#I had another oc once who when I gave him a nominal understanding of the fact that he was fictional

[kuratoki]

Distance 06

Hi guys >< I finally had some time to proof read the latest parts which means, that I have a few parts queued up for the next few days :)

Work has taken 99% of my life once more and my hours are just getting longer and lately all I’ve been doing is work and sleep (and eat on the occasion) but I really want to get back into this so I might be a bit rusty but please bare with me!

Also thank you to all who’ve touched base, I am well as can be :) Now.. on with the story!

There wasn’t a day Jeno didn’t regret not making things official with you sooner. What he also didn’t expect was his soon to be ex best friend to act on his feelings towards you either. Now a whole continent away with a ten hour time difference, will the two of you survive the distance and all the obstacles that come with?

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Ballerina OC x Dancer Jeno

Words: 3506

Warnings: Cavity eating Fluff :x

~Tag List: @mikachu-28​ @peachykrystal​ @jenoleeaesthetic​

Distance Masterlist

“Hey guys, there's a mandatory NCT meeting at lunch today.” Jaemin called out to YangYang and Xiaojun after second period was over.

“Aren’t we supposed to meet after school today?” YangYang asked and Jaemin shrugged, showing them the text from Doyoung.

“I think it’s because they know Jeno’s going to leave the moment he gets out of his meeting or whatever.” Jaemin said, predicting his best friend’s next move, “Which is highly likely.” 

“Wait so that was the Y/N and Renjun?” Xiaojun asked as Chenle approached the group.

“What? Y/N and Renjun are back?” he asked with wide eyes, “Where are they?” 

“Probably the NCT Practice room?” Hana suggested, “They didn’t tell you?” 

“They didn’t tell anyone.” Yeeun said coming up to the group with Yukhei. She looped her arm through Hana and asked, “What are you waiting for? We got to go before Jeno gets to her first.” 

“Shit. You’re right.” Hana said and waved to the rest of the group, “We’ll see you guys there.” And the two were quick to run down the hallway knowing that Jenos patience would be thin.

Chenle and Jaemin looked at each other and contemplated their words, “Shit, they’re right.” they said simultaneously before taking off after the girls.

“If you want to meet Y/N, you guys better get going. There’s no telling how long she’ll be here for.” Yukhei advised chuckling at how well the group knew each other, “Let’s go.”  

Upon entering the practice room, it was utter chaos. From the transfer students eyes at least. 

Taeyong, Doyoung, Johnny, Yuta, Sicheng and even Haechan had both you and Renjun in vice grips and they were sure Taeyong and Johnny were actually crying. 

Tzuyu watched the scene with wide eyes, how could you have such an impact on so many people? Even though five of them were currently smothering you and Renjun, it was obvious the other members of the club were waiting for their turn. Feeling a presence behind her, she turned to see Jeno watching the scene with a soft smile. A look she rarely got to see. At the same time, the soft look turned hard.

“Okay guys, I think they need to breath.” he called out, walking towards the crowd.

“Oh shit, it’s Jeno.” Haechan joked, clinging to you harder, “Y/N protect me.” 

“I think clinging to her is only going to be worse.” Jaemin commented and he was right. Jeno put his hand on Haechans shoulder and soon, the boy was cringing and sinking to the floor in pain, “I told you…” 

“Jeno, you’re literally going to take her from us once this meeting is over. Let us have our time.” Doyoung said and you giggled as Jeno backed down like a puppy who’d just been reprimanded by their owner. Only Doyoung had this power.

“Okay, since Jeno won’t be here after school.” Taeyong started once everyone had said their hellos and welcome backs to you and Renjun, “There are some changes that are happening to the club.” he then motioned to the blonde who was standing next to Soonyoung since Yeeun and Hana had you nestled between the two, “Jeno?” 

Everyone’s attention was on him, anticipating what he was going to say.

“Uh...where do I start?” he asked, suddenly nervous, making most of you crack up. He looked at you where you were currently sitting between Hana and Yeeun, giving him a big thumbs up.

“How about the beginning?” Haechan called and Jeno glared.

“Hey, Haechan, remember the bowl of frosting I almost threw at you?” he warned and Haechan stuck his tongue out at him, “Anyways, I guess the easiest way to put it is that I’m dropping out of the club.” 

“Wait what?!” various gasps were heard around the room as the three leaders at the front nodded their heads in understanding. They had known about this for ages.

“You can’t leave!” Mark called out, “You’re the strongest junior we have and Jisung isn’t even here.” 

“I think it’s a cool opportunity.” Ten commented, “It’s not like they’re gone forever. He’ll still be around school cause of the other classes he has to attend until he really has to leave and everyone will be back next school year.” 

“I heard the training for the program was intense.” Doyoung added, making you and Renjun roll your eyes.

“Tell me about it.” you both muttered. 

“Plus you guys can survive a semester without me. You and Jaemin are gonna take over as reps anyways.” he said offhandedly catching the two off guard.

“Excuse us?” Jaemin asked looking at his best friend with wide eyes, “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you not want it?” Jeno asked with a grin knowing his best friend wasn’t that stupid.

“No but I-” Jaemin was at loss for words as he stood up and jumped on Jeno.

“I think he’s crying.” Jaehyun commented as Jeno just rolled his eyes as he patted Jaemins back, “Jeno nominated you guys because Mark was last years rep and he thinks Jaemin has what it takes. The leadership team agreed and that’s how it was decided. So are you guys taking it?” 

“Of course!” They both said simultaneously and Taeyong clapped his hands. 

“Well I guess thats it, meeting adjourned.” he said, “Those who are participating in next weeks performance are the only ones that have to show up today after school. Everyone else has the day off.” 

People started to disperse and soon all that was left was your group of friends, including Sicheng, Yuta and the transfers and introductions were made. 

You could feel the disdain coming from Tzuyu as Chenle made the proper introductions and you were sure the girls had picked up on it too. You were sure everyone could feel it but in an attempt to break the ice Xiaojun spoke up.

“So you’re the infamous Y/N and Renjun that everyone talks about.” 

“Infamous?” you asked as you and Renjun shared a look before looking at your group of friends.

“We missed you okay.” Jaemin said as he was still clinging to Jeno and being the good friend he was, let him.

“It’s literally been a month.” Renjun said rolling his eyes, “Plus we’re going to be here for the next two weeks.’ 

“Then you guys are gone again till the summer.” Chenle said with a frown.

“Don’t remind us.” You and Renjun said at the same time as Soonyoung laughed knowing the real work was coming after the performance. 

“What’s our plan?” he asked and everyone looked at one another.

“Lunch?” YangYang suggested, “It’d be great to get to know the two of you.” 

Tzuyu tensed at the suggestion, she was already uncomfortable being in the same room with you. From the time you walked into their first period classroom, she could already see the change in Jeno. He held this look in his eyes that she didn’t know could exist and when seeing him pick you up and hold you so close was painful. She had no idea that someone like Jeno could have those emotions. He’d been so cold and mysterious lately and that was his main point of attraction but now, she wanted him to look at her with the same eyes. 

“I’m down.” Soonyoung said and looked between you and Jeno, “I assume that we’ll see you sometime before the first audition?” 

“You’re not joining us?” Xiaojun asked with a frown, he also saw the looks that Jeno kept giving you and he wanted to see the two of you interact in person.

“I’m dowfmfml” you started but was quickly muffle by Jeno’s hand as he came to stand behind you when he pushed Jaemin off of him, making you glare.

“How about we grab dinner tomorrow night? There’s a place that Soonyoung knows about in the city and we can hang out at our place after?” he suggested and glared down at you when you licked his hand but he still held tight.

“Sure that works.” Jaemin said quickly winking at his best friend, now fully recovered. 

“Then that’s settled.” he looked down at you and removed his hand, “Shall we get going? I have a surprise.”

“What surprise could you have possibly come up with in the last three hours?” you asked suspiciously and the blonde boy gave you an innocent smile.

“Something I’ve been planning for a while” Jeno said simply and you swore you heard Hana and Yeeun let out a small squeak, “We’ll see you guys tomorrow night.” 

“I guess I have no choice.” you said giving the group an apologetic smile though most of them didn’t mind, “There’s no stopping him when he’s dead set on something. It was nice meeting you all.” you said with a wave as Jeno grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the room. “See you tomorrow!!” you called. 

Soonyoung and Renjun laughed and Jaemin looked like a proud father while the girls giggled to each other. 

“You don’t think he’s…” Yeeun whispered to Hana and the girl only nodded her head and the two burst into giggles gaining looks from everyone.

“What is wrong with you two?” Renjun asked and Yeeun gave him a knowing smile. They were surprised the guys didn’t pick up on it but Jaemin looked at Hana and winked. They knew.

Jeno had said ‘Our Place’

“You’re going to break my arm off.” you said as you tried to match the pace of the puppy with much longer legs who was currently dragging you through the school, “Slow down, I just got off a twelve hour flight.” you whined and Jeno slowed his pace, pulling you to his side as he led you to his car. He was glad he decided to drive to school today instead of his usual walk, it was like fate had it planned. 

“And you didn’t have the audacity to tell me you were coming.” he said, opening the door for you, shutting it once you slid inside and walked to his side, “I could’ve met you at the airport.” 

“I actually forgot we were coming until I was on the plane.” you admitted looking down, “I’ve been kind of distracted.” 

Jeno hummed at the tone of your voice, knowing exactly what you were talking about, “Have you talked to him since….?” he asked casually as he backed out of the space and you shook your head. 

“I think Chan took away his phone and training camp is taking up most of his time anyways.” you explained playing with your hands in your lap, “I was more worried about you honestly…” 

As he pulled onto the highway, Jeno reached over to grasp your hand and brought it up to his lips before placing your intertwined hands back on your lap where he proceeded to play with your fingers. 

“And I told you when you called me, I’m not mad at you.” he said in a neutral tone, “Jisung was in the wrong and you did right by telling me. I would’ve been more upset with you if I had heard it from someone else.” 

‘Plus I could never be mad at you like that even if you did kiss him back’ he thought to himself as he felt you squeeze his hand. 

“It felt wrong...I mean he was supposed to be my best friend and he always supported me…I never thought…” you muttered, your voice laced with disbelief. 

“And that’s why you trusted him...he did a stupid thing that jeapordized your friendship. What matters now is that you know that we’re okay...okay?” he asked, squeezing your hand, “We can deal with Jisung later...right now, I have something I want to show you.” 

Looking out the window you were suddenly confused, “This isn’t the way to our houses.” 

“We’re skipping that and going straight to Gangnam.” Jeno explained and looked at you from the corner of his eyes all the while still being aware of the road, “Do you trust me?” he asked and chuckled when he saw your blush.

“Always.” you whispered and you felt him squeeze your hand.

“Then trust me when I say that you’ll like this surprise.” he said and smiled when he felt you playing with the ring on his middle finger, “Take a nap. You must be tired from your flight. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” 

“Okay.” you said leaning your head against the window as Jeno let go of your hand briefly to turn on some classical pieces he knew you liked before intertwining your fingers once more.

When you woke up, Jeno was just pulling into the garage of the apartment.

“Good nap?” he asked as you stretched your arms, letting out a small yawn. 

“Mhm.” you said and looked at him with a small smile, “Ready to go?”

“Not yet.” he said before leaning over and touching his lips to yours catching you completely off guard, pulling back just as quickly, “Okay, lets go.” he said getting out of the car just as quickly, going to your side to open the door.

“What is up with you today?” you asked, giving him an odd look, swinging your joined hands as you walked to the elevator.

“I haven’t seen you since winter break and my ex best friend made a move on my girlf-” Jeno cleared his throat, “made a move on my best friend” he said, taking a blind fold out from his pocket, “More about that later though. I need you to wear this before we get upstairs. It’s for the surprise.” 

“Are you sure it’s not some weird kink you have?” you asked as you reluctantly let the taller male put on the blind fold, “And you won’t make me walk into some wall will you?” 

“Do you have that little faith in me?” Jeno asked, offended and you scoffed. 

“Hawaii, we were nine and we snuck out of our rooms to get a snack using only the light of your gameboy. You walked me into the side of the refrigerator.” you said in a monotone. 

“You promised you’d forget about that!” Jeno said with a whine, poking your side and you tried to hit him but only managed to get air. You heard Jeno chuckle as he whispered in the opposite ear, “Missed me.” 

“Just wait till I get this blind fold off…” you grumbled, crossing your arms and felt arms wrap around you from behind.

“What are you gonna do? Kick me with your tiny ballerina legs?” he asked, teasing as he led you out of the elevator and once you knew you were in the apartment, you kicked backwards into his shin, causing Jeno to yelp in pain.

“These tiny ballerina legs have to go through an hour of conditioning everyday. Just cause I’m small doesn’t mean I’m not strong.” you shot, “Can I take my blindfold off now?” 

“Not yet.” Jeno said, still rubbing his shin, “Cause depending how you feel, this surprise might actually piss you off. But the girls said you’d love it so I’m going to go with their gut instead of mine.” he rambled, “Now if you want to hit me, please just stay away from my legs and my face.” he let out a big breath.

“Now you’re starting to worry me...Are you sure I want to see this?” you asked, trying to feel for the other person in the room and felt him take your hand, leading you further into the apartment. 

“As long as you can keep your anger to a minimum…” he mumbled and you let out a sigh.

“I promise I won’t be mad.” you said as he sat you down and you feel him sit next to you on the couch, “Unless its something idiotically chaotic then we’ll have to see.” 

“Eh, you can take off your blind fold now.” he said leaning back.

“Finally.” you said and lifted the scarf from your head, squinting your eyes as they readjusted to the light. The first thing you saw was a bouquet of fresh flowers and you were so confused as to how it got there. There was no way that he could’ve gone out during the short period of time you’d been there to get something like this. Looking at the boy in question, you were met by his, I did a thing smirk.

“You didn’t think the meeting with the head master took a whole two hours did you?” he asked laughing, “I was literally signing papers to take the time off I need from school  and talking about how my credits will be handled with the online academy.”

“You sneaky little-” you started but was automatically cut off by Jeno.

“That wasn’t the surprise though, just the bonus. Look around.” he said as you finally got a good look at the apartment. There were more pictures in certain areas and you noted familiar nick knacks on some shelves but the biggest change was the feel of the once bachelor pad. 

“What did you do to this place?” you asked, looking around in awe.

“Made it home.” he said simply and hesitantly added. “Our home.” 

Your head whipped around so fast you were sure you had whiplash. “Our home?” you asked, “What do you mean?” 

“Remember when we were younger and we always talked about moving to the city once we were done with school? I’d have this place and you’d have your own somewhere nearby?” he asked as you turned to properly face him and nodded. “After you left, I came here a lot to reminisce about the old times without being bothered. No one but you knew about this place. I guess after I learned to drive I came here so much my parents decided to just give the place to me instead of having me ask for the key all the time.” he started and scratched the back of his head nervously, “I got drunk one night, alone...and I guess I just missed you so much that I started seeing a life with you here. It’s stupid, I know but I was seventeen and heart broken. I needed that little piece of mind, even if it was just for a moment.” he smiled remembering how he envisioned his life back then. There was a reason Jaemin called him grandpa so much. “After everything that happened with Xander’s passing, I got my wish. I got to see what it was like waking up to you in the morning. What it was like walking out to you reading a book on this couch, having breakfast together. All of that and it felt so natural, like I found my soulmate.” 

Your eyes widened at his confession as Jeno struggled with his next words.

“I want this place to be as much yours as it is mine.” he said taking your hands into his, “If you ever need a break, I want you to know that you can come here without asking.”

“Why?” you asked.

“Because if you’re ever upset and you need to run away, I want to be able to find you.” he answered giving you a soft smile, “I’m not going to lie and say I don’t see my future here with you either.” 

“But aren’t you technically asking me to move in with you?” you questioned again making Jeno flustered, “This is your place after all.” 

“W-well I mean…it won’t be till we’re done at SMAA…and it won’t have to be right away..” Jeno started backtracking making you giggle as you leaned up to press your lips against his and he was quick to respond before you pulled away, finally looking at the place.

There were more feminine touches around the apartment for sure and you had a feeling the girls had a role in that as Hana knew what your style was but there was a good mix of Jeno in there too. There were photos from your travels and holidays, photos of your friends, you and Renjun and the guys, it seemed like every polaroid you had taken was on what was dubbed the memory wall. 

“This is really nice…” you said softly, “Feels like home.” 

“Our home?” Jeno asked, hope clear in his voice.

Turning back to face him, you gave him a playful smirk and shrugged your shoulders. 

“Maybe one day. Guess you gotta play your cards right, Lee.” you said with a slight giggle and felt yourself being pulled back against a rock hard chest. Turning your head you met the eyes of your childhood friend, first love...only love? You loved it when he wore his glasses because it made him look so much more mature then he really was. Cupping his jaw with your hand, you ran your thumb along his cheek, leaning up as his lips met you halfway as you once again got lost in each other.

The same thought ringing through your minds.

‘One day.”

[carolyncaves]

This is for Day 28 Bliss, but it’s also the make-up for Day 21 Charm - I told y’all I had a plan for that one, didn’t I? Welcome back to the ace!JC vs ‘The Bachelor’ AU. 1749 words, Ace!Jiang Cheng, OC, speed dating, JC is having a terrible time, so is Lu Lian

previous / previous / this / next / next

There were eight suitors, and they arrived with their chaperones at Lotus Pier in time for a lunch banquet. They were all very lovely. They acted refined and dignified, they treated his servants and one another warmly, they were each probably intelligent and talented in various ways, and they all deserved husbands who were not Jiang Cheng.

The one in the left corner looked positively ill, she was so angry.

It took Jiang Cheng’s brain several seconds to catch up, because it was so out of line with the rest of the scene. Most of these women had to be convinced to come, but they were here because they would be willing to consider Jiang Cheng if it meant marrying a sect leader and were interested in being considered in return. This one – she was his age or even slightly older, old enough that her family had to be apoplectic she wasn’t married – did not want to be here, did not want to be considered, and did not want to marry Jiang Cheng.

He could relate. Still, it was weird.

///

After the banquet, the agenda was for him to have tea with each one in succession. Jiang Cheng didn’t know how he was supposed to drink that much tea, but obviously none of this had anything to do with him or his comfort, so he didn’t argue. His agenda was to get this over with.

The first suitor was a woman from Gusu, an outer disciple of the Lan sect. From Jiang Cheng’s observation of the group, she was probably the most objectively beautiful. That obviously meant less than nothing to Jiang Cheng. Properly it should mean little to anyone actually looking for a wife instead of a decoration, but Jiang Cheng had resigned himself to failing to understand other people’s priorities long ago.

Her father joined them in the tea room, as did Jiang Cheng’s head of household. She bent down and informed him sotto voce, “This suitor was recommended by Wei-qianbei. He says …” She glanced at her book. It wasn’t because she needed to refresh her memory of the words – his advisor had an excellent memory. Reluctance, then, because his brother … because Wei Wuxian had said something stupid.

Jiang Cheng turned to look. She angled the book so he could read.

If it’s merely an aesthetic reluctance, I recommend you consider Shu Qi – I can personally attest that the people of Gusu are the most talented in the world in the amorous arts, so if you’re looking to be initiated, perhaps she could do the trick : )

Jiang Cheng could feel his brain beginning to boil. He would fling himself off the cliff at Nightless City himself before he would go around matching Wei Wuxian and Hanguang Jun. Or maybe he should drag Wei Wuxian there and heave him over again instead. He’d sent this woman all the way here for nothing more than a fleeting joke at Jiang Cheng’s expense.

He drank tea with Shu Qi politely, and at some point in the conversation – mostly driven by his advisor – it came out that her father was originally from Yunmeng and they’d had a chance to visit his hometown and see his parents – her grandparents – along the way. Jiang Cheng forgave Wei Wuxian one quarter of one inch.

He drank tea with several additional suitors in succession, each as pleasant and educated and unsuitable as the rest. Some tried in vain to engage him in conversation. Some sat quietly, having apparently gathered from his demeanor at the banquet or the reports from previous suitors this was unlikely to be a fruitful excursion.

For one, a woman from Yiping City, her brother who was chaperoning her sat down at the table with them. This was unusual, but he had already dealt with a wide range of fathers, brothers, and one particularly memorable auntie, so he paid it little mind. Then she introduced him as her didi – also unusual, but perhaps she had no elder brothers, and perhaps her father had been too busy to attend himself – and about a sentence and a half into her description of his “many endearing charms”, Jiang Cheng clocked that the suitor and the chaperone were in fact the other way around.

“Who nominated this one?” Jiang Cheng asked his head of household, at the first reasonably courteous opportunity.

“The Wang suitor was selected by your faithful staff,” she replied.

“Ah,” was all he said. He supposed he should be grateful for their unambiguous support of his cut-sleeve yearnings, even though they were nonexistent. He muttered something to about how ‘charm’ wasn’t precisely his type – it seemed courteous to let them know he understood and was declining – and passed a fairly pleasant rest of the half hour with the Wangs in which they chatted with each other and left him to drown himself in oolong in peace.

There were only a few more. Once the teas were through, maybe he could call off the rest of this with at least a hint of respectability.

///

The angry one was second to last.

Her name was Lu Lian. He learned this from her paternal uncle, who was her very enthusiastic chaperone. The woman herself said nothing, stared at the table, and barely touched her tea.

“Lian would make a marvelous wife, Sect Leader,” the uncle said. “She has sterling manners and speaks and writes well. She knows how to keep a dignified household in order, from my wife’s good example – not that our manor holds a candle to Lotus Pier, of course, but Lian is capable, more than capable of rising to the task. She maintains my books and records for me, in fact, and has always done so without flaw or error – so you see, it would be hard for me to lose her, a constant fixture of my household for the past fourteen years. But if you two were to marry, I would be willing to, in hopes of achieving a lifetime of marital bliss for my beloved niece, and for you as well, Sect Leader.”

Lu Lian was glaring at the kettle so harshly Jiang Chang would have thought she could boil tea that way. For an beloved member of the family her uncle was reluctant to part with, she certainly seemed to be here rather against her will.

“I assure you, she is not so deathly quiet most of the time,” the uncle said with a threadbare jollity. “She does not talk too much, of course!” Apparently someone had gotten ahold of one of Jiang Cheng’s matchmaker lists. “But she has a good head on her shoulders.”

The silence stretched. Jiang Cheng could practically see the uncle trying to calculate how he might command his niece to act friendlier without being obvious about it. As if he wasn’t already. Jiang Cheng was no fool, and he didn’t even have a reputation as one like Nie Huaisang that would give this man an excuse.

Lu Lian’s hands were curled into tight fists on her knees.

“You can step outside if you want,” he told her across the table. “You’re welcome to the porch, there.” He picked up his cup, gestured with it, and took a sip.

Lu Lian’s brow dipped. She looked at the door, and then – for the first time, probably – at him.

“Take your tea,” he suggested. She’d come all this way, so she might as well get to drink it.

One of her hands uncurled slowly, reaching out and claiming her cup from the table. She rose and let herself out, shutting the door gently behind her.

The uncle looked appalled. “Ah, Sect Leader, please forgive my niece. She has been so eager to meet you since we received the invitation, she’s simply overcome with nerves! I hope you will be generous enough to give her another chance when she returns. Why don’t I go fetch her for you?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said, leaving the man helpless to do anything but stand there and wait, pinned by his order. He ignored him entirely, turning to his advisor. “Who recommended Lu Lian?”

“Sect Leader Nie,” she read out of her book, voice tinged with the same puzzlement Jiang Cheng felt. He wouldn’t have expected Nie Huaisang to make such a poor choice. “Apparently the new Nie-furen knew her for a time when they were young.”

He and his advisor exchanged a look. People could change a great deal from when they were young. Jiang Cheng knew that all too well himself.

Still, the combined involvement of Nie Huaisang and Zhang Meihua gave him pause. It made it less likely this was a thoughtless choice and more likely a deviously thoughtful one. This was an inane situation which Nie Huaisang had himself contrived, but within it, Lu Lian was the suitor that most stood out.

She stayed outside for the full half hour, which gave Jiang Cheng time to turn the puzzle over in his mind and come up with the rudiments of a plan – one that would get him, and in the process also Lu Lian, out of this. He would have to sit through one more tea first, but that might truly be the end of it.

When she finally came in, she stood uncertainly in the doorway, her empty cup held limply in front of her.

“Take an ozmanthus cake when you go,” he offered. “And more tea, if you want it.”

The uncle was glaring unsubtle daggers at her, gesturing with his posture toward Jiang Cheng as if he were trying to compel Lu Lian to petition him for additional time. Lu Lian did not heed him, stepping forward cautiously and taking one of the diamond-shaped cakes from the table. “Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang.” She set her cup down.

By the time he realized she was probably just intending to leave it, he was halfway through pouring her a new cup, which meant it was too late. “You’re welcome.”

She took it and left. Jiang Cheng looked significantly at the uncle, reminding him he was supposed to leave too, and he scurried after her.

Perhaps Jiang Cheng hadn’t given Nie Huaisang enough credit. He’d assumed his old ‘friend’ was trying to wheedle him into a relationship, but perhaps he’d actually set up the pieces so Jiang Cheng could knock them down in such a way as to ensure neither he nor Lu Lian would ever be hassled about getting married again.

[aoibhs]

Initiations

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from The Riot Club/Posh, and all OCs were beautifully crafted by @club-riot

Throughout the following week at Oxford, Elizabeth and her new friends had witnessed the Riot boys on several occasions trying to sneak about in a very conspicuous manner. Poppy explained to her what the club's initiations entailed. Elizabeth was on her way to a Drama Society meeting one of the days when she saw Miles running out of the choir room drenched in port. Of course he was eagerly followed by Toby, Ed and Guy, as well as Honora's cousin Dimitri and some other guy called Hugo. Whenever she told Poppy anything about Miles, she would get very excited and ask Elizabeth countless questions. That made her a little suspicious. She wondered if Poppy knew how obvious she was acting. She wondered if Poppy cared. The other girls of the club weren't like Elizabeth. They didn't care about hurting feelings or ruining friendships. They cared about reputations. They cared that they always looked their best. They never let much get under their skin, unless a peasant mistreated them. Elizabeth had been told multiple times that she was too nice for the club. Meredith openly told her that being polite would get her nowhere. At first, it worried her. She felt out of place. But it was fine really after a short while. Poppy nominated her, Sunniva approved, she got into the club. Meredith was just one opinionated girl. And she still liked the others. They had begun going out to the nearest nightclub and Poppy would invite her to come along before anyone would let her just go back to her dorm to study. Poppy was good to her like that. She was basically a roommate to her. They were only across the hall from each other. They nearly had a ritual every morning. Elizabeth would meet her on the floor below them just as she finished talking to the tall, earnest first year. Elizabeth was admittedly quite intimidated by him and not a little afraid. Ryle was his name according to Poppy. Alistair Ryle. Good looking boy. But still a bit intense. Once they met in the hallway, the girls would make their way outside and find the nearest coffee shop. They'd get their usual orders of coffee, with or without some sort of pastry, and then find a bench within the grounds to drink and converse. Those conversations were mainly about how great a guy Miles was, in Poppy's opinion. Elizabeth just usually quoted over and over how nice the boys were to help her when she was lost. But that always just made Poppy wink and wiggle her eyebrows, which just embarrassed Elizabeth and made her instantly regret saying it.

But a nightclub was a very different setting altogether. The girls loved their nights out. Elizabeth was excited to be a part of it but wasn't sure if she would drink much or not. She had been branded with the title lightweight the last time she went out. It didn't take her long to get drunk. She didn't want to make a fool of herself not after only just getting accepted into the club. A few glasses of rosé seemed like the best option for her before going for the stronger stuff later on, because at that stage the others would be smashed anyway. She was helping herself to a glass of rosé at the bar, taking a rest from all the dancing. She couldn't help but admire all the energy Honora and Louisa had on the dance floor. They just never grew tired. According to Sunniva, Josephine was already vomiting in the ladies room with only Imogen to help her, who then also started vomiting. Yeah, Elizabeth was happy sticking with the rosé for a bit longer. Poppy tried to get her up to dance to some Rihanna song a few times but then eventually got the idea that she was wrecked and wasn't drunk enough to pretend to like the song. "Oh my God!" Elizabeth could barely hear the gasp over the pounding music, "Tubes, look!" "Shaw!!" She turned around and saw Ed and Toby slouching over the bar with excited grins on their faces. "Hey," She smiled before taking another sip of her drink. "Are you lost? Cause we found you again!" Ed shouted over the music. Elizabeth pretended to laugh. It didn't matter really though, they wouldn't be able to hear her regardless. "Are you alone? You can come sit with us if you want?" Toby leaned over to her, so she could hear him better. "Thanks but I'm here with friends," She nodded in the direction of the dance floor. "You sure? There's room over here!" Ed copied his friend, leaning in as well. "Where are my two favourite rascals?!" Another one of them forced them apart, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders and joining in on the conversation from in between them. It was Guy. "Look who's not at the library?" Ed pointed at Elizabeth, who went for another mouthful of rosé. "Lizzy Shaw! Great to see you!" He reached across to shake her hand, catching her off guard. She nearly spilled her drink. Why was he so keen on shaking her hand anyway? He already did that twice when they first met. Was it really necessary? But, oh yeah, he was probably drunk. "Hello," She smiled awkwardly, hoping the dark club would hide her growing blush. "Come over and meet the others!" Ed began tugging at her hand as soon as Guy was finished, which was at a weird angle since he was the furthest away from her, "They'd love to meet you!" Elizabeth immediately downed her drink, praying that it'd just give her enough of a boost to step away from the bar, but of course, without falling flat on her face. "Come on!" Toby didn't wait for a reply from her and pulled on her free hand, leading her through big metal doors that were wide open. It was just a smoking area, nothing special. Well, there were at least four well dressed and gorgeous young men standing around. Some had a cigarette between their lips but most off them were just talking and drinking. When Toby let go of her, she stopped suddenly, causing Guy and Ed to bump into her, nearly knocking her off her feet. "What's this?" One of the smokers said, and God, he had perfect hair. "This is our good friend, Lizzy!" Toby grabbed her hand again, waving it around this time. "Elizabeth is fine," She chuckled awkwardly, trying to ignore all the eyes on her. "She's in the Socialite Society!" Elizabeth had to look up to see who had decided to grip her shoulders suddenly. It was Ed, who also decided to rest his head on the top of hers. She stifled a laugh. "She's my friend!" Guy announced loudly, gaining some odd looks from a few of them, including Elizabeth. "George Balfour, how do you do?" The doe-eyed, sandy haired one stepped forward to shake her hand before he stepped back again. "Very well, thank you," She smiled, "Elizabeth Shaw, nice to meet you," "You're not a relation of-?" "The accountancy Shaws, yeah," She nodded, cutting the blonde with the amazing cheekbones off, knowing exactly what he was going to ask, "My father manages it," "I didn't know they had a daughter," The pretty smoker said. "Do you know my family?" Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows. "We only know of them," The blonde interjected before the other got a chance to speak again, "I had an interview with your father a few weeks ago," "I've been told," She shrugged a little, forgetting that Ed was still clinging to her shoulders, "If you'd like, I could put a good word in for you?" "That's awfully kind of you, Lizzy, but I'd prefer to earn my place there," "Oh no, I understand entirely," She chuckled awkwardly again. How many boys were looking at her? Six? Seven? It was definitely a record for her anyway. "Would you like a drink?" When the blonde asked her that, she felt the heat on her cheeks rush to her forehead. She felt dizzy. This was a new experience. "...Sure, yeah," She stood there with her mouth agape before she remembered how to speak and gave a nod, knocking Ed off from her head. He went ahead through the metal doors again, she didn't hang around and followed him, weaving in between Guy and Ed. "What would you like?" He asked her, just before the music blotted out all normal talking voices. "A...," She trailed off, looking around at the girls falling around the dance floor, "A vodka black, please," He leaned in to the bar man, handing him the money. Then there was only to wait. "I didn't catch your name," She said. "James Leighton-Masters," He smirked slightly. "Thanks for the drink, James," "You haven't even got it yet," He laughed. Elizabeth just shrugged, looking back to the crowd of drunken dancers. She was astonished to see Honora and Louisa still dancing with as much gusto as they had been hours before. "Are you in The Riot Club as well?" She turned back to ask him. Then he chuckled to himself, "What?" "I'm actually the president," "Oh, very fancy," She laughed, feeling a little embarrassed but it wasn't too bad. She was still getting a free drink. "Do you want to stay here or go back outside?" James asked once their drinks were placed on the bar's counter. "Outside is fine," Elizabeth smiled, nearly keen to go talking to the boys now. "Lead the way," He picked up both glasses so she could go ahead towards the smoking area again. "Shaw!!" Toby basically tackled her once she got back outside. "Hello," She awkwardly sang, taken aback completely. "I thought you and Leighton went for drinks?" Guy look at her confused. "Relax Bellend," The tanned one that was Honora's cousin, Dimitri, rolled his eyes at him. "Here, this is yours," James handed her the right glass and stepped back to where he was standing before. "Thank you," She smiled again and took a quick sip. "So tell us, Lizzy," Dimitri said after finishing off his own drink, "What's a girl like you doing at a place like Oxford?" "I'm sorry?" "Are you going to be the next big accountant from the Shaw family?" The pretty boy spoke up. "Oh, um.. no. I'm studying literature," Elizabeth fixed her gaze on her glass. "Not even finance or business?" George tilted his head. "Afraid not, I've never been good with numbers," She shook her head, feeling embarrassed again. "Oh well, can't have everything," The pretty one shrugged. "You write?" Guy asked, stepping a bit closer. "Try to," Elizabeth spluttered a laugh, then took a big swig from her glass. She felt the alcohol go buzzing straight to her head, it nearly caused a headache straight away. "I'd love to read some of your masterpieces," That was a bit weird. It wasn't just Elizabeth who noticed. Everyone was giving Guy funny looks. Even Toby. But, oh yeah, he was probably drunk.

Chapter Three

[endlesstonic]

Blade & Bullet

This is a Yakuza and Mafia themed AU concerning my OC Kiiryon and @deltastic OC Jack Casey. I did much research and some experience of stories told to me. This is a work of fiction, the towns and ‘families’ too are a work of Fiction. This is all stemmed from my mind alone with the speech and characterization help from Del.

I’m sorry it’s so long...

For Del, in dedication to our FFXIV Samurai and Machinist feels. ❤

Blade & Bullet A Jack Casey & Kiiryon Yakuza and Mafia AU Fiction.

Kiiryon had been standing on the bridge, leaning against the wood of the great and grand structure that spanned over the beautiful Jinsan river, a bundle swathed in cloth appearing light as it rested to his back, held a great burden, and he tried to make sense of his position--of how and why he had been set up--with him. The Hisuino-o-kai was a predominant family in Yohtoko. With great respect and power as well, the loyalty of their most humble men, they kept an odd sort of peace in society. Law dared not interfere and be made an example once more; and Kiiryon rather liked it that way. They proved themselves to be mature and with their great power--showed they were to be respected and kept to a silent peace treaty. One that the law dared to not break for the threads of their serenity were thin and never to be crossed. Each man proved himself, proved his worth--and yet, his brothers dared to nominate him to be the charge of that foreigner. And just like that, his boss with a proud smile, decreed Kiiryon to be the caretaker, of him.

    How many times had he sighed. Looked at his reflection even and wonder what evil spirit possessed his family to condemn him to such a fate.

Your heart is too harsh Kiiryon. Enjoy the beauty of living in another world. Echoed the words of his boss.

No. This world is too simple and dense.

But Kiiryon had been wrong. Another scowl at his reflection in the murmuring river interrupted with a ripple by a skating bug. And much like the foreigners invasion in his life--his solace ruined by vicacious ripples and skips till--it was swallowed up by a fatty koi.

He snorted and withdrew with fingers caressing the smooth red wood.

That world is too complex with density. 

    Kiiryon’s feet carried him towards it. The whirring of cicadas and the ripe perfume of jasmine mixed with the tender warmth of a coming summer was interrupted. He should have turned and walked away, he knew what he was walking to, and yet there was a gravitating pull to that horrendously strong musk of western incense. Or perhaps, it was the desire to negate whatever troubles the scent usually brought with it.

A foreigner didn’t know their culture well enough to offer proper respect, or in most cases, said man did not know how to keep his loins fastened to himself.

    He heard a woman's giggle followed by a guffaw that seemed rather beastly than charming. And as Kiiryon rounded the stone corner, he felt his eyes narrow at the sight of the man--his charge--nestled comfortably with his head on a womans lap. Their smiles shaded by the cherry hue of her delicate, paper umbrella.

“Jack Casey.” he announced in a tone far colder than he intended. How the man's name rolled off his tongue in an unfamiliar speech--yet he tried nonetheless with intimidation.    To his glee, the woman gasped in surprise and with flushed shame, bowed her head with a swift turn away. This did not sit well with the man. His deep chestnut eyes pinched with concern, thick brows furrowed, and his lips pulled down into a frown from which his nostrils flared in a huff. Collecting himself, and sitting up with a nervous chuckle of his own, Jack Casey gave in when the cold and firm gaze of golden pools of his caretaker, failed to waver. A broad hand brushed through coffee coloured locks of hair held in a messy bun, and lips pulled back with a hissing inhale as the man shuffled forwards with a cat-like laziness. A yawn added in with defiance to being interrupted, and the western man sighed with arms crossing over his chest.

“Dere’s no need ta’ be so uptight all da’ time Kii.” he whined with that estranged dialect and fond use of that nickname. Kiiryon scoffed and gave a roll of his eyes. The quick sound of shuffling broke the pouty expression on Jack Casey’s face and swiftly, the man turned catching the faint blur of orange and blue flowers being swallowed up in the crowd.

“Ah! And dere’ she goes…” a forlorn sigh following.

“She’s smart to leave quickly. She should be ashamed for what she had done.” corrected Kiiryon with a glare and ever present scowl. And for a moment, Kiiryon was surprised and rather proud with Jack Casey’s rebuttal being a deep sigh and hushed, yeah. “I get it--foreigner and da’ bizness’.”

And with that, the swift admiration for Jack Casey’s understanding, like the tender breeze--was swept away and replaced with a sigh and shake of his head. “You should be careful foreigner-- you are no ordinary citizen.”

“Yeah? An’ wat-abou’-you?” quipped Casey with a smirk of challenge. He could not respond. Jack Casey was an obvious transplant into their society, his voice and manner of speech excluded. His flesh was fair, his eyes an odd shape, his build was strong and his clothes… While the man had tried to accept their culture in the form of fashions, he still so stubbornly kept to his leather jacket, and evergreen--woolen hat. A hat in which the man claimed to have been a symbol of historical appreciation; an era of true western society. He was however, proud to be engraved with a beastly art upon his back, a wolf. Perhaps in homage to his lone wolf tendencies that he had so recently inflicted upon himself. But Kiiryon, Kiiryon was a man of the culture and society, dressed in the influential western aesthetic mixed with their fashion of the blessed rising moon and tenacious winds. He bore the life-long markings of his family. His fair--though olive--flesh was forever engraved and covered with colourful and vivid tattoos that spanned over his arms and back--and to further damn him--upon his forehead. However, it was the tattoo of the intricate eye upon his forehead that was neither of his will or his family. It was of a curse, and one he was both proud and ashamed of. Nevertheless, Kiiryon tried to respect the civility of society, and brandished himself in suits and sleeved attire to keep as much attention away from him, his golden eyes, and his ruddish hair.

Jack Casey had won this little argument. “Come along.” was Kiiryon’s only response, and he dared not to stare any longer at that smug smile of victory on Casey’s face. Off they went, side by side. They had an appointment after all, and it was such meetings that were the cause and reason for Jack Casey’s existence in their territory, and the sole reason why he was playing baby-sitter to the man. Despite his disdain for the westerner, Kiiryon was to keep the man protected at all costs, even using his own life as a shield.

Down the busy sidewalks they went. Ignoring the tantalizing scents of meats soaked in seed oil, or the tickling waft of sweet pastries filled with mashed red beans--cautious of the heavy foot drivers that zipped by in their cars, or the stares of fear and possible disgust as they traversed on in the city. Yohtoko, was a bustling modern metropolis that was still stuck in a bubble of the past. The buildings though made of modern materials, still held the fond design of an era long gone-- red lanterns still swayed with pride, clutching to the rafters, and hither and thither. Shrines were protected by their stone statues or bamboo walls, and always welcomed guests with large red mouths. The fluttering sounds of people merged with nature and the tender wailing of violins, prancing flutes, and the occasional chirp of bells. Visitors often came with wonderment and romantic ideas of the city. After all, it was a historical town, and it was stubborn in keeping tradition alive. Yet it was not tourism where the city found its financial support. With great hesitation and silent acknowledgement, it was through efforts and donations from the esteemed Hisuino-o-kai that the city was still the bustling hub that it was.

It was also with thanks to the Hisuino-o-kai, that the city had opened foreign trade. However, it was with such gates opened that Jack Casey was not invited, but rather he stumbled into with a passion--a passion of running away. Kiiryon snorted with a faint and almost fond smile of how the foreigner essentially crashed into all of their lives--but clutched onto his. Not that he had a choice for the past five years.

Jack Casey was a gunrunner--a man whom knew what weapons were the best, successful, and most importantly, how to transport them. A man with that knowledge was deemed important to his brothers and boss. Such knowledge was important in staying a formidable foe to the foolish who dared to rise against them. A fool was simply that--but a gang of them had the potential to cause chaos, a chaos that the Hisuino-o-kai wanted no part of in their territory. So whilst the threat of uprise was present, the need for Casey remained--and the need for him to remain begrudgingly at the man's side would too remain steadfast.

“Hey-uh...Kii”

Here it comes, Kiiryon exhaled silently through his nose, his eyes sharp at the crosswalk for any stray vehicle or person. “When dis’-er…transaction, is ovah’. Let’s get sumthin’ good ta eat.” Perhaps, it was nerves; the man hesitant in being seen again by his own--as he called it--famiglia. But, Jack Casey always had an affinity for wanting a warm bowl of ramen to, chase the distaste away as he explained once before--and doubtlessly, accompanied with bottles of sake.

“With extra chashu and and bambuu I presume.” was Kiiryon’s response knowing full well that Casey had a proud grin of his own and a sudden pep in his step to the inadvertent agreement to his indulgence.

The city was vast, but there was a point in which technology seemed to fade away just a bit and give in to more traditional structures. Soon, the bustling vibe of ones city-dwelling life morphed into the old and weathered ways of fishing. The scents of food replaced with rust and the tinge of salt; an ocean breeze was always refreshing but always very potent. The soothing trickle of music spilling from cafes or shoppes became the cries of hungry and curious seagulls, and the humming of people talking or car motors warped into the tender groans of boats and waves purring before their crash against the piers. Beauty was everywhere--or so Kiiryon believed-- in their home, his home.

“Think ‘dere here?” interrupted Casey, breaking the romanticized thoughts Kiiryon had about their ocean harbor. A quick tug as his sleeve to gaze upon the face of his watch showed that they had been on time, despite their little hiccup prior. But as the foreigner had raised curiosities of--their guest had yet to arrive, or be seen. The dust was heavy in the air despite walls missing in the fisherman's warehouse. Warfs had many nooks and crannies, plenty of hiding places--but they had nothing to hide really, no shame to be held. This was their city, and they had their rules and properties that others were expected to respect. However, they did have to make this meeting a brief and secretive one. Unfortunately, the trade of weapons, and foreign ones were something the law would greatly involve themselves in--and a great treason in their deal was the fact they gave tradition away. It ate uneasily at Kiiryon, having to take the finely smith-ed and well crafted art of a forged blade as payment and trade for these set of highly sophisticated guns. Blades were a treasure, an art, a mistress to be loved and a daughter to grow and raise with--not a lady from the whore house or a concubine to be taken into a dismissed and forgotten harem. But--if this is what it took to keep his family safe, Kiiryon would swallow a part of his pride and look the other way. And pray to all the gods above and below that Jack Casey--did not--screw this up.

“We arrived a bit early, so we may breathe easy for now.”

Simpler said than done, and Casey seemed to reflect those same sentiments with a lopsided grin and raise of his brow tossed towards Kiiryon. He sighed through his nostrils and gave a weakened smile of his own, at his own foolishness for giving advice that they both knew was currently difficult.

    “Oh! Mi dispiace-- I didn’ mean ta’ arrive late!” exclaimed a rather cheerful fellow. Casey whom gasped in surprise to the greeting, didn’t turn to greet their guest, but rather observed with a small frown that gave way into a sigh and a light smile. Kiiryon hardened his expression and again with habit, pinched at his eyes to narrow with great distrust and already an air of being--holier than thou--wafted from him. Kiiryon had gone mute.     “Nah! Welcome-welcome, dis’ here is my companion, Kii. Don’t mind ‘im.”  exclaimed Casey with a somewhat graceful turn, clap and flourish of his hands. Something that Kiiryon had noticed the other man had in common with his charge. Actions that seemed to have the strange man sighing at ease and expressing his own warm though nervous smile.

    All westerners dressed so oddly. Their style was a taste that the people of Yohtoko seemed to admire and want to emulate. But this particular middle man, had an odd and eclectic style of his own. For one, his blond hair seemed unkempt and yet, it was tamed and pulled into a fortified pompadour of sorts. His eyes were a deep blue that the yawning rays of sunlight hit and caused an odd tinge of violet to appear--or perhaps it was due to his rather reflective and colourful sunglasses that slipped down his nose. The man--much like Casey, was rather clumsy, if not in his posture than in his manner of speech. Taller than his charge but seemingly younger, They must take men from their mothers. He surmised with a small grunt.       “A good evening gentlemen,” the flippant man attempted his greeting once more with a clear of his throat. His hand clutching to a case whilst the other reached out to shake hands with Casey, whom obliged. “My name is Dedrick! A pleasure to meet you--” and Kiiryon, who did not and turned aside to glare at the setting sun, “--both.”  Nervously, Casey chuckled as he clapped a hand on Dedrick’s shoulder, to which the man jumped with his own startled laugh and turned to guide him away with hushed whispers. He’s a bit of’a ded fish--if-ya-know-wat-I’mean. Kiiryon snorted with a click of his tongue at being called such a thing. And simply crossed his arms over his chest whilst following the men further inside the rather spacious warehouse.

“Th’names Casey--as much as my pahtna’ an’ I enjoy plesantries. I t’nk we should get dis show on da road.”  “Right-o!” upon this cheerful response from Dedrick, Kiiryon grimmanced at the odd jargon of westerners.     Perhaps it was wise to have Jack Casey, he surmised. However, it was time for business to begin, and as they approached a work bench, Dedrick swept his violet eyes over the men with a curious beckoning and sudden distrust. He wanted to see their shared effort in the bargain. The manner of their meeting already debriefed and spoken to them individually, called for no more delay or need for further discussion lest either party reveal more than necessary. The simple glance over his shoulder was all Kiiryon needed to see from Casey to know that he would reveal their end of the deal. Weight shifting, Kiiryon slipped the rope that embraced the swaddled object with a tender gentleness and with a sensual brush of fingers to the ribbon, unbound a sheathed sword. Deep and sultry tones of lacquered wood was embellished at the kojiri--the scabbards end--with a finely pressed gold. Red rope was tied and knotted with care, upon the hilt, fastened and secure between the woven braid was a jade ornament, carved with fine artistry a waning moon caressed by gentle winds. Indeed, a treasure known only to Yohtoko. A treasure that was being appraised by the strange man, Dedrick. A treasure that said man would take with him in exchange for a demo case that contained a gun. One that would soon be shared among his brothers as a first resort. But he would use it as his last. Casey however found the gun to be quite enticing and emitted a whistle of approval. Brows drawn up and eyes alight with great delight to the smithing of the gun. The barrel peeked faintly from the slide, and how the metal was dull but was bent and shaped with a sleekness that even Kiiryon had to admit was admirable. Wood with a stained and treated hue embellished the grip, and in the palm would sit an emblem casted from silver, the companies own logo.

Whilst Dedrick took careful hold of the sword, treating it as a fragile gift. Casey grasped the gun with an eagerness and well practiced hand, making sure the safety was on with a few tested clicks, ejecting the stock, making sure the barrel was empty, and pulled the hammer back to give the trigger a gentle teasing squeeze.

“It’s perfect!” announced Casey with a delightful shiver.     “Treat her well.” demanded Kiiryon. “I-I shall.” hiccuped Dedrick with surprise that the fellow man had finally spoken and even acknowledged him. But Kiiryon was sure the man had suspicion that he acknowledged only the sword, a longing in his amber eyes.

“I must admit gentlemen,” spoke the guest as he wrapped the fabric around the sword and knotted it securely in place. The sun glistening off his reflective lenses that still hung low on the bridge of his nose, “I am rather surprised that there are two of you--and not simply, him.” he gestured of course to Casey. There was a choice--either let Jack Casey speak and widdle his way out, or step in and hope to the gods that this guest of their accept it simply as is and go.     “I represent the Hisuino-o-kai. Jack Casey as you know--is more skilled in the manners of such craftsmanship, and we strive to not be dealt a short hand. That is all.” Kiiryon concluded with a tone that held little emotion or care to be disregarded. Another nervous laugh, and Dedrick cleared his throat with a cough that Casey winced at--he could sympathize. “What my pahtna’ is sayin’ is, dese’ streets ain’t safe.” Casey shrugged with a finish, placing the gun reassembled back into its padded case and locking it up.     “In fact, da suns almost set. Best you get along ta your hot’l an’ enjoy da city before your return.” A charming smile and a clap to Kiiryon’s shoulder and Casey gave a tip of his hat turning with a strut towards the exit, case in hand, “Nice doin’ business wit’ ya. Welcome ta Yohtoko.” Flushed as the man was for not knowing the cities personality at night, Dedrick gave a faint smile and ‘he-he’ of his own before fastening the secured sword to his back.

“Keep in contact.” Kiiryon commanded before bowing respectfully to their guest whom, in turn smiled rather shyly and offered his own befuddled bow.

“Nice doin’ business wit’ ya too! A presto! ”

The nights were always so cool. The lower temperatures a welcoming touch to his heated flesh due to the layers of his attire. Mechanically, he and Casey walked in silence. There was nothing to be shared between the two and what joyous things the man wanted to say, he wasn’t allowed to. They could not talk business on the streets--a golden rule when concerning such illicit trade. But there were other things, things they could discuss with little care or bother, one topic of Casey’s being his guardian.

“So Kiimurai--” a terrible nickname Casey had bestowed onto him, meant solely for him, “when are we going to go to the shrines again?”

“I didn’t know you had an affinity for religion.” Kiiryon quipped with a smirk. “Ah--c’mon! You know why ah’m askin’!”

“Yes--so you can stuff yourself with grilled dango and takoyaki. The city street-vendors have them too you know.”

“But dey aren’t as good!”whinned Casey with a slouch and tilt of his head back.

“Hey Kii--” his tone going soft. “--da wind feels especially cold against our backs, doesn’ it?” Kiiryon abruptly stopped. His charge held an expectant expression, a hesitant grin. Casey was watching, and waiting--waiting for that tattoo of a sleeping eye on Kiiryon’s forehead to wink sleepily open. The ink on his flesh warped, and the restful eye now was at half mast, and how the air seemed to change and indeed grow colder against their backs. An odd sensation prickling against their skin, and one that Jack Casey spoke fondly of once, saying, ‘it was like the arrival of an old friend.’

They were followed-- the shared phrase between them a code to being targeted, and Casey had noticed it first. Nevertheless, they would make it through. And with a smug smile of his own, sun-kissed eyes met with coffee. The amethyst that hung so innocently upon his wrist, tethered by a coil of metal and rope, shattered against Kiiryons palm, and grew into the length of his own finely honed and dearest blade. There was a reason to Jack Casey’s terrible nickname after all.

With sudden ferocity they were struck from sides, ambushed in the junction between harbor and city--just the outskirts. Where they wouldn’t be missed if dead, or helped if attacked as they had been. Casey jumped just out of harms way with a tuck and roll before bracing himself to the wall of an abandoned florist shoppe. His hands now gloved with fine black leather, and goggles slipped over his eyes as he was sure to be safe from any gunfire, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small ebon marble. Tossed in the direction of the initial ambush and gunfire, Casey’s seemingly harmless marble expanded with a beckoning whistle from his lips, and grew to an intricate node of metal and technology, radiating red and scanning the vicinity; a scribbled ‘Procione I’ of silver on it. Swiftly, he brandished an odd gun that looked more like a hand-cannon, versus a simple pistol.

Kiiryon had taken residence to a wall to cover, waiting for the erratic gunfire to cease. A glare thrown Casey’s way and the western man knew all to well his role in this. Lips pulled in to moisten and a shove from the wall in silent countdown and Kiiryon watched as his companion charged out with a rolling dive to another alley-way and along mid roll fire his gun.     He clutched his eyes shut as a sudden burst of pure white and glittering light, covered the area. Casey whose sight was protected by his goggles shouted out coordinates to Kiiryon who squinted at the ready. Out he burst from cover and advanced towards the first immobilized man shielding his now burned eyes with his arm. With a graceful roll of his wrist and lean of the shoulder to counter the weight, Kiiryon pierced through the man and with agile ease turned his blade up to slice up, thus ending his foe’s life. In the midst of battle, Casey had changed his blinding rounds to piercing shots. Clip loaded and ready, Kiiryon was confident in his charges ability to aim and not miss and hit him. Down their foolish attackers went till their screams and flailing died down. Backs pressed to one another, Casey still clutching to the case and hand steadfast with his gun that took practiced strength to keep so firm. Kiiryon breathing harshly through his nostrils with blade harmlessly poised to his side, though his muscles screamed at the ready to react.     And react they did. Quickly with a shove, Kiiryon forced Casey into an enclave.

Bang!

“Kiiryon!” cried Casey in his stumble and scramble to get himself back up. Panic seeping through him and clutching to the erratic beating of his heart. Knelt on one knee panting and blade submerged into the nape of a mans neck, Kiiryon flinched with his left arm hanging limp to his side. His ruddish hair kept in a pristine braid was now disheveled with locks poking out. But their now dead assailant missed their mark and hit him instead. The worried look on Casey’s face as he approached warping in to a hesitant smile before once more he cried out--and oh, how his voice seemed to loose its charm an in place a muffled howl. Yes, Kiiryon felt he was drowning--a sudden exhaustion overcoming him, and how he wondered why that man’s terrible voice echoed in his mind as it all faded to black.

🌜🌚🌛

Indeed the nights were so cool in Yohtoko, how the cool air already caressed his cold flesh and how he shuddered, but delighted in the crisp sensation. In the darkness, he swore he saw a glimmering orb--was it a firefly? Perhaps a spirit. Kiiryon recalled as a child in the mist covered mountains, the stories of mischievous spirits tempting children to play with them, beckoning them off the footpath and to the mountains edge where they fell and were spirited away to a place, never return to their grieving family.

A heaviness consumed him--was it disappointment? After all, he had been one of those foolish children, he had strayed from the beaten path--following with giggles and laughter a taunting orb of light and fell. The fear that consumed him and dread of not knowing what to expect tickled his stomach with the wonderment of a brief flying, floating, sensation. But he lived...by luck, Kiiryon had fallen into a hedge of trees and the eventual tent of his now ‘father’ figure and boss--his new family.

What horror and luck to endure as a child. echoed the voice of his ‘father’, the image of his boss patting his cheek as a child enough to rouse consciousness into him. He felt that same heaviness now, with a groan, he attempted to sit up with arms quivering beneath him. His deep blood red hair trickled down his shoulder, loose and free, to which he promptly noticed a bandage pressed with tentative care to his wound. Sleeping yukata wound gently to his body, he pulled the fabric down exposing the image of proud and fluttering crows with a tengu of sorts playing his flute. Petals and wind wrapping around his body in a sensual embrace as if Kiiryon had the very tender winds of Yohtoko watching over him.

“Glad ta see you awake.” Casey spoke with a tenderness in his voice, hushed almost and whilst he wore a kind smile, there was a small bit of pain in his dark eyes. Knocking back the cup of sake he had tenderly craddled, Jack Casey reached for the clay bottle and poured not only himself another, but one for Kiiryon as well. He observed his charge, how comfortable he sat on the tatami mat, hat removed and settled aside, how despite the chilly evening winds, he wore his yukata down; tied to his waist with his obi to keep the fabric up and supported with knots. His tattoo that he demanded with great fervor to be a beast, a wolf and a peculiar one, but one that Kiiyon supposed was really him. And he recalled with suddenness, that the western man had often a hotter bodily temperature, one he had selfishly sought comfort from in the winter days and even more so, the winter nights. Suddenly, he was quite parched.

“Boss was pleased wit da gun. Says dat we’ll be busy da next few weeks, so, ya betta’ hurry an’ recovah’.” added Casey coolly before offering the drink. Looking down into his ceramic cup, Kiiryon nodded a bit distantly--perhaps a bit too slowly for his companion but, he was after all still induced with medicine for pain. The tender glow of lanterns mixed with the silver of the moon that was exposed by the shoji door let open. After all, Casey remembered his fondness for nature and the cool, crisp, air.

“He uh--he sends his regards too. “ Casey continued on nervously. “And--uh..I--thanks Kii.”

“There is no thanks to give Jack Casey--it is my job.”

“Yeah--yeah. I know, but I don’ ‘tink it fair ta not give my thanks--” the man paused with a warm hand to pluck the drink, untouched from Kiiryon. That same warm and rough hand caressed his sleeping amethyst against his wrist and grasped his hand to squeeze. The other reaching to push silken locks of red behind his ear and caress his cheek, to which Kiiryon felt his own cheeks fever and lean into the warm and open palm. Hesitantly, his eyes rose to search and find that of Casey’s which again held a sad but tender emotion--how deep and dark, and endless they were. Much like the sensation of that free fall that changed his life. Perhaps it was that abyss that he found himself a fondness for or perhaps it was the spirit of the mans existence that seemed otherworldly. “--or share my opinion of not wantin’ ya ta leave me behind. “     “I know.” Kiiryon replied with a hushed response of his own before inhaling slowly and curling his fingers within that warm hand.

A broken chuckle laced with shyness and those warm fingers traced the apple of his cheeks, an action that admittedly, Kiiryon was fond of. “Good, ‘deres only one pahtna’ I need here. --”

“You.” interrupted Kiiryon with a cocky smile of his own. Casey was at a loss of words, and it always tickled Kiiryon, how his forward nature at times, seemed to stump the western man, that spoke his mind too often than needed.     “Wha-Well, ah’mean ya but, you too Kii.” stuttered Casey, a subtle scoot closer to his companion with a flush to grow on his cheeks. A rosy tinge that Kiiryon found himself smiling at and brushing fingers along in a mimicry of his charge. His touch unlike Casey’s however, was cold. Though it was a touch that the foreign man seemed to rather enjoy. The release of his own cheek to have his cool palm further pressed against Casey’s and supported by the man he had been assigned to protect--a man whom his boss told to venture the world with a new perspective, and to break his cold tendencies. However, it was this new world that they kept to themselves; it was a silent agreement. A shared world of their own, for only the two of them to venture and experience together.     Again, Kiiryon found himself wondering what possessed his brothers, and also, what had possessed him over time. However, none of that had mattered-- he and Casey had lived on another day. And he felt it was time, that he collected his reward for having done his sworn duty. So, with a soft snort of his own, Kiiryon beckoned the man closer into his embrace, one that Casey was mindful of in a fragile encircling of arms and support to his broad chest. An embrace that had Kiiryon bowing his head to hush any protest that the man may give to his injuries with a tender press of their lips. Of course, his charge smiled against the kiss as he did, and as always, there was a hushed promise of vengeance to making the other so flustered.

The End.

[wierdogal]

Writing Our Own Stories (Chapter 6)

Summary: It’s been five years since Rumplestiltskin was banished from Storybrooke and no one knew what had happened to him. That was until Regina got a call from someone asking how she could transfer the remains of her step-brother from Storybrooke to Scotland. Canon until Rumple’s banishment. [Eventual Rumbelle but towards the end.]

In this chapter, Neal tries to find a loophole and we finally learn who it was that saved Rumplestiltskin when he was banished from Storybrooke.

Note: Thank you to everyone who nominated Emily for Best OC in this years TEAs. Thank you for the love! As my thanks, I'll be updating this story with a few more scenes from her.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

[AO3] [FFN]

Chapter 6

New York, sometime during the First Curse

Neal was getting in over his head. Why on earth would he even entertain the idea of guardianship for a child when he himself was a train wreck?

But there he was at the midtown library of New York, looking over the laws of this realm, trying to see if he had a chance of raising Emily as her guardian. The girl was all alone, after all. He had asked around, even to some of the police he knew...there was no report of any missing girl. Jake, a friend he had in the force, said he'd keep an eye out but so far no one was looking for the girl, no one wanted her.

"Look," began Jake over the phone when Neal had called him for the umpteenth time. "I think it's best for the girl if you just take her in. No one's looking for her, I'd say social services will side with you on this."

"With my RAP sheet," fired back Neal. "Do you honestly think social services is going to let me take care of this girl?"

"Show them how you care," said Jake. "Look, Neal, so far you've been on the mends from what I can see. No more breaking in and stealing cars, no more shoplifting. You actually have a roof over your head...this girl might just be yet another one of those things to get your life back on track. Not to mention her name starts with E and M."

"Not funny," mumbled Neal. "Just let me know."

"Think about it," said Jake. "From what you've told me, that girl has no one else...you can't seriously want her to go into the system, or back into it if that's where she came from." He paused. "She's taken a liking to you and vice versa. I'm sure there's some way you can get legal custody of her."

And that's how Neal found himself in the library pouring over legal books on adoption. He looked over at Emily who was beaming with a stack of books right in front of her. She had been excited when Neal carried the stack over to her earlier, telling her that they'll be in the library for quite some time.

So far the girl hasn't complained. Now that she was engaging in conversation more, Neal could tell the hint of an accent from her speech. Whoever her parents were, or whoever raised her, was not someone who were from around here.

Neal smiled as he watched her read. She seemed to devour every word and the way her eyes scanned through the pages made Neal swell with pride a little that he was able to make this little girl smile despite whatever she's been through.

A small cough brought him out of his thoughts and Neal turned to see an older, Chinese man standing next to him. "I'm sorry to interrupt. But the librarian told me that you've checked out most of the law text and I was wondering if I could borrow the volumes about Business."

"Oh sure," replied Neal, gathering the books the man needed.

"Thank you," replied the elderly man. "I'm putting up a herbal shop and wanted to make sure everything was in order…"

"Not from around here?" asked Neal.

"Hong Kong before New York," replied the man. "Before that? Well you won't believe me if I told you."

"I would probably say the same to you," said Neal. "Neal Cassidy."

"Li Yao," replied the elder man. He motioned to the Emily. "Your daughter?"

"Trying to be her guardian," corrected Neal. "Like you, I'm trying to get things in order."

"I wish you the best of luck then," replied Mr. Yao and headed off to read on another table. The elder man couldn't shake off the feeling that he has seen the boy before but brushed it aside. He went ahead and made sure his shop was in no danger of being shut down by the legal system of this realm. Once he was satisfied he made to return the book but found Neal and the girl had gone.

Mr. Yao went and returned the books he had but as he passed by the table the two had used, his eyes caught on the fairytale book left open and something clicked inside him. He quickly headed to one of the isolated reading rooms of the library… a place no one seems to really wander off into for no apparent reason...or because it was cloaked with his magic.

He found the book that had appeared a decade or so ago and turned to the right page. A drawing of a boy with short brown hair clinging to a scrawny older man with shoulder length brown hair. He waved his hand over the drawing and soon a paper of the same drawing of the boy appeared on his hand. He concentrated harder and the image of the boy began to age until the the drawing of the boy resembled that of Neal Cassidy.

Mr Yao placed the drawing he had used magic on right next to the book. The man, Neal Cassidy, had also came from another realm. The man himself had implied it so earlier. Not only was he from the Enchanted Forest but he was also the reason why the Dark Curse was cast in the first place. Neal Cassidy was Baelfire. He was Rumplestiltskin's son. He was the son of the Dark One.

"Jared there's really no point," said Emily to the person on the other end of the line and Rumple sighed as he heard his daughter's voice from the other room. "I'd rather join my father to America than spend it bored in a useless award ceremony when they're just going to-"

Rumple swore that her friend Jared must have cut her off and for good reason. Emily was graduating with top honors and was being convinced by Jared to deliver the address on behalf of her fellow students to the institution they spent a couple of years studying in.

Emily was smart and a good student but she should be the last person you'd ask to deliver a speech, especially if she had her way...it'll turn to one big speech against the administration and how they lacked in almost every aspect.

"Yes well I'm sure Dean Masterson will be relieved not to see me attending," replied Emily. "Oh so this is all because they want my father there? Yeah well they didn't convince him to speak, why in heaven's name do they think I will?"

Rumple chuckled. Technically that never happened but the workings of magic was truly remarkable. Mr. Yao had explained that the curse had given everyone that was brought by the curse from the Enchanted Forest to the Land Without Magic new lives, including family history and educational attainment. What was even more remarkable is that magic had reworked the memories of people that could be involved...the history of Maine for example, had the foundation of the town of Storybrooke even in their records.

It was the same with the university in Scotland that apparently R. Gold graduated from, with some people even commenting that they had taken classes with him, trying to discover his secretive first name, even though Rumplestiltskin knew that to be a work of fiction.

But he himself, if he tried, would recall moments in campus...studying with professors and even goofing around with other men, drinking alcohol. It was bizarre in a sense but magic was magic...it was the same when he had regained his memories when Emma Swan had arrived in Storybrooke.

"It's not like I'm not going to get my degree if I don't attend," fired back his daughter. "That's why the university has graduate in-absentia. So please will you-"

"Hello Mr. Wilcot," began Rumplestiltskin as he took Emily's phone from her hand and took over the call. "I believe my daughter has made her position quite clear."

"Sir," stuttered the young man. "I-well I was just-"

"Asked to try, I would assume and I understand," replied Rumple with a sly smile to his daughter. "Please do send our regards to whoever convinced you to even attempt to persuade my daughter to do anything she doesn't want. They apparently do not know her very well...like yourself."

"I-" Rumple ended the call and tossed the phone to his daughter.

"And that had nothing to do with the fact that he asked me-" began Emily with a glare.

"Of course not," replied Rumple with a smile. "Your social life is not my concern...especially after you made it perfectly clear the last time you had a lad over."

"Oh you mean Alex who ran out of the house when you entered the room with a gun?" asked Emily, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I thought you liked Jared."

"Yes, well if he thinks he can decide things for you, I retract that statement," said Rumple with a wave of his hand and Emily had to bite back a smile, because she was still a bit annoyed but that gesture that made her reminisce the days when he would show her a spell or a trick with real and proper magic...the one at his disposal.

"I cannot comprehend how you do that," began Emily with a sigh as her father gave her a confused look. "You could be so aggravating and annoying one second and be completely adorable a second after."

"Adorable?" asked Rumple with a raised eyebrow.

"You were twirling your hand," explained Emily with a smile. She raised her phone. "Maybe a little light show to make up for ruining my chance at a boyfriend."

"Are you asking me to show you magic because I told that boy the truth?" asked Rumple, taken aback that apparently he had angered her slightly at his gesture. "I thought you wanted to end that conversation."

"Yes, but I had it under control," replied Emily.

"Uh-huh," replied Rumple with a smile. "And that particular shade of red on your cheeks doesn't help me make my point at all."

"Papa!" called Emily as Rumple all but ran out of the room, his daughter not far behind armed with a pillow.

Somewhere in the Land Without Magic, just a few miles away from Stoyrbrooke during the Second Curse

Rumplestiltskin felt numb. This wasn't how death felt like when he had killed himself and his father not too long ago. Then again, that had transpired in a place with magic. This time it had happened in the Land Without Magic...maybe death was different here.

Awareness slowly crept back to his mind and he was suddenly aware that he wasn't on the hard ground. Actually it felt soft...comfortable actually. It took him a couple of minutes to finally realize he was laying flat on his back on a bed…

His eyes shot open to see an unfamiliar room. He tried lifting his head but that small act took up energy that his body didn't have and he fell right back down.

"Easy," said a voice and Rumple's eyes widened when an older man came to his line of sight. "Your body still needs time to recover even with the light healing spell I could manage."

Healing spell? Rumple studied the man in front of him and it dawned on him that he was somehow familiar...never came across the man before he had disappeared from the Enchanted Forest but the man was known...well any person able to transform into a dragon was someone Rumplestiltskin the Dark One needed to be familiar with.

"You're.." began Rumple, his voice hoarse and low.

"Yes," came the reply. "I was driving aimless in the forest when I saw you collapse."

"You were heading to Storybrooke?" asked Rumple, his mind going into overdrive trying to access his current situation and how he could escape if the man in front of him decided to turn hostile.

"Actually," began the man. "I think my magic was leading me to you...to help you."

All of his thoughts stopped and he stared at the man. "Help me?"

The man nodded. "You must know who I am if you freely talked about magic right in front of me."

"I know who you are Rumplestiltskin." replied the man. "I am Li Yao, if it's any consolation to you. I know how names have power and you would want to be on even ground."

"That's not your real name," whispered Rumple and Mr Yao smiled. He should know well not to try and deceive the Dark One.

"So you do know who I am," began Mr Yao. "I chose the name when I had arrived in this realm..but back in the Enchanted Forest people knew me as 'The Dragon'."

[yessoupy]

2016 fic retrospective

no one’s tagged me for this, but i need to do it because i got shit to write this year and i need a kick in the ass.

1. List of works published this year:

a man, a planet, a house, and a tree (technically december 2015); making space; mutant; on babies; memoria

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

a man, a planet, a house, and a tree. the first fan fiction i ever read was star wars. i’d been kinda sad that after seeing the force awakens i didn’t jive with the main ship (finn/poe aka stormpilot) so couldn’t really get into the sudden explosion of fic. the second time i saw the movie i saw the guy who took poe’s helmet from him and i decided that would be my ship -- after scouring the imdb page and posting a comment on the actor’s instagram page for confirmation, thus was born poe dameron/resistance soldier. i gave him a name, and a backstory, and gave them a story. what i’ve always loved about the star wars universe is how VAST it is, and how many stories can exist in it without even touching on what we see in the movies or even read in the books. i could write about these two forever!! ALSO i wrote the whole thing without defining a gender for BB-8, and none of the references were tortured. :)

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

on babies. i had this concept of harry as a pediatrician but the research involved would be wayyyyyyy too much, so i made him a nurse instead and rushed right through the entire thing to get it out. i’m least proud of it because it deserved more time than it got.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

i’ll do one from each, since i finished so little, lol.

a man, a planet, a house, and a tree (in 2 short paragraphs i was able to build in huge pieces of marek’s backstory, if you’re more than a casual star wars fan):

“You understand why I do this, right?” Poe asks quietly, fingering the yellow piping on Marek’s pants. He’d tried once to pry out of Marek how he’d earned his Bloodstripe to no avail. He’d registered the mix of pain and pride in the soldier’s eyes and hadn’t tried again.

“I do,” Marek answers. “I just want you to come home to me every time you leave. And crashing squints into desert planets isn’t going to result in that outcome more than once.” Marek’s gaze flicks down to Poe’s chest. He traces the letters of his own surname beneath the crest of the Resistance. A N T I L L E S, with the second L halfway gone from wear. Poe closes his eyes at the soft touch and feels his deep exhaustion pulling at his consciousness.

making space 

“Okay. Fine.” He takes a deep breath. “When I was holding them, they were so warm and squirmy and ... god, it’s been years since I held a child that young. They’re so close to the womb, you know? They’ve spent longer inside of her than outside of her and ... I just wonder. What that would be like.”

“To be in the womb?” Bryan hopes this isn’t Jared’s surprise hidden kink, he’s not sure how he’s going to meet expectations on that one. Shower sex with the bathroom lights off and hot water? God, if he wants, like, a birth experience ... that could get messy. Also, the thought of that ... kind of gross. He could probably, like, tolerate it, but just barely. He won’t get hard, that’s for sure.

“No, to ... to have one. To have that capacity.” Jared locks eyes with him in the mirror. “Women are amazing.”

Bryan smiles down at him. “A touch jealous you lack the parts to bring life into the world with just a little assist?”

He bites his lip. “Maybe ... maybe a little.”

mutant

“Who’s a mutant?” Ryan asks, dragging his eyes away from Jason Lezak.

Michael waves at the dark-haired boy pulling himself out of the pool. “Cseh.”

Ryan scoffs and reaches for his hotel towel and briefs. “That’s not Cseh. Cseh is bald.”

Michael hasn’t known Ryan long, just through the training trip, and so he is still being surprised by Ryan’s idiosyncrasies. Or idiocy, he’s not sure yet. “Cseh shaves his head.”

Halfway through his deckchange, Ryan stops and cocks his head to the side. “Oh, well that makes more sense.”

on babies

Harry is just easing the crying newborn onto her mother’s chest when the paramedics board the bus. One of them accidentally kicks his phone, Louis still on the line, and the teen picks it up, takes over handling the call while Harry updates the paramedics on Sarah’s status. Sarah cries and refuses to let go of his hand as they load her onto a stretcher and they busy themselves with checking the vitals of the new baby.

The elderly woman -- Mary, she’d told Sarah to call her, Mary -- reaches up and dabs at his cheeks with her handkerchief. He hadn’t realized he was crying.

memoria

First things first, he’s debriefed. He’s clinical in his description because he has to be. When he recounts his interrogation, he describes what happened and that’s it.

“He raised his hand and I felt a pressure inside of my skull.”

He was pushing around in there, rooting through my memories.

“I knew he wanted the location of the map, so I thought about everything else. It was hard to hold onto the mundane ideas -- I started with a TIE fighter’s schematics -- so I moved to more personal thoughts.”

Marek Marek Marek my love your hands steady oil-stained Marek my soldier

“That worked for awhile, I think he was getting frustrated, but eventually ... I’m sorry. I ran out of energy.”

General Organa shushes him and squeezes his arm. “It’s alright. You did as well as you could.” He can see the pain in her eyes. “Commander, is there anything else about his interrogation technique that might be helpful in understanding his capabilities?”

General Organa never says his name. Either of them. Poe sighs. “I don’t know. I think ... I think he took something from me. But I don’t know what it is.” He blinks, a sick feeling settling into his stomach. “I guess I never will.”

General Organa nods at her assistant, who stops recording.

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

I know you probably think this is so old by now, but I love this concept so much and I've read this at least 6 times now! Just like.... please write more

This review encouraged me to write another poe/marek piece i had kicking around, so that piece (memoria) was dedicated to this person i don’t know!

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

felt like ALL the time it was ... one time i sat down to write and cleaned the entire kitchen!

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

i really love marek. he’s essentially an omc so it’s probably no surprise that he is my favorite, but outside of my novel i haven’t attempted a fully-developed OC. i’m pissed at myself for making his bloodstripe a mystery to poe -- it’s fucking up some other stuff i’m trying to write. i might go in and change that actually ....

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I think I’ve done a better job taking an idea from inception to fruition? and also, writing the shit i wanted to read. 

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I’d like to write and post more. In 2015 I posted a lot of stuff I really liked but knew I’d never finish (basically same thing as with Mutant). I need to finish some shit.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Oh, I chatted with @missboomissquick about just about everything I wrote this year. She’s always encouraging!

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

last semester i had to teach psychology. i finished memoria after i taught the unit on memory!!

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Even if you think it’s absolute shit, write it. If you finish it, publish it. You won’t get any better if you don’t practice. that’s not new wisdom, but eh.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I have a Poe/Marek I was plotting that would take place after TFA, going to Corellia to pick up some more ships (because the Resistance is woefully under-shipped????). It’s so much fucking research to write in the new canon, so I decided that I could write Poe/Marek as an AU in the old EU, since I’ve read all that shit and wouldn’t have to research as much. But idk what the plot would be in that one. :/ For most of 2016 I set aside my original novel (it’s political in nature and shit with the Trump nomination and election just fucked with my head so I had to let those guys take a seat for awhile). I need to pick it back up and make some decisions about it -- i have 4 different routes for it. At least. I also have a Larry faux mpreg I really want to write, but I have to change the premise again. 

14. Tag three (or as many) writers whose answers you’d love to read:

meh, do it if you want! i’m not gonna pressure anyone.

[3one3]

The Sequel - 902

The Numbers

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“How was training? I saw pictures of you smiling.”

“We had a little fun.”

“You don’t sound like you’ve had any fun today.”

“I’m tired and- To be honest, I’m thinking too much about numbers.”

“Which numbers?”

“Goals, assists, minutes played.”

“Oh. Don’t do that.”

“I miss you.”

“I love you.”

“I wish you were coming early. Sunday, or Monday.”

“Schü got tickets for The Nutcracker at the ballet in Berlin on Sunday night.”

“You told me.”

And I really wanna go. It looks dark and magical, and it was so cute of him to bring me cookies. They even match my holiday decor. He’s running a points surplus right now, Christina thought about one football player while on the phone with another. She was on the couch in the master bedroom, waiting for the first one to finish his video games, and very ready to go to sleep. But the second one needed her.

“I have to ride both days anyway,” she told him, referring to the two days before her flight to London for Olympia. “You said I should get back to work, and I have, and I feel good about it. I wanted to tell you a bunch of times today when I got like...a tiny shot of adrenalin or happiness or something looking at my training plan for the week, or when Tom just seemed...I don’t- I know this sounds ridiculous,” she smiled. “But I feel like he kept looking at me differently today, like he knows I’m back to doing things the old way and he’s happy about it and respects me more or something.”

“That’s good cariña. I’m very happy for you,” he yawned. The rider snorted and laughed.

“Yeah, you sound it.”

“I am! I’m sleepy. I was watching shows,” Juan needlessly explained. He sent her the equivalent of a “please call me and tuck me in” message around dinnertime in London, at the Chelsea Harbour Hotel, and his girlfriend was more than happy to accommodate the request. It didn’t matter that André hadn’t instigated any fights in over a week, or that he asked her to the ballet and brought assorted Christmas cookies from the bakery he visited to try to replace the lemon bar they had to abandon at the bookstore on Sunday when Lukas’ stuffed pony went missing and the world was about to end. She still missed being able to hug and kiss the Spaniard just the same, and wanted to hear his voice every day in her ears and not just in her head when she read his texts. It was her pleasure to get cozy in new winter home decor and lend him those ears so that he could vent his building frustration with his own performances on the pitch, as it were. She didn’t know what the problem was but she knew from the message that there must be something, or that he was going to be passive aggressively upset that his calls the prior night went unanswered because she was out with André and then watched a movie with him and without her phone.

“I was so sleepy at dinner that I dipped my pita bread in my Coke instead of tzatziki.” And now I’m extra sleepy because this corner of the couch is now like the inside of a mountain cabin. I have fur, the rider narrated happily while rubbing her face on her new pillow. I have cashmere, she added, moving her legs together to feel the new plaid, fringed, scarf-like blanket. There were fat rib-knit throw pillows too. I have a proper winter nest. I have a yuge credit card bill, the happy girl finished. Zoe invited her out for a mom date during the week with the kids- lunch and shopping- and took her to a home furnishings place with beautiful stuff. Christina wanted all the textiles, and the bonus rewards from American Express.

“How did it taste? They’re both lemony.”

“Not so good. But not so bad that I didn’t eat it anyway.”

“Am I going to score a goal tomorrow night?”

“No, but you’re going to run the game. Grab it by the neck. Run the show. You’ll set someone else up to score. It’s a perfect matchup for you. While everyone else on the pitch is focused on the physical fight and keeping it tight, you can use your brain and create space.”

“Were you in the briefing today?”

“No, but it doesn’t take a UEFA Coach of the Year nomination to anticipate how it might go between a resurgent Atletico fighting for their European lives and a prone-to-only-giving-as-much-as-absolutely-needed Chelsea in self-preservation cruise mode.” Christina was very certain in her matchday forecast. And she was calm about it, not letting her desire for her prediction to come true make her sound like a salesman. It was what Juan called her for. “Be the one who starts in a top gear while the others ease into the game. Then you can dictate a role for yourself instead of waiting for them to give you a chance to have an impact.

“Smart advice.” He was smiling on the receiving end of the little pep talk.

“I’m gonna yell at the TV all night if you don’t take it.”

“Consider it taken, cariña.”

“If you do score, your celebration should include a secret shoutout just for me.”

“Like what?”

“Liiiike...walk up to Eden and pinch his butt.”

“No.”

“Take a bite out of it.”

“No.”

“Pretend to ride a dragon.”

“No.”

“Do the Matarena.”

“No.”

“Do nothing because you’re lame and no fun.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Bah ram you.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I feel in danger of becoming Mata, the guy who does the charity thing, instead of Mata, the good football player,” Juan confessed, out of nowhere. “I’m going to be on the cover of FourFourTwo this week with other winners of their annual awards, and people who see it are going to go, “Mata? What? Why!” I don’t fit on a cover with Guardiola, Kane, Buffon, Modric, and Neymar. The award is for the Common Goal project. The other guys get awards for how they play, or coach.”

“Yeah but what your award is for actually matters more than what they do,” Christina shot back, anxious to reassure him and convince him that his magazine cover, which she already knew about, was something to be proud of, not fear.

“What I’m doing with Common Goal could help a lot of people, yes, but think of what football’s stars mean to hundreds of millions of people. You know,” the uncertain Chelsea man insisted. “You know what football means to you. Millions watch every weekend and the score might influence their mood for the whole week, and their interactions with friends and people at work. You’re proud for a week if your team wins big at the weekend, or you’re the wrong side of the jokes if they lose. You get such a good feeling when you see a ridiculous skill, or a beautiful goal. So those guys are doing a lot for people too. It’s not just that they score and change games. I still want to play. I want to be known as a good person and a regular guy- that’s important- but I want to be known as a top player too. I want to have big performances.”

“You don’t want to be Neven Subotic,” his understanding girlfriend said in summary for him. She felt around inside her blanket too for the two furry friends in residence. Spencer and Lucky had been comatose in there since 30 seconds after she tapped Juan’s name on her Favorites. They were “working” the same long hours at the barn as she did. “Everyone knows he’s a great guy, and he spends all his free time getting water for kids in Africa or something, and Dortmund wheels him out as their good-guy player for interviews and events and stuff, and then once in a while he actually gets to play.”

“I don’t think it’s quite on that level yet,” he chuckled. “Thankfully.”

“You’re a long way from that. You’re a great player, Juanin. I dunno about other people but I still get excited watching you do stuff with the ball. I still go “oh my god how did he know” when you pass to set someone up and you didn’t even take a single second to plan it out- you knew before you got the ball. I can see your brain working in the game and it’s always so much better than everyone else’s. I see you between passages of play telling guys to calm down, or urging them to move up. You read the pulse of things. Yeah, you’re having a bit of a quiet period now and the manager is trying different systems with different personnel and he needs to get guys from the bench into the game earlier to keep them happy, but I don’t think you should be having...feels about what your legacy is going to be. You’ve won almost every major trophy in world football. You have way more to give football yet than just 1% of your salary and your face on the recruitment packet.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so. I’m not even just trying to make you feel better. You are objectively brilliant, Juanin. Don’t get anxious because of a little unsatisfying spell.”

“I know the difference between when you talk to pick someone up and when you say the more realistic truth,” the Spaniard smiled. The fondness in the answer gave away the grin, small as it probably was. He wasn’t usually the one who needed boosting, but Christina had provided the service for him before, and she’d administered it for others in front of him too. Unbeknownst to her, most people in her life knew the difference between her lip service and her genuine testimony. And she wholeheartedly believed, without hyperbole, every word she said to her friend about the current state of his play. “I have always appreciated that you wear your heart on your sleeve with people you’re close to.”

“I don’t even have to open my mouth for you to know what’s in my heart most of the time so it doesn’t matter what’s on my sleeve.”

“I know how I’ll celebrate if I score a goal tomorrow night. Let’s see if you notice your shoutout.”

“It’s gonna be pretty obvious if it involves your sleeve, Juanin.”

“I think I can be more creative than that, cariña.”

“You know what might help you be fabulous in the match?”

“What?”

“Shaving your face.”

“Send nudes.”

“Haven’t got any.”

“Take some.”

“I’m wearing clothes. Hey, you should get naked on a magazine cover.”

“Yeah, everyone wants to see that.”

“Naked but with your reading glasses. That would be so hot.”

“Send me videos while you’re riding tomorrow. I’m going to be bored most of the day.”

“That I can do. Any horse requests?”

“Cartagena.”

“I can’t remember if I’m doing him tomorrow.”

“Do me tomorrow.”

“I wish.”

“I miss you. I miiiiiiiiiss youuuuuu,” Juan whined, mostly playful. Christina laughed at him and whined back that she missed him too, and suggested that boredom was the primary reason he missed her so much. She suggested he just needed someone to make background noise and be annoying and generally keep him company, and the player largely agreed. He also said though that he felt left out from her recommitment to her reliable training methods and psychology- that he wished he were “there” to see her work, and see the effect it had on. The Olympic star realized that he used to be able to drop in on her at the barn whenever, or grab a meal, or go for a drive with her and see the immediate aftereffects of however her riding made her feel on any given day. That was something he told her he appreciated very much.

He loved to watch and listen to her rattle on and on about some battle of wills with one of her horses while playing DJ in his car and stopping to comment on things she hated about other cars that pulled into their spot at the Observatory, for example, and her companionship when she was just in a bubbly mood because Dirk did something amazing that afternoon. Christina knew the lack of companionship thing had been a struggle for a long time, but she never realized that extended to the lack of access to her professional life too. She didn’t know or anticipate that his distance from her stuff- the activities that were really just hers, and meaningful on their face only to her- would have such a significance. Missing the things she did with him made perfect sense. It was sort of flattering to learn that he felt like she shared the other things with him without even realizing it, and that it mattered to him.

They rounded out their chat with a discussion about how she would actually use excitement about the big Champions League features to fuel her throughout her training on Tuesday, and then Christina said she needed to get to bed. That was true, but she needed to go collect her husband first. Someone would have to get a jumpstart on warming the bed for her. It was much too cold to just slide in there. André could preheat it while she brushed her teeth, set alarms, took off jewelry, etc. She went downstairs to tell him it was bedtime, and discovered that the only advance he was interested in was sleep. He was snoring, kind of tipped over to one side, with his game controller in his hand. There was a prompt on the big screen asking if he wanted to restart. His girl bent down with her hands on the couch cushion to smooch his cheek.

“Time for bed, handsome,” she said near his ear. I think I said the same thing to Luke a couple of hours ago. Is that weird? They’re both so cute when they sleep. “Baaabe?”

“Did I die?” the sleepy blonde inquired without opening his eyes. He did yawn, and reach to cover his mouth. It didn’t require sitting up.

“It seems so, yes.”

“Is this heaven? Or did I go the other direction?”

“Jury’s still out,” Christina told him, deadpan. It prompted him to open one squinty eye and kind of glare at her, skeptical. His girl laughed. “Come to bed.”

“This is the part where you usually ask me to carry you, when I’m standing there and you’re here.”

“I would totally carry you to bed if I were physically capable. I would carry you everywhere.”

“C’mere.” André held both arms out like he wanted a hug, and his wife shook her head to refuse. She made him get up to hug her, because otherwise he’d pull her down and over with him and they’d both be lying on the sofa instead of getting into bed. It was a good hug though- all consuming, and warm, and full of sweet whispers. It was capped by a loud “mwah” on the rider’s neck. The two tired athletes gave their pets some goodnight treats, unplugged the Christmas tree in the foyer, and ascended the two staircases on either side of it separately, because André was going straight to their room and Christina was stopping at the other end of the upstairs hall to check on Lukas. The littlest member of the family was sound asleep with his thumb in his mouth and his pony under his arm in his safari-themed room with slow rotating constellations projected on his ceiling. Sometimes when she checked on him, his mom was tempted to squeeze into his little bed with him and have a sleepover. His room was enviable. Even the gurgle of the filtration system in the fishbowl was nice.

“Snuggles,” Christina requested flatly, in her little kid voice, when she was finally able to get under her satin covers with her bed heater, who rolled over to hug her with both his arms and his legs.

“Your eyes are all red. Did Juan upset you or are you very tired? Tired, eh?” He asked and answered his question with his hands on her butt, inside her candy cane striped panties.  

“So tired. I’m going to bed early tomorrow since you won’t be here.”

“No you won’t. The matches won’t even be over until almost 11.”

“That’s early.”

“Early is when you used to come to the living room at 9 o’clock to kiss my cheek and warn me that if I woke you up coming to bed later you’d murder me.”

“That was before Lulu Schü.”

“I was looking forward to being in London with you without him for a couple of nights...” André commented, rueful. His wife made the executive decision that her extra days in London post-horse show could be best maximized if he came alone and Lukas remained at home with his nanny and grandparents. Half of her wanted to take him to Winter Wonderland, and to see the decorations around the stores in Knightsbridge and Chelsea, and maybe even go ice-skating. The other half of her dwelled on how difficult it would be to navigate Christmas Retail City with a stroller, with a little boy who needed the bathroom every 10 minutes whenever they left the house, with someone who was too old to just ride quietly through hours and hours of shopping anymore, and how they’d have to go to kid-friendly restaurants, and couldn’t go out at night to enjoy the seasonal festivities in adult capacities. Christina wanted two romantic dinners and unencumbered, special-operations-like shopping to complete the Christmas list she hadn’t even begun to work on yet. She also wanted a little slice of pre-Lukas life.

Unfortunately, neither she nor André realized when they made that plan to spend Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday at The Savoy that Borussia Dortmund would end up in a DFL Cup third-round tie in Munich on that Wednesday night. The player was furious after the draw. He didn’t know all the games were to be played that week. He thought he’d be free for mid-winter break after the weekend fixture. The worst part of it for him was that about 5 minutes after his wife got done lamenting the change of plans and offering to call to cancel the hotel reservation and change her return flight and cancel his roundtrip ticket, she proposed staying with Juan two extra nights, and moving her flight to Wednesday afternoon, so that she could “still get the shopping done”. Instead of being there to see her ride in the Olympia Grand Prix on Monday night and having that time alone with her, and the romantic dinners, he’d be home and then on a trip to Bayern with his teammates, and she’d be having the romantic meals and doing the shopping with Juan.

Then he felt a perverse pleasure at seeing his wife’s second plan detonated when she found out Chelsea would play on Wednesday too, so Juan couldn’t take her out on Tuesday night either. It was Christina who really paid the price. She was the one who really wanted a couple of free days in London, and it didn’t even matter to her much who she shared them with. She wasn’t getting them. She’d be staying an extra night at the Spaniard’s- Monday, after the evening feature at the horse show- and then flying home Tuesday night. All she was getting was a couple of hours to have breakfast with him and then an afternoon of shopping by herself, or with Natasha if her friend could get away.

“Me too.” She turned her lip over in an exaggerated pout. André gave her butt a double squeeze and kissed her forehead.

“We’ll have a nice time in Berlin before you go,” he reminded her. “I’ve never been there at Christmas but I’m sure it’s just as pretty and...festive.” The appeal of London at Christmastime wasn’t quite a mystery to him, but he didn’t fully understand its draw on his girl. He just knew it existed. He knew how much that time of the year and the buzz of the city meant to her. He liked the holidays. He liked the decorations, and the special air. They just didn’t matter that much. It wouldn’t have bothered him one bit to spend the whole of the holiday season somewhere tropical, maybe in some ironic snowman print swim trunks. His ex-New Yorker wife liked the cold. She enjoyed layering up between stores. The burning in her cheeks as she thawed inside was terrible and wonderful in equal measure. Full-body shivers were treasured. Having to wait forever for the car to be returned to the valet stand while holding 7 shopping bags was like a weird rite of holiday passage. Christina even enjoyed the smell of car exhaust and street-cart roasted nuts mixed with damp December air. She once told him the only thing London Christmas shopping really missed was the scent of boiled kosher hotdogs and the faint whiff of Chanel No.5. That would make it just like Manhattan, and thus, perfect. That year- their first together in Germany- more than any other, André wanted to help his favorite girl have a perfect Christmas. In a time when there was very little he could do to make most of the other things in his life perfect, showing her a good time and making her happy seemed like the best chance of feeling the satisfaction of delivering, of a job well done, of doing something right. The Staatsballett production of Der Nussknacker was a play in the game that he hoped would make up for the London loss. Tchaikovsky, and sugar plum fairies, and athletic guys in tights, were her favorite.  

“I’m excited for fine dining and my poofy red dress,” Christina yawned. “Squeeze my butt more. It feels nice. Butt massage,” she mumbled as she shut her eyes and tried to nuzzle her face into his sternum.