resounded. "He didn't know what burns within your soul... when in your heart, you know we are the same."

This was not the reproduction Thrall had displayed in Garadar. This vision was the contribution of hundreds of the eyes and beating hearts of witnesses, and he still heard them beating, and he still heard the wet eyes rolling in their sockets. They lived, somehow, still, his mind trapped in their skulls.

Through jittery eyes and gritted teeth, Garrosh swallowed the spell, slamming his fist against his chest—instead of his head, curbing the impulse—as a forward salute. Perhaps the fel, latent in the other orcs' green skin, gave them an innate tolerance toward demonic energy. Perhaps, because it was no one's first visit to Ashenvale but Garrosh's, they had already grown accustomed to the environment. Perhaps, because they had no blood ties to the remains buried at the nearby monolith, they were not tormented by the memories of his spirit. But for him, this land was too old, too wise, too tainted with demon blood and privy memories to bear. The purple forest, at first so enchanting, now loomed past the lumber mill ominously, mocking him, concealing its terrifying secrets within its watching speaking trees and the labyrinthine bowels of its gnarled barrow dens. 

Sweat dripped from his clenched salute. It was too much to bear. 

I beg of you—

Thrall appeared oblivious to Garrosh's turmoil, heeding the rowdy Outriders with raised brows.

—send me home—

"Well, Garrosh..." 

—to my balance—

"It seems you are truly..."

—to Geyah—

"...A man of your people." 

—to my death—

He is wrong.

"The boy believed you could be saved."

I cannot go in there.

"The demon's fire has burnt out in my veins..."

It should be burnt to the ground.

"In your heart, you know we are the same."

This forest should be burnt to the ground.

Making a point in doing so, Thrall's hand returns to the distant Garrosh's shoulder. "And so long as you let the strength and spirit of your people guide you, the Horde will place its faith in your future."

How dare he feed me this syrup. I know where my fate lies.

"I mean no dishonor to you, Thrall," Garrosh finally verbalizes, nostrils flared. "But I know my fate, whether or not I have chosen it. It is the fate of my people I wish to change."

Cheers of "Hellscream!" echoed into the savannah and were swallowed by the sumptuous, hungering vale ahead. We have heard that name before, it smiled.

Maybe then I will be allowed to die.

==

[criscatampatan]

"DEAD STARS"

Marxist Approach

Introduction:

Dead star is a love story written in rich pose with a heat-warming message. The short story is conveying the theme that pertains to a forbidden love. The main theme was focused on deciding between what your hearts truly wants or to follow the mind of being true to you heart or being loyal to your promise. " Dead stars" means memories of the past. that people sometimes look at it for a while and realize that it has already been dead, already vanished. The story was told in the 3rd person of view. The author played as the storyteller in the short story.

Summary:

Alfredo Salazar was betrothed to Esperanza, his girlfriend for four years. The start of their relationship was relatively “warm”, with Alfredo wooing Esperanza like a man in dire lovesickness. But as the years went by, the warm love’s fire slowly flickered. And it was because of Julia Salas.

She was charming and gleeful. He shared moments of light but sometimes deep conversations with her when the lawyer Alfredo visited Julia’s brother-in-law, who was a judge. He always went there with his father and since it was his father who needed to talk to the judge, he was always left to Julia’s company. He never told her he was engaged. At first he didn’t notice that a change in his heart was taking form. But then he started keeping details of his activities to his fiancée and then the guilty feeling crept in. when he found out that Julia was about to head back to her distant hometown, he felt blue and frightened.

When he visited Esperanza in her house, he overheard her talking to another woman about infidelity and immorality, to which he reasoned in favor of the condemned. The statement caused an intense fury to Esperanza and she told him that she knew. She dared Alfredo to abandon her, along with morality and reason and her dignity as a woman as well as her image before the society all for the sake of his “being fair to himself”.

Critique:

The 'Dead Stars' represent a presence that is unrecognized. It speaks of emotions and relationships that may exist but are not realized and lose their real meaning and significance. In the story, the attraction between Alfredo and Julia is a forbidden and taboo phenomenon.

Conclusion:

The story is infused with moral and intellectual approaches highlighting the values and morals in place in that age, culture and place. Historicism and the historical context of the story give it salience in terms of understanding the thoughts and subsequent actions of the characters like Alfredo, Julia, Esperanza.

"DEAD STARS"

Feminist Approach

Introduction:

A story of the sheen of love long faded that is an alluring romantic story about choosing between someone you know for a short time and someone you know for a long period of time. The story started in a slow easy pace with the introduction of the characters and their situations. This love triangle between the three and our anticipation for Alfredo's to-be decision is the main excitement of the story or it is the climax of the short story. The main character is faced with the dilemma of man vs. circumstance. That Alfredo needs to choose between choosing Julia and choosing Esperanza. Then when Alfredo finally decided, the story's excitement.

Summary:

Six weeks ago that house meant nothing to him save that it was the Martinez house, rented and occupied by Judge del Valle and his family. Six weeks ago Julia Salas meant nothing to him; he did not even know her name; but now--"Alfredo Salazar is engaged to Esperanza for a very long time, almost four years but he is already having second thoughts on marrying Esperanza after he had met Julia Salas and fell in love with her. Alfredo and Esperanza were about to be married in the following month of May. He seemed to have no regrets about loving another woman before he gets married. And as Don Julian said, "I supposed long-engaged people are like that; warm now, cool tomorrow. I think they are oftener cool than warm. The very fact that an engagement has been allowed to prolong itself argues certain placidity of temperament or of affection-- on the part of either, or both. "An individual who will get married had always experienced wedding jitters. it is part of practically every bride to be and groom to be's experience. It is natural to feel some anxiety and nervousness before the wedding day.

Critique:

Julia, so easy that he could forget his worries about how the world would say to him when they knew about his Fiancee Esperanza. The love between Alfredo and Julia seemed real, but look closer and one can state that it was hardly mutual that is impossible to last. Esperanza's devotion to Alfredo also resembles love. However, the short story of love here, though perhaps genuine to a point, for Alfredo is seemingly and purposive. Weak, because it is eventually overcome the quality of conforming to conventionally accepted standards of behavior or moral and the purposive because it was merely a tool to justify his to desire to go against society. In the story, Alfredo falls in love with Julia even if he is already engaged to Esperanza, but in the end forgoes the idea. He kept on holding on to "what if he didn't marry Esperanza and what if he ignores the society?" throughout the years of his marriage to Esperanza, but upon meeting Julia again, he realizes that what he thought was there, had now gone just like the dead stars.

Conclusion:

In conclusion" Dead stars" by Paz Martinez Benitez is addressed from one to a woman to another woman. The decision in "what ifs situations" are able to inflict on others is clearly explored, and the short story convincingly depicts the protagonist as a calm man, a bachelor and dependent in what the society will tell about him. The story is very descriptive of its environment and of the characters' feelings especially that of Alfrdo's, yet also sensitive at the same time in the sense that it gives the right kind of word choice and diction that further help in bringing out the elements that tie the story together.

#EAPPREACTIONPAPER

[hoe-imaginess]

(I think I sent this in just after the cut-off earlier, I'm super sorry!!!) Please can I get an angsty lil scenario with my babe Shisui, where his S/O sacrifices herself to protect him in battle? Like she somehow survives but she's badly injured and the poor guy feels realllly guilty n maybe a little angry with her. Thank you ily 💕

You made it this time! I’m excited for this one 

Shisui

“The pain will subside soon,” the medic told her, and left a vase of water at her bedside. “The bones will be healed incrementally. Drink fluids until then for the dehydration.”

“Thank you.” The kunoichi shifted uncomfortably in her hospital bed, cursing the sore stiffness of her back. 

Shisui watched her, expressionless. He could briefly register the nurse leaving the room, but focused on nothing else but the young woman sitting in the bed. He tried to welcome the anger in him, anything to fight the subtle guilt that had pestered him since their squad came home. But his emotions were a mess, a confusing conflict he didn’t know he could entertain. 

Once alone, it was quiet, neither of them finding idle talk suitable. She could feel Shisui’s temper on its margins. She couldn’t even look at him without being staggered by the sharpness in his black eyes. 

She couldn’t take the silence anymore. With a quiet sigh, remorse moved her to mutter,” I’m sorry, Shisui.”

His reaction was immediate. “You should know better.”

“I do. I did.” The absence of his normal placidity was what scared her the most. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Follow orders,” he reproved with ease. “Follow orders, don’t get in the way, and focus on your own battles.”

“You would have died,” she pleaded. 

“And you would have to, if we hadn’t rushed you back to the village so fast.” He looked at the injury across her chest, wrapped in thick bandages, dried blood decorating the edges where she had bled out before. It looked no better than it had, but at least she was alive, and awake. He’ll never forget the way she had lay sprawled out on the ground in the battlefield, blood spilling into her clothes, staining her skin. He had accepted in a fleeting moment that she was dead. She must have been, with a cut so deep into her like that. When he found she still had a pulse, that she was still breathing, he had scarcely believed it. 

He tried to shake the image from his mind, and forced his eyes back to her tired face. “You could have jeopardized the entire mission.”

“I didn’t mean to.” And she was honest. It was enough that he was chastising her, but she knew that she had failed in her duty as a kunoichi. Disrupting the order and focus of their fight had cost them. That thought sent more shame through her. “I just…” She looked at him. “You were…”

“It doesn’t matter.” But he knew it did, to her. What would he have done in that situation? Part of him said the same thing. He would have gladly and thoughtlessly jumped before her in the face of an enemy, so long as it meant sparing her the blow. But another part told him no. He wouldn’t have done such a foolish thing. He was a shinobi first, and her lover second. 

Again, Shisui tried to put those thoughts in the back of his mind. Thinking about them too much only fogged his mind, made the logic necessary for post-mission duties seem all the more difficult to find. 

“I’ll be mentioning this in the report,” he said finally.

“Mentioning what?”

“Your poor decision-making.” He spoke it with no remorse. “I’m sure the rest of our squad did the same. It’s not my place to lie about it.”

She looked away from him then, as if the statement frightened her. Shisui watched, trying his best at disinterest and pragmatism. But the guilt was there again. “At most, you’ll be placed on leave. It won’t cost you much, anyways, with your injuries. You won’t be seeing another mission for at least two months.”

That didn’t make her feel any better, but Shisui hadn’t meant it to. Punitive reminders seemed the only way he would get it through her head the mistake she had made. Yet when he saw her injuries again, he wondered if she even needed a reminder in the first place. 

When the silence distressed her, she spoke up quietly,” Are you going to stay?”

She sounded almost hopeful to Shisui, but the way she averted her eyes told him that hesitance, maybe even intimidation, also drove her quiet. “No. I have a report to file, remember?”

She did, but she had hoped that he would at least see her through the first day of her rehabilitation, as selfish as it sounded. He was a busy man, she knew that. He had no time to soothe her wounded pride, and her fears for their standing now that she had shamed him.

“I’ll see you later, then.” She spoke it with reluctant acceptance. Shisui didn’t need to look any further to read the sadness all over her, the apprehension included. 

It made leaving her all the more difficult, but he wouldn’t stay. He couldn’t. He still could’t decide if he wanted to comfort her or reprimand her for what she had done. 

“Stay in bed,” he ordered as he left, voice softer than it had been. “Get some rest.”

If she had found the courage to look at him as he left, she would have seen the flicker of anguish that he tried to hide.

~

When he returned that night, she was sound asleep. He didn’t dare wake her, knowing it was good for her health, but also his own temper. 

Shisui didn’t often let his anger get the better of him. He had little of it to begin with. But the feelings when he saw her were a confusing mix of frustration and regret. He didn’t want her to see his dilemma, and found it better to let her rest than meet his turmoil head on. She had enough to deal with already. 

He took a seat next to her bed and watched her. She still looked as weak as she had before, but in her slumber, she was at least at peace. 

It had taken him all but a few hours of inner debate for him to accept that he had been unfair in his reaction. Both of their lives had been on the line. She had simply been the one to risk hers, and for him. He still didn’t know whether to laud her bravery or admonish it, but he at least knew one thing: he had no right to question her actions. 

The sacrifice was made from a place of sentiment. What right did he have to condemn that? As a shinobi, certainly he could disapprove. But as her lover, he should have been thankful and remorseful she had gone to such lengths. The frustration that pestered him should have been replaced with adoration. But something held him back. The guilt. Not just sprouted from the fact she took an injury for him, but the fact that he still didn’t know if he would do the same for her. The question still ate at him. Duty, or devotion?

He reached out and held her hand tentatively, hoping not to wake her. Fortunately, her eyes stayed closed, and her breaths soft and airy. He squeezed gently, to test a reaction. Her hands fidgeted in response. It comforted him, in some small, vague way. 

He thought about what he would have done as he watched her soft, restful face. Now that he had the time to think about it, he knew. 

He would have happily done the same if it meant saving the woman before him.

[cheetahsprints]

Stranger Perspective

Words: 1,486

Reverb squints in the obnoxious sunlight. 

He couldn’t believe this would be his life now, in witness protection. He should be thankful to still have his life. He’s just bitter. He’s never had anything to be thankful for that wasn’t taken from him in the next breath.

His house is modest, with a small porch shadowed by the roof. He doesn’t care to put any furniture on it, but a small, sad plant hangs above the handrail. The porch next door features a table and chairs, a grill, and a plethora of vibrant flowers.

It’s disgusting. Even more disturbing is the bright rosy-cheeked man he’s until now only observed from his window. Reverb doesn’t quite buy that he’s real, he’s like an android specifically programmed to pierce Reverb’s cloud of rancor. It makes him want to lash out in a violent storm.

He stands at the edge of the sidewalk that splits his yard, finally forced to take the trash out that was piling up. He has been avoiding human contact. After watching the people he was attached to perish at the hands of the man who claimed to love him, he’s not eager for new connections.

His neighbor’s small mixed breed dog sprints down the fenced yard and starts to excitedly bark at him. He glares at it and drops the trash in the can. He turns on his heel back toward the porch.

“Hey!”

No. Damn it. Go away.

“Hi.” Reverb contemplates throwing the trash can lid at his neighbor’s blithe expression and dashing to his door so he can hide again. He stiffly walks over instead. Maybe his visage will be more frightening from a shorter distance.

“Sorry about Daisy, she just loves people!” 

The mutt yelps at him, her little legs surging as she all but bounces back and forth along the fence-line. His bland expression and scowl have no effect. HR smiles fondly at her. Reverb wants to wipe it off his face. No one has ever smiled at him like that. But an excitable fleabag earns it? 

“If she loved me she’d shut the hell up,” Reverb responds. He could lie that it was a slip if pressed. It wasn’t.

“Aw. Not a dog person huh?”

Reverb shrugs. Lively things shrivel away from him if he doesn’t destroy them first. Cheerful people tend to be the quickest to judge him. 

Reverb takes the chance to examine his neighbor up close. He’s tall. But not like a spindly giraffe, more like a retired racehorse sort of vibe. He’s probably never done anything backbreaking in his life, but Reverb has seen him run. His muscles are usually hidden under baggy sweats or sweaters. 

As of now, this lazy Sunday, he wears a tight black T-shirt that has to be murder in the heat and a pair of white boxers with hearts all over them. “Are boxers fashionable here as outdoor wear or is it just you?” 

HR laughs unperturbed and doesn’t answer. Reverb senses that it won’t be a simple matter to goad him. He’s utterly sickening but oddly charming. Reverb can see his biceps and abs, and he’s admittedly lowkey attracted. He stares longer than necessary to test the reaction. 

HR follows his gaze. “Being a writer doesn’t mean I have to be a homebody! There’s a great trail near by if you’re interested.”

A writer? Reverb narrows his eyes. What does he write? Poems? Sappy, prose-filled fanfiction?

“I think I’ll pass.”

HR nods and leans on the fence. “It’s not for everyone. Though it has other merits - lots of foliage for ah, disguising certain co-operative activities.”

HR’s gaze roves over Reverb’s crotch and snaps back to his eyes. Possibly Reverb has underestimated him. Upbeat and cautious aren’t mutually exclusive. However, his placid smile seems eternally stuck there. 

He smiles, laughs too easy. Either someone really hurt him and it’s his way of coping, or he’s never faced difficulty in his entire life. And it has to have been a fairly high number so far, going by the laugh lines on his eyes and mouth.

His eyes. They’re a brighter shade of blue than Reverb could discern from the other side of his window. Bright colors aren’t usually his thing, but they’re beautiful.  

His neighbor steps through his gate. Oh no. Reverb slowly backs away, but he ends up tripping over the garbage. He holds out a hand. Reverb ignores it and reclaims his footing in a smooth movement. His neighbor grins, unaffected, and sticks out his hand for a shake.

He hates himself the way he flinches. HR’s eyebrows knit in concern. He glances at his own hand as though it’s a bomb ready to go off.

“Are you OK?”

Reverb reluctantly takes it. “I’m - I’ve recently gained freedom from my abusive spouse -”

Hunter Zolomon. If he ever sees his face again, Reverb would gladly strangle him with his bare hands. Possessive, cheating asshole lost his shit when Reverb got into a fistfight with his mistress. He should have seen it coming, Zolomon snapping and stabbing him in the chest. 

“Say no more! I apologize, I’ll be more careful in the future.”

Reverb rubs his chest at the memory onslaught. He missed Reverb’s heart by a few centimeters. He’s lucky he had earlier invited his brother over for a drink, as he called the ambulance. Any later, and he might’ve been toast.

When the police told him that Zolomon had been charged for several counts of murder, he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t struggle, didn’t debate. He was Tired. He was ready to escape.

Reverb sniffs with displeasure. “Don’t do that. Act like... like normal. My reactions are my problem alone.” 

“If that’s want you want. But I feel I should take some responsibility to respect your space if you need it.” HR strokes Reverb’s skin with his thumb. He supposes it’s meant to be a reassuring gesture. 

Due to that, he realizes he’s still holding HR’s hand. Not only that, but he’s squeezing his fingers so tight, it’s probably hurting him. He quickly shoves them in his pockets. Meanwhile, his dog crashes through the loose gate and charges him. HR grabs her in what appears to be a practiced move.

Reverb doesn’t embarrass easily. He’s simmering inside at his show of weakness.  HR displays no sign of being unsettled. He scratches his dog under the chin to stop her squirming.

“Name is Harrison Wells by the way, but you can call me HR. Sumptuous day isn’t it? Nice to meet you.”

“I guess. I’m... Reverb,” he deadpans. 

“Reverb? Well that’s an interesting name.”

“It’s not my birth name,” Reverb responds. 

He was explicitly instructed not to parade that fact around. He’s never been one for rules.

Everyone who knew him by this name is dead now, so he was able to wiggle out of a different alias. He found out his old gang, the only people who used to call him Reverb, were killed by Zolomon. They had been setup to appear as accidents or were just shrouded in total mystery. As a means of control, no doubt. So his precious Francisco would have nowhere to go. His parents were estranged, and his brother, well. They weren’t suited to sharing space. 

He doesn’t elaborate, but HR seems to just roll with it. 

“That’s cool. Maybe you could give Daisy a pat? I promise she’ll settle down if you only pet her a little. She’s a sucker for attention.”

Reverb’s nostrils flare. He looks at the dog still tucked under HR’s arm, her tail wagging and tongue hanging out. He awkwardly strokes her on the head. 

“So what do you do?”

Reverb wants to run for miles from this small talk. It’s exhausting.

“Nothing. I don’t know yet. I used to run a criminal enterprise,” Reverb admits tersely, gazing at a point over HR’s shoulder. 

“Oh. I’d love to hear the details someday. It could be useful for my next novel. I released the final in a trilogy almost two years ago... and now I’m working on something entirely different!”

Nothing seems to faze this guy. 

“So you’re actually a published author. Grand. I’m almost impressed.” 

He even ignores the jab. 

“It’s the best.” HR’s arm twitches. Reverb tenses. He seems to think better of probably trying to touch him in a friendly manner. “Would you mind if I base a character on you?”

“I don’t care. But you barely know me.”

“Hopefully that can change,” HR winks and says, “in due time.”

“Maybe.” Reverb’s stomach flips. “If you can play your cards right. But take note, I don’t play fair.”

“You’ll find neither do I,” HR replies mild and affable, but Reverb can sense a weight behind his words. “I’m an infamous hustler, I’ve been kicked out of a dozen bars.”

Despite himself, Reverb chuckles. “Is that so? Perhaps we have more in common than I thought.”