#How to Hide your Plenty of Fish Profile

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

The scowl on his face was enough to set off a wave of irritation in you. You'd had plenty of disagreements in the run up to your leaving date. The last ending in him leaving the hotel room you were staying in the night before, unsure of when you'd broken his trust so badly.

Which made for a really awkward flight the next day. He point blank refused to speak, sitting down next to Benny. Feeling dejected, you couldn't work out why he'd decided you shouldn't join them. To the point you weren't sure whether you should.

***

"I just don't think you coming to location is the best idea."

"Frankie, what the hell? You've never had an issue with this before. We've been to far worse places."

Standing across the room from each other, he had his arms crossed defensively over his chest. It wouldn't take a genius to work out he wasn't saying everything he wanted to. Even more so that you'd known each other for over eight years. Been to more countries than you could count on both hands, spent month after month sleeping in the same room as each other.

"That's not really the point is it." He was almost scowling at you, at this point you were wondering if he'd hit his head and had a total personality transplant.

"Go on then. What is your point?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you. I'll speak to Pope in the morning."

"Why don't you just spit it out. You're clearly hiding something, and to be honest you're acting like a dick."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. I don't think you should be on this mission."

"Okay, but why? You can't even give me a valid reason?!"

"I- you know what I'm not going to stand here and list all the reasons."

"So there's a list? What have you been supervising me for the last eight years? Inspecting my work? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Someone who knows better than you, you've been getting sloppy over the last year. I read that report from June last year. Your bad Intel nearly got a whole fucking group killed."

Losing all the fire from your anger, you physically recoiled, "Frankie I told you that in confidence. Not so you could use it against me later on." Refusing to look at him, you stepped back and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Don't do that okay, I'm just trying to look out for you."

"Mhmm."

"Nope. I'm not letting you guilt trip me into changing my mind. Fuck that."

***

Choosing an empty seat near the front of the small jet, you slumped down and stretched your legs out. Looking out of the window, the air marshals capturing your attention.

"What on earth is wrong with you and Fish?" Pope's voice brought you back into the plane.

You gave him a look, "why don't you ask him?"

"I've tried!" His voice raised a few octaves, and you let out a chuckle, "that man is in one heck of a grump. I'm wondering if you were to blame."

"Me?!" You narrowed your eyes at him, "well, I'm sorry that I came. Seems like everyone's pissed at me for existing."

"Woah, woah, woah, no one's saying that. Hang on. What the heck were you two arguing about last night anyway."

"I'm not gossiping Santi, I'm really not in the mood." You crossed your arms over your hoodie and tucked your legs up on the seat.

"No- I just want to know what's going on. I'm not having any unresolved issues going in. We need to work together on this."

Looking at Santi, he had a furrow in his brow. You understood how important this was for him, but you held up your end of the bargain fine. You'd put together the profile as you always did and the concept was going to be easy to put into practice. It was the people who were going to be harder to organise.

"Well. Go ask your pilot why he's so dead set against me coming. He was acting like I'm going to fuck up the whole thing." Meeting Pope's eyes, he'd softened slightly.

"What? Fish thinks you're amazing at what you do, more than half of our missions would have gone sideways if it wasn't for you."

"That's not how he was acting last night. Or for the last two weeks."

He sighed, thinking for a moment, "trust me when I say that none of us think you aren't capable. You're a fucking badass okay? I'm going to get Benny to swap with me and I'll talk to him."

As if on cue, the seatbelt sign pinged off. Shooting you a cheeky smile he gave your knee a squeeze and pushed himself out of the seat.

Not long after a larger figure sat down next to you, looking over to see a pair of bright blue eyes and a suspiciously wide grin greeting you.

"Jeez, did someone put some tequila in your orange juice this morning or what?"

"Whatever I had. You need some of it." He jibed back at you, "you and Fish are a real bore this morning."

"Yeah well I'm sorry. Guess someone just took the wind out of my sail."

"Pfft. Oh come on, you can't let me down. I need my drinking buddy back for tonight." He poked a finger into your ribs, making you jump involuntarily.

"Oh I'm definitely drinking tonight. I'll need to after you finish your scout of the place."

"Hang on. You aren't coming?"

"I think it would be better for you guys if don't. I'll probably just fuck everything up."

"Oh no you don't. I need my eyes with me. You can't pussy out on us."

"Well you're going to have to convince Frankie. Cause I've spent the last two weeks arguing with him about it. He's decided he can't stand me."

"Why didn't you say? We would have just told him to shut it."

"Same reason I guess he didn't tell you either."

There was a bit of a pause before Benny replied, looking at him, he had this almost offended puppy dog look on his face.

"Something must be up with him, he wouldn't act out like this for no reason."

"I sure hope you're not blaming me for anything. Mr."

"No! No I'm not, sweets, you can't seriously think he just decided to hate you after all this time?"

"If you saw the way we were arguing yesterday. You'd have a different opinion."

"Okay, well I know Pope won't have any of it and..." He paused, shifting in his seat to get a better look down the aisle of the plane, "seems like they're having a pretty serious conversation."

"Good for them."

"Why don't you try and get some sleep. I bet you hardly slept last night, and we need you well rested." He gave you a smile and when you sighed, accepting defeat he broke out into a grin.

Settling yourself into a more comfortable position, your brain kept trying to creep back into overthinking mode like you had been for the last day. But you forced it to shut up and enjoyed thinking about nothing.

A warm hand on your arm brought you out of the unexpectedly deep sleep you had fallen into. Blinking your eyes repeatedly trying to get rid of the remnants of sleep.

"Mhmm?"

"It's okay sweets it's only me, cabin crew told me I had to wake you up."

"Oh, right."

You'd somehow tucked yourself in a tight ball in the corner of the seat. Stretching out your muscles, they ached at being stuck still for so long. You winced at the twinge.

"Feeling a bit better?"

"Uhh, ask me in half an hour, I'm all groggy." You laughed lightly, it's always a risk having a nap. 50/50 you're going to wake up feeling like dirt, or completely fine.

The plane landed quickly, and we all filed off.

We got into the two jeeps waiting for us, with Frankie obviously jumping into the other one.

Arriving at a private tucked away villa. Before we could all scatter and chill, Pope explained to us we would be having two days downtime, to travel to the location.

"Wait Pope, that's not what you told us last week." Benny asked.

"I know. I had to keep it under wraps what was really going on, we're going to another location."

You hated this. Being less prepared because plans changed without you being told.

"Look, I know this isn't ideal. But the information we're after changed hands because of our intel. So I couldn't risk it happening again because we all knew."

"Was it just you?" You asked Pope, gaze falling on Frankie.

"Was just what me?"

"Was it just you that knew?"

The others got wind of what you were implying, and both Miller brothers let out a characteristic huff.

"You knew." You pointedly spoke to Frankie.

"What the hell was so bad about this You couldn't share with the rest of us." Benny jumped in.

"I had Fish do some digging and it was almost ridiculous what he found they had about us from our last visit here." Pope explained, a slight wave in his voice made you realise he wasn't just being a dick. We had got ourselves into trouble.

"It- it wasn't just what they had from the mission. They had some people follow a couple of us back." Frankie spoke up, it felt weird hearing his voice for the first time in like twelve hours.

You had stupidly assumed you could all go unnoticed. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you excused yourself from the table.

"I'll be back in a bit guys. Just carry on without me."

You made a beeline for the front door, and rushed out of it. Feeling stupid for not realising that's why Frankie was so adamant you shouldn't come. You'd been followed home. You did have a sneaking suspicion someone had been following you the last few weeks. But you'd initially brushed that off, putting it down to living in a small town and meeting the same people in multiple places. The supermarket, the gym, the park, even at the bank. Clearly you'd let your guard down.

Sitting down at the end of the garden, the house was fairly high up and had a beautiful view over a jungle valley.

"Fuck!" You exclaimed, the gravity of the situation had just hit you like a landslide.

"I'm sorry but I tried to tell you."

"Great job, flinging insults at me and vague accusations." You snapped back at him.

"Pope insisted you had to come, but is it really worth it?"

"Well. I'm here now! Can't really do much about that."

"You weren't going to be. I almost had him convinced to have you back home."

"Thanks, making me feel so much better."

"But then he said you'd be safer with us. That anything could happen while we're away and we wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

"If you're now trying to tell me. That this whole you kicking up a stink about me going, was because you were worried for me... Is absolute horseshit Morales. This is just not even funny anymore. You've spent the last two weeks telling me that you don't think I'm good enough for the team anymore, and that I'm not going to help you guys. Well you know what? You can shove your half-assed non-apology right up your conceited ass. Because I'm done with you. Whatever bond we had over the last eight years, you just totally threw away. So well done. I've had enough."

You could see the panic in his expression. But you just didn't care. He'd totally stomped on your trust for him, and you'd had enough.

"Hey wait." He intercepted you as you walked past where he was standing. A rough hand softly gripping you left elbow.

"What? Don't bother trying to force out an apology. Its not worth it and its not going to help either of us." You couldn't look at him, he had one of those faces you couldn't say no to. Even if you were mad as hell.

He let out a deep sigh and let go of your arm. Stepping back, he said nothing. Which was almost worse than him saying something stupid.

[onewebms]

If you reading this article it means you want to delete your POF account and it directly says that you have found your right one for the rest of your life. It’s great! Using a POF account for dating life is the best option. When you have nobody else or your heartbroken this dating site will help you.

[hellomadamtechyposts]

How Do I Delete My Plenty Of Fish(POF) Account in 2021 | Delete POF Account

How Do I Delete My Plenty Of Fish(POF) Account in 2021 | Delete POF Account

How To Delete POF Account. If you want to delete your POF account in 24 hours but aren’t sure how to go about it, then you’ve arrived at the right place. You can either erase your entire profile or conceal it from visibility, as with most platforms. People won’t be able to find you on the website if you choose the latter, which could be a good option if you’re undecided about ending your time on…

[faytelumos]

Writing Directory and Info!

[Anonymous asks are off, which is not something I do lightly. If it helps, you can always Ask me to turn anon back on, and I'll do so without publishing the request. I am also very DM friendly.]

Welcome to my writeblr!

My name is Fayte, and he or she pronouns are both fine.  My biggest writing projects are fantasy with elements of drama, romance, and horror, interwoven with found family, enemies to friends, a journey to the underworld, coming of age (adult), an unseen and blazing angel, grieving, the bond between siblings, and some monsters.  For Tumblr, I have a selection of hero/villain content available (including two longer-form stories) and a smattering of other short, original fiction.  There’s also some vampires and a handful of prompts to be seen.

My own writing is tagged as "Fayte writes". I use content warnings somewhat generously, and if I ever feel something is especially detailed/descriptive, it will be listed as a trigger warning.  I am ask and tag game friendly, even when I’m really slow answering them.  Asks are under the tag "can I ax you something?"  I’m trying to get back into drawing, so feel free to ask me about that, too.

My profile pic is from this, and my header is from here.

Here's a link to a slew of men's help hotlines, because it's very important to me.

And here's a list of home and self-care tips written with men in mind, for sleeping cozier and feeling better in your home and in your skin.

Wanna know if you're on my taglist?

Directory below the cut. Don't mind all of the notes in brackets; this post is slowly being renovated.

Main Story

Yamez: It's time to go to war, but a big sister can't bring herself to let her little brother fight.

prompt fills: a list of posts where I used my OCs to fill a prompt

misc OC content: a list of character introductions, trivia, portraits, memes, and miscellaneous other things

Story Bites

The Lucid Dead, pt2: When the zombie apocalypse came, it made it impossible for vampires to remain in hiding.

Ulterior, pt2: Sidekick found Villain on the brink of death and secrets them away.

The Puzzle Box: Whosoever opens the Devilish Puzzle Box, bestowed upon The Little Ones by The Mighty Door Opener, Deliverer of Plenty, shall be revealed to be the Chosen One. (three puppies play with their new toy)

Saying Goodbye: Superhero and all of Supervillain's followers say goodbye. [fine]

Illusory: The past a hero has tried to put behind her returns from the dark. [completed series]

Heaven's Trail: Spy teaches Warrior about the stars on a quiet night.

Open Late: Hero is trying to cope with losing lives while Sidekick is trying to get them both to eat.

It's Cold Outside… : After a frigid brush with death, Villain warms up in Hero's care.

Open Wounds: Hero's hurt and vulnerable, and the only person they can think to ask for help is Villain.

Ol' Ben, pt2, pt3: Hero entrusts Villain with their elderly dog.

Fishing Fiasco, pt2, pt3: A late night fishing trip turns into a close call with mer-death.

Rookie: Villain's just minding their own business when some nobody comes crashing in.

Rescue: Villain is a little tired of the way Hero is being treated.

Breaking Up (Is Hard Enough): Hero's still processing their breakup on Valentine's Day, but their friends make sure they're not alone.

Teacher's Lounge: A teen vampire prefers to spend time with the teachers.

Into the Black With a Matchstick, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6: A race of space-faring, alliance-making aliens find humans adrift in space, and are appalled with the things humans are willing to do to themselves to achieve their goals; two scientists struggle to understand how their mission was knocked so off-course, not through space, but through time.

Nobody Loved Her: A researcher finds out that a dangerous experiment has gotten loose.

Future, Rural, Hope: A farmer and his robot are making the best out of a tough situation.

Holed Up: Villain and Sidekick hide out together, away from a mess they're both caught up in.

-

Movie Night: Sidekick and Villain watch a vampire movie together.

Short Form

How it Feels to Break Containment

A Good Girl's Eulogy (cw: real death mentions)

Death Does Not Sneak (cw: real death mention)

Bedtime (cw: real death mention)

Requests

Know Thy Enemy, pt2: A confident and somewhat flirty villain catches a normally bubbly hero who becomes shy every time they interact.

Prompt Fills

"I think I'm going to be sick." / "Oh come on, it's one kiss and it's going to literally save the world!" / "Right, but it's you that I'm kissing."

A Month of Kisses (prompts from here)

“A clean white cape, baby blue underpants, and suddenly everyone thinks I’m the hero. Good PR has never been so easy.”

Whumptober 2022 (prompts and rules here) [broken] [clean]

"Please leave me alone."

"I know we're enemies-" / "Understatement of the century." / "-But I'd like to make an alliance." / "No."

Trick or Treats: pluttskutt's, superbatdisasterblog's, godswar's, ghost-town-story's, fickle-tiction's, dogmomwrites', epiclamer's, thedumbginger's (pt2)

"You are truly unique."

"Are you waiting for someone?"

You are the newest addition to the police's K-9 Unit…

The villain's favorite snack company is on the verge of bankruptcy…

“I’m getting sick of running into you.” / “Same here.”

Accidentally hitting [someone] with a snowball meant for their friend.

"When you look at me like that… I feel like someone worth looking at. But I know that's not true. So I need you to stop." / "Not true? Now, who has you believing nonsense like that?", pt2

"Turn back."

"No one kisses me. Everyone's too afraid of me to kiss me. But you… you just…" / "Oh. Oh, God, was that your first kiss? I'm so sorry—"

Call Me. [one character calling out for/to another]

Knight x Jester

Write a horror story in the format of an internet search history.

You are immortal. You didn't realize your ex from 200 years ago was also immortal until you run into each other while grocery shopping.

Tag Games

Rewrite My Line 4/28/24

Rewrite My Line 5/1/24

WIP Drinking Game

Genre Writing Game

Resources

Prompts

Fayte's writing prompts

Fayte’s character questionnaire

Fayte’s draconic diet research

Fayte's guide to writing inter-species romance

---

trust me [contains flashing lights]

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part VIII

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They left the next day just after the sunrise broke watery through the clouds still lingering overhead, not wanting to overstay their welcome. The walk back to the nearby village was an easy one, the air still cool from the recent rain. The innkeeper hadn’t given their pre-paid room away to other guests despite the fact that they hadn’t used it for anything more than storage, which was a surprise. It was noon by the time they made it back, and they were easily able to secure the room for another evening so early in the day. Jaskier agreed to play at dinner, so they even managed to get a slightly reduced rate.

When they made it up to the room, Jaskier flopped immediately down on the bed, throwing an arm over his face. “Melitele, I could sleep for a week,” he groaned, slightly muffled. “I haven’t been this sore in years.”

“Good for you to finally get some exercise,” Geralt smirked as he checked on their belongings. Everything was where they’d left it, luckily. Geralt let out a breath of relief to see his potions all secure in their bag, the oathstone nestled amongst them.

Jaskier lifted his arm enough to glare at him. “As if walking day in and day out at your side isn’t work enough.”

“You’ve ridden Roach more than I have over the last week,” Geralt pointed out.

Jaskier put his arm down, head tilted to the side to look in Geralt’s direction. His hair spilled messily across the pale sheets. “I suppose I have,” he said, a small furrow appearing in his brow. The easy energy he’d had since they’d woken this morning was gone; now he seemed tense. His eyes lost their focus, his mind clearly going elsewhere.

Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m going to go and see if they have any contracts for me. We won’t be stopping much over the next few weeks.”

At this Jaskier refocused, curious. “Where are we going next? We have all the pieces for the ritual, right?”

Geralt nodded. “The last piece is a location. We’re going back to Posada.”

*

The journey from the Brokilon to the Blue Mountains was one of weeks, rather than days. At this time of year the River Sodden and her many roads were wide open, and they were able to easily pass south under the Mohakams. This far south, spring was already giving way to summer, the warm vestiges of the Nilfgaardian desert winds finding their way to the pockets and hills of Angren and Rivia.

It should have been a pleasant journey. It was one they’d taken many times before, once Nilfgaard was no longer an issue, and they were both well familiar with the area. They kept the river to their south and traveled during the cooler parts of the day, stopping often. The wide river offered a constant source of beauty and convenience, and they were able to wash and fish regularly. Rivia, though not Geralt’s home by any stretch of the imagination, was friendly and offered plenty of places for them to stop and rest at the halfway point.

It should have been downright delightful, but instead it was… tense. Jaskier was quiet and contemplative much of the time, reserved in a way Geralt had rarely known him to be. He barely touched his lute, to the point where Geralt asked after it, only receiving a vague and unconvincing answer about saving the strings from the humidity. He spent the evening hours scribbling away in his journal, or simply lying and staring up at the stars. Sometimes, disconcertingly, he watched Geralt, especially when he seemed to think Geralt wasn’t paying attention. The furrow between his brow had grown to be near constant, and his shoulders had lost their easy swoop. When they spoke, something about Jaskier’s words felt needling, as if he was testing the waters for something. What, Geralt couldn’t even begin to guess.

He wanted to ask about it, but he found himself unable to find the words to do so. Jaskier didn’t seem mad at him—he knew what that looked like well enough, and this wasn’t it. He wanted to ask, but if he did it seemed possible, probably even likely, that Jaskier would admit that he’d figured out that Geralt was hiding something from him. He might even have realized the extent of Geralt’s feelings, or what the ritual really meant. Maybe Silvandrel had said too much, or Geralt had been too expressive, or too generous. Whatever it was, Jaskier was smart, maybe the smartest man Geralt had ever known; it wouldn’t take much for him to put two and two together. As he found Jaskier’s eyes lingering on him more and more frequently, it seemed also more and more likely that Jaskier was just trying to find a way to let him down easily.

Still, it wasn’t unbearable. Traveling with Jaskier in a mood was still better than traveling alone, and as always Geralt relished the chance to spend such uninterrupted time together. It was the best in the evenings, when their camp was already set up and the heat of the day had dispersed, and they had nothing better to do than sit and talk before both of them grew too tired to stay awake.

“What’s it like?” Jaskier asked one evening, lying on his bedroll with his ankle propped up on one raised knee. His lute was in his hands, a rare thing nowadays, but he wasn’t really playing it, just plucking a tune here or there. Testing the waters, it seemed.

Geralt was sitting with his back propped against a ragged tree stump, charred at the top where lightning had once struck. He looked up from where he was examining Roach’s tack, taking too long to reply as he was caught up in the image of Jaskier in the firelight. “What?”

Jaskier swiveled his head to look over at him, looking uncharacteristically pensive. “Being immortal. Or—not mortal. What do you even call a witcher, anyways. Semi-mortal? How long do you usually live? I’ve never gotten a straight answer about it.”

Geralt shrugged, the bridle dangling between his knees as he set his elbows to rest on them. “No one really knows,” he admitted. “Vesemir is… three hundred? We’re not sure, that’s based on references he makes, but Lambert swears sometimes he says things just to throw us off. Witchers don’t really… die of old age.”

“Surely some of you must retire,” Jaskier insisted. “Maybe not lately, but in years past…”

Geralt shook his head. “If they did, I haven’t heard of them. The Path is our life; we meet our end while on it. I know we can live for several human lifetimes, at least. I was older than you are now when we met.”

Jaskier’s mouth twisted in a smile that ached with bitter nostalgia. “I must have looked like a child to you.”

“You were a child,” Geralt laughed.

Jaskier threw something at him, and it bounced harmlessly off his knee. An acorn; the entire area was thick with oak trees. Clearing the ground beneath their bedrolls had been a pain. “Ass,” Jaskier chidded, but he was chuckling too. “I suppose we must all seem rather young to people like you though. Yennefer is the worst, she shouldn’t be allowed to poke fun at my very dignified salt and pepper and then turn around and call me an infant the next moment.”

Young man, Silvandrel had said, with that odd patronization that came only to those who would outlive most people they met. “It’s… not exactly like that,” Geralt allowed, studying Jaskier’s profile painted in orange and gold and dark dusky blue shadows. “Age isn’t the same as experience. There are eighty year olds who have done less in their lives than you had at twenty-three.” Jaskier looked over at him again, with a distinct expression of surprise and awe that Geralt was beginning to recognize as his reaction to Geralt giving him a compliment. He pushed on, turning his own gaze back to the tack in his hands. “I just mean, you don’t seem young, or inexperienced—at least not anymore,” he added, unable to resist throwing Jaskier a quick smirk.

“So Yennefer just calls me a toddler for her own enjoyment,” Jaskier said, squinting at him.

“Well, yes,” Geralt snorted. “But, it’s—you’ll understand. After. It’s not that you all seem young, necessarily, it’s just that you all seem sort of… I don’t know.” He shrugged. It was difficult to articulate the strange sense of fragility and youth that he associated with all humans, no matter their age.

“Temporary?” Jaskier offered, and Geralt grunted an affirmation. Of course Jaskier would be able to identify the feeling without ever experiencing it himself. Jaskier hummed in acknowledgement, and was quiet for a few moments, as if mulling that over. His fingers played over his lute strings, picking out a melancholy tune. After a while, he said, “It sounds a bit lonely. Knowing that almost everyone you meet will die a hundred years before you do. That they’ll never understand the way you view the world.” His eyebrows were knotted together as he contemplated the night sky.

Geralt bit his lip. “It… can be. Even amongst ourselves, we never know who’ll make it back after a year on the Path.”

Jaskier’s foot tapped the empty air where it hung over his knee. “Everyone I know, went to school with, taught with in Oxenfurt. They’ll all be gone before I will, if this works.”

Geralt felt dread unfurl within him, but this wasn’t something that he could deny Jaskier. This was the reality of Geralt’s offer, of what he was asking Jaskier to do. “Yes,” he said. But you’ll have me, he didn’t say, even though it burned at the tip of his tongue. You’ll have my brothers, and Ciri, and even Yennefer, and you’ll have me, always. That’s the point.

Jaskier looked over at him, eyes bright. He looked like he could hear Geralt’s thoughts, like maybe he was thinking the same thing. And then he grinned brightly and said, “I’ll outlast Valdo Marx by a century.”

Geralt couldn’t help the startled bark of laughter that left his throat. Jaskier launched into an excited diatribe against Valdo Marx, something about destroying his legacy after death, and Geralt allowed the babble to wash over him as he went back to fixing Roach’s tack.

After a while the conversation turned to other things, and they spent the rest of the evening in relative quiet. Eventually it was time to bed down for the night, and they banked the fire and crawled into their respective bedrolls. Just as Geralt was on the edge of sleep, Jaskier’s voice slipped through the quiet darkness around them.

“I don’t think I’m going to be.”

Geralt shook himself, turning to squint at Jaskier’s grey form, two aching feet away from him. His entire body itched to roll closer, but he focused instead on Jaskier’s words. “Hmm? You won’t be what?”

Jaskier let out a deep breath into the night air, soft like a secret. “Lonely.”

*

Posada was much the same.

Geralt didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been back. He knew he had been here post-Filavandrel incident, and he suspected Jaskier had as well, but they’d not returned together to the little valley at the edge of the world since the beginning. It had to have been at least ten years since he’d last been here on his own, but the small town was relatively familiar looking still. It had grown a bit since the war, likely as refugees from the south settled in the area, and there were new houses clustered around the outskirts. Still, the bones of it remained unchanged, and the inn was right where they’d left it.

They said nothing as they made their way into the town and headed in that direction. There was, so far as Geralt knew, no other place to find rooms for the night, so they didn’t have much of a choice. Stepping inside the small downstairs tavern should have been just like stepping into any other of the thousands like it that he’d been in, but it wasn’t. Things had been rearranged, of course; the furniture had been shuffled, and now a long table sat on the far side of the room before the fire. The small, cleared out space that Jaskier had stood in to sing was gone, filled with a cluster of tables and chairs. But the lone table in the back corner was, somehow, unmoved.

Geralt turned to Jaskier and found him staring at the spot as if entranced. He brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s forearm, and the bard blinked at him, startled back into the moment. “We should get a room,” Geralt said by way of explanation, and Jaskier nodded.

The man who arranged for their stay was not the one who had done so the first time, or the time after that, but his features were similar, so perhaps this was a son. He was amiable enough, and though Jaskier didn’t make any commitment to playing he offered them a fair rate.

Jaskier did end up playing, after they’d sat and eaten a quiet meal, avoiding the table in the corner in silent agreement. His fingers had worried at the edge of his lute case for a long moment, his eyes unfocused, and then something determined had steeled over his face and he’d stood.

There was a decent crowd this time around, bigger than the last time—the first time—that Jaskier had played here. Geralt remembered the stumbling notes, the ridiculous stories that spilled from the bard’s lips, unrefined. The way that the patrons of the bar had heckled him until he dipped sheepishly off the stage. He could understand why Jaskier might be nervous about playing here; even if no one remembered him, this had obviously been one of Jaskier’s first real performances for an honest audience.

It was like night and day. Jaskier had the entire room eating out of the palm of his hand in moments, as he always did, and his voice was clear and strong. Geralt recognized most of the songs, and almost all of them were about him, though he didn’t think any of the patrons put two and two together. Whereas Jaskier normally poked and prodded at Geralt throughout a performance to let everyone know that his muse was present, tonight he was subdued, letting Geralt watch quietly from a side table without dragging him into the proceedings. He might have thought that Jaskier had forgotten his presence entirely, if not for the occasional glance he caught Jaskier throwing his way, stealing his breath each time.

When he was finally done with his set and bowed his way out to the cheers of the audience, he made his way back to Geralt with his lute tucked under his arm. Jaskier leaned against the table in the space next to him, their knees just barely touching where Geralt’s was thrust out away from the chair. Jaskier looked down at him with almost a sheepish expression, giving him a quirked smile. “So. Three words or less?”

There were so many things he could say to that. So many things he wanted to say. You’re so beautiful, he thought, his eyes catching on the way Jaskier’s fingers wrapped around the neck of the lute, how his eyes shone in the low light of the inn. I loved it. Don’t leave me. I love you.

Instead, he said, a bit hoarsely, “Definitely more accurate.”

Jaskier laughed, some of that tension he’d been carrying for weeks breaking, and Geralt felt sweet relief at the sound. “Well I’d certainly hope so, after nearly thirty years of tailing you. At the very least I know my drowners from my nekkers.”

“At least there’s that,” Geralt chuckled, passing Jaskier a tankard of ale as he sat. “Glad to see you got something out of it.”

Jaskier took a sip of his drink, leaning his cheek on his fist. His eyes were bright when he looked at Geralt, and his expression was one Geralt recognized—he was bothered about something, but trying to keep his demeanor jovial. On anyone else, Geralt expected it would be an immaculate deception, but Geralt knew him. He wasn’t fooled by Jaskier’s court masks.

“Was it worth it?” Jaskier asked, taking another sip of his ale. His eyes left Geralt’s, flitting around the room.

Geralt frowned at him. “Was what worth it?”

Jaskier looked back at him, expression unreadable. “Letting an ambitious and no doubt obnoxious bard leave this tavern with you all those years ago.”

Geralt couldn’t help it; before he could think to stop himself, he had reached out to set his hand over Jaskier’s where it still held the handle of his cup. Jaskier jerked a bit at the touch, a drop of ale sliding down over their layered hands. “Of course it was,” Geralt said vehemently, not bothering to keep the earnestness out of his tone. Jaskier had to know. Even if he already suspected that something was afoot, even if this was some sort of test, Geralt couldn’t risk letting Jaskier think that he regretted a single moment of it. “You’re… Jask, you’re one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

Geralt could hear the sharp intake of breath at that, could see the way Jaskier looked down at their overlapped fingers and blinked rapidly. A small smile stole across his face, though there was a twist to it that seemed almost sad. “I’m glad, Geralt. Truly.”

Geralt wanted to ask, And for you? Was it worth it? But the tavern goers were quickly heading out now that Jaskier’s set was finished, and it was obvious that they would soon be the last ones remaining. And he found himself afraid, as he so often was nowadays, of the possibility that Jaskier would say no, that he should have spent the last thirty years playing in noble houses and courting beautiful women, rather than trekking endlessly after a surly witcher. He knew that it would make sense for Jaskier to have regrets, but he found that he didn’t think he was strong enough to hear them spoken aloud.

So instead he transferred his touch to Jaskier’s wrist, giving it a light tug. “We should head up,” he said, and Jaskier nodded. They pulled apart, and Jaskier finished his drink, and collected his lute. As they both turned to walk up the stairs, Geralt found his eyes catching once again on the little table in the corner. It had sat empty the entire night, as if waiting for something—or someone—to fill its seats once again.

~

Almost done folks! Just two more parts, and tomorrow’s includes the last piece of art for this story! 

tags: @whereismymonsterlover 

[footballfanfictions]

The thrill of the chase - Chapter Three

Pairings: Mason Mount/OC, Ben Chilwell/OC

Authors Note: Apologies again for how long this has taken to write, life has been absolutely manic the last couple of weeks. As always, I hope you enjoy this and feedback is gratefully received.

--------------------------------------------------------------

 He’s pinning me down against the bed, leaning over me. His hands are everywhere, touching and caressing me wherever he can reach and his mouth is on my neck, sucking a patch of skin to mark me.

My hands are in his hair and I’m tugging at it to get him to look at me, so that I can connect our mouths again, but when I pull his face to mine, it isn’t Ben anymore. It’s Rory.

I wake up from the fantasy in a cold sweat, my bed sheet stuck to my slick back and my pyjama top crumpled. I put my head into my hands and sob quietly. I’m not crying because I’ve had some sex dream about a footballer that snogged me. I’m crying because once again, I*’m thinking about my ex boyfriend and it’s becoming obsessive.

I sit up in bed and find myself checking his social media. His facebook has him check in to some fancy hotel in the Cotswolds with his girlfriend. They had met not long after we broke up. In fact, the gap between us breaking up and them supposedly meeting was so slim that it made me wonder if he had been talking to her before we called it quits. I had no proof of that of course, but that didn’t make me feel any better about any of it. I imagined the two of them sharing a bed together in their hotel room, enjoying the comfort of sleeping next to someone. It had been so long that I barely remembered what that felt like. 

I almost texted Bri, she would have been happy to talk even if I woke her, but I wasn’t quite ready to share what I had been thinking about recently. It would be hypocritical of Bri to judge me for thinking about Rory when all she went on about at the moment was making her ex jealous. That made me think of Billy and how much he liked her. I had this awful feeling that if he did ask Bri out that she would use it as an opportunity and not give him a fair chance. Billy did not deserve to be used like that. 

I ran my fingers through my damp hair and collected it into a ponytail, tying it with the band that I had kept around my wrist since letting my hair down before bed. I had this weird habit that whenever I was feeling stressed, needed to really concentrate on something or make a decision, I would always tie my hair up. Rory had always thought it was nuts. I had noticed from their instagram pictures that his girlfriend never really wore her hair up. I always called her that, his girlfriend because giving her a name would make her feel real, and maybe there was a part of me that didn’t want her to be real and still clung onto the idea that we were just on a break, exploring our careers and travelling only to come back together again, get married and have three kids and a dog. 

My parents had tried really hard to hide their devastation when I told them about the break up, telling me that there were plenty more fish in the sea and that the timing just wasn’t right for me to meet someone. They had then of course both reminisced about their university partners which had led to a row when my dad spoke about his university girlfriend Mandy a little bit too fondly. 

I stared down at my phone, deciding that I needed a distraction, and the best distraction was work. I logged out of my own instagram account and clicked on the first saved profile in my list. It was the player that I had been posting for the other day before Billy had his accident. I checked his recent posts and likes and nothing seemed to be out of place, except perhaps for the fact that it was around 3am and he was getting regular messages, the name Sam appearing on my screen once again.  By this point in my maddened, ex-stalking state I will admit that I was curious. I clicked the icon that took me to his inbox and began to read. 

They were conversing about his impending separation from his wife and about how they couldn’t wait to be together. I felt like throwing up in my mouth that one of the players that I worked with would behave like that, although I hadn’t really met this player in particular. His name was Jorginho and he was known as somewhat of a joker.  I kept out of his way for that very reason, not being a big fan of practical jokes and pranks.

I was about to close his inbox when another message came in.

What do we do about Ben?

I blinked and re-read the message several times. Ben? 

What on earth could Ben have to do with Jorginho cheating on his wife and leaving her for this woman, I wondered.

I clicked on her profile then and scrolled back through her pictures. She was a stunning brunette and her posts were mainly bikini pictures with the odd paid promotion thrown in here and there. I scrolled until a picture stopped me dead in my tracks. It was a picture of her with Ben, both smiling into the camera, their arms around each other and a caption that read ‘my everything’.

There were a few more pictures of them together and it was very evident that she had once been Ben’s girlfriend. At first I felt a bit numb, then I felt a pang of jealousy, and then I felt angry that she was conducting an affair with one of his team mates right under his nose and probably planning on lying to him about it.

I didn’t know what to do with this information.

He never has to know. I’m spending one more season here then my contract expires and we can go anywhere. 

I read his response, that confirmed what I feared. They were going to sneak around and hide this from Ben, probably until the divorce was finalised and then they would disappear off to another country and Ben would be left to read about it in the press. Unless i did something about it. 

 --------------------------------------------------------------

I had a meeting with Marina this morning. She commented that I seemed really distracted and I commented that I needed content other than Mason Mount to post onto social media. Marina had laughed and said that he was increasing our social media engagement and that we had new fans and shirt sales as a result of his appeal. I muttered something rude under my breath about what I thought about his appeal.

Marina and I had a really good working relationship and could banter with each other whilst still acting professionally and having a great deal of respect.

We had decided that I could capture my own content for our social media whenever I liked and would be provided with equipment such as a camera to enable me to. I had agreed to this to get me out of just posting Mason, but it did mean extra work for me, doubling up on the job of the club photographer and that I would need to spend more time outside on the pitches with the players, something I wasn’t sure I particularly fancied doing.

I hadn’t spoken to Ben since he kissed me, and now I felt even worse about it because I had been thinking about Rory, and had discovered that his ex and his team mate were sleeping together.

It was only the first of September, but I had started thinking about content for Halloween and maybe even thanks giving as we now had an American player at the club. 

I was just messing around with different shades of orange in photoshop when there was a knock on my office door. 

I got up from my desk slowly, silently praying that it wouldn’t be Ben because I couldn’t face him without blurting out the secret. 

Instead I had the displeasure of opening the door to find Mason Mount stood there.

“What do you want?” I sighed. 

“God you are sunshine and rainbows this morning. You look like you haven’t slept.” he said grinning. He was trying to make me laugh by jokingly insulting me and then cupped my face with his hands and started to stroke beneath my eyes with his thumbs. I was about to ask him what the bloody hell he was doing when he said “just smoothing out the wrinkles”. 

I shook him off and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Sorry.” he mumbled. 

I let him in then rather than the two of us just standing in the door way. He walked over to my desk and perched on the end exactly like Ben had done before he had kissed me. Except surely Mason wasn’t going to do that.

“What can I help you with?” I asked, trying my best to be polite to him. He had tried after all to make me laugh. It wasn’t his fault that I was so worried about everyone and everything else going on around here.

“I have a bit of a problem. My girlfriend is in this girl band and they are doing a music video next week that she wants me to be in so that they can get more views. The thing is, I’m not sure it really fits with my brand.” he explained, looking down at his shoes and the carpet, his eyes darting back up to me every few seconds while I considered a response. 

“Well footballers have been in music videos before without it affecting any of their sponsorship or brand deals.” I responded, thinking about the music video Fernando Torres had been in for a spanish band years ago. 

“Maybe it’s not my image i’m necessarily worried about. I feel a bit used but don’t know how to tell her.” as he spoke he looked vulnerable for the first time and the cheekiness was all gone. 

“So if I’m getting this right, they’re a band kind of breaking through and you being in the video would get them a lot of views and might get them really famous. Don’t you want your girlfriend to be successful?” as I asked him, he looked thoughtful, and then sad.

“I don’t really want to be with someone that now only wants me because I’m famous, and wants to leech fame from me.” he shrugged. 

I remembered the rant I had at him about how privileged he was for being rich and famous at such a young age, but I now started to consider that it must come with some drawbacks like not knowing if the people closest to you actually like you for who you are or if they want to use you for fame and fortune. 

“Well if you like, if they ask us for permission I will say no and that i need you for one of our campaigns whenever it is scheduled for and that it’s non negotiable because the club pays your wages.” He grinned and hopped off the edge of the desk. 

He made to step towards me but I held out my hand to stop him.

“No need to thank me.” 

He nodded and proceeded to head towards my office door. I stopped him just before he grabbed the handle by saying “Can I give you some advice? I don’ think that you should be with someone like that either.”

Without turning back to me, he sighed and responded “I don’t think that you should be with someone like Ben Chilwell”.

Before I could say anything else in response he opened the door and left

 ------------------------------------------------------

By lunchtime my brain was completely scrambled. I had busied myself with my idea for a thanksgiving tribute to Christian Pulisic the American player and planned special catering for the day to include a full turkey dinner in the canteen for him. That would of course give me the perfect opportunity for a post about how we are so thankful for him and want to make him feel at home. Marina would love it. 

I thought about hiding in my office until everyone returned to their jobs or their training and then going to the canteen, but I knew if I did that there would surely be no food left.

I was just loading my tray up with small items from the tapas menu when someone tapped me on the shoulder. Looking over it, I saw that it was Billy. His smile was 50-watt and could light up any room.

“Hey Billy, are you okay?” I asked him.

“Oh yes.” he nodded. “I’ve got a plan to ask ye friend out. Wanted to run it by you if you’re free?” 

I looked around and most of the tables were free so I agreed and said we could sit together and talk about it over lunch and that maybe Bri would join us if there wasn’t some kit emergency keeping her away. He smiled at that.

We sat down at a table by the window, a nice amount of sunshine came through it which warmed my back and the back of my neck nicely.

Billy went off immediately into explaining his plan to ask Bri out. He was going to have one of the lads accidentally rip his training shirt during the morning session so that he would have an excuse to go and see her.

“Hang on - tell me what day you’re planning this and I can distract her dad for a bit.” I interjected.

“Already got that covered sweetheart. He’s on a conference all of next week!” he grinned.

I looked puzzled and he laughed at the expression I was pulling. What kind of conference would a kit man need to go to? Were they brining out a new range or under armor or something like that?

“I know it sounds mad.” 

“It doesn’t just sound mad, it sounds like a good opportunity, go on.”I encouraged him.

He was going to fill one of the old unused offices with flowers and somehow convince Bri that she needed to follow him there so that he could ask her. It was so sweet and completely something that Bri would go for so I told him that his plan sounded brilliant and that I would help him in any way possible.

“I’m going to get her thinking about you in preparation you know.” I said, showing Billy a freshly edited picture of him on my phone screen that I was planning on posting that afternoon when I got back to my desk. “This beauty is going on all our social media pages. By the way, why did you never tell me that you used to model?”

He blushed bright scarlet when I brought up his modelling career and then we both descended into fits of laughter over it.

“You’re a really good friend, you know” he smiled. “If I can call you that.”

“Of course I’m your friend Billy.” I agreed.

“Well seeing as we are now best pals, do ye want to tell me what’s on your mind?” he asked.

I gulped, my mouth and throat suddenly feeling dry and uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell him what I had learnt about Jorginho, but maybe I could at least be honest about Rory.

“I had a really bad break up about a year ago and it’s still bothering me. Just you know, seeing other people happy and wondering what could have been.” I shrugged, trying to seem not fussed. I was bothered though and talking about it made the pain in my chest when I thought about him that little bit worse. I felt tears threatening to form.

Billy put his hand over mine and squeezed it.

“If you’re still following him or still friends on facebook, you need to delete him so that you can move on. Do you want me to do it for you?” he offered, holding his hand out to me for my phone.

Billy was right, I needed to let go of the part of me that still missed Rory, the part that felt jealous every time I saw what he was up to, and I could never get over that while it was accessible to me. 

I gave Billy my phone and told him Rory’s social media names even though he was the top person in all of my search history.

“Oh Katie, I’m sorry. It can’t have been nice to see him announce his engagement on here.” he said sympathetically.

It took a second for my brain and heart to catch up with each other and I felt sick to my stomach as I ask him to repeat himself.

I hadn’t heard him wrong and he showed me the post. I must have missed it by being so preoccupied with Ben’s situation. He had taken her to that fancy hotel in the Cotswolds to propose to her. Their grinning faces staring back at me from the picture didn’t feel like people I knew anymore.

“That’s that then. The end of that chapter of my life, officially.” I scraped my hair back and tied it up quickly.

“He’s gone from your virtual life too now.” Billy said, passing the phone back to me. 

“Thank you.” I said quietly. 

It’s hard to describe how you feel the second your hope for something shatters. The reality was that Rory was never going to realise that he had made a mistake and come back to me, because the reality was that we weren’t the same people we had been when we had first met at university and we had genuinely drifted apart. I could point the finger and blame him for possibly cheating, sure, but what good would that do me? Truth is we weren’t meant to be together and he hadn’t made a mistake. He had done the right thing to lead him to the person that he was supposed to be with. I just wished that I didn’t feel this way. I was sure that if I had moved on and met someone else my reaction would have been different. I might even have congratulated him. 

That evening I went home and cracked open a bottle of wine, and once I reached the bottom of it I cried myself to sleep.

[chadillacboseman]

Blowing Off Steam Part IV

Pairing: Axe Woves x GN!Reader

A/N: This is just pure fluff, lol. Mentions of violence and injury.

Word Count: 1.6K

--

Waking up was more painful than it had been in a long time. Your head throbbed with every movement, and the area where the blaster struck you jolted like a lightning strike every time you touched it. You rose, slowly, from your bed and made your way to the bathroom to inspect the damage. A decent bruise was forming, and the cut looked angry, red, and inflamed. You sighed and washed it, gently, with warm water and a fresh towel before changing your clothes and exiting the bathroom.

Light was filtering in through the windows of your living quarters, letting you know that the sun had risen in its entirety. A cup of Spiran caf in your hands helped to ease the pain, if only a little. Your cupboards were fairly bare, but you managed to cobble together an acceptable breakfast to tide you over until you made a trip to the market.

The streets of Trask were busy, brimming with discussions of the Imperial presence from the night before. You kept a low profile as you collected your needs from the market, but the mark on your face attracted more attention than you’d like.

Plenty of prying eyes watched you as you shopped, but it wasn’t until you arrived at a booth stocked with fresh fish that someone spoke to you. It was the mon calamari from the night before, the one who was struck in the head before you. He was sporting a similar wound, and gave you a knowing look as you browsed.

When you presented your credits, he waved your hand away and passed you the fish, “On the house, bock avreet.” You mustered a smile and thanked him before departing.

You finished your shopping and headed home to restock your cupboards. The pain in your head was almost unbearable by the time you finished, and you searched your fresher cabinet for a painkiller to ease it.

You remembered your promise to Axe that you would meet him at the inn and sighed. You felt as though your head was going to explode, but you didn’t exactly shy away from the thought of a cold glass of something full of alcohol. You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of sleep on your eyelids, and decided to have a nap before the night began.

--

The cool night air hit you like a freighter and helped to lessen the pain in your head. The streets were bustling with people returning from the docks, many of them still chattering about the events of the previous night.

The smell of roasting seafood wafted on the salty air from the street market, and the gentle notes of a seven-string hallikset could be heard among the voices of the vendors and shoppers. It was good to know that the Imp presence hadn’t put a dent in the nightlife on Trask; if anything, it seemed that the populace was celebrating a little harder than usual.

The inn was surprisingly quiet compared to the rest of the city; only a few of the regular patrons were seated inside. The human bartender was nowhere to be found, but the mon calamari street vendor spotted you and raised his glass in a silent gesture.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Axe’s low voice vibrated near your ear and you jumped out of surprise.

You turned to find the Mandalorian in the doorway, a soft smile planted on his lips. Before you could stop yourself, you lunged forward and wrapped your arms around him. Axe stumbled back in surprise, but quickly returned the gesture, his chin resting on the top of your head. His armor was cold and hard against your chest, but it didn’t matter.

You pulled away and searched for the words to thank him, but they didn’t come to you. All you could do was return his smile. He led you to a small table in the far corner of the inn and signaled the bartender for a drink.

“I believe you might have dropped this the other night,” Axe produced your blaster from under the table and carefully slid it to you.

“Where did you find it?” you slipped it into your bag, taking comfort in its familiar weight.

“Trooper had it on him.” Axe said with a shrug, “Knew it wasn’t his, and I convinced him to tell me where he got it.”

You wondered for a moment what Axe’s idea of convincing was, but decided it was better not to ask. For several minutes the two of you sat in silence and enjoyed your drinks. You weren’t sure what to say- the man had just saved your life the previous night as if it was just another average event for him.

Evidently noticing your struggle for words, Axe spoke first, “How’s your head?”

You turned your face so he could see the mark and he grimaced at the sight. “Does it hurt much?”

You shrugged and finished your drink in one swallow, “Less now.”

Axe grinned and you felt your heart jump. He drained his glass as well and set it on the table before speaking again, “I’m sorry they hurt you because of me.”

His words surprised you, as did his suddenly solemn expression. “Axe I don’t blame you-” he waved his hand dismissively, “I know you don’t. But I do.” You stared at him, trying to read his expression- where was this going?

Axe reached a hand across the table and placed it on top of yours; you felt your face grow warm at his touch. He sighed and his eyes met yours, “Look, I’m not good at this-” he gestured vaguely with his free hand, “...stuff. I’m a Mandalorian. We’re warriors. I’ve been in this fight to retake our planet since I could walk.” He paused and you cocked your head, waiting for him to continue.

“That day when we walked through the city together,” his dark eyes flicked to yours, “You told me you weren’t afraid of me.” You nodded, remembering the fear on the faces of the others on the street- but you had felt safe in that moment with his arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“The night I asked you to stay with me, I didn’t think you would. In fact, I thought you’d stop coming to the bar entirely after the first time we met.”

You blushed at the memory and mustered a smile, "Why did you think that?"

Axe grinned, "Come on- I fucked you in an alleyway."

You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment and sighed, "Yeah. That did happen."

As the two of you chuckled over the memory, there was a commotion at the door. The night's entertainment had arrived in the form of a four-piece Bith band with instruments in tow.

As the band set up, you ordered another drink and turned your attention back to Axe. "So, big, strong, Mandalorian-" he rolled his eyes, "Why all the sentimentality?"

You might have imagined it, but you could have sworn his face reddened at your words. "It's just...rare that I meet someone like you." His voice trailed off as he finished speaking.

You leaned forward to press him further, when you were interrupted by the band breaking into a slow, fanfar-laden number.

Axe's head snapped up and his face broke into a wide grin.

"What?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Dance with me." He rose from the table and held out a hand.

"You've lost your mind, Woves." You snorted.

"Come on," he was still smiling, his hand extended.

You sighed and rose to your feet, taking his hand as he led you to the empty dance floor. "I'm going to kill you." You whispered.

"I'm okay with that," Axe took your hand and wrapped his other around your waist.

You tried to hide your smile as Axe moved with you on the dance floor. You were amazed at how well he danced, despite the heavy, beskar armor.

You knew there were other patrons, but you didn't care- you laughed as he spun you, and clung to him when he pulled you close.

The whole inn seemed to disappear as you danced- lost in the background noise as Axe held you against his chest.

As the music wound down, Axe pulled you in close against him. You felt your heart flutter as his chin came to rest on the crown of your head.

For a moment, the two of you remained there on the dance floor, enraptured with each other, before Axe pulled away and led you back to the table.

You felt breathless as you sat down, still riding the high of the dance floor.

"You're lucky, Woves" you breathed as you sank into your chair.

"It was worth it," Axe grinned, as he moved to drain his drink. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, until Axe spoke up again, "Look, I know this has been weird." He paused as the bartender arrived to set another glass in front of him. "But give me a chance to start it all over."

You stared at him for a moment before replying, "Start it over?"

"Let me take you out," His eyes locked with yours as he spoke, "We'll be leaving Trask soon-"

Your heart sank at that. You had almost forgotten entirely about his words to you the first night you met.

"Let me take you somewhere that isn't a bar-" he gestured vaguely at the area around himself, "Will you let me do that?"

You stared at him, the pang of sadness building slowly in your gut. You knew how badly it would hurt when he finally left the planet, but maker did you want to spend every last moment with him.

Axe waited patiently, his eyes never leaving your face as you debated with yourself. You sighed and met his eyes with your own, and his face lit up when you smiled.

"Deal."

----

Tag list: @djxrxn @lestrange2703 @ortizshinkaroff​ @calamity-queen​

Translations:

Bock avreet is Mon Calamarian for "brave comrade"

[space-helen]

‘Fishslice’

Words: 1204

Pairing: Jack Thompson x Reader

A/N: Just a lil something I thought up

______________________

“Agent Y/L/N, you’re going to New York.” Chief Sousa announced placing flight tickets and a file on your desk.

“So it’s all confirmed?”

“Yep you’re replacing Peg in New York so she can transfer out here.”

“And everyone’s cool with that?”

“Yep. You’re not having second thoughts are you? I’m sure we could send someone else if you don’t want too-”

“No, no second thoughts. I just want to make sure you’re ok with losing me from the team.”

“As much as I’d love for you to stay, and we need all the help we can get out here. Jack needs a good Agent to replace Peggy”

“Y/N just go.” Peggy interrupted perching herself on the edge of your desk.

“Alright I’ll go. Geez it’s like you guys can’t get rid of me fast enough.” you joked standing up and starting to pack some stuff up. Daniel and Peggy shared a look “What? I can’t have the rest of the day off to pack up and leave?”

Daniel nodded “I suppose so.” 

You smiled and pushed your stack of paperwork towards him and signed the top sheet “Well that’s all of my paperwork signed off.” you hesitated behind your desk before hugging Peggy then Daniel “Thank you both”

“We’ll see each other soon.” Peggy reassured “Call us as soon as you’ve settled in.”

Daniel agreed “Please do call us. If you pop by the New York SSR as soon as you get there they’ll sort out your accommodation. Everything you need to know is in the file.” 

The girls at the ‘telephone’ company didn’t expect you to be there at all, shocked when you finally showed them your badge for admittance. Surely they should have been told about your arrival? But maybe they just did things differently here.

Moving through the corridors you soon saw exactly the man you were looking for. “Chief Thompson!” you called and the man soon turned towards you.

“Agent Y/L/N?” the man was clearly puzzled as the two of you walked towards each other.

“Yep it’s me. In the flesh.”

“Sousa sent you?” he laughed pushing a hand through his hair

“Problem with that?” you joked “I uh. I just expected him to send one of the boys. I didn’t think he’d want to part with you. Not that I’m not happy at all, I’m amazed since you’re so good.”

“Sousa thought it’d be unfair to take a good Agent and give you one back in return.”

“Ever thoughtful.” he began to walk down the corridor towards the bullpen and his office, upon entering you followed him inside, put your luggage down and took a seat as he did his side. “You’ll be having Carter’s old desk.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“I take it you don’t know New York that well?”

“I’ve been a couple of times but yeah you’re right.”

“There isn’t too much going on right now case wise so I’ll show you around this afternoon”

“You really don’t have to, I can probably find my own way around.”

“It’s the least I can do. Go get yourself a coffee and settle into your desk.” As you stood up Jack stopped you again “Is that all your luggage?”

“Everything I’ve brought with me for now. Peggy said she’d send the rest over once I’m settled.”

He nodded “I’ll get it taken to your accommodation.”

Time flew by before Jack was at your desk ready to leave for your tour of New York. You’d spent the morning trying to get to know all of the other Agents. “Ready?”

You pulled your thick woolen coat over your body and buttoned it up in the front, knowing the harsh New York Winter air would be waiting to greet you outside. “Ready.”

The man nodded and led the way, the two of you walking side by side out of the SSR.

“I need to say it again but thank you for watching over me after I was shot.”

“It’s the least I could do, Peggy and Daniel were occupied and the trust circle was slim for a while within the LA branch you know that.”

“I know. But you didn’t need to do it so thank you.” he pointed out some structures and gave you the history behind them, as well as any details to do with prior crimes. “I never did ask, what were you doing while everyone else was on the Frost case?”

“I was running all the other major smaller cases. It was fun I guess but I would have liked to be on something to the same magnitude as the Frost case.”

He nodded before pointing out another building and filling you in. “Well I have some bad news and good news, which do you want first?”

“Let’s go with the good. You laughed.

“New York gets plenty of high profile cases and from seeing your previous work you’ll definitely be my right hand on them. If not leading them.” he waited for your reaction briefly before carrying on. “The bad news though is some dimwit in the office forgot to book your accommodation and our New York safe house is full right now. So until you find a place and settle into New York you can stay with me.”

“I’d hate to be a burden I’m sure I can find somewhere-”

“At this time of day? Last minute in New York? Don’t be silly you’d be paying an arm and a leg. I really don’t mind, I have the room.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” the two of you had begun to loop back towards the SSR now, the cold had gotten to the both of you. “Across the street there is a shop I’m sure is harbouring a criminal who’s been let out recently. His nickname on the streets is Joey ‘fishslice’. It’s ridiculous.”

“What did he go to prison for?”

“Some threatening behaviour, his crew raided a couple of shops and then sold on stolen jewellery. Nothing big but it could escalate to be our problem instead of the police’s. I’ve just been keeping an eye on it.”

“So you want to know if he’s in there huh?”

“It’d be handy.”

“Pass me your scarf.” you said burying your hand in your pocket to fish out some sunglasses and a hair scarf. The man quickly took off his scarf and passed it to you and you wrapped it around your neck quickly before tying your hair up and popping the sunglasses on. “Wait around the block.”

You split off from the man and walked into the shop, Jack watched in disbelief as he moved around the corner and waited. 

You took Jack by surprise when you eventually returned. “We have a meeting with Mr Fishslice tomorrow at 3.” you said in an accent other than your own before cracking and laughing.

“How- Y/N I didn’t want a meeting with him.”

“Calm down Chief we don’t actually have to go. But you were right he’s hiding out there, saw him with my own two eyes.” you took Jacks scarf off and handed it back to him before taking off the sunglasses and undoing your hair. 

“You’re exactly like Peggy.”

Tag List: (open)

Jack Thompson: @vintagelavenderskies @britishcorporal @ravennaofasgard @spunky-89 @marinettepotterandplagg @fandomsandxfiles-writes @gavemesomuchtoremember @remmyswritings @marvel-jackt-loki-buck @hunters-rose @coffeeandcrimeshows @fandomsandxfiles @itsmissdahliahayward​ 

All Marvel: @marvelsangels

[majesticnerdynerd]

Author Interview Tag

I was tagged by @iris-best-taken-in-small-doses, thank you for tagging me! <3

Name: Vee

Fandoms: Primarily Sherlock BBC, but also RDJ Holmes, Harry Potter, and the Fallout games universe, plus Supernatural and bits of Doctor Who which I’ve seen and liked

Where you post: Ao3, I love this site

Most popular multi-chapter fic: So far it’s my first ever published fic from earlier of this godforsaken year, Harry Potter and the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, which has just a few days ago surpassed 2k hits. It’s a crossover between HP/SH, and I must admit I do neglect it a little because I have a second fic I publish, which brings us to....

Favourite story you’ve written till date: Definitely Reichenbach Falls. I speed-wrote the first 8-and-a-bit episodes over the course of 2 months while also studying for transfer exams, and I keep my pace up and it is my main focus at the moment. It’s also the most ambitious crossover I’m attempting, because it is the Holy Trinity of SuperWhoLock, and a Gravity Falls AU, so it offers a lot of lore I am proud that I came up with. It has its own challenges I like to tackle, especially when it comes to intertwining characters from numerous TV shows to coherently worked together, plus their character arcs and character developments that are to come. I hide easter eggs here and there and put some of my soul into it, so it is very dear to me. I think I am doing the job adequately so far, but time will tell. :) I do love HPatAoSH, because it is my first fic ever and I am still excited about it, but I put it on the backburner and procrastinate on the chapters I post usually

Fic you were nervous to post: Both my big series, really. One never knows what reception they’re going to get, and we all hope to get the characters to interact just right. The HP crossover because it has two timelines that later intertwine in 1997 when the Golden Trio asks the Baker Street Dumbass Detective Duo for help and I need to make certain corrections in some earlier chapters. Reichenbach Falls because it is SuperWhoLock and as I said, it’s huge, 3 parts in 1 work, so 300 chapters give or take in total, and I hope to do my best with everyone’s characterisation.

How you choose your titles: Depends. HP/SH was a bit self-explanatory, and I think it fits well into the AU and foretells what’s up in a sense that you know who is involved and if you know both fandoms, you get a whiff of a couple shenanigans. Reichenbach Falls was a bit difficult to name and I stalled on it, but then on one hot summer day that I spent cowering inside the house like the pale gremlin I am, I thought hm,,,,, the show is called Gravity Falls, but I can’t use that of course. And then I remembered that Reichenbach is a thing, the waterfall is in canon as well and BAM - Reichenbach Falls. It’s all more about a sudden epiphany than hard thinking, it comes by itself. 

Do you outline: Yes, but do I stick to it? Nah. I do write steps for each episode for RF, but those serve only as a mild reminder of what the end goal is, and I wing the rest to my standard. It works well so far. With HP/SH, I just wing it and rely on the past chapters because as I mentioned, I’m a sorrowful procrastinator on this one for now. My outlines are general which gives me space to improvise and improve on the run, which I like, it doesn’t restrict me in any self-induced way, so I prevent mental blocks nicely. 

Complete: Living Musical, which is a one-shot I wrote for Steph from inevitably-johnlocked. Fluffy, too! And it needs revision because I wrote it in 4 hours until it was 1am and I have no recollection of that evening anymore. And... god, I need to fix the typos. *facepalms*

In Progress: HP/SH crossover and Reichenbach Falls I linked above already. They’re plenty to take care of :D

Coming soon/not yet started: this is what I am excited about! I have a new AU in mind, either some postapocalyptic wasteland AU, but most probably also an AU of the game Fallout: New Vegas at the same time (it’s basically the same concept). I have the basic plot in mind and down, and ohhhhh guysssss I really like it. I’d also like to make it an interactive fic where the readers may choose which factions John and Sherlock could join, which would affect the ending of the fic, much like what happens in the game, but I’m not decided on this. But there is great potential, I think, though I need to make a big mindmap and brainstorm all that would need to be involved, so there’s lots of lore to consider (which I already got started on). It would be another huge fic, and I plan to write at least half of all that could be published before sending it to ao3, possibly. We will see, but you can see how my mind is overworking itself already... >:) it looks quite badass (but that’s just me so far), and its working name is Fallout: New London. Actually, there’s a prologue and first two chapters that are constant (meaning that it is firmly locked to the AU and can’t be influenced by choices) and in progress already and semi-drafted because I am a psycho like that, but no details yet! I have no self-control.. but yeah, this is the biggest one I’m excited about out of all the fics my mind invents.

Do you accept prompts: ehhhh, maybehaps? I don’t know. Probably not at the moment, maybe in a year or so. I like the idea of doing Christmas prompts, so maybe in 300 days approximately, who knows?

Upcoming story you are most excited to write: Currently, it stays on Reichenbach Falls and its 2 later seasons, because that’s when things get real >:)) also Fallout: New London. so much johnlock in sight.

Upcoming story you are most excited about: Due to my lack of time at the present moment, I nowadays mostly revisit some comfort fics if I feel like shit, but I do keep my eye out on @iris-best-taken-in-small-doses‘ The Corvus That Calls at Night. I am subscribed to the ao3 profile so once it an email popped up and I saw ‘medieval’ and all the other priceless tags (pls check them out I love them) I went oo >:D I am merely waiting for my holiday spirit to kick in fully so I can put my feet up and catch up to my reading; there’s also @simplyclockwork‘s Hired Gun I keep my eyes on, and I patiently wait for @jbaillier‘s Messages From Deep Waters -- I remember that back in August(?) she posted a post about doing research on sea fish and how to gut them? Not sure on the English word or if I’m correct at all right now, but hmmm Scotland staged AU, I like that. Also her You Go To My Head stories that are coming, I love them dearly, and I am so excited there’s going to be more Medical Husbands content :’) 

[kinsites737-blog]

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[qobiin]

the trust of the heart

pairing: erasermic (aizawa x yamada)

genre: fluff, light angst | f2l au, high school au, canon-compliant 

warnings: implied child abuse, emotional constipation

word count: 1759

summary: Hizashi is loud, obnoxious, and annoying at the best of times, but Shouta still likes him anyway.

Shouta makes sure to keep his head down as he enters the classroom.

He knows that none of his classmates would call out to him considering the fact that many of them often forget they are classmates in the first place, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be cautious. He remembers primary and middle school much too often to forget how cruel children can be. Not to mention that his shoulders are still smarting from last night as well when he returned home after curfew. Today he wants to keep to himself.

His lips spread into a thin line when he catches sight of the occupied seat beside his own, sighing deeply as he prepares himself for another loud and irritating day. No doubt his seatmate will never let him have the peace and quiet he has been hoping for since they first met the year before.

"Aizawa-kun!" Hizashi screeches, grinning at the approaching teenager.

Shouta doesn't bother waving or replying, hiding back a wince as he feels everyone's eyes momentarily stray towards them before looking away again. He sits down, pulling his notebook and pencils out of his backpack before rolling his shoulders back, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain that gives him, and turning to give Hizashi his attention.

"What," is his sparse reply.

Hizashi continues to smile at him, used to Shouta's less than bubbly personality after spending a year in his company. "Kayama-senpai wants to get ice cream after school. Shirakumo-kun said he'll buy yours if you come with."

Shouta doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a close thing. "No."

"Please?" Hizashi pouts at him.

"No," Shouta repeats.

Hizashi leans towards him, always moving slowly enough to loudly broadcast his every move to Shouta. Honestly, Shouta is certain that Hizashi isn't capable of doing anything quietly. "What if I buy your ice cream for you instead?"

"Why would that change my answer?"

"Because that's what a boyfriend is meant to do and you can't refuse if it's a date," Hizashi jeers, waggling his eyebrows at Shouta when his expression remains unchanging.

"We aren't dating," Shouta replies, finally unable to stop his eyes from rolling.

A minute into the conversation, that's a new record for him when it comes to Hizashi and his ridiculousness. Before that, Shouta had been at fifty-five seconds. Now it's sixty seconds exactly. How much he wishes that was more of an accomplishment that the average person would appreciate.

Hizashi frowns then, still edging forward. "We went on a date last week."

Shouta blinks at him, surprised despite himself. "No, we didn't."

"We went to the aquarium, I paid for our tickets and food. You let me hold your hand and everything!" Hizashi rushes to say, his thin brows pinching together in distress.

"You insisted on paying," Shouta points out, the corners of his mouth dragging downwards as he is unable to stop himself from frowning. "And we were in the deep sea exhibit, you said you didn't want to lose me in the dark."

Hizashi gapes at him before deflating. "Man, just when I thought my luck was finally looking up."

Shouta studies him, taking in the defeated line of Hizashi's shoulders. His blonde hair sticking up in a tuft from the back of his head seems to wilt under Shouta's very gaze as Hizashi leans away from him. He turns until his entire body is no longer facing him and Shouta swallows back the sour taste in his mouth, not understanding why he is beginning to feel upset now that Hizashi has withdrawn from their conversation.

He should be ecstatic about this. Everyone knows how much Hizashi bothers him with his incessant talking and shouting, loud and unable to be ignored no matter how well Shouta tries to anyway. Hizashi leaving him alone is what Shouta has been trying in vain to achieve ever since they met... Right?

That question plagues him as class begins. Hizashi doesn't glance his way for the rest of their homeroom period, scribbling down notes in his messy scrawl and staring up at the chalkboard with a blank look on his face.

By the time English rolls around, Shouta has not torn his eyes away from Hizashi's side profile. He tracks the blonde boy's every move, a niggling thought in the back of his head that won't leave him alone as he continues to study Hizashi.

He just doesn't understand why he feels so dejected while looking at the boy who has pestered him into being friends for the past year. It is true that Hizashi got on plenty of Shouta's nerves, but they still became friends despite that. Regardless of how often Shouta has wished for Hizashi to simply let him be, he would not have allowed Hizashi to be around him so much if he didn't consider them as friends at the very least.

Shouta is capable of being friends with someone who irritates him on a daily basis. He is capable of being friends with Hizashi because despite all the negative emotions Shouta may harbor for him, he has never once felt the need to direct hostility in Hizashi's direction as he has his other classmates.

Hizashi is loud, obnoxious, and annoying at the best of times, but Shouta still likes him anyway. Shouta likes Hizashi despite all his misgivings because Hizashi has stuck by his side through Shouta's bouts of silence, quiet anger, and aversion to physical contact. Through the days where he will show up to class with dark bruises that Hizashi is well aware he did not receive in training but won't prod him insistently for answers about them either. Through Shouta's gruff answers and dazed expressions on those days where he cannot be bothered to pay attention to his surroundings and the conversations people try to hold with him.

Shouta knows that he is not an easy person to get along with at all. In fact, he is proud of being someone who is difficult to become friends with. It means that anyone who does manage to succeed despite all of Shouta's less than likable qualities is a genuine friend that Shouta won't have to worry about looking over his shoulder so much.

Even with how annoying Shouta believes him to be, Hizashi is still his friend and Shouta doesn't want him to think he cares so little for him. Because he does, care for him, that is. A lot if you were to force that out of him through gruesome torture but never of his own free will, of course.

Ah, that's the problem then, isn't it? Shouta has come to like Hizashi a bit too much.

Shouta sighs to himself as he finally comes to terms with his stupid emotions and wrenches his gaze away from Hizashi's less than happy expression beside him. Well, there's nothing for it. Shouta will have to put his pride aside and reassure his friend that his feels are reciprocated. After all, Hizashi isn't one to tease when it comes to Shouta and his abysmal love life or anyone's love life for that matter.

If Hizashi said they were boyfriends, then that was due to the fact that he truly had believed they were in fact romantically involved as of last week. Looking back on the afternoon they went to the aquarium together, Shouta can see how Hizashi easily convinced himself of this. Shouta still remembers the strange twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach that fell under his notice when Hizashi interlocked their fingers in the near darkness of the deep sea exhibit and continued to bubble within him until hours after leaving the blonde boy's company.

At the time, Shouta had merely ignored it. He was out with a friend who was excitedly leading him around while pointing out all the different fishes and making up backstories for them while he listened and occasionally offered his own suggestions to make the backstories more interesting. The feeling in his stomach was probably just indigestion or something trivial. It mattered little to him when he was enjoying himself for once.

Emotions are something Shouta does not have the best of skill with but he has always tried his best to be honest by his at the very least. Now is the time to put that into practice he supposes. It would not be fair to Hizashi otherwise.

So when they are dismissed for the lunch hour, Shouta reaches out and snags Hizashi's sleeve before his friend can bustle away.

"I want to apologize for what I said before classes began this morning," Shouta says as Hizashi turns to face him. "I did not know that you felt that way and did not mean to hurt your feelings."

Even behind the colored lenses of his glasses, Hizashi's eyes are a startling green that ignites that strange feeling in the pit of Shouta's stomach once more. Hizashi's brows pinch together as the rest of his face frowns, his usual excitement gone for the moment.

"It's fine, Aizawa-kun," Hizashi finally replies, a forced smile on his face that Shouta finds he despises. "I shouldn't have assumed so much and forced us into such an awkward situation."

"Months ago you said it was fine for me to simply call you by your name," Shouta responds with as he blinks rapidly at Hizashi. "I am late with reciprocating, but you can call me Shouta, Hizashi."

Hizashi's smile becomes more strained then, not looking like much of a smile anymore. "You don't have to do that."

"You're right, I don't," Shouta concedes before continuing onwards when it looks like Hizashi is about to say something else. "But I want to and that's what people do when they begin dating, right? Exchange names and such."

"I, ah, wouldn't really know," Hizashi admits, a faint blush blanketing his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. "I've never dated anyone before."

Shouta finds himself smiling, this bit of news pleasing him to his very core. "Me neither. A first for both of us then."

Hizashi nods, some of his usual excitement beginning to return to him despite the darkening blush spreading across his face. "So, you're up for it? Dating me, I mean."

"Yes," Shouta responds simply because truthfully, it never was much of a difficult question even with his uncanny ability to avoid speaking of his emotions out loud. "As long as you are as well."

"I am," Hizashi assures him with a grin, his green eyes twinkling under the classroom lights.

Shouta smiles back. "Good."

a/n: written for @cruria​ as part of the secret santa exchange held by @tdbkdkdiscord​! sorry it’s so short, but i got this as a pinch-hit and i’m a very slow writer, so i really hope you like this (:

[tw-anchor]

08. The Full Moon

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character (Reader)

Episode: 1x08; Lunatic

Word Count: 8,280

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence, nonconsensual kiss, cheating, blood

Author’s Note: Scott’s second full moon has arrived and things aren’t looking good. We have some Olivia and Stiles bonding in this chapter, people! Let me know what you think. Reblog and like!

 Masterlist in Profile Description!

There was a squelching noise as Stiles stepped in a puddle, heading out toward the main campsite on the edge of the preserve, Scott following dutifully after him. Stiles held a bottle of whiskey under his jacket, hiding it from view, intending to get Scott drunk and forget his worries for a while.

It had been a week since the alpha chased them around the school and Allison had broken up with Scott. Scott had spent the seven days at home moping around while the damage at the school was being fixed and since school was starting back up the next morning, Stiles wanted his best friend to relax.

"Where are we going?" Scott complained as they continued through the campground.

"You'll see."

"'Cause we really shouldn't be out here," Scott stated. "My mom is in a constant state of freak-out from what happened at the school."

Stiles scoffed. "Well, your mom isn't the sheriff, okay? There's no comparison, trust me."

"Can you please just tell me what we're doing out here?"

"Yes," Stiles gave in. "When your best friend gets dumped—"

"I didn't get dumped," Scott corrected him, in deep denial. "We're taking a break."

"All right, well, when your best friend gets told by his girlfriend that they're taking a break—" Stiles grinned and turned around, pulling the whiskey out of his jacket to show Scott. "you get your best friend drunk."

An hour later, the bottle was more than halfway gone. Scott had drunk half of the bottle, feeling no effect from the alcohol whatsoever, and Stiles drank the other quarter. He was now drunk as a skunk and rambling like no tomorrow.

It annoyed Scott like no other—first he couldn't get drunk and now he had to take care of Stiles. When he started the fire to keep them warm, he had to pull Stiles away from it three times to keep him from burning himself. It was like babysitting a damn toddler.

Stiles slammed the bottle of whiskey down on the concrete next to him. "Dude, you know, she's just one girl," he sighed, staring up at the starry sky. "You know, there are so many—there are so many other girls in the sea."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Fish in the sea."

"Fish?" Stiles gave him a confused look. "Why are you talking about fish? I'm talking about girls. I love girls. I love em'."

Stiles giggled, thinking about the girl that always seemed to be on his mind. He missed her so much and even though they'd only started hanging out a month ago, he didn't like being without her.

"I love especially ones with brown hair, cobalt-blue eyes, 5'1..." he slurred, trailing off with a wistful smile.

Scott glanced at him. "Like Olivia?"

"Yeah, exactly!" Stiles exclaimed. "Hey, how did you know I was talking about...what was I talking about?"

Scott didn't answer, causing Stiles to look over at him again. He saw the grumpy look on his best friend's face and frowned. He wanted Scott to have a good time like he was.

"Hey, you're not happy," he pointed out, rolling over to pick up the whiskey. He held it out to Scott. "Take a drink."

"I don't want anymore," Scott's shoulders slumped as he looked into the fire.

"You're not drunk?"

"I'm not anything."

"Hey, maybe it's like—maybe it's like not needing your inhaler anymore, you know?" Stiles theorized, setting the whiskey back down and rolling onto his back again. "Maybe you can't get drunk as a wolf...Am I drunk?"

Scott looked over at Stiles, noticing his furrowed brows, and shook his head. "You're wasted."

"Yeah!" Stiles drawled giddily, pumping his fist into the air so Scott could bump it. Scott didn't reciprocate and Stiles allowed his hand to fall back on his stomach. "Come on, dude. I know it feels bad. I know it hurts. I know," he paused, remembering that he had never had a girlfriend. "Well, I don't know. But I know this, I know that as much as being broken up hurts, being alone is way worse."

Scott went through Stiles' words in his head and looked over at his best friend, knowing that his statement made no sense. Either way, they were both alone.

Stiles chuckled. "That didn't make any sense," he groaned and reached over to pick up the bottle of whiskey. "I need a drink."

Before he could grab it, another hand reached out and took the bottle. Stiles and Scott looked up, seeing two unfamiliar men standing in front of them.

"Well, look at the two little bitches getting their drink on," the man who grabbed the bottle, and was wearing a large, funny-looking hat, taunted them.

Scott glared at him. "Give it back."

The guy with the hat scoffed and exchanged a smirk with his friend. "What's that, little man?"

"I think he wants a drink," the second guy spoke up, amused.

"I want the bottle," Scott demanded angrily.

Stiles sat up, noticing the tenseness in Scott's voice. It was the day before the full moon, so Scott's mood swings were probably worse than usual. He didn't want Scott to wolf-out on these guys, especially when he was too drunk to calm him down.

"Scott, maybe we should go," he suggested.

"You brought me out here to get me drunk, Stiles," Scott kept his glare glued to the men. "I'm not drunk yet."

The first guy scoffed and took a sip from the bottle. Scott's glare sharpened as he stood up to face the men. He was a couple inches shorter than both of them, but he didn't seem to care. He was a werewolf; he could overpower them any day.

"Give me the bottle," Scott commanded. When the first guy shook his head, Scott flashed his golden eyes at him and lowered his voice into a growl. "Give me the bottle of Jack."

Stiles got to his feet, seeing Scott's claw start to break through his nail beds. "Scott?"

The first guy slowly held out the bottle of Jack Daniel's out to Scott. Scott ripped it from his grasp and whipped it at a nearby tree, shattering the bottle completely. The men took off, not daring to look back at Scott as they ran away.

"Let's go," Scott said, gaining his control back now that the threat was gone.

Stiles followed him out of the campground without a fuss. "Okay, please tell me that was because of the break-up," he pleaded, starting to sober up. "Or 'cause tomorrow's the full moon?"

Scott, a few strides ahead of his best friend, didn't answer. When they arrived at Stiles' Jeep, he wordlessly opened the passenger door and gestured for Stiles to get.

"Going home now, yeah?" Stiles asked, promptly falling back into the seat.

Scott rolled his eyes and slammed the door shut.

-

-

"Up and at 'em buddy!" Olivia called to Sirius as she walked out of her bathroom the next morning, freshly showered and made up. She dressed in a plaid skirt and cream-colored sweater, slathering on some clear lip gloss to complete the look, and grabbed her bag full of the schoolwork she had completed and checked twice.

Sirius barked happily, wiggling his furry booty, and followed her out of the room, his tiny nails tapping against the hard-wood floors.

For the first time in a couple of days, Olivia actually felt good. Derek was all healed up and hiding from the police in her pool house outback, she had a week-long break from school, and for an early Valentine's Day present, her aunt had gotten her a replica of the Millennium Falcon.

She was still upset about what happened at the school that night—especially with Scott and Stiles, who hadn't exactly cared to ask her about Derek's wellbeing, though she did tell Stiles not to contact her so she supposed she should be grateful that they weren't reaching out—but she felt better about it. All her friends were safe, even Stiles and Scott, and so was Derek for the time being. She just hoped that he'd stay out of sight until she figured out what they were going to do about him being a wanted fugitive.

Olivia walked into the kitchen and turned on the radio, intending to fix herself and Lydia some breakfast—and try to sneak some out to Derek before she left for school. Lydia was still bitter about the night at the school, especially toward Scott. Allison—who had broken up with Scott that night—couldn't even talk to the redhead about him cause she had plenty of mean things to say.

"It's a beautiful Monday morning," the local radio deejay announced as Olivia filled up Sirius' food and water bowls; he ran over to his mat and started chowing down happily. "and Beacon Hills High School is back open after being closed for a week for repairs. The police search continues for alleged killer, Derek Hale—"

Olivia turned the channel, not wanting to hear about the police search going on for Derek, and turned on the internet radio. She hummed in satisfaction when an old Jonas Brothers song came on and turned to the fridge.

As she sang along to Burnin' Up, she whisked up some eggs—whites only for Lydia—and popped some bread into the toaster. She added cheese, salt, and pepper to the food as it cooked and by the time the eggs were done, she was able to butter the toast.

She scooped some of the food into a Tupperware container to give to Derek and then plated the rest of it, quickly eating her portion.

"Lydia, breakfast!" she called loud enough so Lydia would hear from her bedroom. "I'm taking Sirius outside!"

"Okay!" she heard Lydia shout back.

Olivia grabbed the food container, glad that Lydia wasn't downstairs yet so she wouldn't have to answer any questions about why she was taking food outside, and entered her backyard, Sirius on her heels.

Sirius yipped as he went off to do his business behind the pool house, while Olivia entered it. Derek was already up and doing push-ups in the main room; he popped up when he noticed her.

"Morning," she greeted, handing him the container of eggs and toast. "How are you feeling?"

"Thanks," he said, opening it up to start eating. "I'm fine. All healed up like I told you two days ago."

"I was worried about you," Olivia rolled her eyes, not feeling bad for caring about him. "You were really hurt, Der, let me dote on you."

"You don't dote, Ollie," Derek rolled his eyes and smirked at her.

"I do too," Olivia argued. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she shrugged. "Only to certain people, anyway."

Derek hummed and bit into his toast with a crunch.

"Full moon's today," she said casually, knowing that he knew what today was. "Um, are you going to help Scott?"

Derek shrugged. "I'll reach out if he needs me. I'm a refugee because of him, so I have to lay low. Will you keep an eye on him at school today?"

"Yeah, I guess," Olivia didn't really want to, but she knew that it was for the best. It was only Scott's second full moon—she didn't know how it'd go.

"You said that his anchor was Allison and they broke up," Derek reminded her. "He'll probably be messed up today. Be careful."

Olivia smiled. "I will," she turned to leave and added, "Stay out of sight, okay?"

"Okay."

She left the pool house and looked around, spotting Sirius sniffing around in the rose bushes. She whistled for him and he came running, following her back into the house.

Lydia was in the kitchen when she walked back in, finishing up her breakfast.

"Thanks for the eggs," she smiled at Olivia. "What were you doing out there?"

"Oh," Olivia racked her brain for an excuse. "I was making sure Siri didn't mess up the rose bushes again. You know how Aunt Nat hates that."

Lydia chuckled and knelt down, happily petting an ecstatic Sirius. "You're such a good boy, aren't you, Siri?" if anyone else other than Olivia saw Lydia speaking in a baby voice for their dog, they'd probably think they were dreaming. "Such a good puppy."

They heard a honk from outside and both girls groaned.

For the past week, they had a police escort for everywhere they went. Olivia and Lydia happened to have a jackass of a deputy—a guy in his mid-twenties named Haigh—who couldn't be bothered to have a single polite conversation with them. He honked outside their house any time they told him they were going anywhere. Natalie absolutely hated him and had already complained to Sheriff Stilinski, however, the police force was spread pretty thin right now.

Luckily, today was the last day they had to deal with him.

"I hate that guy," Lydia grumbled, grabbing her purse from where she laid it on the island.

"Me too," Olivia agreed and followed Lydia out of the kitchen.

The two of them said goodbye to Sirius and locked the door behind them, walking over to Lydia's car.

-

Half of the day went by before Olivia caught up with Allison and Lydia, leaving her Spanish class when the bell rang. She greeted her cousin and Allison, who smiled at her, and they walked down the hall together, listening to people continue the gossip about what happened the week before.

No one knew that it was Olivia, Stiles, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson who were at the school that night. All they knew was that there were some students in the building after hours and that Derek had supposedly tried to kill them—and succeeded in killing the school's favorite janitor.

Olivia was glad no one knew because she was already getting enough stares for being related to Derek.

"It's just weird," Allison commented quietly, looking around the hallway. "Everybody's talking about what happened the other night and nobody knows it was us."

Lydia smirked. "Thank you for the protection of minors."

"Guys," Allison frowned, sounding upset. "do you think that I made the wrong decision?"

"About that jacket with that dress?" Olivia said bluntly, looking at the brown leather jacket Allison was wearing that didn't quite go with the dress she had on. "Yes."

Allison rolled her eyes and laughed slightly. "You know what I mean."

Of course, they knew what she meant. She was second-guessing herself about breaking up with Scott. She wasn't sure about her decision and had been asking the girls almost every day since then if it was the right one.

Honestly, Olivia could see both sides. Allison couldn't trust Scott to tell her the truth but Scott couldn't exactly tell her that he was a werewolf and that the thing chasing them was a murderous alpha. There was really no right way to handle the solution because it was clear how into each other Allison and Scott were.

"Hello?" Lydia scoffed, irritation thick in her voice. "Scott locked us in a classroom and left us for dead. He's lucky we're not pressing charges or making him pay out therapy bills."

Allison nodded and sighed, silently agreeing with Lydia.

"If you can't trust him, I'd say you did the right thing," Olivia shared her opinion. "but maybe you can work it out. You guys really like each other, so..."

Allison smiled at Olivia, glad to hear her opinion. She had been listening to Lydia grumble about Scott all week, so it was nice to have something positive in the Stallison corner.

"Come on," Allison hooked her arm with Olivia's. "we have an economics exam to get to."

Olivia groaned. "Yippee."

-

-

Stiles sat on the floor outside of the principal's office, waiting dutifully for his dad to come out. He had seen him come in after second period and was anxious to find out what was going on in the search for Derek.

He also wanted to warn his dad about tonight. With the full moon and an alpha on a rampage, he needed his dad to be safe.

Finally, as the bell rang for his econ class, Noah stepped out of the office with two state detectives and a deputy. Stiles got to his feet, waiting for a chance to talk to him.

"We're watching the Martin house and the old Hale house," Noah told the detectives. "Maybe he'll wind up at one of those places," he saw Stiles waiting for him and frowned. "Give me a second."

He walked over to Stiles and crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't you have a test to get to?"

"What's going on?" Stiles ignored his question, looking over his shoulder at the two detectives. "Did you find Derek yet?"

"I'm working on it. Go take your test," Noah said sternly.

Stiles shook his head. "All right, Dad, listen to me—"

"Go!"

"This is really important," Stiles insisted. "You have to be careful tonight, okay? Especially tonight."

Noah softened, seeing the concern in his son's eyes. "Stiles, I'm always careful."

"Dad, you've never dealt with this kind of thing, okay?" Stiles stated, talking about werewolves. "At least not like this."

"I know," Noah assumed Stiles was talking about a mass murderer. "which is why I brought in people who have. State detectives," he gestured to the men in suits talking to the deputy. "Go take your test."

Seeing that his dad wasn't going to continue the conversation, Stiles sighed heavily and shrugged on his backpack. He left his dad and made his way to one of the exam rooms where his economics test was taking place.

Unfortunately, when he entered, he saw that Mr. Harris was proctoring the test. He groaned under his breath, ignoring the glare the chemistry teacher sent him and walked up the large steps to a desk in the back.

As he sat down and pulled out a pencil, his eyes fell on Olivia. He took the time to admire her as she whispered with Allison, enjoying the way her braided bun showed off her slender neck and the glossy shine her lips gave off.

Even though they spent most of the time they had together bickering, he really missed her this past week.

He felt really bad about what happened with Derek and while he was mad at Olivia for a few days when she wouldn't talk to him, he ultimately knew that he and Scott were in the wrong. He'd react the same way if she told everyone his nonexistent cousin was a murderer.

Stiles would respect the fact that she didn't want him to talk to her, though. He just wished she would talk to him.

Mr. Harris started handing out scantrons they had to use for their test, along with blue booklets for their essays, when Scott entered the room. Stiles watched as he headed straight to Allison's desk, only to be stopped by Mr. Harris.

"Mr. McCall, please take a seat," he demanded.

Scott sighed and walked away from Allison, taking the empty desk in front of Stiles.

Once Mr. Harris had handed out the rest of the testing papers, he stood at the front of the room, leaning against the podium. "You have forty-five minutes to complete the test," he told the class. "Twenty-five percent of your grade can be earned right now simply by writing your name on the cover of the blue book—"

Stiles pressed his lips together and scrambled to write his name on the designated line.

"—However," Mr. Harris continued. "as happens every year, one of you will inexplicably fail to put your name on the cover and I'll be left yet again questioning my decision to ever become a teacher. So, let's get the disappointment over with," he held up his stopwatch and pressed the start button. "Begin."

The sound of several pages flipping filled the room as everyone got started on their tests. Stiles answered the first question easily, filling in the bubble, and went on, finding that the questions were made up of the chapters he actually studied.

In the middle of the test, he took a break with multiple-choice, using one of his testing strategies. He answered the essay question—some nonsense prompt about how the economy could change in the next few years and how to deal with it—and went back to where he started.

He was just filling out the last question when Scott's chair screeched in front of him. Scott hopped out of his seat and rang out of the room, ignoring Mr. Harris' indignant objections.

"Mr. McCall?"

Stiles grabbed his bag and his test and ran down the steps. He slammed his finished test on Mr. Harris' desk and left the room, following after his best friend.

"Mr. Stilinski!"

By the time Stiles entered the hallway, Scott was nowhere to be seen. Twenty feet or so away from the classroom door, Scott's bag was on the ground discarded. Stiles picked it up and swung it over his shoulder.

"Scott?" Stiles called lowly, hoping that Scott would be able to hear with his enhanced senses.

He pulled his phone out of his jeans and dialed Scott's number. He heard the distinct ring coming from down the hall and followed it. He ended up in the boys' locker room where he heard the shower going in the other room.

"Scott?" he called, hoping that he wasn't naked or wolfed-out.

Luckily, Scott still had his jeans on and he had all of his human features. He panted heavily as he turned around, leaning under the shower's spray.

"Stiles," he gasped for breath, turning off the water. "I can't—"

"What's happening?" Stiles asked quickly. "Are you changing?"

"No," Scott shook his head. "No, I can't breathe."

He wheezed and Stiles was taken back to the time when Scott had frequent asthma attacks—it felt like forever ago now. He hurriedly pulled Scott's bag off his shoulder and rummaged through the pockets, finding his old inhaler in one of the front zippers.

"Here, use this," he tossed the inhaler to Scott. When Scott gave him a questioning look, he insisted, "Come on, do it."

Scott wheezed again and pressed the inhaler to his lips, breathing in the medication. He braced himself against his knees as the pain in his lungs lessened and his breathing regulated.

He straightened up, giving Stiles an incredulous look. "I was having an asthma attack?"

"No, you were having a panic attack," Stiles corrected him, having gone through them numerous times. "but thinking you were having an asthma attack actually stopped the panic attack. Irony."

Distracting himself during a panic attack usually worked for him; he was just lucky if it worked for Scott, too.

"How'd you know how to do that?"

"I used to get them after my mom died," Stiles said honestly, shaking his head slightly at the horrible memories. "Not fun, huh?"

Scott shook his head, agreeing. "I looked at her and it was like someone hit me in the ribs with a hammer," he confessed.

"Yeah, it's called heartbreak. There's about two billion songs written about it," Stiles tried to lighten the mood. He could tell it wasn't working.

Scott sighed heavily, frustrated. "I can't stop thinking about her."

"Well, you can think about this," Stiles stated. "Her dad is a werewolf hunter and you're a werewolf so it was bound to become an issue," Scott glared at him, causing him to sigh. "All right, that wasn't helpful. Dude, I mean, yeah, you got dumped. It's supposed to suck."

"No, that's not it," Scott shook his head. "It was like I could feel everything in the room, everyone else's emotions."

Stiles hummed thoughtfully. "It's gotta be the full moon," he predicted making Scott nod. "So, we'll lock you up in your room later just like we planned. That way the alpha—who's your boss—can't get to you, either."

"I think we need to do a lot more than lock me in my room," Scott said darkly.

"What, you mean because if you get out you'd be caught by hunters?" Stiles guessed.

"No," Scott denied. "because if I get out, I think I might kill someone."

Talk about a mood killer.

-

At the end of Stiles' free period—which happened to coincide with the last class of the day—he left the library where he spent the whole hour on his phone, looking up various hardware stores. He needed chains for tonight and he was looking for the strongest ones. Handcuffs were easy to come by, believe it or not, but it helped that his dad was the sheriff.

He turned down the hallway to head to the locker room to change for lacrosse practice when he came face-to-face with Olivia.

"Hey!" his voice came out squeakier than he intended. He grimaced, his eye flicking down her body and lingering on the thigh highs that showed off a small flash of pale skin under her plaid skirt.

Shit, he thought, look away Stiles.

"Hi."

Stiles cleared his throat. "Uh, what's up? How are you? What do you need?" he asked quickly. His eyes widened and he added, "Not that I don't want to talk to you, because I do, but you told me not to talk to you, so..."

"Well, you and Scott are un-shunned for the day," she crossed her arms over her chest and Stiles remembered the episode of The Office where Dwight shunned Andy. "We need to talk."

"About what?" he asked. "Because I need to get ready for practice."

Olivia looked around to see if anyone was listening to their conversation, lowering her voice. "About the full moon," she said obviously. "Can you talk after you get ready? I'll be quick."

"Sure," Stiles nodded. "See you in a few."

He gave her a smile and entered the locker room, getting dressed quickly. He pulled on his elbow pads as he sat on the bench next to Scott, ready for the news that Coach had told them to wait around for before practice.

Coach blew his whistled and walked out of his office, the team surrounding him. "All right, geniuses, listen up," he declared. "Due to the recent pink-eye epidemic—thank you, Greenberg—the following people have made first line on a probationary basis, emphasis on probationary."

Stiles closed his eyes tightly and crossed his fingers, hoping for a miracle. He wanted Coach to call his name so he could finally play first line. He wasn't as good as his teammates, but who really cared?

"Rodriguez, welcome to first line," Coach read off his clipboard as everyone clapped for Oscar Rodriguez. "Taylor and uh...Oh, for the love of crap, I can't even read my own writing. Is that an 'S'?"

Stiles perked up, hoping that it was his name written down.

"No, that's not an 'S'," Coach shook his head; Stiles deflated. "That's a 'B'. That's definitely a 'B'. Uh, Rodrigues, Taylor, and uh, Bilinski."

Stiles looked up, his eyes wide with shock. There was no one on the team named Bilinski and his last name definitely rhymed with that. He jumped to his feet and cheer, ignoring the judgmental looks he got from his teammates.

"Bilinski!" Coach barked.

"Yes?"

"Shut up!"

"Yes, sir!" Stiles chirped, sitting back down.

"Stiles," Scott whispered, trying to get his attention.

"It's Biles," Stiles said quickly. "Call me Biles or I swear to God I'll kill you."

"Another thing," Coach added. "From here on out, immediately, we're switching to co-captains. Congratulations, McCall."

Stiles gaped at Scott, clapping him on the shoulder in congrats, as Jackson stepped forward to protest.

"What?" he asked angrily.

"What do you mean what?" Coach asked. "Jackson, this takes nothing away from you. This is about combining separate strengths into one unit. This is about taking your unit, McCall's unit..." he waved his hands. "we're making one big unit."

Coach turned to Scott. "McCall, it's you and Jackson now," he looked around and blew his whistle. "Everyone else, asses on the field. Asses on the field!"

Stiles and Scott hopped off the bench as everyone scattered, heading to the field. As they left the locker room, Stiles said joyously, "Dude, can you believe this? You're a captain, I'm first line. I'm first-fucking-line!"

Scott didn't say anything, handing Stiles his lacrosse stick so he could adjust his white practice jersey. Once he was finished, Stiles handed it back to him.

"Are you not freaking out?" Stiles asked him. "I'm freaking out."

"What's the point?" Scott shrugged. "It's just a stupid title. I could practically smell the jealousy in there."

"Wait," Stiles held out a hand, stopping Scott. "you smell jealousy?"

"Yeah, it's like the full moon's turned everything up to ten."

"Huh," Stiles pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Can you pick up on stuff like, I don't know, desire?"

Scott gave him a blank look. "What do you mean, desire?"

"Like sexual desire?" Stiles clarified.

"Sexual desire?"

"Yeah, sexual desire!" Stiles exclaimed. "Lust, passion, arousal."

Stiles peeked toward the end of the hallway where Olivia and Lydia were chatting. Scott saw who he was looking at.

"From Olivia?"

"What, no," Stiles denied too quickly. "in a general, broad sense. Can you determine sexual desire?"

Scott raised his eyebrows at his best friend. "From Olivia to you?"

"Fine, yes, from Olivia to me," Stiles admitted. "Look, I need to know if I finally have a chance with her, okay? She's been driving me crazy lately and I'm fairly certain I've fallen deep. Like, ocean-trench deep, all right?"

"Why don't you just ask her?" Scott asked, looking at Olivia and then back to Stiles.

"To save myself from utterly crushing humiliation, thank you," Stiles pointed out. "So, please, can you just go up and ask her if she likes me? See if heartbeat rises or some pheromones come out. Hell, if she doesn't glare, that's a good sign."

"Fine," Scott gave in, sighing heavily.

As he walked down the hallway, Stiles called, "I love you! You're my best friend in the whole world."

-

-

Olivia stood in the hall outside of the boys' locker room, waiting for Stiles to come out so they could talk about his plans for Scott's night. The full moon wasn't a joke, which she was sure they knew—having gone through it once already—but she just wanted to make sure everything was ready to go.

Surely they had something to chain the new werewolf up with, right?

She chatted with Lydia while she waited, telling her cousin about how certain she was that she aced her econ exam. Lydia was congratulating her when Scott walked up to them, dressed in his practice gear.

"Hey, Olivia, can we talk for a second?" he asked quietly, a bit sheepish.

Olivia pursed her lips but agreed, wondering if he wanted to talk about the full moon. "Sure."

"I'll wait here," Lydia told Olivia, giving Scott a flirty smile that she didn't catch.

Olivia nodded and followed Scott into the Coach's empty office. When Scott shut the door behind them, she started questioning him.

"Is this about the full moon?" she asked. "Do you and Stiles know what you're doing?"

Scott shook his head. "I just needed to ask you something," Olivia nodded and he continued, "Do you, uh...do you know if Allison still likes me?"

Olivia sighed, feeling sympathetic. She had never been in a relationship—almost all the boys in school thought she was a bitch—but she knew how hard a break-up could be. She remembered her aunt and uncle's divorce and it still affected Natalie two years later.

"Of course, she likes you, Scott," she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Scott perked up. "Really?"

"She just needs time, all right?" she informed him. "She's confused about what happened the other night."

"Oh," Scott narrowed his eyes.

"So, um," Olivia crossed her arms, uncomfortable with the way his eyes started hardening as he took a few steps toward her. "Did you and Stiles—"

She was abruptly cut off as Scott forcefully pressed his lips to hers, grabbing the back of her head to hold her still. She angrily grunted against him and pressed against his chest pads, pushing him away from her.

She wiped the remnants of the kiss off her lips and snarled, "What the hell, Scott?"

"I thought you wanted me to kiss you!" Scott defended himself, somewhat harshly.

"In what world was that me giving you permission to land one on me?" she asked incredulously. "I know the full moon is messing with you and I'm sorry about that but that doesn't give you the right to go around kissing random girls, Scott!"

She whipped the door open and angrily marched out of Coach's office, ignoring the way that Lydia lingered for Scott.

Olivia cursed under her breath as she walked out of the school and onto the practice field, climbing to the second row of bleachers. Practice was just about to start and she bit the inside of her cheek when she saw the back of Stiles' jersey.

Should she tell Stiles about what happened? His best friend was out of control.

She decided not to. It was personal and she didn't really know how to feel about Scott kissing her. She had kissed someone before but it still didn't feel right when someone touched you without permission.

She would tell Allison, because she didn't want to keep the fact that her new friend's ex-boyfriend kissed her a secret, and that was it. She wasn't even going to tell Lydia. No one else needed to know.

Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Scott walking onto the field. He took a seat next to Stiles on the bench and they spoke for a while before Stiles flailed excitedly. As Olivia wondered what they were talking about, Coach blew his whistle to start practice.

The guys lined up for a practice drill where they dodged defense and tried to take a shot through Danny, the best goalie on the team. Each player went, some scoring, some not—Jackson scored, earning praise from Coach—until it was Scott's turn.

He scooped up and ran forward when the whistle was blown. He was tackled by the defensive players, landing harshly on the ground.

Karma, Olivia couldn't help but think as Lydia took a seat next to her.

Coach laughed loudly at Scott's misfortune and walked over to him. "Guess some people don't appreciate your new status there, McCall," he taunted the werewolf. "Who's next? Let's go!"

Olivia was surprised to see Stiles up in the front of the line with the rest of the players on first line. He was next to go and stepped forward, only to be pushed back by an angry Scott.

"That's it, McCall!" Coach cheered. "You earn it. Earn it, McCall!"

Coach blew the whistle again and Scott took off, sprinting down the field. He bypassed the defense altogether and continued toward the goal. When Danny stepped up to defend his territory, Scott raised his stick and slap checked him in the mask.

There were gasps among the team and crowd as Danny fell to the ground. Olivia and Lydia jumped out of their seats and rushed down to the field as the players formed a circle around him.

"Danny!"

"Danny, are you okay?"

Olivia made sure that Danny was all right—he only had a bloody nose and was a little disoriented—before running over to Stiles, who had confronted Scott about hitting Danny needlessly.

"I know it's the full moon but he's seriously being an asshole," she commented to Stiles as Scott walked off the field.

Stiles scoffed and turned to her. "No kidding..." he trailed off, noticing how her lip gloss was smudged. "You've got to be fucking joking."

"What?" Olivia looked at him, alarmed by his change in attitude.

Why was he angry all of a sudden?

"Did you kiss Scott?" he accused her, his blood boiling. He wasn't mad at her—well, maybe a little bit irritated—because they weren't together or anything and he wasn't even sure that she liked him. Scott had probably been lying, after all. He was definitely furious with Scott, though. He fucking knew how much he cared about Olivia.

Olivia stiffened, crossing her arms over her chest. Stiles softened, seeing the upset look in her eyes and regretting losing his temper with her.

"Livvy..."

"He kissed me," she muttered, frowning. "I didn't ask for it and I definitely pushed him away. I don't kiss other people's boyfriends."

Stiles pressed his lips together, growing even more angry with Scott. You don't kiss or touch a girl—or anyone, for that matter—without permission. Everyone knew that even if not everyone followed that rule.

"I'm sorry. Can I—?" he apologized, reaching toward her. To his immense surprise, she let him hug her.

He really didn't see that coming, especially in public where anyone could see, but he wasn't complaining. As Olivia buried her head in his practice jersey, he rested his chin against her braid. Her hair smelt like apples and he smelt her usual cinnamon-sugar perfume that she wore and he swore it was his favorite scent combination from now on.

He tightened his arms around Olivia but let go when she started to pull away.

"Sorry about that," she apologized.

"Yeah, no, it's okay—"

"I don't usually hug people that much," Olivia smiled weakly. "Um," she shook her head, focusing. "Do you need my help for tonight? Do you have everything?"

Stiles grinned, thinking of a little payback for his dear best friend. "Actually, I could use your help with something..."

-

Olivia climbed from the backseat of Stiles' Jeep—he insisted she sit in the back because the passenger seatbelt didn't always work and he was paranoid about her safety—and hopped onto the sidewalk in front of Scott's house, shutting the door behind her. She waited patiently as Stiles heaved a large black duffle bag from his trunk before they started walking up to the house together.

After the rest of lacrosse practice was canceled because Danny needed an x-ray and everyone was pretty bummed out, Olivia and Stiles headed to the nearest hardware store. They consulted a worker about their strongest chains and proceeded to buy what the employee recommended.

Stiles also stopped at a dollar store to pick up a cheap dog bowl, making Olivia laugh.

"Stiles, where did you get those handcuffs?" Olivia asked curiously as they climbed the porch to the front door.

"Hmm?"

"Are you into that kind of thing?" she asked teasingly.

Stiles' cheeks flushed instantly. "Yeah—what? I mean, no!" he shook his head frantically, laughing nervously. "No, of course not. These are my dad's."

Olivia snickered, amused about how easily he got flustered. "All right, calm down," she soothed him, kind of intrigued by his admission. "I was just teasing you."

"Oh," Stiles inhaled sharply. "Well, um, don't. Don't joke about that kind of thing, because..." he shifted, shaking his head as he pulled out the key he made and unlocked the door. "Just don't."

Olivia grinned. "Okay."

"Yeah, okay," he mocked her, entering Scott's house. "Just get in here."

"Scott?" a female called from a room over as Olivia shut the door. A beautiful woman around her aunt's age walked into the room, dressed in dark-purple scrubs. The smile on her face fell when she saw Stiles and Olivia standing by her door.

"Stiles," Stiles waved at her, chuckling awkwardly.

The woman pointed at Stiles' keyring. "Key!"

"Yeah," he nodded with a smile. "I had one made, so..."

"That doesn't surprise me," the woman shook her head. "It scares me but it doesn't surprise me. Who's your friend?" she asked, giving Olivia a polite smile.

"Oh, Melissa, this is Olivia," Stiles introduced her to Scott's mom. "Livvy, this is Melissa, Scott's mom."

Olivia waved with a charming smile. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. McCall."

"Just call me Melissa, sweetie," Melissa smiled, recognizing her name as the one Stiles always talked about. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"Is Scott home?" Stiles asked, looking at his watch for the time.

"Not yet," Melissa answered as Stiles dropped the duffle bag on the floor, the metal chain clinking together. "What's that?"

"Oh, uh..."

"It's a school project," Olivia spoke up as Stiles floundered. "That's why I'm here."

"Oh," Melissa nodded, accepting her answer, before turning back to Stiles. "Stiles, he's okay, right?"

"Who, Scott?" Stiles asked nervously. "Yeah, totally."

"He just doesn't talk to me that much anymore," Melissa said sadly. "Not like he used to."

"Well, he's had a bit of a rough week," Stiles excused his best friend, shrugging slightly.

"Yeah," Melissa nodded. "Yeah, I get it. Um, okay, uh—be careful tonight."

"You too," Stiles said absentmindedly, moving out of the way so Melissa could leave for her night shift at the hospital.

"Full moon."

Olivia and Stiles stiffened, looking at her with wide eyes. "What?"

"There's a full moon tonight," Melissa repeated herself. "You should see how the ER gets. It brings out all the nutjobs."

Olivia laughed awkwardly as Stiles muttered, "Oh, right."

Melissa nodded and smiled. "You know, it's actually where they came up with the word lunatic."

"That's interesting trivia," Stiles commented.

"Mmhm," Melissa waved at them and left. "Night."

"Jesus," Stiles sighed in relief when the door shut. He and Olivia started climbing up the stairs. "I thought she knew for a second."

"I know," Olivia agreed.

They walked down the hallway to Scott's room; Stiles flung open the door and turned on the lights before shouting in shock. Olivia peeked past him to see that Scott had been sitting in the dark by the window as if he was waiting for them.

"Oh, my God, dude!" Stiles scolded him. "You scared the fuck out of me. Your mom said you weren't home yet."

Stiles set the duffle bag down in front of Scott.

"I came through the window," Scott told them.

"Well, that's not creepy at all," Olivia murmured under her breath.

Derek had never acted this weird on a full moon—but, then again, she wasn't around him on those nights when he was younger.

"Okay," Stiles knelt down next to the bag and unzipped it. "Well, let's get this set up. I want you to see what we bought."

"I'm fine," Scott said lowly. "I'm just gonna lock the door and go to bed early tonight."

Olivia immediately shook her head. "I don't think so, buddy. The Argents are out tonight and we don't want you running around, maiming or killing somebody," she said sternly.

"Besides," Stiles added. "you've got this kind of serial-killer look going on in your eyes. I'm hoping it's the full moon taking effect cause you're starting to freak me out."

"I'm fine," Scott insisted, glaring at Olivia before looking back at Stiles. "You should go now."

"All right, I'll leave," Stiles lied before faltering. "Look, would you just at least look in the bag and see what I bought? You know, maybe you use it, maybe you don't. Sound good?"

Scott got on his knees and rifled through the bag, pulling out the chains they brought. Stiles stealthily pulled the handcuffs out of his back pocket and got ready to hook Scott up to the radiator next to him.

Scott held up a chain and glowered at Stiles. "You think I'm gonna let you put these on and chain me up like a dog?"

"Actually, no," Stiles said before lunging at Scott. He grabbed Scott's right hand and wrapped a cuff around it before attaching him to the radiator. Scott fought against the strong metal, growling in annoyance.

Olivia watched on, secretly impressed by Stiles' guts.

"What the hell are you doing?" Scott screamed at him, furious.

"Protecting you from yourself," Stiles answered, narrowing his eyes. "and giving you a little payback for forcing yourself on Olivia."

Stiles immediately turned to leave the room and Olivia followed him, not wanting to be alone with Scott.

"I'm going to get him some water," Stiles told her. "Can you stay here?"

"Yeah," Olivia nodded and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. "I'll be here."

Stiles smiled at her and walked downstairs. Scott was quiet except for a few grunts here and there as he tried to get out of the handcuffs but Stiles was back within minutes, so she didn't have to do anything.

He had the dog bowl he bought and he sad written Scott's name on the side in big block letters. He winked at her and entered the room, missing the way she smiled in amusement.

"I brought you some water," Stiles held up the dog bowl and poured some water into it. He set it down in front of Scott and turned to leave, only to be hit in the back with the bowl and some water when Scott threw it at him.

"I'm gonna kill you!" Scott shouted angrily.

Stiles whipped around, his temper rising. "You kissed her, Scott, okay? Against her fucking permission, might I add," he yelled at his best friend. "You know how I—she's—" he shook his head, trying to find the right words to describe how he was feeling. "You know, the past three hours, I've been thinking it's probably just the full moon causing you to act this way. You'll be back to normal by tomorrow and you probably won't remember what a complete dumbass you've been—a son of a bitch, a fucking unbelievable piece-of-shit friend."

In the hallway, Olivia's mouth was wide open. She knew that Stiles was grumpy sometimes but she hadn't seen him lose his temper other than the time Derek was shot with wolfsbane. She certainly hadn't seen him lose it with Scott.

It shocked her but it also warmed her heart that Stiles was defending her. Not many guys would stand up to their best friend and tell them what they did with a girl was wrong.

"She kissed me."

Olivia narrowed her eyes and pulled her knees up to her chest when she heard Scott. It was absolutely untrue and she knew that, but she didn't like the fact that her chest twisted at the thought that Stiles may believe Scott.

"What?" Stiles snapped and Olivia flinched.

"She kissed me," Scott repeated, his voice low and harsh. "I didn't kiss her. She would have done a lot more, too. You should have seen the way she had her hands all over me. She would have done anything I wanted. Anything!"

Olivia pressed her hands over her ears and squeezed her stinging eyes shut, not wanting to hear anymore. This was a very bad idea; she shouldn't have come to help Scott at all.

"Just shut the fuck up, Scott," Stiles spat, not believing a word his best friend said, and walked into the hallway.

Stiles could have sworn his heart broke when he saw Olivia practically curled up with her hands covering her ears. He plopped down next to her and tapped the outside of her closest knee to get her attention.

Olivia lowered her hands and looked over at Stiles, who was smiling sadly at her.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. It's just—" she shook her head. "I didn't do that, Stiles, okay? I swear, I didn't."

"I believe you," he assured her. "and even if you did, it's none of my business, okay?"

Scott started groaning loudly as he tried to break the cuff around his wrist. "Stiles, please let me out," he begged, causing Stiles to stiffen. "It's the full moon, I swear. You know I wouldn't do any of this on purpose."

Stiles just shook his head and leaned it against the wall, closing his eyes. He may have been angry with Scott, but he didn't deserve to go through so much pain. It broke his heart.

"Olivia, I'm sorry," Scott moaned pitifully, tugging on Olivia's heartstrings. "Please help me. It's starting to hurt. It's not like the first time. It's the full moon, it's Allison breaking up with me...It's killing me. I feel so hopeless. Just please," he cried. "please help me."

Olivia inhaled slowly. "Scott, just calm down, okay?" she called, hoping to comfort him a little. "Just relax. Focus on your control."

Her words seemed to work for a little while as Scott calmed down and stopped talking. The only thing they could hear was his panting. And then, as the night went on and the moon reached its peak, he started screaming.

"Let me out! Let me out!"

Stiles cringed and buried his face in Olivia's hair, trying to ignore his best friend's screams. He hated this so much. He hated that Scott had to go through this.

"I can't," he murmured as Olivia grabbed his hand tightly. "I can't."

Suddenly Scott stopped screaming; the sound of metal clanking against more metal and a loud growl caught their attention.

"Scott, are you okay?"

There was no answer. Olivia and Stiles exchanged a worried look and scrambled to their feet, looking into Scott's room. He wasn't attached to the radiator any more—the cuff was there, hanging in a puddle of blood.

"Shit," Stiles cursed under his breath and turned to Olivia. "I'm gonna go find him. Can you maybe call Lydia to pick you up? You'll be safe here until then."

"No problem," Olivia nodded, knowing that it was more important to find Scott as soon as possible. As Stiles turned to walk away, she added, "Stiles?"

He turned back to look at her. "Hmm?"

"Be careful."

(Gif is not mine)

[lesya-writes]

ch.3 excerpt

“So how goes it with your new manservant?” Morgana asked casually. A casual Morgana is always a lie, a necessary front when fishing for gossip and rumor. He considered, for a moment, to tell her some pretty lie, but there would be no point. Morgana always knew what she needed to know; after all, she always got what she wanted.

“He wishes for me to fire him.”

“Did he tell you that?” she asked, voice curious and perhaps a tad surprised.

“In all manner but verbal.”

“Then fire him,” she replied obviously, looking upon Arthur as though he were slow. But then, she almost always looks at him that way.

“I can’t. You know I can’t, not if I don’t want to cause offense. My father chose him and he gave him the position for saving my life. Firing him would seem to everyone, including the King, that I do not care for my own life and do not respect my King.”

Of course, there was also the matter of keeping careful watch over Merlin. But Morgana didn’t need to know that. She would never know that, if he could help it.

She rolled her eyes.

“You aren’t just some ordinary lord. You’re crown prince! You can choose who serves you without causing offense. I’m sure Uther wouldn’t care much if you fire the boy; he probably doesn’t even remember he exists. He’s served you a few weeks now, I’m sure that’s enough to satisfy his gratitude.”

Arthur stared at her, trying to piece this all together. Morgana was usually nice to Merlin and spoke to him as she did to her maidservant. So why was she so callous now? Maybe she sees he doesn’t like to serve me and wishes to free him. Perhaps the cruelty is a secret act of kindness. Morgana is known for her compassion. But Arthur sees her in private and knows she is as cunning as she is kind.

“You only say that because you want him to be your servant.”

“Maybe I do. What of it?”

“Why would you want that?”

“Merlin is my friend. And he is Gwen’s friend. In fact, we all get along quite well. I believe he’ll do much better with me than with you.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes. Besides, he’s a breath of fresh air in these stuffy old halls. He’s always full of good humor and he lacks cruelty.” Well, he’s full of something alright, but it isn’t ‘good humor’. “Why wouldn’t I want a servant like that?”

“Because he’s rude?”

“Hm. Strange. He’s never been rude to me. Perhaps it is you that is the issue.” Morgana gave him a small and very genuine smile, then quickly left. Not too quickly to be seen as running, of course. No, Morgana did not run. She flowed with the tide of the court, melding with the comings and goings of the nobles and knights, then finally joining some group of ladies to gossip.

Always the last word.

For all that he knew how Morgana worked, he couldn’t help but think of her words. They were like berries, sometimes sweet and sometimes poison. Yet, their whole childhood spent together was not enough to inoculate him. He thought about her mild criticism till the next day when he was, once again, greeted by Merlin.

For once in his life, the boy was not late.

He arrived with his morning meal and after Arthur was dressed and fed, he put on Arthur’s mail and armor.

Arthur refused to be impressed with Merlin managing to put on all his armor correctly, but for a peasant boy who had about two days to prepare, it wasn’t bad.

Still, he said nothing and walked out, Merlin trailing after him. Down at the tourney, he had his own tent set up, just like the rest of the competing knights. Since he wasn’t up first, he went there first in the hopes of unwinding a bit, but knowing it was all for naught.

Arthur could never relax, not until he was finally fighting and not thinking.

Merlin buzzed around, bringing water and some meats and cheeses and fruit.

Arthur did not eat.

That didn’t stop Merlin from taking liberties, however. He would’ve admonished Merlin, but he did not wish to speak at the moment.

“So I noticed something,” Merlin said, breaking the silence.

Arthur closed his eyes and did not groan, but he did heave a terribly deep sigh. He opened his eyes and looked to Merlin, who was standing near the table, fingers plucking a grape off a vine.

“Some of the knights, they have a little bit of…cloth. Around their arms? I was wondering what they were.”

“They’re favors.”

“Favors. What’s that?”

Arthur heaved another deep sigh.

“If you must know, they were tokens of affection, given to knights by noble ladies. They’re for good luck.”

“I see. And have you got one? A favor?” he asked, popping a grape into his mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

Arthur stilled, staring straight ahead. It was amazing how aggravating Merlin could be without even trying.

“No, Merlin. I haven’t got one.”

“Oh? I suppose it’s no surprise there.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that, you know, you’re an insufferable cabbagehead. Who’d want to give you a favor?”

“Plenty of noble ladies would give me one! I’m the prince!”

“Then why haven’t you got one?” he asked, popping yet another grape into his mouth.

“Well. That’s because,” he paused, fumbling for an explanation. “I do not take favors.”

“Why not?”

“I do not need them. I don’t need some charm to help me win. Besides, I’m the prince. Showing favoritism can be bad for court and also give the wrong impression.”

“And by ‘wrong impression’ you mean ‘marriage prospects’.”

Arthur cringed but nodded.

Merlin ate the last of his grapes, stuffing them all into his mouth rather gracelessly. Arthur made a face, but said nothing as it was a pointless endeavor to admonish Merlin.

The boy then put his hands behind his neck and unfastened the neckerchief. He tugged it off and held it out. Arthur stared at it, then back at Merlin.

“Well? Take it!” he said, though it sounded more like, “Weh? Tae ih.”

“Why would I do that? Are you offering it to wipe the sweat off my brow? How considerate!” He went to take it, but Merlin swiped his hand away.

“Merlin. Are you giving it to me or not?”

“I am not giving this to you so you can wipe your sweaty mug all over it!” he sputtered out, his words coming out clear now that his mouth was free of grape. Arthur scoffed at such rude and inaccurate portrayal of his royal visage, but Merlin continued, “I’m giving you a favor.”

“That. Is a favor.”

“Yep!”

“Merlin, I don’t know if you recall, but we just had a discussion about why I cannot take a favor literally a few seconds ago.”

“Oh come on, no one will know who it’s from. Everyone will claim it’s theirs and therefore it will be no one’s.”

“Alright,” Arthur said, because it was a fine point.

However.

“Still, there’s something you’re missing.”

“Which is?”

“A dress and a status of nobility. Seeing as you’re neither a lady nor noble, I do not see how I can accept.”

“But no one will know! That’s the point!”

“Ah! But that is where you are mistaken; I will know.”

Merlin rolled his eyes.

“So? What does it matter where it comes from? It’s only meant to be a token anyway.”

“A token of affection. I didn’t realize you had such passions for your prince, Merlin.”

The boy spluttered.

“I do not – I don’t mean it in that way. Think if it as a token of friendship? No, that’s wrong. Maybe a platonic token of good luck from a servant to his prince.”

Arthur raised a brow.

“We are breaking some significant rules of etiquette here.”

Merlin sniffed uncaringly. “So?”

Arthur turned away before his smirk could be seen. For all that Merlin’s insolence annoyed him, his disregard for rules was refreshing. And a bit fun, too.

“Look, do you want it or not? It’s red, even. Matches.”

Arthur made a show of it, the terrible tragedy of succumbing to his manservant’s idiocy, but Merlin didn’t seem to pay much mind.

“You’ll have to put it on me. Can’t tie it with one hand.”

Merlin stepped closer as Arthur held his arm out. He took the neckerchief and folded it a bit so it was a thin strip. Then he put it around Arthur’s armored arm and neatly tied it together on the side.

Arthur watched his long nimble fingers work, at odds with his usual clumsy self. Then his eyes went higher, studying Merlin’s profile up close.

His lashes were quite long and his eyes were a grey blue. His lips were red and Arthur had to wonder how it is he made them look like that. Surely, it couldn’t be natural –

“Done.”

Arthur blinked a few times, then turned his head away quickly, trying perhaps in vain to hide his unabashed staring.

It’s not my fault he looks like that! Besides, Arthur is the prince; he can do as he pleases, even if what he pleases is staring at Merlin.

So he glances at the favor tied at his arm, then looks to Merlin, who is now staring at Arthur. He raises a brow as if to ask, “Well?”

Arthur ignores him and walks toward the tent flap, ready to fight. He feels like there’s lightning in his body, rushing down his arms and legs and through his heart. He wants to dispel this strange energy.

When his name is finally called, he walks to the arena without a backward glance, pulling the helm over his face as the sun shines into his eyes.

The crowd roars and he smiles, raising his sword.

[script-a-world]

I really want to create new foods and recipes for one of my worlds, but I have no idea how I would go about doing research for something like that. Do you guys have any resources or advice that might help? To be more specific for this world, most ingredients are incredibly low quality (but they are in abundance) and any imported ingredients are only used for the rich. I was thinking their food would use a lot of seasoning to mask the quality, but I'm not too sure. Thank you!

Feral: We could actually do with a few more specifics to answer this question as fully as you would probably like, but I’ll do the best I can.

First, I’m not sure whether you want to create recipes using real world ingredients that would in fact be cookable to release on your blog as some kind of companion for your audience or you want to conceptualize some recipes to be able to describe taste, texture, etc. If it’s the first option, creating recipes from scratch is pretty difficult. You might want to consider taking some cooking classes to learn techniques, reading cook books for a lesson in combining ingredients, and doing a lot test cooking to nail down the flavor profiles. If you don’t want to go completely chef-y, you could also take recipes and then tweak them by substituting an ingredient or using a slightly different technique (baking instead of broiling, etc). This would also be helpful in the second case. If by "low quality" you mean "low cost," try looking at food preparation that developed in poorer, underprivileged, or minority communities, like American immigrant cuisine and soul food (the original styles, not the bougie, hipster, “elevated” styles).

For example, understanding how immigrant cuisine differs from motherland cuisine can be particularly helpful in determining how your world’s “rich” food can be adapted into “poor” food. In America we often think of corned beef and cabbage as being a traditional Irish food, but in reality, no one in Ireland really eats corned beef and cabbage - it’s a traditional Irish-American food because poor Irish immigrants could not afford the lamb they would have eaten at home (which was more readily available in say rural Ireland than in New York City and therefore at an affordable cost), and they often could not source any bacon or cured pork products because the butchers who would sell to them were often the Jewish immigrant butchers. So, the cheapest cut of cured meat they could get was corned beef and replaced the traditional proteins they would have used at home.

Second, I’m working off the assumption that your world has the same ingredients as we do, but it’s unclear. When you mention creating new foods, that could mean food preparation or it could mean edible plants and animals. If it’s the latter, then the easiest way to do it would be crossing real world things.

So, for example, everyone’s favorite vegetable on your world may be a cross between a cucumber and a lemon (the flesh is cucumber like but grows in segments in a thick skin that wouldn’t be eaten straight but could be zested, and the flavor is like a very watered down citrus). This also gives you the ability to create recipes by using the two ingredients you crossed.

Also, I’m assuming that you’re using actual food rather than powders and extracts (very common in scifi settings where "real" food is incredibly scarce), which I don’t have too many ideas on how to create recipes that way. Firefly has a pretty good method of just obliquely referring to “protein powders in every color” and showing cans of things but only really showing food prepared and being consumed when it is in fact real food provided to the crew as payment.

Finally, seasoning is a good way to hide low quality ingredients, whether it’s a cheap cut of meat or slightly wilted vegetables. Especially sauces. Especially, especially cream sauces (providing that milk of some kind is one of the ingredients generally available). Sauces make spices go further. Also, keep in mind preservation techniques (salting, smoking, drying, pickling); in the real world what has often made something the “cheap” version is that it is preserved and not fresh (with the common exception of salted foods when salt is an expensive import). But those preservation techniques also infuse additional flavors into the food.

And speaking of the real world - have you ever heard that England conquered most of it in search of spices and then decided it wasn’t going to use any of them? Spices were the purview of the very very wealthy for a very long time. The common folk did not have much access to anything they couldn’t grow in their own backyard. So, the working class dishes we commonly associate with England are not particularly spicy. As you’re deciding how the poor disguise the low quality of their food, whether it's less costly trying to appear more costly or slightly less fresh than one would prefer to eat or whatever, keep in mind what they are able to grow in the soil and climate they have (spices are typically tropical while herbs are more often temperate).

A helpful guide in food experimenting:

Cook Smart: How to Maximize Flavor Series

Part 6: Guide to Adding Flavor with Aromatics

Brainstormed: Low quality how? Like, the bakers put sawdust put in bread to save flour low quality? Our teeth are worn down by forty years old because we live in a desert and the sand gets into our food no matter what we do and grinds our molars to nubs? We only get the worst cuts of meat because it’s all we can afford or the best stuff has to be sacrificed or tithed? Salt is expensive because we don’t live near the sea or any salt deposits so trading for it is pricey? There’s been plenty of cheats, circumstances, and shortcuts throughout history that may decrease what we would call the quality of food, and all of those examples really did happen.

Your idea of quality may be a hoity-toity five star restaurant, or an enormous home-cooked fresh meal, or the tastiest dish with all the seasonings on it. Instead of describing the food as low quality, think about what your people would consider high quality. What do they love? What flavors are common, and what’s rarer and therefore richer? How available is plant-based food, meaning are there herbs and fruit trees in everyone’s garden or is agriculture and import the only way of obtaining them? How available is animal-based food, meaning do these people live as herdsfolk and eat a whole sheep every week including the organs or do fishing boats bring in dozens of kinds of seafood or is the entire population practically vegetarian until traders arrive with preserved meats?

Think about where your people are situated geographically to figure out the resources available to them, and their neighboring countries for trade. Also think about how developed your people are. This website is a timeline of food throughout history, and may help you pin down some barebones basics.

Tex: Both Feral and Brainstormed offer excellent advice, and I’ll be reiterating most of that in my own opinion.

Cooking techniques are cumulative skills that reflect a culture’s technological progression. We started with a plain old fire, so cooking food with that meant techniques like spitroasting - with the invention of pottery, we could put things in containers over, on, and even under said fire, which would bring us “new” techniques like broiling, boiling (comestibles in a liquid), roasting, sautéing, searing, and blanching (comestibles scalded in boiling water and then removed into an ice/cold water bath).

These cumulative skills are also exponential, in that most of these adapted techniques can be combined with other skills. Take, for example, a stew. The base ingredients - meats, vegetables, grains - can be cooked with direct heat (e.g. grilling over a fire), then added to a cooking container (e.g. pots of different compositions) with a fat (e.g. oil, butter) to further cook the ingredients until it’s a desired texture (e.g. “spoon tender”).

This would be a “complete” meal by itself, of course - but it’s a cook’s decision to continue on to a stew because… well, because they think it tastes good, and there could be social/cultural reasons to continue expending effort into their food. Adding a liquid - it could be water/milk, but also a composite liquid (more cooking!) such as a broth - and simmering (low indirect heat over an extended period of time) would turn this dish into a stew.

Stews (and soups, the less dense predecessor) are popular in a great deal of cultures for a variety of reasons. For one, it’s relatively easy to make - Medieval European pottage could be tended over a fire throughout the day, portions taken and the dish stretched with minimal fuss. For two, such dishes are filling, with minimal concentration on the type or number of ingredients - the basic recipe is usually water + grain(s) + vegetable(s), and can be dressed up with whatever extra ingredients are on hand. Vegetables are resource-cheap foods, as they can be grown in family/shared gardens, and grains provide the lion’s share of carbohydrates (glucose, necessary for cell function; see: cellular respiration) as well as other things like protein and fats that vegetables are usually unable to provide in significant quantities.

Soup is, in itself, preceded by gruel. Originally, soup was nothing more than something to dip your bread (or other grain-based, dry food) into, and expanded into more than just a glorified sauce. Gruels are liquid + grain, and even simpler than soups or stews. They’re very easy to make, and often invented when a culture experiences their transition to a sedentary society (marked by the shift from hunting/gathering to agriculture). Breads of some sort usually accompany this because someone will figure out indirect heating (our first baking!).

Bread-beers (Ancient History), as a side note, frequently accompany breads and gruels in terms of cooking technique epochs. The Ancient Egyptians had one, Eastern Europe another (Kvass). This is a cousin, sort of, to gruels and breads in terms of technique, and utilizes the introduction of fermentation (another skill! Possibly discovered by accident via “oh this spoiled food didn’t kill me, neat”) from ingredients such as yeast. Alcohol that doesn’t start from a solid base such as bread is the refined version of this technique.

So far, everything I’ve mentioned is made from staple foods. It is the application of technique that creates such a wide variety. There is some degree of social hierarchy when it comes to what techniques are picked by a cook, if only because some of the more refined (a term I use as a concentration of technique, not an indication of quality) ones are costly in terms of time and sometimes also available tools (e.g. it’s simpler to make a bread-beer than vodka, especially if you don’t have a distillation set-up).

Seasoning is… a thorny topic. Most ingredients that get called “seasoning” - especially in the modern, North American sense - are just plants used in lower ratios than others in a dish. Take basil, for example. When it’s used in low proportions, it’s a seasoning (e.g. tomato sauce with basil). When used in high proportions, it’s an ingredient (e.g. pesto).

Now, there’s significant overlap in which plants are called “seasonings” and which are called “herbs”. This would be because plants designated as herbs are frequently prized in cookery as adding aromatic or savoury elements to a dish - too much can be overpowering (e.g. rosemary in small amounts can be delicious, but in large amounts can be too bitter to enjoy), so they’re often relegated as a component towards flavour profiles. Their physical quantity available to a culture does not necessarily designate “high” or “low” quality, merely the ratio that is culturally-accepted in recipes. (E.g. Italy uses basil in many dishes, but does that make either the dishes or the basil low quality? No.)

Herbs, as another side note, are frequently also used in medicine - hence herbal medicine. The medicinal plants wiki is less biased than the herbal medicine one, and offers some greater anthropological context.

Quality in terms of food is… usually more the ratio of preferred to not preferred qualities. In meat, this would mean things like fat, tendons, and gristle. Food, or rather ingredient, quality is a benchmark of how much time needs to be invested in preparing a dish. It takes significantly less time to cook bread when the grains are already hulled (and oftentimes polished), than if you had to go out to the field and do it yourself. Higher quality = higher convenience.

(Despite what Apicius might claim, spoiled food is not actually edible, and is different than purposefully fermented or cultured foods.)

Higher-quality ingredients means time saved, and that time could be allocated toward more complex cooking techniques. This isn’t always true in practice, since something like a cut of meat is better for one type of dish as opposed to another for practicality’s sake (i.e. if you’ve trimmed your meat so much it’s cubed, you’re not going to get a steak out of it). There’s some debate as to the idea of ingredient quantity vs technique complexity, where touted “high quality” foods (e.g. Sachertorte) use few ingredients, and “low quality” foods have many ingredients - usually seasonings, to mask the subpar flavour of something like a cut of meat.

Like Feral said, sauces are a great carrier for flavour, as well as helping to stretch the usable lifespan of an ingredient. A cut of meat ordinarily good for a steak that’s close to expiration might not be a good steak, but it could make for a decent stew or sausage, both of which could have sauces added to them to increase the complexity of the flavour profile. The food timeline which Brainstormed mentioned also has a timeline on sauces, which I think might interest you.

You mention “all the imported food is for the rich”, and I’m curious about that. Feral gave the example of the British upper-class restricting usage of some spices to the wealthier - and thus upper - classes of their society; is that what you’re referencing? What spices are you using as a base for your world, can they be domesticated? (For that matter, do greenhouses and the accompanying opportunistic entrepreneurs also exist? Or just a general opportunistic individual.)

The economic context of spices can’t be readily dismissed - there’s a weighing of amount of resources against amount of diplomatic tensions, so even if there’s an abundant amount of a given product, the providing nation could well make a money-based rude gesture in the direction of their client and increase the prices to artificially restrict supply. (Take tea, for example. Many, many economic wars have been fought over that [Abstract].)

The fluctuations of class-availability can include a factor of a nation’s influence on the global stage, and they could demand a good at a lower price and in large enough quantities to satisfy - at least temporarily - multiple social classes. This often comes at the cost of quality (here, in terms of purity of ingredients) - you can see this with tea, black pepper, olive oil, and many other class-oriented comestible goods (1, 2, 3, 4, 5). I will stress that quality grades aren’t precisely the same for single-source foods and multi-source foods (e.g. sirloin steak vs curry powder), because a drop in single-source quality is more noticeable than multi-source quality due to fewer things to hide an ingredient’s quality behind.

Foods can still be heavily seasoned on both ends of the class spectrum, but there would be differences in local vs foreign (domesticated vs imported), and whether it’s a specialty dish (e.g. foods made for holidays, see: stollen) because infrequently-made dishes on a cultural basis are more likely to have fewer differences in ingredient quality and technique complexity.

There are also some dishes that have artificial class restrictions, because the upper classes have a habit of refusing to eat dishes from the lower classes as a means of social division. This is especially apparent in something like bread (1, 2), but fluctuations of technique complexity and ingredient quality availability can mean that the classifications of bread types can shift (1).

Further Reading

(PDF) Evolution – Culinary Culture – Cooking Technology by Thomas A. Vilgis

History of Cooking by All That Cooking

Feral (again): Modern History has a four part series on food in Medieval England broken down by social class with commentary on how it compares to food today, which may elucidate some of what we’ve been talking about in regards to the culturally variable meaning of “quality” in food.

[meganshinsou-tm]

Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter fifteen: seesaw

❧ genre:  tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: panic/anxiety attack, depictions of past physical/emotional abuse

❧ chapter song:  Trivia 轉 : Seesaw by BTS

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

Kirishima sat in his studio, trying and failing to draw a large scale piece of something that he wasn’t even sure of. His mind was too crowded. Too dark. 

A jumble of graphic scenes from a hit he had just come back from the day before flashed before his eyes. It always took him time to re-adjust when coming back home after those jobs. The red-head would lock himself away in his studio and draw to let out the rest of his anger and savagery, especially since you were around now. The more time he spent with you lately though, the more you’d notice these mood changes, not like you didn’t before, but he didn’t exactly know that.

Now that he allowed himself to confess his feelings and get closer to you, Kirishima also allowed you state your concerns about these random moods. Before you always kept to yourself and worried quietly, now though, you could go to him and pester him with questions.

“Why are you bleeding?” “How did you get that gash?” “Who did this to you?”

Each time those small hands of yours would cup his face, (e/c) eyes looking up at him with worry and anger. Each time he’d brush it off with excuses that never made sense but you never pressed for more. Each time you told him you weren’t buying the bullshit but that you knew he’d tell you the truth eventually then proceed to heal him and the others if they needed it. 

Not only was Kiri grateful that you never pushed for more information, he was also grateful that you were still there. You knew something dangerous was happening to him, that he was subjecting himself to it but you still stayed by his side. Even if that meant letting him be alone for hours while he tore board after board of canvas apart from not being able to create something, his studio becoming a mess of art supplies and paint or charcoal all over his scarred and tattooed skin. You’d leave him alone until it was more than you could take and always, he’d hear a familiar knock and soft command at his door.

“Eijirou, let me in.”

Every time he heard those words, Kirishima would stop what he was doing and relief would flood over his body. The tightness in his chest would start to slowly diminish and little by little he felt like he could breathe again. Doing the same as every other time, Kiri sat up and cracked the tired bones in his neck then smiled.

“It’s unlocked little one.”

He heard the door opening as he gathered his utensils and placed them in the middle of the canvas that was nothing but a mess of colors and shapes. Your footsteps were coming closer to him and soon enough, arms wrapped around his neck and your body was pressed against his back. Soft (h/c) tresses fell over his shoulder and your lips were kissing at his cheek. Instantly, Kirishima melted and hummed, all his anger, violence, all the colors and words in his head suddenly blurring until there was nothing but one word as you spoke it softly and ran fingers through his hair.

“Eijirou.”

Just the way you said his name could make the massive raging beast inside of him calm.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” You asked.

Kirishima smiled and shook his head and turned it to you. His red eyes lit up when they fell upon you for the first time since that morning when he arrived and you healed him then let him run off to hide. His arm moved, top half turning and hand grabbing your hip to walk you around and stand before him. Kirishima brushed back your hair before placing a kiss to your forehead and holding your hand in his, the other cupping your cheek.

“I’m better now little one but there is one thing I do need.”

“What is it Ei, anything.”

The red-head leaned closer, his hand pulling your face in and a knowing smile growing on your lips. The distance was closed when finally he captured your mouth with his, kissing you sweetly and softly, his hands moving to pick your body up to sit on his lap. You squealed with delight and wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing each other continuously as Kirishima held and pet you all over, his hands touching you softly as if he could easily break you, which he could. 

Your own hands wandered the sharp edges of his jaw, his pliant cheeks and fingers brushed over his scarred eyebrow and into his hair. More and more, Kirishima could feel that beast being tamed and shooed back into its cage, tail tucking between its legs and he was able to emerge from the dark and take its place. He still couldn’t get over the fact that he was able to touch, hold and kiss you when he pleased now, he was able to satisfy his cravings - his needs. What made it better was how you were just as eager and needy for him in return. It didn’t even need to be kisses, it could just be soft nuzzles and secure hugs here and there, touches to his face and his hands holding yours.

The kisses were slowly dying down, your lips were now kissing each other’s cheeks and lingering, barely brushing along skin. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this or how easy and normal it feels.”

You softly giggled and pulled away to look at Kirishima. 

“Now just imagine how it could’ve been this way a long time ago but you just had to be a stubborn ass.”

The man smirked and started to tickle your sides, making you laugh loudly and also panic as your body started to slowly slip from his lap. 

“Kiri, s-stop I’m gonna fall on my ass!”

Kirishima laughed while he stopped then roughly tugged you back up into his lap, face to face and smiling. “Little one, I’ll never let you fall ... on your ass.”

Your eyes rolled. “Aren’t you fucking romantic!”

He chuckled and you pat his arms, silently asking to be released and set back down on the floor. Kirishima stood from his stool and stretched his arms above his head, his shirt rising enough to show his waistline and you taking the chance to claw at it. Kirishima grunted and quickly snatched your wrist, a shit-eating grin on your face.

“Watch it baby girl, don’t go starting shit you can’t finish.”

“I should be telling you that Mr. Cockblock.”

Kiri playfully flicked your forehead before stealing another kiss. 

“I hate you.”

Smiling, you reached up and pinched his cheek, “I hate you too. Now, let's get this mess cleaned up and close the shop. Everyone else is gone already!”

Kirishima ruffled you hair and did as told. After a few minutes the two of you were finally done and walking out of his studio. Working together to make sure everything else in the shop was locked and turned off before heading out. 

You snuggled inside your coat as snow fell, walking to the edge of the curb and waiting while Kirishima locked the doors. A weird chill came over you, body suddenly going stiff and your senses becoming hyper-aware. The wind blew and there was an eerie silence all around. It felt like someone was watching you, causing you to look up and down the street. Something felt off and wrong.

“You alright little one?” Kirishima asked, coming up behind you and causing you to slightly jump. His brow quirked and he stepped closer, taking your hand and squeezing it. “What’s wrong babe?”

Your eyes scanned the area again and your head shook. “Nothing.”

Kirishima knew you were lying though, your breathing was irregular, continuous puffs of air becoming visible in the cold and your cheeks becoming pale. He cupped your cheek, turning you to look at him. 

“Fine then. Listen though, if you aren’t busy tonight, how about you come to my place and hangout. It’s been a few weeks and you still have yet to come over even though I’ve been to your place plenty of times, plus - I think it’s time you met the other girl in my life. What do you say, no pressure though, I’ll take you home later if you want.”

Your hand squeezed Kiri’s and a thankful smile grew on your face. “That sounds great handsome. Will food be involved?”

“Of course, what kind of man would I be to let my girl starve huh?” 

Kiri smiled and hooked his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him to hug his side as you started to walk towards his truck. 

“Let’s hurry and get you out of this cold baby girl and we’ll make a few stops on the way.”

Happily you went along with Kirishima until you were safe inside his vehicle and leaving the shop. 

But when his truck rounded the corner and was out of sight, a figure emerged from its hiding spot in the shadows. The man walked into the middle of the street, a grin on his face while fishing his cell from his pocket and dialing a number. As he waited, he lit a cigarette.

“Hey, tell him I found her.”

Once parked inside of Kirishima’s garage, he got out and walked over to your side of the truck to open the door. You smiled and he took your hand to help you down from the vehicle. Together you both gathered the groceries that you stopped to get before heading to his place, Kiri had promised to feed you and also got other goodies to snack on throughout the night. 

Now standing before the door, he unlocked it and slowly opened it, his head peeking in and looking around before motioning you inside. Your eyebrow quirked and Kiri grinned when you walked in ahead of him and inside, he followed behind into the quiet house. You were minding your business, searching in the dimly lit kitchen for the counter-tops to place the bags on. Out of nowhere Kirishima whistled sharply, making you jump and yelp. Not too long after the sound of paws could be heard hitting the hard floor and rushing into the kitchen.

“Here she comes,” Kiri chuckled.

You hurried to dump the groceries on the counter then went to stand beside Kirishima. Sure enough a grey and white pit bull came barreling out of a room down the hall, quickly halting to a stop just a few steps before the two of you and looking bashful, her ears lowering and body cowering. You quietly gasped and touched Kirishima’s shoulder, looking at him.

“Should I move?”

He smiled and shook his head, grabbing your hand and crouching down, asking you to do the same. 

“No little one, she’s just shy. Pits are scared of their own shadow and she’s special, I told you I got her from a shelter, so she’s cautious of new people. Don’t worry though, just do as I say.” You nodded and Kiri reached out his other hand, softly clicking his tongue at the dog who watched you both with curious eyes. “Hey mama, it’s okay. We like her, see,” he cooed at the animal before turning to kiss your cheek. “Come here precious.”

Slowly but surely, Duchess started to make her way towards the two of you. You were instructed to hold out your hand and try talking to her as well, not that much a challenge at all. Gently you moved to sit on the floor, free hand reaching out palm up for the dog.

“Hey there cutie, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

Duchess licked and smacked her jowls, tail starting to wag so much her body was wagging as well. She blinked and started to move faster, her wet snout nuzzling at your hand and allowing you to pet her face. You awed and scratched her until she was melting into your lap on the floor and panting. You took it upon yourself to start petting and loving her all over, cooing and making kissing noises. Kirishima smiled and joined in on the belly rubs.

“See, she’s just a big baby. Now she’s gonna be stuck to you like fucking glue.” He chimed and pat the dogs side.

“I don’t mind that one bit, I could never get tired of this sweet baby!”

Duchess happily groaned and turned over on her back, wiggling side to side and smiling.

“You’re a spoiled brat huh?” Kirishima chuckled before looking at you with a smile. “Now that the two of you have finally met, how about we start making dinner.”

You nodded and gave Duchess a few pats before getting off the floor with Kiri’s help. He kissed your cheek and went to the counters to start un-bagging the food. You took a minute to look around the place and hummed. 

His home was big and spacious, very warm and colored in dark moody colors. The walls decorated similarly like the tattoo shop with oni masks and artwork. The living room could be looked into from the kitchen and you pouted upon seeing a bare Christmas tree set up before a massive window. Rubbing the side of your neck you went to help Kiri.

“Why isn’t your tree decorated yet?”

The red-head looked over to the object in question and shrugged while he set-up the ingredients to prep. 

“Uh I just haven’t had time I guess, it’ll probably stay that way. I usually don’t even get a tree, I was just suckered into buying it from those kids selling them.”

“You don’t like Christmas or something?” You questioned.

“Nah I like it, I don’t do much for it though. It’s been just me and the guys for years now. We always just go to the bar or get together at the shop. We don’t really care too much for all the fancy extra’s of the holiday you know. We’ll have a meal and all but that’s about it. What about you little one?”

You swallowed thickly and shrugged before taking an onion from him and started to peel it so you could start dicing it.

“I love Christmas. I love the lights, music, the smells and just all of it but I don’t celebrate it I think. It’s been so long since I’ve had a real Christmas, I can’t even remember my last one. You know - so much shit has happened in the past two years, or is it three ... hmm. Anyway, I’ve sort of tried to just block everything out, repress it all.”

You sniffled and scrunched your nose, the powerful fumes of the onion started to make its way into your sinuses. Kirishima was marinating and cutting up pieces of beef, lost in thought at what you had said. It pained his heart to hear that you seemed to love the holidays but wasn’t lucky enough to experience them. He thought back to when the two of you were shopping and you were like a kid going crazy over all the Christmas lights and decorations. 

It didn’t take long for Kirishima to decide that he was going to change what Christmas was to you, this was something easy and very sentimental that he could do for you. If you wanted Christmas, the lights, the music, the treats and the whole big cheesy ordeal of it all, then he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make that happen for you.

“Well what do you say we start forming some good memories for you to keep stored in that cute little head of yours. The holidays are all about traditions right?”

You stopped dicing, using the back of your hand to rub away the tears from your eyes and wipe your nose before looking at Kirishima, a faint smile on your face. 

“I think they are.”

“Then let’s make our own, you and me, the guys. You’re part of the shop, the family, and you’re part of me now. We can start with that sad looking tree in there.”

“Ei, I - I don’t know how to decorate a tree, I don’t know how to - Christmas.”

The tattooed man chuckled and finished with his task, washed his hands and dried them before moving closer to you, turning and placing a hand on the counter and the other on your lower back. 

“Decorating is easy and it’ll be fun, it doesn’t have to be perfect little one, just as long as you’re happy and enjoying yourself. You’ll know how to Christmas in no time, we’ve got years to perfect your skill.”

“Years huh?” You smiled and bit your lip.

Kirishima nodded and let his hand glide from your back and up your spine until it came to rest on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing your jawline. 

“You heard me. Now that I have you (Y/N), I don’t plan on letting you go. I wasted too much time fucking off and fucking up with you, I plan on redeeming myself for the rest of my life, so that involves a shit ton of Christmas’s, birthdays, Thanksgiving, excetera, excetera. You okay with that?”

Your lips pouted, the strong vapors of the onions and Kiri’s words making you tear up even more. You stopped chopping and grabbed a towel to wipe your hands. Irritated eyes looking back into piercing ruby red ones. Your bottom lip quivered.

“What if someone tries to take me from you though …”

Kirishima shook his head, thumb tracing your bottom lip to still it.

“That won’t ever happen. I won’t ever let that happen. I’d fucking break myself over and over again and do whatever it takes to keep you safe and with me. I’d find you and whoever is stupid enough to try and pry you from not only my hands but five other pairs, they won’t even live long enough to regret what they did. No one is taking you from me, ever.”

A relieved sigh left your lips and your body relaxed. You’ve been told before by the others that no matter what you’d be protected but to hear it coming from Kirishima’s own mouth now, only made it that much more real and believable.

“No one is taking me from you.”

Kirishima grinned and nodded. He leaned in closer, seeking out a kiss and having his wish granted when you closed the distance and desperately kissed him. The desperation diminished though once Kirishima took the lead by lightly nipping at your lip and kissing you softly as if trying to convey every word he just said with affection. The kiss made you feel like he was saying, “You’re okay, I’ve got you.” 

When it broke, Kirishima pecked your cheek and hummed.

“Now, let's get this all cooked, eat, then start on our new tradition, okay?”

You nodded with a smile and Kirishima ruffled your hair before he went back to prepping and started to cook. Once you were done with your tasks, you went to play with Duchess in the living room while Kiri cooked. When it was done, you both sat down at the counter and ate, Duchess eating her own food at your feet. When dinner was over, put up, and the dishes cleaned, Kiri rubbed his palms together and clapped.

“You ready to start decorating my little elf?”

Nodding, you rubbed the side of your neck and nervously smiled. 

“Yeah but I’ll probably be shit at it so don’t laugh and don’t expect a marvelous looking tree.”

Kirishima smiled and pulled you into a hug. “There is no right or wrong way to decorate a tree little one, plus we’re starting our own tradition so it can be anything we want it to be. Since I don’t usually decorate I only have the basics like lights and a few ornaments. I can get some supplies together and if you want we can make our own stuff too since you know, your boyfriend is talented as fuck and you’re not so bad yourself with all the practicing you’ve been doing.”

You smiled and pinched Kiri’s cheek.

“That sounds like a plan! Can we play music too? Maybe not the usual holiday music, let's make a playlist of all our favorites!”

Kiri agreed and the two of you quickly made a playlist, it was full of different artists and genres, metal, rap, k-pop, instrumental and indie music. Once it was playing through a set a speakers, Kirishima went to grab the few decorations he had that all fit into one plastic bin. Together you strung the lights around the tree and hung up the few ornaments he had, once they were all used, the tree could pass for being decent but you both decided it needed more! One idea came to mind for you and had you gasping then running to your bag that sat on the couch. You pulled out a small pink camera that produced medium sized polaroid pictures.

“We can decorate it with some pictures, of you and me, Duchess. We’ll take some throughout the night then put them up later, if you have string I can punch holes in them and tie them in a line. I also have pictures of us and the guys from the shop we can use as well.”

A smile came to Kiri’s face and he nodded. 

“Hmm, I can make some origami stars out of some old sketch pages I have and some of yours if you want!”

“Origami? Geez what a fucking nerd.” You snorted while checking the film in the camera and taking a picture of Duchess where she laid on the floor, rolling around with her tongue out.

“Hey do you want ornaments or not?”

Your eyes rolled before looking at Kirishima with a smile. He smiled back and left long enough to go get his old sketch books from his room, along with other items such as scissors, string and other things you’d need for all the handmade ornaments. Without another word, the two of you got to work on creating, you making a string of polaroids and taking a few here and there of yourself and Kiri. Him focusing on his origami and Duchess going back and forth between you. 

A few hours went by and more and more the tree was starting to come along. The stars Kirishima made were actually quite nice and gave it an artsy look along with the pictures. Even a few of Duchess’s old collars were added to the mix. As you walked around the tree, starting to string up the last of the polaroids, a song started to play that caused you to squeal.

Kirishima popped his head out from behind the fridge at the sound, not seeing you behind the tree. He knew he didn’t need to feel uneasy but he did and made his way back into the living room. 

“Babe you okay?”

“Banbokdwen shiso shisogeim,” you sang with a smile while coming into view from around the tree.

Kiri sighed and shook his head, watching you slowly starting to dance. All night long you sang and danced to the songs you knew and loved. Kirishima always watching and thinking how much he loved this tradition already. He went to go back to the kitchen but your volume raised and sounded panicked as you lunged for him and grabbed his hand, tugging his body back with a pout on your face.

“Dance with me, another tradition, I demand it!” 

There was a look that grew on the mans face that read ‘please don’t make me’ but you only giggled and nodded, continuing to sing and trying to lure him in with your dancing. 

“All right banbokdwen shisogeim ijeseoya kkeucheul naeboryeo hae.”

Rolling his eyes, Kirishima sighed and finally fell into step with you, making you smile bigger than ever when he took both your hands. Just like that night at the club, you both found a rhythm together quickly and moved along with the steady and mellow beat. Neither of you were bad dancers at all, doing little twists and turns here, Kiri dipping your body playfully and both of you lightly bouncing together. All these traditions that were being made that night may have seemed silly or dumb to others but they made you utterly happy and that made him happy and Kirishima would be damned if he forgot a single one of them.

His red eyes never left you the duration of the song and as it slowed to its end he couldn’t help but be consumed by the tone and swiftly picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and letting you wrap your arms around his neck. Smiling, quietly you sang the rest of the song upon his cheek, lips brushing against it and his own nuzzling your cheek in return with a smile. Your head turned to look at the tree and you sighed, Kirishima’s eyes followed.

“Think it’s done?”

Your lips jutted out and you hummed. 

“It is but it’s missing something! Oh - look, it’s missing a topper, like a star or an angel, if you’re religious or whatever.”

“Ah - I gotcha,” he responded then smirked, “Actually, I have just the thing for it!”

“But we used everything in the - ah!”

You yelled out at Kirishima unwrapping you from around him and hoisting you up like a child over his head while walking towards the tree and laughing. 

“I’ve got a perfectly good angel right here!”

“Shut your fucking mouth that is so cheesy, you better put me down!”

“Or what little one?” Kiri replied and started to tickle the bottoms of your thighs he held, making you squirm above him.

“Eijirou Kirishima, I will fuck you up, stop I’m gonna fall!”

The red-head chuckled and dropped you in the air, making you squeal until he caught you again in his arms. Your hands covered your face, chest heaving and your heart raced from the adrenaline. When you peaked between your fingers, Kirishima had a cocky smile on his face.

“How are you supposed to fuck me up looking like a scared little baby back bitch?” He teased while standing you on your feet.

“Oh you fucker, it’s on!” You challenged and pushed at his chest with all you had.

The massive man only laughed and took a step back, deflecting every punch you swung at him and giving you playful little jabs to the stomach and side in between. You giggled and kept trying, landing a few solid punches to his stomach and kicking at his sides.

“You’re like a mad little cub, it’s adorable!”

“Fuck you you spiky haired bastard!” You replied and went to kick at him again, this time his hand catching your ankle and making you immediately regret your decision. “Ei, let’s talk this out!”

“Uh-huh, you’re mine now!” 

He smirked and tugged your ankle, making you hop on one leg towards him, arms flailing and almost falling back on your ass before he wrapped an arm around your midsection and tossed you over onto the massive couch. Before you could get up and try to crawl away he was already hovering over you tickling at your sides as you pleaded for mercy. 

“What - where’s all that shit talking now little badass?”

“Eiji!” You whined and tried to pout but it was useless from how hard you laughed and smiled.

“Beg like a good little girl and I’ll stop.” You scoffed and tried to punch at him again but Kirishima growled and took both your wrists and pinned them to the sides of your head roughly with a smirk. “Beg.”

Your eyes narrowed at the massive man as he stared back, red eyes dark and hungry looking. A short chuckle left your throat and your eyes rolled at him before tilting your head, lips pouting and a leg slowly wrapping around his waist as you whined.

“Please Eijirou, I’ll be a good girl and do whatever you want.”

“Hmm,” Kirishima licked his lip and leaned in closer, his hands tightening around your wrists and making you gasp at the soft kiss being placed under your jaw, “Then say my name again.”

You were now panting just from the way Kirishima’s voice spoke to you, how his hands around your small wrists were rough and possessive and how his lips kept brushing against the skin of jaw and neck just enough to drive you insane. A genuine pitiful whimper rang in the back of your throat and your fingers clenched into fists.

“Eijirou.”

“Good girl,” he breathed on the corner of your mouth before finally kissing you and making your body keen under him. Your leg wrapped around him tighter, hips rising to met his own and causing him to groan, sharp teeth taking your lip between them. “My good girl.”

You whimpered more and nearly lost it when Kirishima let go of one wrist, placing his hand on your hip and pulling it up so he could rut against you. When both hands were free, they scrambled to the hem of his shirt and eagerly tugged it upwards. He chuckled and let you pull it over his head and drop it onto the floor. 

Your mouths met again, getting more and more hungry by the second as tongues tasted and teeth gnawed, your sweater soon finding the floor next to Kiri’s. Over and over you made soft and sweet sounds, also repeating your lovers name and egging him on more and more.

“Ah, Eijirou,” you moaned when his hand softly squeezed your breast over the black bra.

Soon kisses and bites were trailing down your neck, collarbone and sternum. Kirishima smiling and running a finger down the ink of the octopus that laid before him. He kissed further to the side and pushed up the band of your bra enough to let him kiss at the very tattoo he placed on you. Smiling, your hands tangled in his messy red hair while more sweet and soft kisses were gifted to your ribs and stomach. 

Kirishima always loved how the majority of your skin was still devoid of any ink, still blank and perfect, clear like a fresh canvas. To him, you were the clean part of him, sweet and bright, a new slate he could start over with. He would do everything in his power to keep you this way, cherish every single inch of you and only tarnish your skin with the evidence of his love for you. 

You sighed once he kissed your navel, one hand holding your right hip and his thumb brushing over the skin of it. You trembled though when his thumb contacted with the scar that rest a few inches from your hip bone.

The red-head stopped everything at once and his eyes moved to the scar. He had completely forgotten all about it, not just that one in particular but all your scars. This was the first time he was literally face to face it and he carefully touched the pinkish flesh again. Just like before you trembled and whimpered quietly.

“Does it hurt?”

Your head shook and you slowly sat up on your elbows to look down at him. “Not physically, there’s just this phantom feeling left behind I guess.”

“I’m sorry little one,” he replied and lowered his face, placing his lips to the scar and gently kissing it. 

This time you didn’t tremble like before, instead you hummed happily and pet his hair. Kirishima continued to examine the scar, his heart feeling heavy and chest tight at the realization of its location. 

Doing what he did behind your back, the hitman knew all the detrimental spots on the human body that could easily end someone’s life or cause them agonizing slow pain. He could tell the scar tissue was thick and damaged, letting him know that you weren’t stabbed just once but multiple times in the same spot. You were tortured, that much wasn’t a secret considering the other scars he remembered seeing that night at Sero’s.

“I bled for two days, only allowed to heal myself enough to where I wouldn’t actually bleed out. Finally when he thought I had learned my lesson he let me heal it fully but there was already so much damage and I was too weak and too tired to even care so I just let it heal on its own. To think that was just a warning, I should’ve learned my lesson after that but I’m a brat remember?” You chuckled.

Kirishima’s red eyes glared up at you, obviously not amused.

“Okay, not my best joke,” you frowned and rubbed the side of your neck before sighing. “Do you want to know - about the others I mean. I might as well show and tell you now since we’ve gotten this far right? Plus I don’t have anything to hide from you.”

“Does that mean you’ll tell me who your ex is then?”

“Okay I have one thing to hide from you!” You laughed and sat up on your palms, touching Kirishima’s cheek with one hand and smirking. “I can’t tell you Ei, not right now. I promise though when the time is right I will.”

“What if it's too late then huh? How am I supposed to protect you when I don’t know who to protect you from!” He pleaded and pressed his forehead to yours, “(Y/N), if anything happened to you when I can easily prevent it, I’d fucking lose myself.”

“I know Eijirou, the same goes for you. This is the only way I know how to protect you and the guys. For now let’s just take this one step at a time okay, we both have secrets we’re keeping from each other right now and obviously these secrets are dark but I trust that you’ll tell me when you’re ready, so just trust me as well okay?”

Kirishima sighed and cupped the back of your neck, lifting his head to place a kiss to your forehead and deciding to give up for now and take what you were willing to offer at this moment.

“Okay little one. But you fucking promise me that if anything ever feels weird or you can just sense something is going to happen, please, please tell me. Remember, no one is taking you from me and I’ll kill the bastard who thinks they can.”

“I promise Red.”

Kiri nodded and sat back on his knees, hands moving down to rub your thighs. He was aching to see the burns again and to learn more. Nervously, his hand moved to the button of your jeans, slowly un-doing it as he looked to you. 

You watched, letting him do what he pleased, lifting your hips to help him pull the jeans down and off before tossing them to the floor. Kirishima swallowed the lump in his throat once he looked upon the reddish-purple burns, the hand-prints charred onto you skin and let his own drag down them. Shockingly the skin was still soft, raised in areas and cold to the touch.

“These weren’t a warning, more so just him showing off really. I walked in on something I shouldn't have like always, I had terrible fucking luck. After the first warning, when things like that happened, he would just let me go on about my day and deal with me later that night but this time there was an audience, new people who didn’t know about me and didn’t know that I knew better than to dare speak of anything that went on in that house. But they panicked and were way too fucking paranoid, so he made a demonstration of my ‘loyalty’ and blind love to him.”

You paused and looked at the burns, your own hand touching one of the hand-prints as your teeth chewed your bottom lip and for a split second you actually missed the fucker. Quickly you shook the feeling from your head and cleared your throat before continuing.

“He uh - he ordered two of personal minions to grab and pin me down to this table and he stood at the end of it, taking his knife and using it to cut off my pants and toss them, he could’ve just used his quirk to burn them off but he wanted to humiliate me, show the power he held over me. He said he loved me before grabbing my thighs and burning them. No one batted an eye or looked away, no one helped - they just watched as he continuously tortured me. They even laughed you know and applauded him.”

You cleared your throat, trying to will away the pain in your voice. 

“’You love me too don’t you, so much that you’d die before opening that pretty little mouth right?’ I cried and screamed that I’d never betray him ever, over and over again until I couldn’t anymore and it was true. Because even when he was maiming me, he still looked at me with those eyes as if they would never let me get hurt and he talked with that voice that made me believe this really was just how love is - suffering and complying no matter what. I - I’m pretty fucking stupid huh?”

Kirishima sat there before you, one hand on your thigh, on the same spot that monster laid his own hands and left permanent marks. 

He was livid, raging, seeing red. 

All he wanted to do was find that bastard and adopt some of Deku’s sadistic methods for himself and hear the guy screaming in agony, laughing in his face just like he did to you. Kiri wanted nothing more than to demand his name, his breathing picking up and teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek. His opposite hand clutching at the couch cushion beneath him and slowly starting to tear until your own hand touched his and that sweet voice said that magic word.

“Eijirou.”

All at once, Kirishima came back to his senses, the red clearing once he looked at you staring back at him, waiting patiently for some sort of response. Normally, he wouldn’t think before he spoke and that always backfired on him. Things were different now, you weren’t hiding anything, you were giving him answers he wanted, one in particular he wasn’t going to get anytime soon, but this was good, this was a start and he needed to be there for you more than anything. 

His red eyes blinked and he took a deep breath.

“I - I don’t know what to say to that. I mean there is a lot I want to say but that’s not what you need right now. I’m just trying to let this sink in without going off the fucking handle. I’m trying to be what you need me to be right now little one.”

You shook your head, fingers interlocking with his own and your other hand running through his hair. 

“Ei, that’s perfectly fine. I don’t expect you to know what to say to something like this. Just as long as you can still want and love me the way I am now, knowing that this will always be on my body, then that’s all I need. I don’t need you to pity me or feel sorry because I’m over it all, I’ve moved on and I got out, I realized how what he did to me wasn’t love at all ... it was cruelty and abuse. I shouldn’t have been so dumb and it’s my fault for not realizing that until I was a-almost dead … f-fuck I was so c-close ... I c-could’ve d -”

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere in your response you started to cry, not realizing till the memory of waking up cold with a knife in your back had you hyperventilating and reaching out for Kirishima. 

Not hesitating for even a second, he quickly grabbed and pulled you into his lap, your arms and legs desperately wrapping around him as you started to sob into the crook of his neck. He held you close, rubbing your back and not letting go. Kirishima gently rocked you in his lap, Duchess making her way onto the couch and laying down next to him, her head resting on his thigh and letting out a pitiful whimper.

“It’s alright mama, I’ve got her,” Kirishima spoke to the dog, letting go enough to scratch her head then hold you with both arms again and he kiss your hair.

“Listen to me, none of that shit was your fault, none of it! That guy is fucked up and he took advantage of the massive heart you have alright? I can’t say much because in the beginning I treated you like shit, I strung you along and hurt you, so I’m no better than him but I swear on my life I’d never lay my hands on you. Thinking of you suffering there alone, thinking of you thinking that what he did was love, it sucks. All of that was his fault, you’re innocent (Y/N), all you’re guilty of is loving someone who didn’t deserve it, who didn’t deserve you. Hell I don’t deserve you, not after what I’ve put you through but even after all that shit with that monster and with me, your heart is still so fucking massive and so full of love that you’re willing to give me a second chance and I promise I’m not going to fuck that up. You’re the only good thing in my life, you hear me?”

He paused and pulled back, his hands cupping your face and staring into your watery eyes, his own tearing up. 

“You’re strong, so fucking strong! You’re beautiful and kind, sweet and caring. I don’t care what scars you have, how big they are, I love you and I’ll love those scars as well because they are you. I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe, happy, smiling and most of all I’ll show you what love is, how you deserve to be loved. And hey, it’ll take a few sessions and some long hours but if you truly want those burns gone you’ve got me and two other guys that can do just that - together we can turn those scars into something beautiful just for you.”

You sniffled and cracked a tiny smile. “We can?”

“Of course we can little one, but only if you want to. Don’t think that I’ll love you any less for having those, don’t think that you have to be ashamed of them and hide them. It’s your choice to embrace them however you want or cover them up. No matter what you’re still beautiful and I’ll still love you.”

“Eijirou -” you breathed out before kissing him with quivering lips and hugging his neck, “I love you.”

The man sighed and hugged you back, sitting there and comforting you for a few more minutes in silence. After a while you started to grow heavier, your fingers tracing his back randomly and yawns filling his ear. Kiri smiled and kissed your cheek, lightly patting your thigh.

“Here little one, lay down for a bit while I go turn off some things and lock up, I’ll get us a blanket too,” he spoke while turning and easily laying you down on the couch, Duchess immediately curling up next to you, “Keep an eye on her for me, I’ll be right back.” 

Your hand clung to one of his lazily, slipping as he stood and quietly backed away.

A few minutes later Kirishima was back, blanket and a few pillows in hand and in some sweats, he turned off all the lights, leaving just the glow of multi-colored lights from the christmas tree to illuminate the living room warmly. 

Just as suspected you were passed out, turned on your side and hugging Duchess who laid on her side facing you. The red-head chuckled and leaned over to kiss her ear and pet her back before laying down on the other side of you. Your body was slightly trembling from the somewhat cold air, being that you were only in your underwear. Kirishima snuggled up close, wrapping the thick blanket he brought with him over your bodies and gently placing a pillow under your head. You hummed upon feeling the warmth of the blanket and his body, legs unconsciously intertwining with his and back pressing into his chest.

“Eij,” you sighed out, head turning back to him and eyes trying to flutter open.

Kirishima shushed you, one hand curling around and playing with your hair and the other arm holding you. “I’m here, go back to sleep baby.”

“But ... the other one ... didn’t tell you …” you mumbled.

At first he was confused, a red brow quirking before he looked down enough to see that last scar stretching across your shoulder blade. Sighing, Kiri leaned closer and kissed the scar before laying his head down and cuddling you closer, speaking softly into your hair.

“We’ve talked enough for tonight,” he kissed your hair, “I love you little one.”

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Liminal Grief [1/3]

Rating: T Fandom: Stardew Valley Pairing: Shane/Female Farmer Tags: Pre-Relationship, Developing Friendship, Grief, Alcoholism, Depression Word Count: 10,613 (total) Summary: The new farmer has a level of equal-opportunity-friendliness that reminds Shane of an old friend, but when the mask comes off, it's more like looking in a mirror. Also on AO3. Notes: Very much based in the game, but littered with my own headcanons, both for this particular farmer and for Shane. Like other stories in this series, this could be considered standalone, but follows the same farmer (named Lydia) and the same Shane, and shares continuity with those other works.

It had taken a while—most of the spring, actually—but Lydia had finally fallen into a routine.

The routine involved sticking to the farm, mostly. It needed a lot of work—a lot of work she didn't know how to do. She spent her days trying to replicate the tips she'd unearthed in Granddad's old books, his journals on the seasons and crops, and her nights sleeping more soundly than she'd slept in her whole life.

It was hard work. Scary work. Every time she took hold of a weed, she prayed she wasn't about to pull up one of the precious crops she'd spent her dwindling money on. But she was getting through it.

And when she'd done all she could do for the day, there was always the distraction of town.

Thinking of Pelican Town's square that way—town, because the farm was technically in some kind of rural unincorporated area—always made her feel a little like some Austenian heroine, donning her gloves and coiffing her hair to visit civilization. In reality, the best she could muster was a shower before the long, dusty walk, but she'd always liked stories. Something she'd had in common with Granddad.

And this story was full of characters: the downtrodden but enduring mayor, the rebellious daughter of the local grocer, the hardworking big-city doctor, the gregarious saloon-owner…

As the days passed, and she made an effort to greet everyone with cheer, she got more and more back: brief small talk peppered into her days, friendly waves, smiles losing their wariness.

Well. From some people, at least. The runner-up town drunk sure hadn't taken to her friendliness so far.

Interactions with Shane followed, more or less, the same pattern as the first. She offered a pleasantry. He found a way to reject it.

When she crossed paths with him again at the bar on a Friday night: "Hey, Shane. How's it going?"

And in return: "Why are you bothering me." With his inflection, it sounded more like a complaint than a question. "I want to be alone."

On a Tuesday as she stood outside Pierre's, when Shane passed by on his way to JojaMart: "Nice day, isn't it?"

It would have been easy enough for him to agree and keep power-walking on by, but instead he said, "No, I don't have time to chat with you." Like she'd asked him to reflect in detail on the most recent Queen of Sauce episode.

But these were downright polite interactions compared to last week's, when she'd been fishing at the river south of the ranch, well after sundown. She'd spotted him walking home, weaving slightly on the beat-down dirt path, catching himself every few steps as if gravity was making its best effort against him.

"Hey," she called out, ignoring the tugging on her line, "are you okay?"

"What do you want from me?" he demanded, his whole body swinging around so that his red-rimmed eyes could glare at her. Once they'd managed to focus, anyway. "Money? I'd give you a pot of gold to leave me alone!"

"I could use a pot of gold, actually," she began, but he was already in motion again, stomping up the path to the ranch house and slamming the door behind him.

She certainly didn't need to keep putting herself out there. There were plenty of other people who were already nice enough to her, going on friendly, even: Gus and Emily, who were always excited when she brought in one of her crops for them to experiment with; Abigail, who came up with imaginative renovations for the farm Lydia now inhabited; Harvey, who was a bit distant but earnest.

But she'd seen the paths that Shane beat through Pelican Town. To JojaMart, hunched into his sweatshirt, scowling; to the saloon, no longer glowering but run down; to the ranch at the end of the night, a slow and meandering walk, like he already dreaded doing it all over again. She recognized the patterns. She hadn't been a shelf-stocker, but she knew a kindred soul. Another person caught on the conveyor belt of the corporate machine.

That was probably her dramatics again. Her character-profiling. Maybe Shane was just a grouch, happy to scare off anyone every opportunity he got. But on the off chance that that wasn't the case…

She wasn't going to stop saying hello just because he glared at her for it. Just in case.

On a Saturday night, as spring began to wilt beneath the pressure of summer, she donned her metaphorical white gloves and committed to a night at the saloon. She'd tried to keep working after sundown a few days this past week, but she still just didn't have the stamina for it; she felt like one of those limp weeds she kept tearing out of her land.

A drink was just what she needed. A drink, and maybe some food. Her stomach rumbled despite the meal she'd eaten at mid-afternoon; the smell inside the Stardrop was greasy, and cheesy, and tomato-y, and she drifted toward the counter, following the smell. Gus was busy chatting with Pam, but Emily noticed her right away and came over with a smile.

"Hey, Lydia!" she said. "You okay?"

Lydia blinked at the concern and picked up a nearby spoon to examine her own face. "I look that bad? I showered and everything."

Emily tipped her head to the side, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Not bad. Just tired. Your aura's a little pale."

"My aura is accurate, then." She dropped the spoon and leaned against the bar counter. "I think I'll just have a beer tonight. A fancy cocktail might knock me out."

"I won't tell Gus," Emily said in a conspiratorial tone, grabbing a glass. "We're making pizzas, if you're interested."

Pizza. The source of that divine smell. Lydia's stomach rumbled again. She'd had a favorite pizza place back in the city; it had been her last meal before she left for the valley. She wondered if the stuff Gus cooked up was any good, if he was hiding a wood fired brick oven somewhere out back.

"Hey, Shane," Emily said, just as cheerfully as she'd greeted Lydia, and Lydia realized that Shane was standing at the bar a few feet away from her. "The usual?"

"Yeah." He laid his money on the bar.

"Coming right up," Emily said, picking up a second glass.

She retreated to pour the beer, and Lydia glanced sidelong at Shane, gave a little wave. He looked even more wretched than usual, eyes hooded, five o'clock shadow thick.

She smiled like she didn't notice any of that. "Hey. Happy Friday."

He met her eyes and sighed. "Sure."

Well, it was monosyllabic, but it was an improvement. Emily returned with their beers. Shane picked his up, gave what might have been a nod in Lydia's direction, and wandered away to his usual table. During the walk, Lydia estimated that he'd already downed half the beer.

"I'm wearing him down," she said, impressed with her own prowess. 

"Well done," Emily said. Somehow, she kept the congratulatory tone of her voice from being condescending. "So, how about that pizza?"

Lydia tallied up her funds in her head. She could spare the money, probably. She shouldn't, though. If she wanted the farm to succeed, if she wanted to have plenty for the summer planting, if, if, if—

But the smell was just too overpowering. "Yeah, I think I'll have one," she said. "There a choice of toppings or anything?"

"Just the special, really. Green peppers and sausage and onions."

"Sounds perfect."

Some part of her told her to cancel the order. To take it back, keep the paltry pocket money where it belonged. She just couldn't seem to unstick her jaw to do it. She'd eaten a lot of fresh-caught fish and wild spring onions lately, and not much else; she was dying for a little variety.

She sipped her beer while she waited, people-watching. The kids swarmed in and occupied the arcade; she probably could have caught Abigail's eye and joined them, but their company seemed a little boisterous for her at the moment. They were only a few years younger than her, technically—not kids at all—but she felt out of step with their conversations. Too old, too worn out.

She snorted at her own melancholy. Give a girl a farm she didn't know how to run, and she'd turn into a mopey navel-gazer in no time.

"Fresh out of the oven," Emily said, sliding the platter of pizza across the bar. It was much, much too big for one person to consume, even a person as hungry as Lydia. "Enjoy!"

"Thanks," Lydia said, reverie broken, and surreptitiously scouted for somewhere to sit.

She'd been making inroads, definitely, but it was still an insular community. People tended to pair off, huddle up in their groups—treading the same boards they did every Saturday night. She wasn't sure where to stick a foot in the door, who wouldn't just crush it as they pulled it closed.

Her eyes landed on Shane's table. It didn't get more insular than that. Party of one. Two, maybe, if you counted the beer he was staring at. The look in his eyes suggested it might be his last.

Well, he'd been...amenable, sort of, earlier. There was an empty chair at his table. She had a bribe in the form of pizza. And if he was a jerk to her in front of the whole bar, someone else would definitely take her in. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way over.

Trying to treat this like any other night had been a mistake.

Most of the time, the Stardrop cut a sharp contrast to the bar back in the city. Rustic instead of divey, an old crowd rather than a young one, local beer instead of twenty-seven varieties on tap. And that suited Shane just fine. Remembering that bar meant remembering Patrick and Charlotte, and it was better not to remember. Better to immerse himself in scenery that couldn't get confused with memories.

Especially tonight.

Only problem was his brain, which had had it out for him for just about a year now. Isn't this the song that was playing when they told me they were getting married? it said, and, Look, that bottle Gus is keeping up on the top shelf looks like the whiskey me and Patrick split when Charlotte got pregnant, and, The new farmer girl sure reminds me of Patrick.

He wasn't drunk enough for that kind of thinking yet. Brain should've gotten the message by now. It needed to be damn near pickled before he'd go anywhere near those old memories.

And the farmer girl—yeah, maybe she had Patrick's wide-eyed friendliness, but he wasn't interested in discovering any other similarities between her and his dead best friend.

"Hey," a breezy voice said. "Can I sit here?"

Slowly, he lifted his head. Like his reluctance had summoned her, Lydia stood over his table, balancing a platter of pizza in one hand and holding her pint glass in the other.

He meant to say No. As rudely as possible. Maybe something snide along with it, like, Don't you have other people to annoy? Maybe better than that. A real zinger. Something that would send her scurrying for good. Apparently none of his other comebacks, reiterated at increasing volume whenever they crossed paths, hadn't been severe enough.

But a ghost possessed him instead, and he said, "Why?"

Like an idiot. Give this kind of person an inch, they'd take a mile. Hadn't he figured that out the first day they'd met? He knew exactly how this went.

He knew exactly how this ended.

"Empty seat." She pointed, as well as she could with her hands full. "Unless you're waiting for someone."

It was an innocent-enough assumption, but regardless, it felt like she'd stabbed him in the gut and twisted the knife. It sure felt like he was waiting. Waiting for Patrick and Charlotte to walk through that door, waiting until he knew how to parent his friends' orphaned daughter, waiting to wake up from this unfeeling nightmare…

He could lie. He could say he was waiting for someone. She couldn't have been paying enough attention to him to know the truth, and if she gave him the stink-eye later when it was clear his "company" wasn't coming, well, that didn't matter to him. Maybe it'd put an end to her niceties. Maybe it would be a good thing.

"I'll share the pizza," she offered.

He hadn't allowed himself to look at it too closely before, but now that she'd pointed it out, he could smell it. Bread, cheese, sauce...Gus had really stepped up his game recently. Nothing went better with a beer than pizza.

Well, pepper poppers, maybe, but nobody was making those around here.

"Sure," he said, before he could think better of it. Free food was worth a little inane chatter. "Whatever."

She beamed like he'd greeted her as an old friend, put her pizza down, and sat. "Thanks," she said. "I'm never going to get through this whole thing on my own."

Her timing was a little unbelievable. That she'd forgo rubbing elbows with the rest of the bar—something she did reliably—today, of all days. That she'd bring a pizza along with her. Almost like she had been the one possessed by a ghost—a ghost trying to reach him.

But that was even crazier than all the local superstition. And maybe a little part of him wanted to believe it, but the rest of him couldn't take comfort from something that wasn't true.

He picked up a slice of pizza, though. "I love this stuff," he admitted. "Thanks."

"Sure," she said. "You're doing me a favor, honestly. I don't have the energy to hang out with the kids tonight, and the oldies all want to talk about the farm." She pulled a face. "I work my ass off twelve hours a day at the place. Sometimes I'd rather not relive it all again at the end of the night."

"Hmm," he said. A nice, noncommittal syllable. He took a big bite of pizza—a good excuse not to elaborate.

"Still beats Joja," she sighed. "How is the old place, anyway? Still soul-sucking?"

He swallowed, surprised into responding. "You worked at Joja?"

"Not storefront. Desk jockey." Her nose crinkled up like she'd bitten into a particularly sour lemon. "Carpal tunnel instead of knee problems. I really suffered." He snorted, and she smiled. "Shit, I'm kind of glad to hear you didn't know. Feels like I've been the lone rider of the rumor mill for weeks. But somewhere out there, conversations are happening that are not about me."

"No," he said. "I just don't participate in conversations."

She rolled her eyes, but kept smiling. "Right. How could I forget?"

He felt sort of unsettled by her careless attitude, the same way he had when she'd shaken his hand at the bar.  Like his brusque commentary didn't put her off; like she could have a conversation with even an unwilling participant. The exact opposite of him, when it came right down to it. He couldn't tell if he was jealous or repulsed.

"They'll move on eventually," he said. Not a reassurance or commiseration, but a statement of fact.

She eyed him thoughtfully. "You'd know," she conceded. "You're new to the area, too, right?"

"Yep." He didn't elaborate. There was pizza to eat, beer to drink. Conversation to avoid.

Marnie and Jas were the only people in this town who knew exactly why he was here. He was not about to explain it to anyone else.

"You like it here?" she asked.

"Why, are you having second thoughts? Kind of late for that, isn't it?"

"No! No." She frowned, and he realized it was the first time he'd really seen her do so. "Just curious what other people from outside the valley think of it here. I want this to be long term, but…" She shrugged.

But farming isn't exactly easy or profitable? Probably a hell of a shock for someone who'd had an office job. All that sudden, manual labor. All those razor-thin profit margins. A day that didn't end promptly at 5.

"The people are busybodies," he said.

She chuckled. "I've noticed."

"This saloon is the sole source of entertainment."

"Hey, don't forget the museum. And library. Same building, but..."

"All the young people want to leave," he pushed on, ignoring her. "Or they're here on a whim, thinking the valley's gonna cure them of something."

He shot her a pointed look. She raised a single eyebrow, as if to acknowledge his point, but she didn't volunteer what that something might be for her. Fine by him.

"All the old people either feel like they're trapped here, or that it's their job to protect the place against modernization, or both."

"Ah," she said. "Explains that scene I witnessed at Pierre's the other day." She paused to take a deep drink of her beer. "So is there anything you like about the valley?"

"Not really," he said, automatic, even though it was a lie. But he wasn't about to tell her—he wasn't about to tell anyone—that he liked the way the air smelled after dusk, or that he liked the sounds the frogs made at the dock on the lake, or that he liked the way the chickens flocked to him all bright-eyed in the morning even when he was dreary-eyed himself.

There were very few things left in the world he liked, all fragile as bubbles blown by a child. If he drew attention to them, they, too, would vanish.

"I'll take it under advisement," she sighed. "I only spent summers here as a kid. It seemed magical, back then." She picked up another slice of pizza, considered it. "Still does, actually, I'm just...having a harder time believing it."

"It's not magic," he said flatly. "You just had a big imagination."

She laughed, as if she'd never learned how to take offense. "Come out to the farm sometime. There's some creature out in the woods that makes a noise like nothing I've heard anywhere else. We'll see who believes in magic then."

"Once you've seen the backroom of a JojaMart, you realize humans are incapable of magic," he muttered.

"Who said anything about humans?" she said with an exaggerated wink.

He huffed. Her absurdity was sort of funny, just the way Patrick's had been. Over-the-top, ridiculous; he would've loved that wizard guy in his tower west of the lake, or the crusty old adventurer up in the mountains with the eye patch…

But the similarities meant nothing. She wasn't Patrick. She wasn't being nudged along by his ghost. He couldn't, wouldn't, believe in that shit.

Even though she'd brought him pizza on his birthday. On the anniversary of the day they'd died.

"Well, you ever want a break from that backroom, come out to the farm," she said, serious now. "Get a look at what it's like to live free—and broke." She smiled, a little crookedly, and finished off her beer.

True to her scary sixth sense, Emily turned up right as Lydia put down her glass. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked, beaming between the two of them like she was the proud mother of a child who'd finally gotten a playdate.

He didn't exactly want to encourage that thinking, but...he didn't want to be indebted to anybody, either. Especially not somebody down to their last dollar, when he'd eaten half her pizza. He was an asshole, but he hadn't fallen quite that far.

"No thanks," Lydia began, but Shane cut across her, "One more round. Put it on my tab." He nodded at her glass. "Same thing, or you gonna make Gus mix up another one of those city-girl cocktails?"

For a moment, she looked downright surprised—startled by the offer, maybe, or finally stunned by his ability to insult people. But then she grinned, wide and sincere.

"Just the beer," she said.

"Coming right up," Emily said, and wandered away.

Lower, heartfelt, Lydia said, "thanks."

He shrugged. "Seemed like you might need it. Drown your sorrows, and all that. You want a reliable source of magic, it's at the bottom of a glass."

"Never heard that one before."

"Trust me." He knocked back the rest of his own beer. "Secret backroom wisdom."

She didn't look at him reprovingly, the way Marnie always did when he made one of these jokes; she just nodded, sagely, like she believed him completely.

He doubted it, but...it was kind of nice, feeling like someone wanted to listen to him, for once. Feeling like somebody heard him.

Things could go back to normal tomorrow.

Go to Part 2 ->