#I think I said I’d answer these tomorrow like a week ago whoops

[memento-yuumori]

For the ask game, 12 and 19 are really interesting !!

12) Do you agree with the Moriarty plan if you lived in that era?

Would answering "yes" get me in trouble?

Realistically I’d probably be one of the people who they help in a light novel story, or maybe a Sherlock client. But I would definitely believe in the image of the world the Plan intended to create.

19) Which is the funniest moment in the series?

Not the most objectively funny moment, but I love the thought of Albert enjoying hamming up his Very Important role during the Noahtic arc. Just imagining him clearing his throat, declaring "Wait... Isn't that Count Blitz Enders?", and sitting back knowing he did a good job. Hilarious to me XD

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Unfaithful | Part Five

Series Summary: After dreaming of your perfect wedding since you were a little girl the big day is almost here. But after meeting the priest you start to question your relationship.

Pairing: Hot Priest x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2005

Warnings: angst, lots of angst, drunk priest, bad friend 

A/N: Please be warned there will be some themes of toxic/abusive relationship in this series. Also, spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :)

Part Four | Masterlist

- - - - -

I can’t sleep. 

Half excited for my hen party, and half nervous for the talk I know I need to have with the priest. 

I spend hours lying awake imagining how the conversation will go, all the possible outcomes. I must of drifted off some time in the early hours because I'm awakened at 9am by a text from Daniel: 

‘You looked so peaceful when I left for work I didn’t want to disturb you. But I just realised that since I’m going straight out with the boys for my stag do later, the next time we see each other I’ll be in my suit and you’ll be in your dress walking down the aisle to me. I can’t wait. Enjoy the fundraiser and have and wonderful hen party tonight. I love you Mrs Davison xxx’

The text makes me smile, until I read the last sentence. ‘Mrs Davison’ send a panic rushing through me. This suddenly all feels very real. I’m getting married tomorrow. I take a deep breath. It’s fine. I'm fine. This is just pre-wedding nerves. Completely normal. 

I take another deep breath and get out of bed. 

— — — — 

“Ah Y/N! You’re here” Pam greets me at the church doors and swiftly ushers me around the side of the building towards the church garden where the fundraiser has already started “We’ve got an emergency” 

“What do you mean?” I reply as she leads me through crowds of people till we reach a table lined with various numbered prizes. 

“Ruth was supposed to be running the raffle but she’s just called to say she can’t make it, ate something bad she thinks and now she can’t stop throwing up.” 

I grimace slightly at the story but mostly I’m just wondering what any of this has to do with me…

“So if you wouldn’t mind taking over and running it for us that would be wonderful. Tickets are a pound each. Thank you!” 

Before I can say anything she’s gone, rushing off to check the youth band are ready for their performance. I stand bewildered for a moment, looking around at the crowds until I spot the priest who is currently admiring cupcakes at the bakery stand and laughing about something. Suddenly he turns and locks eyes with me. His face drops, he stares at me like a deer in headlights. I give him a small smile, which he doesn’t return. My heart hurts. 

“Excuse me, how much is a ticket?” Someone asks, forcing me to turn my attention away

“One pound” 

“Can I get five please” 

By the time I complete the transaction and look back to the bakery stand the priest is gone. I scan the crowd again, but there’s no sign of him. 

An hour later I still don't know where he is. What I do know is I really need the loo. I ask the person on the stall next to me to watch the table while I head inside in search of the toilets, but when I enter the building I bump into someone. 

It’s him. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks

“Just trying to find the ladies room” 

“I mean here, at this stupid event”

“Pam didn’t really give me a choice” I explain and he just looks irritated “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I wasn’t welcome”

“I just wasn’t expecting to see you here today”

“Well here I am” I say dryly and there’s an awkward silence. I take a deep breath before I speak again “I actually wanted to talk to you… about what happened-”

“Nothing happened. We agreed”

“But it did happen, Father, we need to talk about it”

“Oh, fuck you calling me Father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it”

My mouth drops open, dumbfounded by his comment. I shake my head slightly as I try and think of something to say.

“I know what you’ve been doing” he continues

“Please, enlighten me because I have no idea what you're talking about!”

“Playing the sweet, innocent girl. Making me like you, fall for you. Making me think that you needed saving from the douchebag boyfriend… Was any of it real? Was anything you said actually true?” 

“I never lied to you” I almost whisper as he gets really close to my face, moving my hair off my cheek to study what’s left of the burn scars.

“Did he ever really hurt you? Or did you just make that up so I’d feel sorry for you”

“Fuck you!” I say through gritted teeth as I start to walk away, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I stop and look back at him “You’re the one who told me you loved me, remember? That was you! If you regret it, that’s fine. There’s no need to be such a dick about it” 

I turn and leave again, his final words repeating through my head as I walk away. 

As I walk home I can’t stop the tears from coming as I replay the conversation in my head over and over again. Why is he being like this? How can he be so loving to me one day and so nasty a few days later? What changed?

I get home and go straight to bed. I wrap myself up in the duvet and try to push everything out of my mind so I can get in a quick nap before I have to get ready for my hen party. The last thing I feel like doing right now is going out celebrating, but I know there’s no way I could cancel.

Thank God there’s going to be alcohol there. 

— — — — 

“Bride’s turn! Truth or Dare?”

“Truth” I say happily, finishing off my third glass of wine. 

“Okay… if you could have a free pass and choose any celebrity, who would you sleep with?”

The girls start whooping and laughing, but before I can even answer Tiffany cuts in.

“She won’t answer that, she’s far too vanilla”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, slightly offended by her tone.

“Don't start Tiff” Eva rolls her eyes

“I’m not starting anything, I’m just telling the truth. She’s only ever had one boyfriend and she’s marrying him tomorrow. She lost her virginity to him and I bet you anything that they schedule the days in the week when they’ll go to bed and have boring missionary sex. Vanilla! She’s never even kissed another guy…”

Maybe it’s the alcohol in my system or the way she’s talking about me like I’m not here, but I can feel myself getting more and more irritated.

“Actually I have!” I speak up and she laughs.

“A kiss from your dad doesn’t count”

The room falls silent as everyone stops to watch my reaction. I can see from Tiffany’s face she instantly regrets her words. She knows how much I miss my dad, but it’s too late to take it back now.  

“Well done Tiff” I hear Eva say as I walk away from the group. I head outside and take a deep breath of the fresh air. Looking up at the stars I find myself thinking of my parents and wishing they were here. 

“I’m sorry” Tiffany’s voice makes me jump, I hadn’t realised she’d followed me outside and was now leaning against the wall next to me “that was a low blow, I shouldn’t have said that”

“It doesn’t matter” I mutter quietly 

“It does! I should have thought about what I was saying… I just forgot”

“I forget too. So often I pick up my phone to call him and realise he won’t be on the other end. I would give anything for them to be here right now”

“I know, come here” she pulls me in for a hug, squeezing me tightly before leaning away to look me in the face “I’m sorry I called you vanilla”

“Maybe I am. You were right, I’ve only ever been with Daniel. Until this week he was the only man I’d ever kissed!”

“This week?” She pulls away completely and my heart drops as I realise what I’ve just said “You kissed someone? Who?”

“No I- I didn’t mean to say that” 

“Its okay, you can tell me. We have been friends forever haven’t we?”

“I guess… but you can’t tell the others!”

“I won’t”

“Promise me Tiff!”

“I promise!”

I take a breath. 

“I kissed the priest” 

“What priest?” She replies blankly.

“THE Priest! The one who’s doing the wedding tomorrow!”

She stares at me blankly for a moment as she processes what I’ve just told her. I can almost see the cogs turning in her brain and suddenly the penny drops.

“OH MY GOD!”

“I know”

“Y/N!” 

“I know!”

“Does Daniel know?”

“Of course not”

“You have to tell him!”

“Are you insane?! He’d go mad!”

“He deserves to know that his so called fiancé has been cheating on him”

“I haven’t been cheating on him, it was just one stupid drunken kiss”

“If it was ‘just a kiss’ why haven’t you told him?”  

“Because-” I think about telling her the truth. That if I told him he’d get angry and most likely hurt me. But I don’t. “I just can’t”

“If you don’t, I will” 

“No, Tiff please you can’t”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go there now and tell him” she says and stares at me as I silently stare back at her. When she begins to walk away I panic.

“Because he hurts me!” I finally admit, and she looks back at me confused “That’s why I’ve been too scared to tell him”

“No” she shakes her head “No he wouldn’t, he swore he’d never be like his dad”

“And he’s not. He’s not as bad as his father was, he just gets angry and sometimes he takes it out on me.” I explain but she’s still shaking her head in disbelief “a few days ago I had to go to the hospital because he burnt me” I pull the collar of my dress down to expose the burn scars on my neck “this is what’s left of him throwing boiling hot coffee in my face”

She looks from my neck to my face, sadness in her eyes as she processes everything. After a few moments she finally speaks. 

“I won’t tell him” 

“Thank you!” I breathe a sigh of relief 

“But I also won’t be at the wedding tomorrow” 

“Tiff, you're my maid of honour! My best friend! I need you”

“I can’t pretend to be happy for you, pretend that I agree with this marriage. I’m sorry”

“Tiff! Tiffany!” I call after her but she continues to walk away, hailing a passing taxi and disappearing into the night. 

“Y/N? What happened? Where’s Tiff?” Eva asks, poking her head out the door and looking around. 

“She’s gone” I say simply, turning to look at her “Guess I need a new maid of honour” 

— — — — 

The following morning goes by in a blur. The girls, minus Tiffany, stayed at my house over night while Daniel stayed at his mate’s house. I was awakened by the sounds of the girls running upstairs, screaming excitedly that “today is the day” as they jumped into my bed. 

Once they’d calmed down we had all gone downstairs for a light breakfast before the girls began getting ready. Maybe it’s the constant sound of laughing and chatting, or maybe its the slight hangover from the night before but I suddenly feel the need to get out. I excuse myself and head outside to get some air, taking a seat on the front step of my house. I take a few deep breaths and allow my head to drop into my hands, my elbows propped up on my knees. A few seconds later I hear footsteps up the driveway and look up to see the priest. 

“Hi” I say, unable to hide the confusion in my voice. 

“can we talk?” 

Final Chapter

[imagine-darksiders]

I hope you feel better soon! When you're feeling better would you be able to write something about jealous Strife? That ask made me curious

“Do you really have to go?”

From your seat at the vanity, you heave an exasperated sigh and set down your lipstick, swivelling around in the chair to face the Horseman who stands sulking at your bedroom door.

“Strife,” you begin patiently, “I'm afraid my answer still hasn't changed since you asked me ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I know. It's just -” Averting his gaze, he crosses his arms and grumbles, “I thought we were gonna hang out tonight.”

“And I told you two weeks ago that I wouldn't be around tonight.”

You can't see his expression, hidden as it is behind the silver helm he wears, but you're fairly confident in guessing that there's a pout on his lips.

“And besides,” you add, “We hang out all the time. You practically live here. Hell, you've already turned my spare bedroom into your own personal den.”

'Den' is an understatement. Your spare room is now less of a bedroom more of an Earth museum, filled from floor to ceiling with all of the things that Strife has picked up simply because they took his fancy. For the most part, it's all junk. There's an obsolete gaming console that no longer works, a skateboard, a horse figurine made of glass, no less than three Nerf guns and not a foam dart between them...

Honestly, you're loathe to tell him to get rid of any of it, though you fear you might have to soon if you don't want the mess spilling out into the rest of your house.

Giving your head an exasperated shake, you check the time on your phone and stand up, throwing your bag over a shoulder. “Listen, it's just one evening with an old friend who I haven't seen since before the apocalypse. We can hang out tomorrow, I promise. But now, I really need to dash, he'll be here to pick me up any minute.”

Pausing to stuff your phone into the pocket of your trousers, you head towards the door, hardly noticing that the Horseman is still standing in front of it with his arms folded neatly across a broad, armoured chest. It's only because you glance up right at the last second that you manage to avoid a painful collision. “Um...Strife?” you ask, halting in your tracks, “... Move?”

In response, he simply leans back against your door and begins to inspect the claws on one of his gauntlets. “Nah... I'd rather hear about this friend of yours. You've never mentioned him.” Pausing, he shoots you a sly smirk that you can sense more than see, his golden eyes flashing, “You guys close?”

With a roll of your eyes, you mimic his posture, crossing your arms and giving him a glare that would make Death proud. “Strife, what's gotten into you? I just said I'm going to be late for my friend.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he returns coolly, “Just wanna know that my friend isn't walking into a trap.”

“Oh wow – a trap? Really? Of all the-” You cut yourself off and raise a hand, massaging at your temple. “Okay. Now you're just being ridiculous. It's not a trap.”

“Why don't you let me come with you, just in case?”

“Because!” you cry, throwing your arms up, “It'll be awkward! You remember what I taught you about third-wheeling?”

He remembers it well, in fact. Just like he remembers everything you teach him, committing the moments to memories that he'll carry with him until the day he snuffs it. He only has you for less than a hundred years, after all, and he's determined to remember every last bit of it. The Universe must have thought itself pretty hilarious when it placed you in his life. Of all the creatures in all the realms, the one he ends up caring about most just so happens to be the one with the shortest lifespan. It makes him want to hunt down the Creator and shoot a hole where a heart might be.

Shoving down his contempt for the omnipotent bastard, Strife returns his attention to you and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I don't mind tagging along. You know, just in case I have to watch your back.”

Your response hits him harder than a crack from Fury's whip. “I don't need you to watch my back every second of every day! Stop being so paranoid.”

The Horseman is too proud and obstinate to ever let the stab of hurt show in his eyes, but he can't ignore its presence in his chest.

He is not being paranoid... He's being a good friend - watching your back, looking out for you, all the things a friend is supposed to do. Not that he's had much experience being friends with a human. Or anyone, for that matter, who isn't a horse or his siblings. It's been a learning curve for both of you, though more-so for him, and so far, the most prominent challenge he's faced is balancing the line between being a friend and being an overprotective nuisance.

It perhaps hasn't helped that, ever since humanity was resurrected, the pair of you have been nigh inseparable. He's grown used to your presence – is dependant upon in, according to Death; a fact that Strife had vehemently tried to deny, at least until he learned that you'd made plans. Plans with someone else. Plans that didn't involve him.

It was only once he'd taken some time to reflect and found that he had indeed been glued to your side for months, that he realised the awful truth.

His older brother was right, after all. The smug ass.

A shudder rolls over the Horseman's body and he blinks, realising that in the few seconds he's been lost in thought, you've managed to reach around him to push open your bedroom door.

“Hey!” he complains as you all but shove past, and he – being the soft-touch that he is – simply allows himself to be moved aside. Grumbling, he follows you across the landing and down your sweeping staircase until you reach the front door and stop beside it.

From outside, the thunderous roar of an approaching, automobile's engine thrums in his ears.

“That's him!” you chirp, and Strife hates the way your face lights up at the mention of whoever 'he' is.

Throwing open your door, you head outside and try to pull it shut behind you, yet find your efforts abruptly halted by the Horseman sticking close to your heels. He ducks through the low doorframe and moves to stand beside you, his viciously keen gaze raking over the vehicle that idles at the end of your driveway.

By his own admission, Strife has always had a weakness for those 'motor bikes' the humans like to ride, with their shiny gaskets and noisy engines. But this one – the one upon whom sits a tall, lanky human – Strife does not care for.

“Anton!” you call out, flying down the driveway, splaying your arms out wide in anticipation of a hug.

'Anton' laughs brightly and kicks down the bike's stand as he leaps from the seat, his own arms only just opening in time to receive you when you crash into him with a whoop of delight.

As soon as those long, stringy arms wrap around your shoulders, the Horseman's hackles raise like a feral beast's and the sudden presence of Anarchy begins to claw at the confines of his ribcage. For a few moments, he wrestles with himself, weighing the pros and cons of letting his most primal form take over for a while, but after envisioning the disapproving frown that's sure to adorn your face should he pull such a stunt, he bitterly shoves a reluctant Anarchy back down and settles upon prowling down the gravel drive after you, glaring hard at the stranger the entire way. Admittedly, he is a little surprised at himself for the animosity. On the whole, he's always maintained a good rapport with other humans. He likes the species, a lot. So to suddenly be filled with such a strong disliking for this particular human strikes him as odd and out of character.

Then, Anton's hands slide down to your lower back and another bout of indignant fury flares up in the Horseman's belly. After what he thinks is, quite frankly, an obscene amount of time, the stranger releases you, holding onto your shoulders and leaning back to get a better look at your face.

“God, it's good to see you, Y/n,” he drawls, eyeing you from head to toe in a way that makes the Horseman's skin crawl, “I can't believe it! You've changed so much!”

Grinning shyly up at him, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and reply, “Hopefully for the better?”

His own smile widens. “You were always at your best, even before the apocalypse. Still, being Humanity's Hero seems to be really suiting you, huh?”

At once, your expression falls and you pull a face, extracting yourself from his grasp. “Oh god, don't call me that. I've told the media till I'm blue in the face - the Horsemen are the ones who deserve to be called heroes. Oh, speaking of whom...” You turn to face the looming presence at your side and gesture up to Strife. “I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine.”

Anton's gaze leaves you long enough to flick over towards the Horseman and you watch as he does a very comical double-take, his eyes bulging for a moment before he manages to compose himself again and lifts his hand in greeting. “Hey! You must be one of those Horseman guys. Death, right?”

Noticing that the Nephilim's hands curl suddenly into tight fists, you interject, “Uh, actually, this is Strife, Tones.”

“Tones?” He really does try to keep the disdain from his voice when he switches his burning, golden glare between you and the other human. “I thought you said his name was Anton?”

How many other friends do you have?

“It's a nickname, Strife,” you reassure him quickly, “This is Anton.”

A nickname... Of course. The Horseman's stomach twists itself into a knot and he can't stop himself from blurting out, “How come you've never given me a nickname?”

The human concept surrounding abbreviated names was a fairly easy one for him to grasp when he first learned of them. They're terms of endearment, meant to signify familiarity and friendship.

He's your friend. He's familiar. Why doesn't he have a nickname too?

"Ugh, I'm sorry. We'll brainstorm nicknames when I get back," you huff, "But the restaurant will give our table away if we don't hurry. So -"

Turning to usher Anton onto the bike, you hardly manage to take one step before a large, metal hand is sliding around your forearm and tugging you gently to a halt. Biting back a groan, you glance over your shoulder, ready to scold him, but one look at his slouched stance and averted gaze stops you in your tracks.

"Uh. Hey, Tones?" you call, never taking your eyes off the Horseman's mask, "Can you give us a sec?"

The human behind you is careful to check that Strife isn't looking when he rolls his eyes and grunts in acknowledgement before he turns and saunters over to his bike, leaning up against it and pulling out his phone.

Once Anton has turned his attention elsewhere, you raise a brow at the Horseman and wait, patient, expectant. After working his jaw for a moment or two, he finally looks at you properly and tightens his grip on your arm, not until it's painful, but enough that you understand what he's trying to convey in the gesture.

He really doesn't want you to go.

"Strife?" you prod.

Reluctantly, he lets out a rough exhale.

Although he's far better at it than his siblings, watching Strife try to openly express emotion isn't unlike watching someone pull their own teeth out with a pair of pliers. The process is slow, and it's best to sit back and listen to him rather than try to encourage him to speak. So, that's what you do, and eventually, your patience is rewarded when after another few seconds of silence, he offers a strained chuckle and says, "This guy isn't my replacement, is he? I know the bike is cool, and all, but..."

"Your replacement?" you laugh, incredulous, "Strife. I don't know how it worked with Nephilim, but for humans, having another friend doesn't cancel out any existing ones."

He knows that. He's not some whelp who never learned how to share. Frustrated with himself, the Horseman huffs and turns his head to the side, glaring hard at nothing in particular.

"Hey..." An old habit kicks in, and before you can stop yourself, you reach up to trace your fingertips along the underside of Strife's helm, tipping it back towards you and smiling at the bewildered look in his yellow eyes. Confident that he's paying proper attention, you pull your hand away again and state, "I could search the whole universe from top to bottom for the next hundred, thousand years, and I'd never find a friend who could replace you, okay? So stop worrying. Your ranking as 'my best friend' is not under threat."

"M'not worrying," he grumbles, but inside, his heart is aglow with the warmth of your words. At the back of his mind, Anarchy rumbles happily. You said best!... He's your best friend? He tries to recall you ever calling him that before. Then he realises that, no, you can't have done. He wouldn't forget a moment like that. Not in a million years. Just like he won't forget how he feels right now after hearing those two words.

Oblivious to the fate you've just sealed for yourself, you clap your hands together, bringing the conversation to what you hope is an easy conclusion. "Good. In that case, will you please let me go with Anton now?"

The Horseman's mood sours almost immediately, but at least he peels his fingers off your arm.

"Hey, kid?" he address Anton, packing his voice with all the menace and threat that he can muster, "If I find out she gets hurt on your watch, I'll introduce you to a couple'a friends of mine..." His hands fall less-than subtly to his holsters, where the silver handles of Mercy and Redemption glint in the sunlight.

Anton's face pales upon seeing the Horseman's legendary pistols.

"Stop that," you scold him, smacking the back of your hand against the armoured chest plate before turning to your other friend and calling, "Come on, Tones, let's go."

Anton all but throws himself onto his bike, kicking the stand back and jamming his keys into the ignition whilst you climb on behind him, albeit far more gracefully. The man tosses you a helmet and you shove it onto your head.

Strife's eyes remain settled upon your hands that wrap snugly around Anton's waist and it takes everything in him not to grab you, haul you off the bike, drag you back to your home and lock you inside.

“I'll be back late tonight,” you call over the roar of the engine as you begin to pull away, “There's food in the fridge if you want to eat! And my Netflix is still logged in! I'll see you later, okay!?”

Strife doesn't respond, not because he can't think of what to say, but because there would be no point. Anton has already peeled away and pushed the bike to a reckless speed. All the Horseman can do is stand there at the end of your driveway, his shoulders drooping dejectedly.

After you're nothing more than a dot on the far horizon, he tears his eyes off you and lets them fall to the tarmac near his boots.

He never notices you looking back.

[bechloeislegit]

You're Going To Be One Hot Mama!

Author's Prompt: Mother's Day fic from the "Rescue Me" Universe AU with Firefighter!Chloe and Music Producer!Beca. Beca has something to tell Chloe; she just needs to figure out how.

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

Beca Beale was having lunch with her best friend, Stacie. Beca had just told Stacie she was pregnant.

"When are you going to tell Chloe?" Stacie asked.

"I literally just found out," Beca said. "I know that Mother's Day is coming up soon, and I want to do something special and tell her before then. That way we can tell our families on Mother's Day. And you can't say anything to Aubrey or anyone else until Chloe knows. Okay?"

"I promise, I won't say anything until Chloe knows."

"Good," Beca said. "Now I just need to figure out how to tell Chloe. I don't know what Chloe thought, but I thought it would take more than one try."

"Chloe's probably thinking the same thing," Stacie said. "It will be a nice surprise for it to happen so quickly. Do you have any ideas on how to tell her?"

"I saw a few cute ideas online the other day on how to tell your partner that you're pregnant. I just need to decide if I'm going to use one of them."

"What were some of the ideas?" Stacie asked.

"I saw one where they had a card made with a scratch-off on it," Beca said. "The card says I just wanted to tell you and they scratch off the area and it says I'm pregnant!"

"That sounds cute," Stacie said. "You could have a couple of them made and give one to Chloe and then give one to your moms on Mother's Day."

"I think I'll wait to see how Chloe wants to break the news to our families," Beca said. "I just thought of another idea I saw, and I think I'm going to do the coffee cup thing to tell Chloe. If I order it from Amazon I can get it as soon as tomorrow, Thursday at the latest."

"What's the coffee cup thing?" Stacie asked.

Beca pulled out her phone and pulled up a site. She handed the phone to Stacie.

"That's the coffee cup thing."

"This is a cute idea," Stacie said, looking at Beca. "I like this one."

Beca's phone pinged and Stace looked down at it. "Chloe's texting you."

Beca took her phone back from Stacie.

"Dammit," Beca said, reading Chloe's text. "Chloe's stuck at the station for an extra shift. I won't see her until late tomorrow morning."

"I'd say that's perfect," Stacie said. "Now, you can go home and order the cup and not have to worry about Chloe looking over your shoulder while you do it. Do same-day delivery and you can give it to her tomorrow."

"Same day delivery," Beca mumbled, looking down at her phone. "That's a great idea, Stace. I'm going to order it right now. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Stacie said. "If it works out, I'll have to borrow it for when Brey and I are ready to have a baby."

Beca looked up from her phone.

"Are you guys talking about it?"

"We've sort of been circling around it for a while."

"Too bad you didn't do it already," Beca said, as she began tapping away on her phone. "It would be awesome if we could be pregnant together."

Beca glanced quickly at Stacie; her gaze went back to her phone and she tapped a few more things.

"There," Beca said. "Done. It should be delivered between five and ten tonight. I can't wait to tell Chloe that we're pregnant."

~~ You're Going To Be One Hot Mama! ~~

The next morning, Chloe texted Beca to let her know she was in her car and on her way home. To save time texting back and forth, Beca decided to call Chloe.

"Hey, babe," Chloe said as she answered the call. Hearing Beca's huff she added, "Don't worry, I'm using the car's blue tooth to talk to you, so it's all hands-free."

"Good," Beca said. "Do you want me to have breakfast waiting for you?"

"You're home?" Chloe asked.

"Yes," Beca said. "Now about breakfast, yes or no?"

"Yes, please," Chloe responded. "Nothing heavy though. I plan on crashing as soon as I can."

"Okay. See you in a few."

As soon as Beca heard Chloe's car pulling into the garage, she made Chloe a cup of coffee in the special mug she had purchased. She was holding it out for Chloe as she came through the door connecting the kitchen to the garage.

"Thanks, babe," Chloe said as she took the cup, moaning as she inhaled the contents' rich aroma.

Chloe took a sip and then leaned over to kiss Beca.

"Sit down at the counter and I'll make your plate," Beca said, pulling back from the kiss.

"What are you doing home anyway?" Chloe asked as she sat down. "I thought you had to go into the studio today."

"The band had to reschedule so I took the day off to be home for you," Beca said.

"I love coming home and finding you here when I'm not expecting it," Chloe said, pulling Beca to her and wrapping her arms around Beca's waist. "It's the highlight of my day. I love you."

"I love you, too," Beca said as she wrapped her arms around Chloe's neck, pulling her into a heated kiss.

The kiss ended when Chloe yawned.

"Sorry, Becs," Chloe said. "We had a bunch of calls last night and I only had about an hour of actual sleep."

"No worries," Beca said, pulling out of Chloe's arms and going back over to the stove to put some scrambled eggs on a plate.

Chloe wiped her hands down her face and sighed. Beca grabbed some cut fruit and added it to the plate. She set the plate in front of Chloe.

"Eat up," Beca said. "Do you need more coffee?"

"I'm not finished with this cup yet," Chloe said, taking another sip.

"Okay," Beca said, watching Chloe. "Let me know if you want more."

Chloe started eating and Beca stood by watching her. She couldn't help but wonder how she got so lucky.

Beca and Chloe met four years ago and Chloe asked Beca to marry her after dating for one year. Since they met around Christmas they decided to have a Christmas wedding the following year. They'd been married for a year when they started talking about having a baby.

Talking had turned into the two of them getting tested to make sure it was possible. They both were fine, but Beca had some reservations about Chloe being the one to get pregnant. She knew that Chloe's job would make it difficult for her to still be an active firefighter while she was pregnant, so Beca said she'd carry their first child, and later they'd discuss who would carry the next if they wanted to have more.

Beca came out of her musings when she realized Chloe was calling her name.

"I'm sorry," Beca said. "Just taking a walk down memory lane."

"Good memories based on the smile on your face," Chloe said, covering her mouth as she yawned again.

"They were all of you, so of course they're good," Beca said, taking Chloe's plate. "Did you want more?"

"No, thanks," Chloe said, putting her coffee cup to her lips. "I think I'm going to bed."

"Okay," Beca said, rinsing Chloe's plate before putting it in the dishwasher.

"Oh, my God!" Chloe exclaimed, causing Beca to jump and turn around to see what Chloe was yelling about. "Is this for real?"

Beca noticed Chloe was looking down into her cup, smiling as she realized Chloe saw the message about becoming a mother on the bottom.

Beca nodded her head and Chloe let out a whoop. She rushed over to Beca and grabbed her around the waist, twirling her around.

Beca wrapped her arms around Chloe's neck and accepted the kiss Chloe gave her as she was set back down on her own two feet.

Chloe broke the kiss and dropped to her knees in front of Beca. She planted a kiss on Beca's stomach and looked up at her.

"I can't believe it worked on the first try," Chloe said as a tear ran down her cheek. "You are going to be one hot mama, babe."

"So are you," Beca said, wiping the tear from Chloe's cheek. "Our kid is going to hate how hot we are together."

Chloe chuckled. "We need to tell our parents."

"About that," Beca said, taking Chloe's hands and pulling her back up to a standing position. "I was thinking we could tell them in person when they're here for Mother's Day. If that's okay with you?"

"You expect me to keep this a secret for two whole weeks?"

"Yes?" Beca said. "It will make for one hell of a Mother's Day present don't you think?"

"You're right," Chloe said after thinking about it for a minute. "We'll wait and tell them on Mother's Day."

Seeing how tired Chloe was, Beca said, "Why don't you go get some sleep and we can celebrate later."

"Okay," Chloe said as she yawned again.

Chloe kissed Beca and turned to head to their bedroom. She stopped and looked back at Beca with a big smile on her face.

"I'm totes excited that we're going to be moms," she said. "Can I tell the guys at the station? What about Aubrey and Stacie?"

"Um," Beca said, scrunching her nose. "Stacie already knows. I'm sorry, but she was with me when I got the call from Dr. Madison. I made her promise not to tell Aubery or anyone else until I was able to tell you first."

"So, that's a yes to me being able to tell the guys?" Chloe asked with a big smile.

Beca chuckled. "Yes, that's a yes to telling the guys. Now go get some sleep. I have some plans for you later."

"Can't wait," Chloe said and went off to bed.

~~ You're Going To Be One Hot Mama! ~~

During her next shift, Chloe told the guys at the fire station about Beca's pregnancy. They were all excited for the couple.

"Being a parent is the best thing in the world," Chicago said.

"Emily and I are getting serious and we both want kids," Benji said. "I'm looking forward to being a dad, too."

"I don't know if I want kids," Jesse said.

Chicago laughed and said, "I didn't think I did either until I found out we were having one of our own." He let out a content sigh. "It's the scariest, most awesome thing to ever happen to me."

Chloe smiled. "I'm looking forward to it. I hope I'm able to carry the next one."

"You want more than one?" Jesse asked.

"I do," Chloe said. "I think Beca does, too. We're both only children and we've both said we always wanted brothers or sisters."

"Won't you have to be placed on desk duty if you're pregnant?" Benji asked. "How will you handle that?"

"Desk duty is pretty much a given, I think," Chloe said. "And I'll do whatever it takes to make sure my baby is safe and there are no complications to him or her being born safely." She chuckled. "I need to take a step back. We need to get through this first one and see how things go before we start working on number two."

The station's alarm sounded and everyone rushed to get to the truck.

~~ You're Going To Be One Hot Mama! ~~

Beca invited Stacie and Aubrey over for dinner one night when Chloe didn't have a shift at the station.

"Thanks for the wine, Aubrey," Chloe said. "Would you two like some now or wait until dinner?"

"I'd like some now," Aubrey said.

"Me, too," Stacie said.

Chloe stood and looked at Beca. "Babe, what would you like to drink?"

"I'll just have water," Beca told her

"Oo, try the wine, Beca," Aubrey said. "Trust me, you'll love it."

"I'm sure it's great," Beca said. "But I can't."

"Why?" Aubrey asked.

Seeing the look Beca and Chloe shared, Aubrey sat up and asked, "Oh my gosh, are you pregnant?"

"Yes, we are," Chloe responded with a big smile. "Beca just told me last week."

"I knew," Stacie said. "But I promised not to tell you or anyone until Chloe knew."

Aubrey smacked Stacie on the arm. "You knew and you didn't tell me? I'm your wife!"

"Aubrey, I made her promise not to tell," Beca said. "I'm going to go check on dinner. No fighting while I'm gone."

"I'll help," Chloe said. "I'll be back with the wine in a few minutes."

~~ You're Going To Be One Hot Mama! ~~

Mother's Day arrived and Chloe was nervous and excited all at once. Beca had found a cute fun way to tell their families she was pregnant.

Chloe couldn't help the smile that she wore after seeing the shirt Beca was wearing. Beca put a sweater over it and buttoned it halfway so you couldn't see what was on the shirt underneath.

"How does it look?" Beca asked Chloe. "Can you see the words?"

"Nope," Chloe said. "I love this idea. I wonder who will notice first."

"My money is on your mom," Beca said. "I swear nothing gets by Mama Beale."

The sound of the doorbell rang throughout the house.

"Showtime," Chloe said, taking Beca's hand to go greet their guests.

The Mother's Day get-together was going strong and everyone that was supposed to be there had arrived. Tables and chairs were set up in the back yard and everyone was relaxing and chatting, as they waited for the food to be ready.

Since it was Mother's Day, the women sat back and enjoyed the day, while Beca's dad, Ben, and stepdad, Paul, were manning the grills; Chloe's dad, Carl, was playing bartender and handing out drinks to everyone.

Beca and Chloe were talking to Ben and Paul when Chloe's mother, Charlotte, called them over to her.

"Beca, why are you wearing that sweater?" Charlotte asked. "It's over eighty degrees out here. You must be burning up."

"It's much cooler inside and I was a little chilly," Beca said. "But, you're right, it is warm out here. I'm going to take it off."

"Good," Sarah, Beca's mother, said. "We don't need you passing out from being too hot."

"I'll help you take it off," Chloe said, reaching to help Beca.

Beca faced Chloe and smiled as Chloe pushed the sweater off Beca's shoulders; Beca let it fall to the ground.

"Is it straight?" Beca whispered, looking down at her shirt.

Chloe put her hands on Beca's hips and adjusted the shirt slightly. "There," she said. "It's perfect."

Beca turned around and picked her sweater up off the ground. She made sure her shirt could be seen, but none of the parents paid her any attention.

"I'm just going to put his inside," Beca said, to no one in particular.

"I'll take it in," Chloe said. "You stay out here with our moms."

"Thanks, baby," Beca said, emphasizing the word baby as she handed the sweater to Chloe.

Chloe looked around as she took the sweater; still, no one was paying her or Beca any attention.

"I'll be right back," Chloe said and made her way inside.

Beca slowly made her way around the yard; again no one paid any attention to her.

Chloe came back out and rushed over to her.

"Anything?" Chloe whispered.

"Nothing," Beca whispered back, holding out her arms. "It's like I'm invisible."

"Hey, Beca!" Paul called out to her.

"Yeah?" Beca responded, turning to fully face him.

"What the Hell are you constructing?" Paul asked. "And why didn't you call me to help you out? I could definitely finish the job before December."

Beca and Chloe looked at each other and started laughing.

"I'm sorry, Paul," Beca said, still laughing. "But, this is not something I should be asking my stepfather for help with."

"What is he talking about, Beca?" Sarah asked.

Beca turned, and suddenly Charlotte and Sarah squealed. They ran over to Beca and Chloe.

"Does this mean what we think it means?" Charlotte asked, looking at Beca's shirt.

"Please say it does," Sarah said, eyes gleaming with hope.

"It does," Beca and Chloe said simultaneously.

"What is it supposed to mean?" Carl asked, walking over to the women.

"Read it carefully," Charlotte told him, pointing at Beca's shirt.

Carl read the shirt aloud. "Under Construction. Estimated Completion Date - December 2021."

Carl furrowed his brow and suddenly his eyes widened when he realized what the shirt meant.

"Does this mean I'm going to be a Grandfather!?"

"Yes," Beca, Chloe, Charlotte, and Sarah all yell.

Soon both sides of the family were hugging Beca and Chloe, extending their congratulations. Beca stood by and accepted all the hugs and love with a big smile on her face. Chloe stood by her side with a beaming smile.

Later that night, after the excited Grandparents-to-be finally go home, Beca and Chloe were lying in bed. Chloe, as she had been doing since Beca told her she was pregnant, was laying with her head near Beca's stomach. She kissed Beca's stomach and whispered "I love you, baby Beale" before moving up to grab Beca's lips in a kiss.

"And I love you," Chloe said, looking down at Beca.

"I love you, too," Beca said, pulling Chloe down for another kiss.

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

A/N: This was supposed to be published on Mother's Day, but my son had a few surprises for me and I wasn't able to complete it and get it posted in time. So, Happy Belated Mother's Day to all the moms out there. I hope you had a great day and I hope you enjoyed this little slice of fluff!

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter eighteen

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

ao3 link

*

Chloe couldn’t remember a time where she’d been happier. Just over a year ago, she found herself on the verge of giving up by letting the drugs and the emotional abuse consume her whole, and now… she felt at peace. 

Fulfilled. Brave. Loved. 

Beca and Marleigh were her whole world, and Chloe still had a hard time truly believing that this was her life, now. 

“The itsy bitsy spider, went up the water spout,” Chloe sang as her pointer and middle fingers walked up Marleigh’s stomach. “Down came the rain and whoop!” Her fingers disappeared. “Washed the spider out!” 

Marleigh giggled, her laughter Chloe’s new favorite sound. She was completely obsessed with her daughter and the new things she discovered every single day. Marleigh now slept through the nights and was otherwise a very chill baby, who loved cubes, ladyfingers, rolling over, and listening to Beca or Chloe sing. 

Chloe gasped when she heard the door open. “Who’s that?? Is that Auntie Beca?” 

Beca soon rounded the corner, grinning as she slung her messenger bag over her shoulder. “Hi! You’re still up!”

Marleigh cooed and flailed her arms towards Beca, who lifted her from the bed and held her close. Chloe had witnessed plenty of moments like these between the two, but they never failed to make her heart swell. 

“I was waiting until you got home to put her to bed,” Chloe murmured with a smile, knowing how much Beca loved to take part in Marleigh’s bedtime routine. “I already changed her diaper, if you wanna sing her to sleep?” 

Beca nodded, and Chloe stood up, pressing a few kisses to her daughter’s chubby cheek. 

“Goodnight, my love,” she murmured. 

While Beca put her down, Chloe changed for bed. Ever since they got together, Chloe had been sleeping in Beca’s room. They hadn’t gone much further than making-out so far, and Beca proved to be incredibly patient while Chloe found her footing again when it came to intimacy. 

Beca flopped down face first on the bed when she came back ten minutes later, drawing a giggle from Chloe as she slipped under the sheets. “You alright there?” 

Beca’s groan was muffled by the comforter. “M’tired. Picky artists suck.” 

Chloe smiled in sympathy as she reached out to knead Beca’s shoulder. “At least tomorrow is Saturday? You get to sleep in.” 

Beca rolled her head to the side. “Yeah.” She propped herself up on her elbows and craned her neck to brush a kiss to Chloe’s lips. “Hello.” 

“Hi there,” Chloe breathed out, giggling softly. She dipped back in for a longer kiss, and Beca hummed as she shifted to her side, her hand falling to Chloe’s hip. 

Their slow, exploratory liplock soon turned into something heavier, tongues dancing together and hands roaming under clothing. 

“Wanna slow down?” Beca asked as she laid on top of her, panting slightly.

Chloe shook her head and tugged her down into another hungry kiss. Her hips rolled against Beca’s, and Beca groaned against her mouth, her hand slipping under Chloe’s shirt to run up her side. 

Chloe wasn’t ready for her arousal to be chased away by a wave of panic. She tensed under Beca’s touch, memories she thought she’d gotten rid of flashing behind her eyes, and was pushing Beca away in the next beat.

“Sorry,” she whispered when she realized what she’d done. Embarrassment coated her cheeks with red, and she avoided Beca’s gaze as she sat up. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, no,” Beca murmured as she sat back on her heels. “It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize.” 

Chloe scratched at her forehead as she drew her knees to her chest. She could feel the craving for some coke rise within her, to make her forget about those nights. She pressed her palms to her eyes. “Fuck.” 

“Do you… wanna talk?” Beca asked after a few beats of silence. 

Chloe opened her eyes to find twin twinkles of worry staring back at her. She glanced back down to the comforter. “I think… I think I’m dragging some trauma from-- from the stuff that would happen at the club. With--with the customers.” 

Beca nodded slowly, reaching out to slide her hand into Chloe’s and squeezing. Chloe drew in a shaky inhale.

“I… I got used to my body being used in various ways, but never for my own pleasure,” she explained, looking down at their joined hands. “It was just pure sex, whatever the customer wanted me to do to them. Sometimes it was too rough, but I couldn’t say anything because I really needed the money,” she whispered, a sense of shame gripping her insides.

“And I think… that I blocked it all out at some point. It felt like my body didn’t belong to me anymore, and now…” She blinked back the tears pricking in her eyes. “I’m having a hard time reconnecting with it.” She thought it wouldn’t be a problem, as she had taken care of herself when her pregnancy hormones went wild, but being intimate with someone else was a lot different. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said, eventually looking back up. “I do. It’s just... a me thing.”

Beca blinked back her own tears. “What I want the most is for things to feel good for you when we do take that step,” she murmured. “And if you need more time to get to that letting go point, then we’ll wait. And if you never reach it, then that’s okay, too. I don’t… need sex to be happy, you know? I’m already happier than I ever thought I’d be, thanks to you and MJ.” 

“You really mean that?” Chloe asked, quietly. “About the sex part?”

Beca nodded. “I do. I promise.” 

Chloe hoped she would feel comfortable having sex again at some point, but it felt incredibly reassuring to know Beca wouldn’t leave if she never did. 

“Thank you,” Chloe murmured, not surprised but still in awe of Beca’s love and patience for her. “I really don’t deserve you.” 

Beca smiled. “That’s weird, I was telling myself the same thing about you earlier today.” 

Chloe’s cheeks warmed, and her heart swelled in her chest. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Chlo.” 

*

Spring warmed to summer. 

With Marleigh growing more and more curious about the world around her, they spent a lot of time outside, whenever the temperatures were bearable. Marleigh was obsessed with dogs, squealing every time she saw one and crawling after it in hopes of catching up before Chloe or Beca would snatch her back. 

She was already showing a mischievous side, and Chloe knew her toddler years were bound to be interesting. 

“Do you ever see yourself living elsewhere?” Chloe found herself asking one afternoon at the park. 

They laid on the blanket in the shade of a large oak tree, Marleigh having fallen asleep between them. The eight-month-old could sleep anywhere as long as she had her lovey. 

Beca glanced at her. “Elsewhere than New York, you mean? Or like, another country?” 

“Other than New York. Like, somewhere where we could have a garden, and maybe a dog. And where we don’t have to drive over an hour to find a forest.” 

Beca smiled as she folded an arm under her head. “I like the sound of that. I have the label to manage, but a lot of stuff can be done from home. So maybe somewhere within a two-hour drive from here so I can come down twice a week?” 

Chloe nodded. “Maybe after I’m done with college?” 

She was going back to vet school in a few months to get her vet tech training, and that would take her a year to complete before she could apply to jobs. 

“Sounds like a good plan, babe,” Beca said. “We could start looking in the new year?” 

Excitement swirled in Chloe’s stomach over the knowledge that Beca was on board, and she beamed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Beca murmured. “Maybe somewhere around Poughkeepsie or Beacon? With four bedrooms and space to make an office or a studio?” 

“Four bedrooms?” Chloe asked, cocking an eyebrow as an amused smile tickled the corners of her lips. “How many kids do you see us having, exactly?” 

Beca chuckled. “Maybe three? If you want to, I mean. I’m also perfectly happy with our family as it is now.” 

Chloe’s heart felt fit to burst over Beca’s words. “I think three is a good number.”

They headed home around six and had dinner, then gave Marleigh a bath and read her a story before bedtime. Chloe stepped into the kitchen a bit after, where Beca was washing the dishes. 

She wrapped her arms around her waist, pressing a few kisses along the side of her neck. “Come to bed?” 

They hadn’t had sex since their talk but continued to explore through make-out sessions that gradually got more intense. Beca was incredible, always in sync with Chloe’s feelings and regularly checking that she was okay. Chloe could feel herself getting more and more comfortable with the idea of taking that step, and she was thinking she was ready to give it a try tonight. 

Beca hummed. “I’ll be right there.” 

Chloe was lying atop the covers when Beca rounded the corner, and she set her book aside, raising a curious eyebrow when Beca remained in the doorway, gazing at her with a look Chloe couldn’t identify. “What?” 

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured. 

Chloe felt her face warm-up, and she rolled her eyes softly. “Get over here, weirdo.” 

Beca laughed and stepped closer, climbing onto the mattress and crawling over Chloe. “Is that what you meant by here?” 

“Yes,” Chloe breathed out as she looped her arms around Beca’s neck and craned hers to brush her smiling lips against Beca’s. She bent her knees and wrapped her legs around Beca’s waist, a thrill of pleasure coursing through her as Beca’s hips met hers in a gentle roll. 

Chloe took the lead and deepened the kiss, skimming her tongue over Beca’s bottom lip. A moan spilled into the liplock as Beca answered with equal enthusiasm, one hand drifting down to rub her outer thigh. 

“I want this,” Chloe breathed out after a while, her lips kiss-swollen and her eyes darkened with lust. 

Beca kissed her softly. “Are you sure?” 

Chloe’s head bobbed up and down in a near desperate nod. “Yes.” 

“We can stop at any time,” Beca murmured. “Promise me you’ll say it if you’ve changed your mind?” 

Chloe reached up to cradle her cheek. “I promise.” She sat up and whipped her top over her head. Her body was different; she still had some lingering baby weight, but she considered herself too thin before the pregnancy, and she liked how she looked now. 

“Jesus,” Beca rasped as she took in the sight before her. 

Chloe couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her the way Beca was doing now, with so much love and desire it made her breathing hitch. 

Beca leaned in, re-attaching their lips together as her hand roamed up and down Chloe’s side in a featherlight touch, enticing goosebumps in its wake. Beca’s lips then traveled along the edge of Chloe’s jaw and down her neck in hot, open-mouthed kisses. A moan spilled past Chloe’s parted lips when she latched onto her pulse point, and her back arched off the bed, searching for some kind of relief where she needed it the most. 

Beca continued to explore, kissing her way down Chloe’s chest, towards her breasts. While her palm wrapped around the right one, she swirled her tongue around Chloe’s left nipple, drawing a gasp from Chloe. 

“Too sensitive?” Beca asked, lifting her head. 

“No, no,” Chloe assured her. “It’s-- it feels really good.” 

Smiling, Beca dipped back in and spent the next minute focused on her left breast until she noticed Chloe squirming underneath her. “Okay?” 

“Yeah, I just-- I might come if you keep going like that.” 

Beca puffed out a breath, her cheeks turning redder. “Can I touch you?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe said, then pushed a kiss to Beca’s lips, her whimper swallowed by Beca as she slipped her hand between Chloe’s legs and cupped her. Chloe broke the kiss to take a sharp inhale as Beca moved her fingers in a light stroking motion. 

“Okay?” She asked as she rested her forehead against Chloe’s. 

“Yes,” Chloe breathed, raking her teeth over her bottom lip. Her hips tilted towards the contact, seeking more pressure. Chloe stilled Beca’s hand after a handful of seconds and sat up to shimmy her underwear down her legs. “Better.” 

Beca smiled and placed her hand to its initial position, a moan surfacing from her throat as she felt Chloe’s slickness. “Can I-- I wanna taste you.” 

At a loss for words, Chloe could only nod, her breath growing shallow at Beca’s request. She watched as Beca slithered down, leaving kisses in her wake until she settled on her stomach between Chloe’s legs. She kissed her way along Chloe’s inner thigh, slowly but surely reaching her destination. 

“Oh,” Chloe let out at that first exploratory lap through her folds, propping herself on her elbows to get a better view. One set of fingers gripped a fistful of the sheets while the other tangled through Beca’s hair. A gasp followed soon after, any ounce of apprehension left in her dissipating. “Baby.” 

The groan Beca emitted against her sent a zap of pleasure down Chloe’s spine. Her fingers tightened around the sheets as Beca alternated between lapping at her and stimulating her clit with licks and flicks. Beca clearly knew what she was doing, using the right tempo and pressure to draw out Chloe’s pleasure and not bring her to that climax too quickly. 

Mewls and whimpers echoed against the walls as the coil grew tighter and tighter with each ticking minute. Chloe’s elbows gave out at some point as her body started shaking with her incoming orgasm. 

She knew it was going to hit her like a freight train, yet was taken aback by its power as she released a throaty cry. Her body spasmed with each wave of intense pleasure as she let herself go, Beca’s name tumbling past her lips in a sweet prayer. 

“Oh my god,” she breathed as she basked in the lingering haziness following her climax, attempting to regulate her breathing. 

Beca made her way back up, capturing Chloe’s lips in a deep kiss before flopping onto her side. “Are you okay?” She asked, running her fingertips along Chloe’s side.

Chloe hummed, smiling. “Mmm. Okay is definitely an understatement,” she murmured as she chased Beca’s lips for another kiss. Once she had regained feeling in all four limbs, Chloe rolled on top of her. “Your turn.”

Chloe wasn’t sure at what time they fell asleep, wrapped up around each other as they basked into their newfound connection. There was one thing she knew for sure, however, and it was that the future had never looked so bright. 

[wavesmp3]

before the bucket falls

jeonghan x (female) reader 

requested from sensory prompt #33: the feel of fingertips trailing over a bare shoulder blade genre: study abroad/university au + apocalyptic-ish  wc: 4k warnings: implied nudity i guess, maybe a few curses as well a/n: i apologize that this took me ages to finish, also the bucket list is completed out of order, enjoy!!

(0. Hear That There’s A Week Until The End Of The World)

You hadn’t expected to be so nonchalant when you hear that the world is ending in a week. Hadn’t expected to so readily accept you and your classmates inability to return home from studying abroad for the semester. And you certainly hadn’t expected to sit down with Jeonghan that afternoon (an acquaintance-made-friend in the whirlwind of apocalypse news) to create a list of things to do before the world ends. 

“We’ll start tomorrow,” he declares scribbling one final item on the bucket list before folding the paper and shoving it in his pocket, “and hopefully we finish before the world goes up in flames.” 

(6. Bang On The Hood Of A Car And Say ‘Hey, I’m Walking Here!’)

Your first day before the end of the world begins with you and Jeonghan searching for a car. 

“This one is...” Jeonghan frowns, rereading the sixth item on the bucket list. Looking up, he says, “it was your idea wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Now, get in the car and pretend to almost run me over.” 

Jeonghan complies, starting the car and driving towards you all too slowly. Still, when he gets close enough, you bang on the hood of the car, half-laughing and half-yelling “hey, I’m walking here!” He only laughs at you incredulously. 

You switch after that, you in the car and Jeonghan walking across the street. And this time, when you get close to his figure instead of banging on the hood, you hear a small thud and watch him fall to the floor. You run out of the car shrieking his name only to find him on the ground laughing. 

“I thought-” you exhale, breath hot with a mix of shock and relief, “I thought I actually hit you.” 

Jeonghan doesn’t say a word too busy literally rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach in laughter. And when you shove him, kneeling on the ground and smacking his arm for freaking you out, he only laughs harder. 

(3. Steal Something)

Unsurprisingly, number three on the list is Jeonghan’s idea. You don’t argue, not at first at least. But when you step into the convenience store and begin shoving bags of chips under your shirt and bottles of soda into your bag, you start to feel the small push of your consciousness. 

“Is this a good idea?” You say to Jeonghan who’s deciding which kinds of candy he wants to hide in his pockets. 

“There’s no one even here.” He waves you off pointing at the empty cash register. “So honestly I’m not even convinced if this counts as completing number three.” Deciding on a chocolate bar, he turns on his heel, grabs an extra bottle of juice, and exits the store casually. 

(11. Perform Three Acts Of Kindness) 

You leave some money at the unmanned cash register anyways. “Number eleven,” you say to him when he gives you a look, “it can be our first act of kindness.” He stares at you for a long moment, as if deciding how he should react to your inability to shoplift. You half expect him to walk back into the empty store and take your money from the counter. He doesn’t though. Instead, he smiles, a lopsided one that makes some part of your stomach twist uncomfortably, and laughs towards the ground, his head hanging in a way that makes his bangs fall in front of his eyes. You feel suddenly, almost foolishly, warm. 

“Come,” he beckons, pulling at your sleeve, “let’s eat.”

(10. Eat The Perfect Meal) 

The perfect meal isn’t actually perfect, an odd mix of convenience store snacks and whatever you both had left in your dorms. 

“We should have cooked something ourselves,” Jeonghan mumbles, between a mouthful of chips, “the perfect meal has to be made with love.” 

“It also has to be edible,” you retort, sipping your coffee and recalling your earlier realization that neither you or Jeonghan can cook. 

And it’s after a few more moments of eating away the tenth item on your shared bucket list that he asks, “how do you think it’ll happen?” You look up from your fruit cup. “How do you think the world is gonna end?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, “something big perhaps. An explosion?”

“Or Zombies?” he continues for you, light-heartedly. “Aliens, maybe?” 

And perhaps two days ago, you would’ve laughed at the possibility of the world coming to an end thanks to an alien invasion, but right now, sitting next to Jeonghan with yesterday’s headlines bouncing back and forth in your head, you don’t feel anything but melancholic. And like feet sinking into sand, you realize for the second time since the news came out that you have less than a week left to live. With a hopeless sigh, you say, “I hope that when the world ends, it’s painless.”

And unlike his previous suggestions, there’s nothing light-hearted about the way Jeonghan adds, “something quick.”

(4. Sing A Song Loudly In Public) 

You had wrongly assumed that this particular bucket list item was meant to be a fun and embarrassing karaoke in public sort of thing. But when Jeonghan stands on the ledge of the fountain in the center of the plaza and begins singing, you realize you've created a bucket list with an angel. Or at least, a boy with the voice of one. The plaza isn’t very busy this afternoon, but the few passersby that happen to catch his mini concert erupt in a well-earned applause when the song finishes. 

“You can sing?” You question in disbelief of just how good his voice sounds. 

He shrugs at that, jumping off the ledge in a shy sort of way that doesn’t at all match the kind of guy you pegged Jeonghan to be. “Your turn.” He pushes you towards the ledge. 

You almost fight against the nudge, almost turn around and tell Jeonghan just how tone deaf you are. But when he smiles your way and cheers your name encouragingly, you decide the embarrassment might be worth it. 

It’s not, it turns out. The entire plaza seems to murmur ‘why is she singing?’ the second you open your mouth. And it’s before you even reach the second verse that Jeonghan starts clapping and whooping for you. “Wow!” He exclaims cheerfully. “You suck.” 

You burst into laughter at that, cut your song short, and jump off the ledge grabbing Jeonghan’s hand and running away from the embarrassment with him close behind. 

—

“Where’d you learn how to sing like that?” You finally ask, later than afternoon as you and Jeonghan aimlessly walk along the street. 

He shrugs again, a familiar timidness overwhelming his body, then tells you about the singing lessons he used to take. “It used to be my dream. To become a singer.” 

“Used to?” 

He sucks in his bottom lip. “Things changed I guess.” 

You decide not to prod further. “If you could do anything right now, right before the world ends, what would you do?” 

“Anything?” 

“Anything.” 

He thinks it over for a moment, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “Hold a concert.” He answers finally. And when you give him a look, a reminder of what he said about things changing, he just smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and mutters something about how dreams die hard. And for the third time today, you’re surprised by how shy Jeonghan gets about his singing and how endearing you find it when he does. 

“What about you?” He returns this question, pushing the attention away from himself. “What would you do?” 

“I’d go home.” You say quietly, hoping the press of sadness that comes with thinking about home doesn’t show in your voice. “See my family once more before the world ends.” And when Jeonghan doesn’t respond or meet your eyes, you laugh, unable to procure a more creative reaction. “It’s kinda lame, isn’t it?” 

“‘No, no.” He says quickly, waving away the suggestion before the words can even settle in the air. “It’s not lame; it’s…” his voice trails off, fingers reaching out in front of him as if he’ll find the right words in the last remaining rays from the sun. His hand drops to the side. Seemingly, giving up on the previous sentence, he says, “Tell me about them. Your family.” 

You’re about to say no. About to change the topic to something a bit lighter. Something that doesn’t force you to think about home and the people that you miss so fiercely and long to see once more. But it’s as the word ‘no’ bubbles in the back of your throat, that you meet Jeonghan’s eyes and find a starling amount of sincerity in them. And when you go looking for your intent to reject the request, you find it’s disappeared altogether. “Okay.” You exhale. “Where should I begin?” 

And so you spend the rest of the day telling Jeonghan about your family, and by the time the sun begins to set, he tells you about his. 

(12. Say Goodbye To Your Family) 

You both decide it’s better to get this part of the list over with. Pulling out your phones and dialing home soon after the sun sets. It’s an odd sort of arrangement, you think to yourself listening to the phone ring, you and Jeonghan sitting on opposite sides of this empty street. “Privacy,” he had told you, walking away from you and taking a seat on the curb, “this way you can cry in private.” 

It’s… bearable at first. You talk to your family, update them on what you’ve been doing since your last call home as if everything is normal, as if they’re expecting another update soon, as if the world isn’t ending in a few days. But the facade that everything is fine comes crashing down the second you hear a noise come from the other side of the road, a mangled sound that rushes all the way from Jeonghan’s mouth to you, banging at your heart and creating a dent between your lungs. And you suppose that if you were a little bit closer and if Jeonghan hadn’t turned around to put his back between him and you, you would’ve heard him sobbing. The thought alone ignites a flame of sadness that emerges from your lips, travels through the phone lines, and ripples across the ocean separating you and your family.

Saying goodbye to your family does not stay bearable for long. 

He finishes the call before you. And when you do finally hang up, it takes ten minutes of calming down before you're in any state to walk across the road and greet Jeonghan for what feels like the first time that night. 

“Can we, uh,” you stop, sniffle, then laugh at the absurdity of this moment, “can we stop here for today.” 

“Yeah,” he mutters, finally standing from the floor. He doesn’t look your way, keeps his eyes trained to the ground while bringing a hand up to wipe at his nose and eyes. “I’ll walk you home.” 

(5. Wish Upon A Star) 

Sleep doesn’t come that night. You spend it tossing and turning in bed, replaying every bit of what was probably your last conversation with your family. At 2 am there’s a knock on your door. Jeonghan stands in the doorway, eyes drooping and blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Yeah,” you say, opening the door and letting him in, “I can’t sleep either.” 

After another moment, he finally says, “have you ever been to the roof?” 

You let him lead the way. 

— 

The night air feels cool against your skin, brushing through your hair and sending a shiver across your skin. You pull your hoodie closer around you before laying down on the roof next to Jeonghan who throws his blanket so that it drapes over both of you. 

“Which one for number five?” He says gesturing to the starry night sky. 

“Number five?” 

“Wish upon a star.” He reminds you. 

You lift your hand and point to one off the center, a bright one that flickers more than the others. “That one.” 

“Okay,” he exhales. You watch the breath leave from his lips. “Make a wish.” 

You do.

“Which star do you think is gonna blow up and cause the end of the world?” He asks, shifting his body and ending up a fraction closer to you. 

“Give me a crash course on all of them and I’ll let you know.”

He does, making up constellations and creating fake names for each one. 

And at some point in his explanation of the origin of each star, his hand finds yours. The cold seems to wither away after that. 

(1. Ride A Motorcycle) 

“Are you sure you know how to ride this thing.” You question for the fifth time that morning, pacing around the moped and Jeonghan who’s sitting impatiently on it. 

“Just get on would you?” He huffs, dropping the extra helmet on your head and pulling you towards the moped. You settle behind him, fixing your helmet and clasping it in place. “You know how to get to the beach right?”

“Yeah, but we just need to make a pit stop somewhere first.” 

“That’s fine. Grab on.”

Ignoring the unevenness of your breath, you wrap your arms around his torso. You try not to think too hard about the way he momentarily tenses up when you do. 

“Ready?”

“Please, don’t kill me on this thing. We’re all dying in a few days-” He doesn’t let you finish, revving the motorcycle and laughing when you scream into his shoulder. 

(11. Perform Three Acts of Kindness) 

“What are we here for?” Jeonghan wonders aloud, his voice echoing in the auditorium. 

“Number 11. Our second act of kindness.” He looks at your quizzingly. “Yesterday you said that if you could do anything before the end of the world, you’d have your own concert. So here,” you hand him a mic and point at the empty stage, “go sing.”

You’ve never seen him run so excitedly. 

(3. Steal Something)

When Jeonghan wrote down ‘steal something’, you definitely hadn’t expected him to coerce you into stealing a house. “This isn’t even stealing. This is trespassing.” You hiss under your breath, looking over your shoulder. “Plus, we already stole from the convenience store.”

“Firstly,” Jeonghan begins, finding an unlocked window to the beach house and cracking the adjacent door open, “you paid the store so that definitely didn’t count. Secondly, trespassing is basically just stealing space. And lastly,” he announces turning around and waving to the open beach house, “this place is gorgeous and free.” 

You peer inside the house and--shit, it is gorgeous. “Fine.” You relent taking a step inside the house. He smiles triumphantly. 

“Come on,” he grabs your hand as soon as you set your things down and starts pulling you towards the beach, “time for number two.”

(2. Send A Message In A Bottle) 

“Who should we write to?”

“A friend?”

“An ex?” He grimaces at the suggestion.

“How about ourselves 10 years ago.”

You consider it. “Or what about,” you start tapping a finger against your chin, “ourselves 10 years from now.” He gives you a wary look. “Just in case this whole thing turns out to be a hoax.”

“Do you believe that?” he asks quietly. 

You bite your lip. “Not really, no.”

“To myself,” Jeonghan scribbles on the paper, “ten years from now.” 

And when you're both done with the letters, you fit them inside empty beer bottles and let the waves take them. 

Inhaling the salty ocean scent, you watch the bottles float.

“This moment would feel a lot better if I didn’t feel like we just made marine pollution worse.”

(9. Go Skinny Dipping) 

The water is freezing, cold against your bare skin and lapping by your shivering mouth. 

“It’s not that cold.” Jeonghan laughs, splashing sea water in your face. 

You splash him back. “For you maybe.” 

“Tell me a secret.” He says suddenly, stopping and treading the water in front of you. 

You think for a minute before answering. “I really like it when you sing.”

“That’s not a secret; it’s a confession.” He complains, flapping his hands in the water. With a teasing smirk, he adds, “next you’ll confess your undying love for me as well.” 

You laugh, sort of, swallowing salt water in the movement and choking on the sudden intake. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “give me an example of a good secret then.” 

“Okay,” he hums, biting his lip and swimming closer towards you until your knees awkwardly bump into each other. You swallow at the proximity. “I’ve never been in love.”

“Never?”

He shakes his head. “Have you?”

“Once.” Something in your stomach turns. “Or at least I thought I was in love.”

“And what do you think now?”

You meet his eyes. They look strangely hopeful. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

His hand comes up, fingers trailing over your shoulder blade and lingering right above your collarbone. You shiver. 

“Still cold?” He whispers. 

No, you think, but your head nods ‘yes’ before the word comes out. 

He swims back to shore. And soon after, you follow. 

(13. Fall In Love) 

You finish showering before Jeonghan, coming down the stairs of your stolen beach house and taking a seat on the stolen (but comfortable) couch. You look for the bucket list to cross out skinny dipping for him. And when you find the folded list in a pocket of Jeonghan’s bag, you realize that this is your first time seeing it since the night of its creation. You read over it carefully. 

1. ride a motorcycle 2. send a message in a bottle 3. steal something  4. sing a song loudly in public 5. wish upon a star 6. bang on the hood of a car and say ‘hey, i’m walking here!’ 7. watch the sunrise  8. watch the sunset 9. go skinny dipping 10. eat the perfect meal 11. perform three acts of kindness 12. say goodbye to our families 

And under the twelve that you and Jeonghan made together is another, additional bucket list item. Written in a different color pen and in his messy handwriting is:

13. get her to fall in love with me

“That shower felt so good.” Jeonghan’s voice comes traveling down the stairs. “I found sand in-” he stops, halts at the end of the banister upon seeing the paper between your hands. 

“What do you mean ‘get her to fall in love with me’?” You gulp, holding up the list. 

“Oh, that,” he laughs, awkwardly, slowly walking towards you, then stopping halfway as if he’s made a mistake, “I added it after you left that night. And, well, yeah.”

You stand up and go to him, meeting him halfway across the living room. “Jeonghan I-” you lose grasp of what you’re going to say next and elect to stare at him instead, studying the drop of water that falls from a strand of hair to his face. Decide instead to study the flutter of his lashes and the way his gaze darts between your eyes and your lips. He inhales. “Oh, fuck it.” you mutter finally, grabbing the collar of his tshirt and kissing him. 

It takes a second for Jeonghan to react, too long your brain convinces you already beginning to pull your face away. But it’s as your lips leave his, that they crash together again, him pulling at your hips stumbling backwards until you knock your head against the wall, bodies flush. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangle your fingers through his wet hair. There’s a moan, you can’t be sure which one of you it comes from, but the sound of it has you feeling weak somewhere, everywhere. 

“Upstairs,” you pant, when he pulls away for the smallest of seconds.

“Are you,” he pauses, lips hovering in front of yours and breath heavy against your skin, “are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” you smile, noticing the flush in his face, glad he's just as affected, “I mean it’s on the bucket list.” 

Jeonghan happily complies. 

(7. Watch The Sunrise) 

You both watch it in bed, from a window that seems to capture it perfectly. 

“It’s pretty,” he states, holding a hand up in a straggling ray and watching it turn gold in the light. 

“Only a few more left.” 

(8. Watch The Sunset) 

You watch it on the beach with a stolen towel from the stolen house under you. It’s beautiful really. A mesh of blues, pinks, orange, and purple. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sunset like this one,” you say inhaling the salty scent of the sea that lingers on your arms and legs and hands. 

Jeonghan hums, absentmindedly enough for you to turn around to look at him laying on his back and playing with a loose strand from your hoodie instead. 

“We can’t cross it off if you don’t actually watch it.” You tell him, finding his hand in yours and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

He shrugs. “I’ve seen enough sunsets.” 

(11. Perform Three Acts Of Kindness) 

“Last item,” Jeonghan murmurs one day, settling into bed next to you, “one final act of kindness.” 

You poke at his chest. “What do you have planned for it?” 

“This.” He says, pulling out a small slip of paper. You sit up. “I bought you a ticket.” 

It takes you longer than it should to realize it’s a plane ticket home. 

“How and when did you…” your voice drops away, the logical questions slipping off your tongue when you make a new realization. “There’s only one ticket.” 

“Listen,” he starts, turning to face you properly. “I think you should take it.”

“No,” you refuse, shaking your head. He takes your face between your palms forcing you to stop and pay attention. 

“Go home and see your family. That’s what you told me you’d do before the world ends.” He hesitates, releasing your face and taking your hands in his. Something feels entirely wrong when he starts to rub small circles into the back of them. “You only have a few days left. So go home. Say goodbye to me instead.” 

“Things change,” you say a little too harshly, regurgitating what he told you earlier this week. “And I don’t know if I can go anymore.” You sputter out just barely, voice feeling suddenly course against your vocal chords, but what you mean to say is: I don’t know if I can go without you. “And besides,” you stress, putting the ticket back in his lap, “you can’t make me go.” 

“Don’t you see,” he chuckles, a small, quiet sound that has no business making you feel as warm as it does, “I’m not making you go,” he meets your eyes again, and for some reason, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that this is the last time you’ll see them like this, “I’m asking you to.” 

[scripttorture]

Hi! A minor antagonist of mine survived the genocide/torture of his species (sci-fi setting) as a child. He's now a young adult and suffers from nightmares, memory problems, anxiety, etc. My worry comes from him being an antagonist who is in a position of power now and who ignores/implicitly encourages the extensive abuse/torture of someone beneath him because their people are the ones that perpetrated the genocide. Is this skirting too close to the 'torture survivors are evil' trope?

Honestly I think the best answer to this one is: how many survivor characters do you have in the story?

 Purely from a writing perspective I think that you need multiple survivors in any story focused on genocide. Because if you only have one survivor then you’ll struggle to really communicate the scale of what happened.

 I had an ask a while back about competing communities (I can’t seem to find it-) where I talked at length about how torture and genocide imply communities of abusers and communities of survivors. Because we’re talking about a scale of tens or hundreds of thousands of victims.

 So if the genocide is a big part of the background to this story then it should effect more then two characters. Because we’re not just talking about a single ‘abuser’ and a single victim here.

 Think about where you can have other effected characters and how those characters were effected.

 Are there people who got away just in time, missing the worst of it? Do they have survivors guilt? How many members of their extended families did they lose?

 Are there people with tales similar to this antagonist? How did they survive? Did they do things they regret? Conversely do they feel justified in doing what they had to in order to survive? Perhaps they don’t feel like they took any active role in their own survival. Did their families make it? Their friends? How big are the gaps in their lives?

 Were there ex-patriot or diaspora communities away from the areas the genocide took place? How has the genocide effected their politics? How many friends and relatives did they lose? Has it made their community feel stronger, more involved in each other’s growth and safety? Has it led them to open their doors to refugees and survivors of their own species? Has it led them to do the same for other vulnerable groups?

 I was reading the work of a Holocaust survivor a few weeks ago and I was struck by her observation that for survivors this was not something that ended. Yes she was freed from the death camps, yes she lived and yes she emigrated to the USA. But the experience moved with her and (from what I can remember of her words) ‘continued on the streets of Boston.’

 She spoke about how she was the last person left in her father’s line. That entire side of the family had been murdered.

 And that, that is what genocide is for survivors: the holes in their lives where other people used to be. People they loved and cherished. People they passed on the street. Strangers that they connected to however briefly.

 Holes.

 You communicate that to your readers by showing the people who are left and having them show what they lost in simple every day terms.

 When I was a child there was a section of the souk which was full of jewellers. Most of them were Yemeni. And I liked shiny things as much as the next mammal but I never paid the Yemenis much mind. They tended to sell a lot of big, gold pieces, well out of a child’s price range and I didn’t find the style particularly pretty.

 So I’d say my salaams and walk on past to the stalls that sold antiques or Afghani pieces to look at semi-precious stones I could afford.

 They were young men, the Yemenis. They were probably only a decade older then me, if that. They were probably married. They may have had young children. A lot of immigrants in Saudi come over when young and have families (whether those families are with them or ‘back home’), this holds true of my family as well.

 One day the government decided it didn’t want them any more, they changed the visa laws. It did not quite happen overnight but the Yemenis left.

 There’s been a famine in Yemen since 2016. And I wonder how many of those men who smiled and said salaam as I passed are still alive. I wonder how many of them got typhoid when the infrastructure collapsed completely. I wonder how many of their children died and how many of them will be crippled for the rest of their lived because of hunger.

 I could tell you about their neat clothes and carefully slicked back hair. I could tell you how much effort they put into their winning smiles and how they’d try to persuade my mother to stop and look even though she wore horribly unfashionable abayas. (The rich white women all wore terrible abayas as far as I can remember.)

 And that’s genocide. Seen from a remove.

 Survivors are not saints. The urge to put survivors of global atrocities up on a pedestal as if everything they do and say contains exceptional moral insight is… flawed. Surviving something awful doesn’t make people morally worse and it also doesn’t make people morally better. Acting ethically is something everyone chooses to do or not.

 I don’t think there’s anything necessarily ‘wrong’ with having a survivor be one of the bad guys in your story. They’re people and they can make bad decisions like anyone else. As long as they’re not the only survivor in the story. Because you only get that implication when you’ve got one point of representation.

 So include the community. Think about where you can work in other survivors. Think about the diversity of experience there. Think about how to communicate the scale you need to justify the term ‘genocide’.

 There are a lot of books and survivor accounts of the genocides that have occurred since the 1900s. They’re difficult reading but I think picking up a few could really help you understand the kind of scale and diversity of experience you’re aiming for.

 Mao’s Great Famine is a good one for scale but it doesn’t really focus on survivor accounts. I found that made it slightly easier reading. I still haven’t read all of We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families but it does contain interviews with people who were directly effected and people in the diaspora community. That may be helpful.

 I think Amnesty International would also be a good source here. There are currently ongoing genocides in China and Burma which you should be able to find a decent amount of information on. The effected groups are the Uighurs and the Rohingya. There are diaspora communities for both groups and interviews with multiple survivors available online.

 There are other genocides happening at the moment, but I think you’ll find the most free, English information and interviews looking at these two.

 Overall, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with this scenario so long as you take steps to make sure this villain isn’t the only survivor we see. The message that abused people go on to abuse others only comes across if you have a single survivor. And I really think that your story will be deeper and richer in a lot of ways by including others.

 Survivors are people. Most of the time I say that to encourage people to remember their positive capacities: their passions and relationships. But it goes both ways.

 Survivors are people; which means we shouldn’t paint them all as saints and we shouldn’t paint them all as devils.

 I hope that helps :)

Edit: Typos, whoops. Thank you for catching that.

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[luke-patterson-owns-my-soul]

Tiny Pretty Phantoms

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Title: Tiny Pretty Phantoms

Words: 2241 (only a short one)

Summary: Charlie and his girlfriend are separated by work.

Requested: Sort of. The lovely and talented @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ got this request. Charlie x reader where the reader is on a tv show like ahs or something that’s not necessarily “kid friendly”. But as she’s not taking them atm, I decided to swipe this one. I hope the anon who requested it doesn’t mind.

TW: Swearing, alluding to sexual intercourse. That’s it I think. If I miss anything, message me so I can edit.

Author’s notes: I’m baccccckkkk. This was my way of getting back into writing reader fic. It’s been a while, and I hope y’all haven’t forgotten me. Also, while I’ve seen Tiny Pretty Things, I know nothing about the cast, so anything I’ve written, is completely made up.

Being back at home in my parent’s home was both reassuring and strange all at the same time. I’d been living in L.A. for almost two years, hundreds of miles away from home. While I missed my family like crazy, I loved being out in the world, being independent, and chasing my dreams.

However, rejection after rejection after rejection were beginning to weigh heavy on me and I had been starting to regret making the move. I’d been considering heading back home and teaching dance to kids. Then, I met Charlie through a mutual friend.

From the moment I met him, there was something that drew me to him; it wasn’t particularly hard. He was charismatic, funny, and crazy talented. The good looks were an added bonus. From that first meeting, we’d been inseparable and after six months, I gave up my apartment and moved in with Charlie and his friends.

We both booked jobs on upcoming TV shows within a week of one another, and we’d celebrated the news hard. A week of partying with your friends had wrecked the apartment, but it had totally been worth it. The main difference between our shows were the target audience. His, Julie and the Phantoms was aimed at a younger demographic to mine, Tiny Pretty Things. I was just glad to be using my ballet background as well as my acting abilities. He was also playing a main character, while I was to be in the background.

I was jolted from my memories by my phone ringing, Charlie’s face filling the screen. With a smile, I answered the facetime call.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, babe. I miss you.” Charlie was still in L.A., but he was at a boot camp thing that the legendary Kenny Ortega was running.

“I miss you too. How’s it going?” in answer to my question, he held up his hand. I could see band aids wrapped around his fingers. “What did you do?”

“It’s nothing. Guitar war wounds.”

“Poor baby.” I snarked, grinning at the mock upset look on his face. “Oh please. You’re loving every minute.”

“Babe, I really am.” His grin was wide. “When do you fly out to Toronto?”

“Not for another three weeks. I’m back in L.A. the day after tomorrow though. Will I get to see you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if we get any time off before we head up to Vancouver for filming.”

I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me. I hadn’t seen him for over two weeks, and I was going insane. It was one of the reasons behind my trip to see my family. They were enough to distract me, at least until I climbed into my childhood bed, the bed that only held me at night. That was when I missed him the most.

“That sucks.” I felt the lump in my throat, an indication I was close to tears.

“I know, babe. I know. I’m gonna try and get back, even if it’s just one night.”

“Please do.” I missed him, missed waking up next to him, missed just goofing around and hanging out with him. He was the man I loved, and I hated us being apart.

:: ::

I’d been in Toronto for almost six weeks. A month and a half had passed since I last saw Charlie, and it was killing me. It wasn’t as if I was alone, far from it. I may not have been playing a main character, but the entire cast of Tiny Pretty Things were close, even those of us in the background. We’d all been put through our dancing paces until we were exhausted – that had a habit of bringing people together.

Charlie and I spoke most days, if we could, and when we did, we were often interrupted by cast mates. Through our facetime calls I became friends with Jeremy, Owen, and Madison, and he became friends with the girls I was rooming with, and Brendan who played Shane. He and I had been partnered up during rehearsals and had become close. It didn’t bother him I wasn’t a main character and he was.

I had a rare night off while the main cast were working hard on some night scenes, so I was able to kick back in my room and relax. And I made the most of it. While a hot bath was running, I connected my phone up to my speaker and hit play on a relaxing playlist Charlie had made for me before we’d had to say our goodbyes and fly to opposite end of Canada.

I’d just sank into the steaming water, bubbles up to my chin when my phone rang. Reaching over, I managed to pick it up, and saw Charlie’s face on the screen. Quickly swiping, I answered the call, despite wanting to stare at the photo I’d taken almost a year ago when we’d gone camping.

“Well, if I’d have known you were in the tub, I would have called sooner.” He grinned as he spoke, making me roll my eyes.

“Charles Gillespie, you’re a damn perv.” I attempted to scold him as he pretended to try and look around the screen to see if he could see anything. Joke was on him, the bubbles came up to my neck.

“Only for you.” I laughed at the corny line. “Hey, why are you in the bath anyways?”

“Because I ache like a motherfucker and I don’t have any night shoots tonight. So, a hot bath is in order. I’ve been dancing almost non-stop for ten hours a day for six weeks. I never did this much when I was with the company.” I knew I was whining; knew I sounded like a petulant child, but I needed to get it off my chest. All of us in the cast moaned to one another, but it wasn’t the same as venting to my boyfriend, no matter how much I loved my job.

“I’m sorry, babe. If I could take the aches away, I would.” I knew he would too.

“I know. Ignore me, I shouldn’t be putting this on you. How’s your set?”

We chatted for almost an hour, Charlie making me laugh about his previous night’s filming eating what he said felt like hundreds of cold hot dogs, making me laugh so much, my stomach was starting to hurt when I climbed out of the bath – much to his enjoyment – and wrapped myself up in a large, soft towel. We carried on talking as I made my way into my room and got myself ready for bed.

“Look, I gotta go. But I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” I couldn’t help but sigh when the call ended, and as I snuggled up in bed, wearing one of his t-shirts, I also couldn’t help crying. It was the longest we’d been apart in over six months, and even though I was loving my job, it hurt how much I missed him.

:: ::

When I walked onto set the following day, it felt as if everyone was acting a little shifty. No one seemed to look at me directly and whenever I initiated a conversation, they either found something else to do, or the director made us begin working.

“Hey, we’re all going out for dinner and karaoke tonight. Make sure you look pretty.” Brendan whispered in my ear as we got into position in the ballet class, ready for our scene.

“Uh, okay. Sure.” He gave me a smile before walking away.

We’d all be out a few times during filming and the rehearsals we’d had before, but this was the first I’d heard about plans for tonight. Rolling my neck and stretching my arms, I put it out of my mind as I followed the instructions of the director as the scene began around me.

By the end of the day, I was yet again exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was go out. But, as I packed up my gear, putting my comfiest shoes on, Brendan came over.

“Don’t forget we’re going out. We’re all meeting up in about an hour. Make yourself pretty.”

“Can I give it a miss? I’m ready to have a shower and crawl into bed.” He knew how I was feeling, I could see it etched onto his face too.

“Not tonight, sweetheart. Attendance is mandatory for all.” He flashed me a wide smile before spinning away from me, no doubt off to get ready.

When I got back to the apartment I was sharing with a couple of the other female background cast, they were almost ready. The three of them ushered me into the bathroom to shower, telling me to find a nice dress.

The shower did reinvigorate me, and by the time I was dressed and applying my make-up, I was feeling much better, and was even looking forward to some great food and a good night. There were no shoots the next day, so we were able to let our hair down for the night.

When we all met up, the atmosphere was electric. We’d all worked so hard, and were more than ready for a night of not having to worry about getting up early or having to be in hair and make-up at the crack of dawn.

“Ready for a great night?” Brendan asked, linking arms with me as our huge group began to walk to a restaurant nearby we’d all been to on more than one occasion.

“I am actually. Thanks for making me come.”

“No worries, sweetheart.” He placed a kiss on the top of my head before turning to talk to the two guys behind us.

:: ::

Moving from the restaurant after dinner, we all made our way to a club where all of us were able to let go. I got myself a drink from the bar, and stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching my cast mates and friends having the time of their life, showing off their dancing skills. Laughing, I finished my drink, I put my empty glass down and joined them, losing myself in the deep bass. Brendan was in the center, lapping up the attention in a way only he could. He and Barton, who played Oren in the show, were busting out one of their routines from the show and had attracted a hell of a crowd.

As everyone whooped and hollered, I moved away, needing to head to the bathroom. I pulled my phone out of my purse to check if I’d missed any messages or calls from Charlie, but my screen was blank beyond a photo of the two of us. Disappointment flooded me as I shoved the phone back into my purse. Just as I zipped it up, I crashed into someone, strong hands grabbing my waist to stop me falling over.

Thinking my mind was playing tricks on me as my senses were invaded by the aroma of Charlie, the aroma I knew as well as my own. I looked up to find my boyfriend smiling down at me.

“What… how… huh?”

“Surprise, by airplane, Brendan organized it. Hew knew you were missing me as much as I missed you, So Kenny gave me a couple days off while Madi does some scenes with Jadah.”

“You’re really here?” I still wasn’t sure I was hallucinating.

“I’m really here, until tomorrow afternoon.”

With a squeal, I flung my arms around his neck, and kissed him. The evening suddenly got one hundred percent better.

:: ::

Waking up wrapped up in Charlie’s arms was the best thing. I’d missed it so much, and I knew I was going to struggle when he had to leave again, but I felt so happy being with him.

After he’d surprised me at the club, we’d mingled with my friends for a while before slinking away, going back to the apartment and making the most of the quiet as we got reacquainted with one another, multiple times, all night. So much so that when I managed to untangle myself from Charlie’s arms and legs to go to the bathroom, I ached in a completely different way I had been from work.

Once I was finished in the bathroom, I swiped my phone off the counter in the kitchen and sent a text to Brendan.

Thank you. I owe you one.

Once it had sent, I set the phone down and crawled back into bed with Charlie, making the most of having him with me. Especially naked.

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Tagging: (strikethrough unable to tag) @dream-a-little-bigger-x​​ @calamitykaty​ @crybabyddl​​ @xplrreylo​ @morganayennefertyrell​ @lovesanimals​​ @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve​ @echocharm17618​​ @kinda-really-lost @n0wornever​ @all-in-fangirl​ @5sosmukefan​ @kcd15​ @charliesmountains @amazinggracy​ 

If you want to be added to my taglist, drop me a message.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Ordeal

Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only Warnings: Cursing; canon-typical violence; sexual content (non-explicit) Notes: Not beta-read. I was gonna make this a short chapter and then I didn’t! Whoops!

Brought about by @monicabennerman-blog asking how Techie got grazed by a bullet during The Worry chapter of The Pool

Summary: You’re not in the field often - you haven’t been in a position to do anything in-person since the Sutton case.

Eight charges of interstate transportation of stolen property, nine charges of theft from an interstate shipment, fifteen charges of theft of a major artwork. You stare down at Max Auerswald’s file in shock and shake your head. “How the fuck is this guy not in jail?” You ask. Z whistles to catch your attention, waves his hand in a cutting motion across his neck to signal you not to ask that again. You open your mouth to ask why, but Nick is storming into the room, face set and stony, and you shut right up and lean back in your seat and give Z a small nod of thanks. He gives you an answering nod and a thumbs up.

You turn your attention to the board as Nick sets it up. The last time the team nailed Auerswald was five years ago. The bust had accounted for the nine charges of theft from an interstate shipment and twelve of the fifteen charges of theft of a major art work. “He hit up The Getty and the Kohn with a crew of four, incapacitated the guards, knocked out the security system,” Nick tells you as the group gathers their notes. “Inside job?” “Good girl,” Nick confirms it with that, and you see Borracho bristle. You shoot him a look before turning back to where Nick is still pinning up pictures. The pictures of the crew that worked the job are all up, along with pictures of the artwork that the guys managed to recover. But there are only eleven pictures there. “The only piece we weren’t able to recover was Van Gogh’s Irises,” Nick’s arms are folded across his chest now, and he’s staring Auerswald’s picture down.

“It’s valued at $54 million,” Henderson tells you, “He swore up and down he didn’t have it, didn’t know where it was, but we got a tip from the FBI that it’s resurfaced. We worked the case last time, so it got kicked to us.” “Resurfaced where?” You ask. “Santa Ana,” Connors tells you, and you cringe, unable to help it. That’s outside of your jurisdiction. “Plan?” --

Borracho’s hated this from the beginning, you know that. You’ve been able to see it in the way he’s hovered around your desk when you’re listening to wire taps, when you’re pulling up rap sheets for the guys on the fly and cross-referencing known associates when someone asks. You’re not in the field often - you haven’t been in a position to do anything in-person since the Sutton case. But this Auerswald seems to be Nick’s White Whale. So when you’re working late one night and Nick manages to get the guy on the phone over VOIP, and you take the call because the guy’ll recognize Nick’s voice, Borracho’s not happy about it. When you help Nick set a rendezvous with Auerswald at a small gallery in the LA area, Borracho’s even less happy about it. The night before it’s set to go down, you lay in bed beside him. You don’t push him to talk, you just trace your finger over his chest in aimless patterns. And then something occurs to you and you ask, “Would you be this worried if this was going down my first year with the team?” “Yes.” His answer is flat and fast, and you push yourself up to peer down at him in the dark, trying to get a better read on what you’re sure are his frustrated features. You don’t want to turn the lamp on - it’s late, the two of you do need your sleep, but-- but, well, now your mind is going about four places at once. “Really?” Borracho sighs, his hand skating up your back, gentle and unhurried. “I didn’t even like bringing you with me to plant the bugs at Sutton’s.” You frown-- hell, you pout. “You told me I did a good job,” You argue, and you can’t help the petulance it leaves you with. “Sweetness,” Borracho sighs again, sounding very, very tired all of the sudden, “It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable, just… I know you’re safe when you’re in the office. There are too many variables when we’re out there, you know?” You do know. You worry about Borracho every day - you’ll never forget the day he was shot, or how it tore you up after. You don’t wish that on anyone, especially not on him. You’re certain he's still frowning; his hand is warm and rough on your back, and you can feel the smoothness of his wedding ring against your skin. Rather than tell him that things are going to be fine or that he has nothing to worry about, you push yourself up a bit more, straddling his hips. His hands fall to your thighs, yours, to his chest. You hear his huffed little laugh, and you grin. Got him. “You know what tomorrow is?” He asks. You do know, but you decide to play dumb for a moment, and hum thoughtfully before answering, “Sunday?” He laughs louder this time. “Smartass,” He mumbles. “Mm, but I got a cute ass, remember?” You tease, wiggling it against him before you lean down and kiss him. It’s dark, so you miss his lips a little at first, landing just to the left. But then he turns his head, and his hand curls around the back of your neck and corrects the angle, and you sigh, settling against his chest. The two of you should go to sleep, you really should, but you both need this. After you’ve tired one another out, after Borracho’s cleaned the two of you up, he pulls you into his side and nuzzles into your hair, mumbles, “Maybe we made a little Magalon.” And that hasn’t been on your mind in a while, but now it’s drifting out of where it’s made a home in the back of your mind. You feel your hand curl in on itself, pangs of anxiety coursing through you. You hum in answer and turn your head, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “That’d be a hell of an anniversary gift, huh,” You tease instead. 

You can be worried about that later. -- Borracho’s got to go in before you have, but instead of your customary ‘good morning’ post-it, you’re kissed awake. You come up from sleep slowly, drawn out by the feeling of his lips drifting over your neck, his facial hair tenderly passing over the same areas - not enough to mark, but enough to wake you. You let out a sleepy little grumble, and Borracho lifts his head. He nudges his nose against yours before he pecks your lips gently. You push the covers aside, ignoring the cool of the room in favor of the heat of his body, and loop your arms around his shoulders to dry and draw him back down with you. “Mm-- Sweetness,” There’s a teasing and a warning to his tone. You heed neither of them as you try to slip a hand under his shirt. He laughs, drawing away, leaving you blinking sleepily up at him. “Didn’t want to go in before…” He trails off, uncertain, but you know what he meant: before he said goodbye - but the two of you don’t like that word. You’ll see him at the office before the rendezvous with Auerswald, but you’ll be with the guys. This is the last moment of real quiet the two of you will have for a long time. You reach out, taking hold of his hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “I love you, Benny,” You murmur sleepily. He smiles and ducks his head down, kissing you again. “Love you, too, Mrs. Magalon,” He murmurs, and you grin, “Happy anniversary.” 

-- You drive to the rendezvous point alone. Borracho and Connors are in a car parked down the block; Nick, Z, and Henderson are in a surveillance van parked behind the small gallery that you’re meeting Auerswald in. 

The man is perfectly cordial. His face has been burned into your mind for the past few weeks: a stout gentleman, a round face - beedy, dark eyes and a snub nose. He’s slow as he takes you through the gallery; you can hear Nick getting impatient in your earpiece, and it’s hard not to get anxious yourself when you know your boss is ready to pop. But then you’re led into a small back room. There are no windows - only one door in or out. You look around, feeling claustrophobic for the first time in your life. “Awfully cramped conditions,” You comment as Auerswald flicks a light on. “You must understand,” he tells you, “That these matters are best dealt with in close quarters...Intimate settings…” And you’ve been trying to ignore the way that the man has been leering at you, but he’s been making it difficult. Instead, you focus on the painting. “It’s quite beautiful…” You say, “If it’s real.” He reels away from you, a hand coming up to his chest in shock. “Real?” He repeats. You give him a wary look. “Mr. Auerswald, forgive me, but this piece, while exquisite, may very well be an exceptional fake. How can I be certain? You are asking quite a bit of money and I’d rather not shell out for what will turn out to be an excellent forgery.” “Ma’am, I can assure you that this is an authentic piece,” Auerswald swears. You keep the wary look on your face as you look over the painting. “But--” “No buts. If you’ve simply come to stare--” “If I wanted to simply stare, I’d have gone to a museum.” “As if you could still find this Van Gogh in a museum,” Auerswald begins to laugh, as do you, for appearances -- but in your ear, you can hear the van door being thrown open. It’s only a matter of moments before you hear the door of the shop being thrown open, the woman at the front scream, the sound of Nick’s voice and the thundering of the team’s footsteps. You didn’t have a gun - you weren’t allowed (you’d asked). So you have no way of holding Auerswald beyond the physical when the man began to make for the door, trying to close it. You reach out, catching hold of his jacket and yanking back. “What are you--” He begins to ask before his expression turns cold. You weren’t allowed to have a gun. No one asks criminals if they’re allowed. Auerswald’s is out of his jacket and points at you in seconds. You let go, taking a few steps back and raising your hands, watching him closely. “Auerswald!” Connors yells to draw his attention, but Auerswald doesn’t turn to look at him, or the rest of the team. You don’t look at the team, either - you’re too scared to look anywhere but at the man pointing a gun at you. “Drop it, you’re not making it outta here clean,” You hear Zapata warn. “You wanna add a murder charge to your rap sheet, be my guest,” Nick egged him on, “But you heard him, you’re not making it out of here without cuffs on.” You aren’t sure who fired first - you’d never know, really. It might’ve been Henderson, it might’ve been Auerswald. Either way, you hit the floor. Henderson fires at the guy’s foot, nails him, and he goes down; Auerswald fires, but misses you for the most part - a combination of your ducking out of the way and his flailing from being shot. Borracho is over you in seconds, murmuring that he has you, that you’re safe. “‘M fine,” You swear, your voice shaking a little as you reassure him, “I was just-- I mean, in case--” “Sweetness,” His voice is tight; he’s got one arm under you to help you sit up, the other is resting on your right forearm. You vaguely register the sound of Z calling in medical for two people, and then you feel the seering pain in your right bicep. You glance down, see the blood seeping through your suit jacket sleeve. “...Is that all?” You try to tease, but Borracho wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was staring daggers at Nick’s retreating back. -- “Stitches can come out in about ten days,” The EMT tells you, and thank her before you stand up. You’re a little shaky - from the adrenaline dropping away, or from your feet falling asleep in your stupid heels. Either way, Borracho’s hands are there to steady you. You lean against him, sliding your left arm around his waist. “Home?” You ask. He nods, eyes set ahead, and you know you won’t get anything out of him until you two are somewhere safe and quiet. You just brace yourself for the silent car ride and try to ignore the throbbing in your arm.

[hana-bean]

Close to you (2/7)

Yay chapter 2! Please enjoy y’all!

Also a huge thank you to @hoshi-and-hikari for spearheading SeiUsa week ❤️ You’re so great!!!

~~~

I must have walked on To meet you

---

“Where is she? Is she in there?”

“Yes.”

Seiya bowed once he heard the sound of footsteps nearing. He could make out the hem of her white robe in his top peripheral vision before she stopped.

“Hello! You are the guardian from the bar?”

The voice was sweet and inviting which lowered his inner guard by a level. After straightening back up, he tried not to give much more thought that she looked just as gorgeous as she did on television and in pictures.

“Yes, I am, your highness.”

She gasped with a hand over her mouth, causing him to feel the body slam of self-consciousness.

“You’re… a man.” She moved the hand to her chest.

Seiya blinked, unsure of how to reply. But he knew he had to give her something, so he shrugged with a half-smile. “Guilty.”

Serenity relaxed. “I’m sorry. I just thought all guardians were female.”

“That’s true.” He cleared his throat. “We just use this appearance as a protective measure.”

“Huh!” Most intrigued, she then turned toward the two guardians at the door.

“Uranus, please remove his handcuffs.”

“Serenity, I wouldn’t recommend that.” The blonde started walking toward them.

“Why?”

“Because he could hurt you!”

“And I’ve never been able to take care of myself when, exactly?” Already over it, she pointed at Seiya. “Take them off.”

Uranus acquiesced with a huff, producing a small key from inside her boot and removing the shackles. Seiya didn’t waste the opportunity to give her a smug, victorious smirk whenever she was looking.

Serenity beamed. “Thank you, Uranus. That’ll be all for tonight.”

Uranus was about to protest once more, but the look from her highness already told her that her mind was made up. Scoffing and grumbling, the guardian stomped off and out the door.

Neptune, entertained by the whole scene, walked up to place the plastic grocery bag on the table.

“These are his things. Good night, my queen.” She then took her leave.

Once alone, Serenity released a breath as if she had been holding it for a while. “I love those two but they can be so intense.” She then extended a hand toward Seiya’s chair with a smile. “Please sit!”

He obeyed as she took her own seat beside him. Having carried a large crystal pad with her, she laid it aside on the table to give attention to the contents inside the plastic bag. The first item she grabbed was his cell phone, which itself was a smaller translucent rectangle of crystal. She placed it to the side before going for the next item: his transformation headset.

“Ooh, this is interesting!” Her face lit up as she turned it in all directions for inspection. Figuring out that it went on her ear, she did just that, and then put her hands on her hips and moved her shoulders.

“I feel like a pop star!”

Seiya laughed, his heart melting at her unqueenly yet endearing behavior.

She moved the mouthpiece up and down. “So you use this to transform?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“And it’s ‘Fighter Star Power?’”

His blue eyes widened, scared she was psychic. “Yes, how did you know?”

“There are videos of you transforming on the news.” She giggled as she removed the headset from her ear and placed it on the table. “That was quite a mess you were in.”

A blush appeared on his cheeks as he scratched his head. Despite knowing he wasn’t at fault, he still felt embarrassed.

“But,” she continued, “that’s also how I found out you were here. So something good came out of it at least.” She bit her lip as her eyes twinkled at him. “Are you okay, though?”

“Yes. Just a little banged up, but I’ll be fine.”

“The doctors said you should be healed in a few weeks. So you will stay here until you do.”

“Here? In the palace?” His eyes widened while he shook his head. “I couldn’t, your highness—”

“I insist. I can have doctors check on you daily to aid in your recovery.”

He gulped and kept quiet, afraid to refuse the queen again in case it carried a death sentence.

Interpreting his silence as acceptance, she grabbed her crystal pad and tapped on it to reveal a digital screen. “So tell me… Fighter… do you have a civilian name?”

“It’s Seiya Kou.”

“And where are you from, Seiya Kou?”

“All over.” He chuckled. “But our home is Kinmoku.”

“Our?”

“Oh yeah, there’s three of us!” Seiya had forgotten about Taiki and Yaten for the moment. Whoops.

She gasped in excitement. “Wow! Three of you? Where are they?”

“They’re, uh…” he scratched his head again, “in a detention center.”

“Ohh right, right…” The realization dawned on her. “I’ll make sure to have them brought here. I’d like to meet them, too.” She tapped around on the pad in different places, interspersed with some scrolling. “What was the name of your home again?”

“Kinmoku.”

“Kin… mo… ku…” After more tapping, she squinted her eyes in an effort to process the information that populated on her screen. Several moments passed before they widened in tandem with the smacking of her tongue.

“Wow… you’ve come a very, very long way, Seiya.”

“Not by choice…”

She nodded in agreement. “It says here that Kinmoku was one of the initial planets attacked by Galaxia.”

He had no words as his response, only rage, evident by his tight jaw and loud gulp.

Picking up on the heaviness of his energy, Serenity continued. “I don’t know if you know, but Crystal Tokyo has an open policy for refugees, even from an attack as long ago as Galaxia. I can have you registered as an asylum seeker—”

“With all due respect, your highness, we’re not here to seek asylum.” The sternness in his voice was palpable.

In attempts to maintain sympathy for his shift in emotion, and keep hers relatively stable, she placed her pad down and leaned back in her chair. “Then what do you seek?”

His gaze fell. “I can say what we don’t seek… is trouble. So we’ll leave this planet immediately. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“No, please!” Serenity leaned over, placing a gentle, desperate hand on top of his as if it were to stop him should he stand up. Eagerness met ambivalence as each pair of blue eyes stared deeply into the other.

“I’m the one that called you here.” She continued. “I want to know your story.”

The power of touch was a phenomenon that made his heart pump wildly to the point of confession. But it was taking his mind a while to trust her, so Serenity resumed her verbal coaxing.

“Seiya… I want to help you and I can’t if you don’t talk to me.” She squeezed his hand and bit into her lips. “As one guardian to another, let me help you.”

He sighed, having to reach deep within to find his words and courage.

“It’s our princess. We're looking for our princess.”

Serenity nodded, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, ready to listen.

Seiya continued. “She fled when Galaxia attacked. We decided she would go first and we would follow. We had a plan to meet at a neighboring planet but… when we got there, Galaxia had already ravaged through it, just like ours. And our princess was nowhere to be found.” He rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs, breathing through the trauma of the memories.

“And so we went on to the next planet, and then the next one… Each destination was based on hunches and hearsay mostly, looking for any hint that she was there or had been there.”

Serenity cocked her head. “How did you go about trying to find her once you were on a planet?”

“Singing. She really loves music.” He flashed a smile. “We sing familiar songs to try to draw her to us. And if they’re catchy enough, we hope that the locals might pass them along too, and maybe she’ll hear it and know we’re out there and haven’t given up.”

She nodded before looking down, almost afraid to ask. “Have you… considered the fact… that maybe she’s...”

“Yes, we have. We check for death records regularly wherever we end up.” He answered over her, sparing her awkwardness. “But we just so happened to catch a merchant on ætSe-18 who had sold a royal incense burner to someone here from Earth. He couldn’t confirm it was Kinmokian, but the way he described it—its design and scent—there’s no mistake it’s from Kinmoku.”

“How would the burner lead you to her?”

“She also harnesses the power of stars and can take on other forms. Her incense burner was her favorite hiding spot. She must have taken it with her when she fled, or at least that’s what we hope. It’s our only hope at this point.”

Moved by the story, a distant smile spread upon her lips, and she relaxed into her chair. “She must be quite a princess for you to spend ten years looking for her.”

He shook his head with a smile. “I know no other purpose.”

Serenity paused to give her mind a few moments to think before sitting upright with resolution written all over her face.

“We should get some sleep then. Tomorrow is a big day.”

Seiya’s face blinked into confusion. “Is it?”

The beam on her face lit up the whole room as she nodded and winked. “It’s the Queen’s Birthday Festival tomorrow. We’ll need our strength to celebrate.”

A smirk twitched on the side of his mouth. “Oh right. I remember that being advertised.”

“It’ll be a fun time. And I’m sure a much-needed and deserved day off for you.”

He breathed out a laugh, a twinkle forming in his eye.

“And then after that,” she continued. “We look for your princess.”

The twinkle then faded into distress. “Oh… no… no, no… It’s okay, your highness! I know you have more important things to do—”

“I’ve got people for that!” She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Plus, I said I wanted to help, so I’m going to help. You can't be going out there getting into more bar fights in your condition, and I’m sure the other guardians aren’t in that much better shape.”

He opened his mouth to speak but Serenity gave him that same look she gave Uranus earlier in the night, submitting him to speechlessness. While she seemed to make his mind spin, she also made him feel calm. Redness formed on his cheeks as he realized the subliminal control she had over him; whether it was intentional or not was a mystery, but he didn’t care.

A victorious grin spread across her face. “It’s settled then.”

---

---

Please note if you would like to follow this story, I will be updating the rest of the chapters under the tag: hanabean close to you and other iterations of the spacing. I love you all!

[plaidbooks]

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 7 part 1

A/N: So, this chapter got a little bit away from me. And instead of posting all 14k words in one part, I’m splitting it into two parts (I’ll post part 2 tomorrow, though, instead of making you wait a week!) This first part is a lot of tension and even more angst! Their first real fight! And a cliffhanger? Wowza! I also got to make up a lot of Barba’s background in this chapter, so bear with me. Little bit of Spanish that’s also translated right then. According to my friend, Adrian, there’s no “direct translation for motherfucker into Spanish which is why it’s that long.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: mentions of cheating, minor character death, screaming/yelling

Words: 7k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba (lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

Office of Rafael Barba

1 Hogan Place

Thursday, April 30th. 10:05am

Ever since the night they read about Marco Sorrel, Devon had pushed to train Barba harder in his self-defense training, especially with weapons. For the past three weeks, she taught him to disarm an assailant armed with first a knife—still sheathed—and then her gun, safety on. Barba hadn’t seemed too thrilled about the idea but agreed that it was necessary. And while Devon had to admit that he was pretty good in the training, that meant nothing when it came to the real thing. She had met many an agent who had excelled in training, and then froze in the field, leading to injuries or worse. Plus, the fact that it had been three weeks with no signs of any Aces made Devon uneasy. Very uneasy. She was sleeping less and less, hardly eating, and jumping at every sound. Barba, being his normal, collected self, didn’t seem disturbed by the news; he simply went about his day, doing arraignments, trials, meetings, and whatever the hell else he had to do. Which was a good thing, Devon supposed; it would make her job harder if they were both anxious.

Today was one of those days that was going to drag on forever, Devon knew. They had gotten to the courthouse early, skipping Barba’s office entirely, doing arraignments until almost noon. They then made it to his office for an early lunch, knowing that Barba would be in court for the rest of the day. Not that Devon was complaining; being stuck in the courtroom wasn’t all that bad, even though Barba had mentioned how boring it must be to sit in the gallery all day. But in all honesty, it was a nice break for Devon. She was still aware of people coming in and out, of course, but for the most part, once a trial started, everyone settled in. She didn’t have to worry too much about an attack once in court. And only once had a defendant gotten out of hand. But once he started shouting, the bailiff was on him, dragging him out, before Devon had fully blocked off his path to Barba. She knew he wasn’t in the Aces, but she was still going to protect the man.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. It is pretty personal,” Barba commented, bringing Devon’s mind back to the present. They were just finishing lunch in his office, relaxing before the rush to court. She suddenly realized that he had asked her a question.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about stuff. What’d you ask?”

 Barba sighed. “We were talking about, uh, past relationships. I asked how your last relationship ended.” Devon remembered now; they were talking about some cases that they both did with SVU, just a walk down memory lane over food. Barba had brought up the Muñoz case, which led to him talking about Yelina. Devon could tell by how his face softened when he spoke of her that she held a special place in his heart. After asking he agreed that yes, while he had flings and relationships since, Yelina was his first true love. After she left him for his best friend, he had found a couple other partners, but none that had gotten as close to him as her. “You always remember your first,” he had said.

Devon smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Does she lie to him? Tell him that she’s had a couple relationships and leave it at that? “I’ve, um…I’ve never really been in a relationship, per se.”

Barba put down his takeout container at that, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? I thought guys would be all over you.”

She laughed his comment away, flattered. “I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’ve been, uh, intimate with people before,”—her face flushed. Why was she telling him this?—“but I’m just not the, uh, relationship type, I guess.” Why were they talking about this again? Though, she knew if she wanted to stop, she’d only have to say so. But she was curious about Barba; he was a very private man. She was interested—and a wee bit excited—that he even wanted to open up about this side of him. If that meant that she had to do the same, then so be it.

After a few moments of silence, Barba thinking through his words, he finally asked, “but haven’t you ever wanted to come home to someone?” It was an innocent enough question, but it filled Devon with such a strong sense of yearning. Of course, she did. Who didn’t want someone who would understand them, who would love them unconditionally?

“I mean, it would be nice, yes,” she kept her voice even, neutral. “But I don’t have the time, not with my job. Plus, how would someone react to something like this?” she gestured broadly. “I was out of the state for three years, then home for a week before moving in with a complete stranger, a man…no offense—”

“None taken—”

“--so, how would dating even work when I’m not even home or when I’m sleeping at someone else’s house?” Devon finished, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. She didn’t mean to get so emotional, so personal with the answer. But she was trying to make him understand.

He thought for a while, stabbing at his chicken. “I guess it would be tough with a job like that.” He took a piece out, chewed thoughtfully. “My last relationship ended because I was never home. I put my work first, so she found her home in someone else’s bed.”

Devon sat there, dumbfounded. Someone cheated on him? “What a bitch,” she mumbled. He stifled a chuckle and Devon realized she said that out loud. “Whoops,” she said, hand flying to her mouth. “Sorry.”

 “Don’t be. That was years ago; I’ve moved on,” he replied. Then, “The hardest part was returning the engagement ring.”

Devon’s heart hurt for the man. She couldn’t imagine being so in love, planning on being married to someone, and then to find out they were cheating. She couldn’t think of anything to say; she didn’t think saying sorry would help, but she didn’t want to ask any more probing questions.

“Do you ever plan on getting married?” Barba asked, staring at the desk.

The question caught Devon off-guard; she never really thought about it before. Maybe when she was a kid, as a last-ditch effort to escape her parents. But not anytime recently. “I’m not sure, really. I’ve never considered it…maybe if I met the right person, though I think I’d like to retire before hand. And I could not imagine having a wedding—too expensive. And rings are so old-fashioned and over-rated; have you seen the new movement of people proposing with beautiful, intricate knives?” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop herself. Barba, to his credit, looked up from the desk, smiling and laughing at Devon’s increasingly ridiculous marriage proposals, awkwardness and past pain soon forgotten.

“Mr. Barba?” Carmen said, sticking her head into his office, causing them both to stop their frivolous talk. “Mr. Thompson and Mr. Buchanan are here to see you.”

“There goes the fun,” Barba mumbled. Devon grinned, but moved to stand behind him, bodyguard-style, her normal place by his side.

Courthouse

Thursday, April 30th. 7:08pm

Court had lasted much longer than either of them had thought; the Judge was intent on finishing the trial today, letting tomorrow morning be for closing arguments and then letting the jury deliberate.

“I need to head back to my office; I forgot a file,” Barba had said as he gathered his things. Odd, Barba never forgot anything; man’s head was a steel trap.

 “No problem. I got nowhere to be tonight. You know that we’re still training, though, right? Staying here late doesn’t get you out of it.”

Barba sighed. As much as he knew training was important, his body was still sore from where she hit him, blocking an attack, the night before. “Yeah, I know.”

“Don’t worry; this will all be over soon enough,” Devon commented. It was true; during the trial, Devon’s phone had gone off with an update text from Olivia. 47 Aces were now sitting in jail. 18 reported left, though 5 of those 18 were reportedly no longer in New York. Once they learned that most of the police force were after them, they had picked up and left. So, in reality, unlucky 13 were left active in New York…including Marco Sorrel, who no one seemed able to pinpoint. If Devon was free to move throughout the city, she knew she could track him down. But she had to trust in the NYPD’s abilities.

 Barba was elated at the news—not having to worry about being shot was a weight off his shoulders—but at the same time, he felt upset at the thought of Devon moving out, moving on with her life. He had grown accustomed to her being there; her laugh, her banter, her presence. He didn’t know if they would remain in contact after this was over. He realized that he didn’t want to lose her. And after their talk this morning, he felt…no, he didn’t want to admit it, not to himself, or to anyone else.

They made it to the courthouse elevator, no one else in sight, and started going down to the ground floor. Barba made up his mind; he had to ask, to know if there was any chance of them having…something after the Aces were in jail. “You know, about that…I mean, after this is all over….” Barba started. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped off, Devon first and Barba right on her heels. The words died in his throat as he felt someone grab him roughly from behind, the cold steel of a gun pushing against his head.

Devon had heard his case fall from his hands, turned and had her gun up, aiming right over Barba’s shoulder before her brain had a chance to catch up. How’d I miss him? she thought, chiding herself. Then, her mind went blank, instincts and training kicking in, no room for any other thoughts. The elevator doors closed behind them, effectively pinning Barba and the man against the wall, facing Devon. Devon locked eyes with the man, ignoring Barba’s frightened look, and for a moment she was in a brownstone, looking at Nathan Woods. But she blinked again, and it was a Hispanic man, gun to Barba’s head, tattoo on his neck.

“Drop your gun, or I splatter this bastard’s brains all over the hallway,” Marco Sorrel said. She could feel Barba’s eyes on her, but she stayed focused on Marco, watching his trigger finger, pushing down the panic that was making her heart race.

“Counteroffer; you drop your gun or you’re dead before you pull the trigger,” Devon replied. She held her gun steady despite her rapid pulse, and started shifting her position slowly to the side, taking such small steps, she hoped Marco didn’t notice. This could end one of two ways, and she was deciding how best to approach it.

“Look, la loca es la primera (crazy bitch), I’m not afraid to die. But I’m taking this el cara e verga es el segundo (motherfucker) with me,” he dropped his voice, talking into Barba’s ear, barely loud enough for Devon to hear, “I hope you’ve made peace with whatever God you believe in.”

Devon felt the floor drop out from under her; she made up her mind in that moment. She took another step to the left, gaining a clear shot. She took it, squeezing the trigger. It was like watching a scene in slow motion. One moment, Marco had a gun to Barba’s head. Barba looked terrified, frozen in place. Then, a hole appeared between Marco’s eyes; his head snapped back and red splattered the elevator doors. His body hit the doors, and he slid down until he was slumped against them, gun clattering to the floor. Barba had ducked from the loud gunshot; he stood slowly, shakily, and turned to look at him while Devon slowly lowered her gun. She holstered it, putting the safety on—she knew she’d be turning it over tonight.

People started showing up then; Devon wasn’t sure where they were coming from. But they must have heard the gunshot, the hallways and curved ceiling making a perfect echo chamber. She stepped up to Barba, who was still looking at Marco’s dead body. She reached a hand out to him, saw her hand shaking slightly, clenched it into a fist and dropped it.

“Hey, are you alright? Are you hurt?” she asked, voice surprisingly steady for how shaky she was feeling.

Barba couldn’t take his eyes off the dead man, his face a little green. “You—you killed him. You just murdered a man.” He had whispered it, so matter-of-factly, voice dead.

The tone he had—or lack thereof--hit Devon like a physical blow. She reached out, hand not shaking this time, and took his hand, leading him a little down the hallway, putting the body behind him so that he was forced to look at Devon. That was almost worse; he looked rattled, shaking slightly, his green eyes wide. He yanked his hand out of her grip as if she had stung him.

“Uh, yes, I did…. You heard him; he was going to kill you in the next moment. I saw my shot and I took it; it was a good shoot,” she explained.

Barba had seen dead bodies in the morgue and in autopsy pictures before, but he had never seen someone killed, been close enough to feel the man’s weight fall off him. To fear, even for one moment, that he was the one who was shot. It felt like his brain was moving through sludge; he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It all had happened so fast; it was amazing how quick, how easy it was to kill someone.

“Police are taught to de-escalate a situation. You’re a damn negotiator, for fuck’s sake! You didn’t have to kill him.” Barba didn’t know where this anger came from, but it was a familiar emotion. He knew anger, so he wrapped himself in it like armor, let it protect his frazzled mind.

The rational side of Devon’s mind knew that this was simply a reaction to shock; when she was in the same situation 4 years ago, her reaction was to shut down. But anger, she knew, was also a very normal reaction to shock. Sadly, another reaction to someone yelling is to go on the defensive. And with all of her senses heightened, adrenaline coursing through her, that’s exactly what Devon did, replying, “yeah, I am a negotiator! And I know when a negotiation doesn’t work; I’ve seen enough hostages killed to know what it looks like. I was not going to let that happen to you.”

“He didn’t have to die, though! You know how to disarm perps!” he shot right back.

Devon shook her head, ran her hand through her hair in frustration. “I had no options, Barba. I hesitate, and you die! I shoot the hand with the gun, and there’s a damn good chance I hit you. Like I said, I saw my shot and I took it. Do I wish I didn’t have to kill him? Of course! But I will not apologize for doing my job.”

“That’s not good enough!” Barba yelled.

“Then what is, huh? What would you, a fucking ADA with apparently expert knowledge on hostage situations, have me do?” Devon answered, blood boiling.

Barba had no answer, so he let out an annoyed huff, and pushed past her. He made his way to one of the benches left outside a courtroom, intended for those waiting to go in, and sat down hard. He leaned his face into his hands, elbows on his knees. Devon took deep breaths through her nostrils, knowing that she needed to take a step back, to control this anger that seemed to stem from nowhere. And she needed to try and calm him down, too, whether he liked it or not. But first, she had to make a phone call.

The crowd that had gathered was staying well away from the body, and even further away from the two of them after their shouting match. She was sure that the police had already been called, but Devon still took out her phone and dialed Olivia’s cell, asking her to alert CSU and IAB. While it was true that the FBI had their own Internal Affairs, and Devon would have to talk to them, too, she was technically working for SVU at the moment, so IAB and 1PP would be involved. It was always tricky with them; they loved to remind her that she wasn’t an NYPD officer, but they also loved to throw her under the bus when they thought she fucked up. She had a grim curiosity about what policies they would take with her this time. Once she hung up with Liv, she figured she’d inform Barba.

Without moving closer, Devon spoke to the wall in front of her. “IAB is going to want to talk to you, too. You’re an eyewitness.” Barba sat in silence, no indication that he even heard her. Devon took another deep breath; she was going to have this conversation with him at some point, might as well be now while he wasn’t yelling.

“If you want someone else to protect you, I have no objections. I understand if you don’t trust me now,” she said softly. The words ripped a hole in her heart to say, but it was his right to have a choice, something he didn’t have when Liv shoved Devon onto him. Plus, she couldn’t get the image of his face after Marco was dead out of her mind: the fear, the anger, the betrayal. Like she was the worst person in the world.

Barba had a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind; they swirled, and he couldn’t seem to clear it. He knew he had to answer her tonight, so he finally said, more to the floor than to her, “I just want to go home for the night; get a good night’s rest. I…I need time to process all of this.”

Well, that was normal after having such a near-death experience, and he wasn’t giving her the boot quite yet. Though, she was waiting for the other shoe to drop; by tomorrow, he’d be done with her. Recognizing that the conversation was over, she thought about their sleeping arrangements. IAB wouldn’t allow her to stay with him tonight; it was against protocol. They could concoct a story about all of this, lie for each other. Her adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving her exhausted. But they had to wait for Olivia to get there, to deal with this situation.

Thankfully, they only had to wait another five minutes, though it felt like an eternity in silence. Olivia was somehow the first on the scene, the rest of SVU on her heels. The detectives started clearing the courthouse of spectators, while Liv came over to the agent and counselor. Devon took off her gun and knife, handing them over.

She took them but turned to Barba first. “There will be an unmarked car watching your place tonight. I think you should get a good night’s sleep before talking to officers tomorrow morning. I’ll give you a ride home tonight, and then come by tomorrow for your statement.” He gave her a stiff nod, then Olivia turned to Devon, sighing heavily. “IAB has instructed me to escort you to the hospital for a blood-alcohol test,”

“That’s normal—” Devon started, before Olivia cut her off.

“And then to place you under arrest until they investigate this further.” Ah, there it is, Devon thought.

She smiled grimly. “And when will that be?” Devon asked. Officers had up to 48 hours to report to IAB after an incident like this, and Devon was sure that they’d make her wait the whole time, incarcerated...if they counted her as an officer. They could potentially make her wait indefinitely. As shitty as that was, all she could think about was who would watch Barba tomorrow at work.

Liv shook her head. “I don’t know; they didn’t specify. Detective Rollins will escort you to the hospital, and then to the cage at SVU.” Better than Rikers, Devon thought ruefully. She glanced at Barba, trying to make sure he was alright, but he was still staring at the floor.

Olivia gave her a look full of concern, before nodding to Rollins. Devon placed her hands behind her back and Rollins cuffed her, looking upset that she was the one chosen to do so. She read her her rights as they left the courthouse. Barba finally looked up as she led her away, a tightness in his chest. Arrested for murder…arrested for saving his life.

Liv sat on the bench next to him. “Are you alright, Rafa?”

He pulled his eyes from Devon’s retreating form, looking at Olivia, her expression full of worry. “She saved my life yet again, but by killing someone. I’m...I’m not sure how to feel about it.” He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it could come to this, that she may have to shoot someone to protect him. But his life had almost always been painted in black and white; murder is bad, illegal. Sure, there were exceptions, but they were few and far in between. And even then, he always viewed justifiable homicide as a last resort. Was killing Marco a last resort?

Liv mulled over her thoughts for a while before replying, “I’ve known Devon for years; she wouldn’t shoot someone for no reason.”

Barba suddenly realized that she had no idea what happened here; Devon wasn’t allowed to tell her without having counsel with her, and Barba didn’t count since he was a witness. So, Barba gave her the broad strokes of what had happened, including Marco’s threat that had pushed Devon over the edge and their conversation afterwards. Liv almost stopped him—he shouldn’t be telling her or anyone besides IAB about this—but he wasn’t a trained officer, and he needed to tell someone about this. Might as well be her.

So, Liv listened in silence, nodding along with his tale. She sighed when he finished, saying, “look, Rafa, you know that I’m against murder as much as you are. But this sounds like a good shoot. She shot him not in self-defense, but in defense of you, which may be a stronger pull, especially for someone like Devon. Trust me, though, she’s not nearly as accepting of this outcome as she may seem.”

Barba took that into consideration; maybe killing a man was eating her up inside. He knew that she had shot people before, but he didn’t know if she had killed someone before. And all he had done was yell at her, blaming her for saving his life yet again. He felt ashamed that he couldn’t control himself, his emotions; he knew Devon at this point. She wasn’t some serial killer. She was his friend, and she was risking her life every day making sure he was safe. And now she was in jail.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Liv said, breaking through his thoughts. He picked up his briefcase on the way out, unable to stomach even glancing at the blood on the ground. They rode in silence, enraptured in their own thoughts; Olivia worrying over how IAB would handle this case—she knew that IAB wasn’t particularly fond of SVU’s relationship with the Federal agent—and Barba going over the whole scene in his mind over and over again, from the moment those elevator doors closed to Devon’s back as she was led out in cuffs. After saying their goodbyes, Barba headed into his building. He noticed the unmarked car parked in front, but it didn’t feel like a comfort, not like Devon’s presence felt. He opened the door and locked it behind him, arming the doorstop like she had shown him. His loft seemed so empty, so quiet. Grabbing the thickest book he could find, he checked every room for intruders; a mockery of how professional Devon usually conducted the search. Barba felt foolish doing it himself, book in hand, but he knew it must be done if he wanted any peace tonight; his blood was still rushing in his ears. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he slowly stripped off his jacket and looked at the time. 11:36pm. He knew there was no chance of sleep tonight, but he’d have to try. To hopefully help him sleep, he dug out his favorite bottle of scotch, pouring himself a glass. He had to sort out his mind if he was ever going to sleep, though the alcohol may help calm his nerves, too. Plus, he needed to figure out how tomorrow was going to play out. He’d never talked to IAB before, nor been an eyewitness to a crime…at least, not like this. For court, he had his bullet-proof question tree, his responses to whatever the opposition said written down and memorized. Now, though, he was the one on trial, and he had no idea what to say.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Friday, May 1st. 7:00am

Barba showered in the morning, after tossing and turning all night. He didn’t go to bed until after 1am, but even with how exhausted he was, not to mention slightly drunk, he could not sleep. He kept thinking about the look of conviction in Devon’s eyes as she pulled the trigger, Marco’s dead body, blood splattered everywhere, his anger and fear as he took out all that energy, all that adrenaline, on Devon. Every time he thought about that conversation, a fresh wave of shame washed over him. He knew that victims sometimes lashed out after something traumatic happened, but he wasn’t a victim…right? He never thought of himself as one; he was simply a marked man. But even he knew that was a bunch of crap.

He got a text sometime while in the shower from McCoy, telling him to take the day, and the weekend, off. First of all, he knew that IAB would want to interview Barba about the dead body found by the elevators last night. And second, he knew that Barba probably needed the time off to collect his thoughts after having such a close brush with death. True, McCoy knew the ADA well, knew that he could handle himself and could feasibly work if asked, but the DA knew it would be better to let Barba relax for a couple days.

Don’t worry, I got a continuous on all your cases. McCoy texted him.

Sighing, he got dressed in a suit, though not one of his expensive court suits—this was more of a “weekend” suit, as he liked to call them. Though, Devon loved to tease him that they didn’t look different. He tried to explain it once, about the different material, the different cuts in shape, but she only laughed harder. He came out of his room, mumbling a quiet, “morning,” then looked to the couch when there was no answer, finding it empty. Oh…right, he thought, missing her singsong, perky voice in the morning. Then he realized that that meant there was no coffee made yet.

As he moved in the kitchen. his phone went off, causing him to jump and almost dropped his mug; it was a message from Liv letting him know that IAB had pushed back the meeting and that she would update him with a time when she knew. She would be there in a bit for his statement, and the unmarked car would stay posted until further notice. At least that gave him some time to finalize what he wanted to say to Devon when…if he saw her. He had solidified his testimony that he would say to IAB. With nothing else to do, he sat in his armchair nervously, fiddling with a pen in his hands.

SVU Department

Friday, May 1st. 7:00am

Devon stared at the ceiling of SVU’s holding cell. Thankfully, she was its only occupant all night. Rollins had given her a pillow and a blanket and told her to try and get some sleep, but they both knew that that wasn’t happening. Instead, Devon counted the bars on the walls, did her normal workouts that she performed in Barba’s loft every morning, and thought about anything that wasn’t Barba’s face, full of fear—fear of Marco, or her?—from the night before. But as the time trickled by and night gave way to dawn, Devon was forced to confront last night’s events. She meant what she had said; she wasn’t sorry that she had killed Marco. If she had done nothing, if she had hesitated for even a second longer, there’d be two bodies in the morgue. She was pretty sure the Barba understood that, but she did not expect him to flip out like he did. Shock makes people lash out, she told herself. Though she wasn’t thrilled that she had killed someone, it wasn’t her first time, either. And Barba was right; in a perfect world, she would have been able to de-escalate the situation, even though she knew deep down that she only had the two options; kill or be killed. She took a deep breath, trying to center herself. She thought back to the fight with Barba; she had dealt with…troublesome victims before: she’d had people yell at her, take a swing at her, threaten her and everyone she loved. So, why was this different? Why did this hurt so much more? A thought in her mind caught her attention. She tried to ignore it, to squish it, but it remained. You love him. She shook her head—no, no! She didn’t, couldn’t. They only met a few months ago! This was just a crush, a superficial infatuation based on living in such close quarters...ignoring the fact that he was ridiculously handsome, smart, funny, caring.... Okay, she had to stop thinking about it. It would pass, it had to.

“Morning,” Fin greeted. Devon jumped, not hearing him approach; she was too wrapped in her thoughts. She sat up and saw that he held a coffee out to her. “Don’t tell anyone I gave you this.”

She took the coffee from him. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. She took a sip, letting it warm her; the cell was cold, despite the blanket. “So, what time is it?”

Fin checked his watch before answering, “seven. And bad news, IAB pushed your interview back. No official time yet,” Devon huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes; of course, they were going to make her sweat, waiting in a cell. Plus, it was Friday; they may make her wait all weekend. “Also, they told us to keep you in cuffs until you go into interrogation.”

“Ah, right. IAB: guilty until proven otherwise. Tucker still in charge?”

Fin smirked. “You think that asshole has anything better to do?”

Devon grinned, then took her seat on the bench that served as a bed, trying to calm her nerves. She sipped at her coffee but didn’t really taste it. Her mind was racing again; she wasn’t afraid of IAB, per se, but that wasn’t the only variable here. Tucker already had a deep dislike of Devon. And then there was also Barba’s statement. Was he still pissed at her? Would he throw her under the bus, tell IAB that she didn’t need to kill Marco? She honestly didn’t know, and that worried her most.

The day passed by slowly, but thankfully no other perp was added to the cage. She was only let out to use the restroom, and none of the detectives felt like making her wear the cuffs. Devon sat in silence, going over her testimony again and again, making sure she had an answer for everything. She was going to tell the truth, but IAB was good at twisting words and actions, and she wanted to be prepared. She replayed every moment from the night before…except for the fight with Barba. She knew she’d have to review it eventually, but she really didn’t have the strength after the sleepless night.

The detectives were all busy; Liv and Fin stopped by every now and again to check in, update her on IAB’s timetable and to see if she needed something. Technically, they weren’t allowed to talk about what had happened, even though Devon waived Miranda. It wasn’t until about 2pm that she had any real company. Detective Amaro came into the cage, bringing a plain bologna sandwich for Devon’s lunch. Government money at work.

“Thanks,” she said, sitting up. Amaro surprised her by taking a seat next to her.

“Mind if we talk a little bit? I feel like we haven’t really talked much,” he replied, handing her the sandwich. Devon unwrapped it, took a bite. Better than nothing, and her stomach was empty outside of shitty precinct coffee. It was true, though; besides bringing Barba in for cases, Devon hadn’t really been around SVU enough to really “meet” the new detectives. Not including the awkward hospital visit from the night before with Rollins.

“Uh, sure, as long as we don’t talk about last night; don’t want IAB coming down on your head, too. What’s on your mind?”

He held out his hand for her to shake. “Detective Nick Amaro. Transferred from narcotics. Been in SVU for a little over a year, but I don’t see myself doing anything else. Partnered first with Benson, and now Rollins. And trust me, I don’t need another reason to have IAB coming after me.”

Devon shook his hand, a little bemused that he was introducing himself. “Ah, Senior Special Agent Devon Motely. FBI for 20 years; started as negotiator and added on undercover. Don’t have a partner, but I do have a team, much like NYPD’s ESU. I trust them with my life, even if I don’t work with them as often as I’d like.”

Amaro sat for a moment, taking in her words. “I looked in your jacket, this is your third kill. Last two were clean, too.” He seemed a little nervous talking about her personal file but hid it well with a charming smile.

Third in the jacket, Devon mentally corrected, and that doesn’t include firefights, where it’s impossible to tell who shot whom. But that wasn’t something she was going to bring up, not now. Devon remembered the other two that were in her file, though. The first had haunted her for weeks afterwards, even if he did deserve it. The man was a bastard; trafficked young girls, even “tested” them out, to make sure they could perform. He had run when Devon confronted him, then started shooting once cornered. She just happened to get him first, total luck, and she knew it. Probably why she didn’t sleep for two weeks afterwards. The second one still hurt, even years later. It was a 22-year-old man—a kid, really—who was caught in a bad situation. He was abused, both physically and sexually, by his father since he was 13. Then one day, he snapped. Took a gun, went to his parent’s house. Devon was called in to try and de-escalate the situation. She got out of her car, and gunshots went off. The kid had shot both parents, then came out the front door just as Devon was rushing in. He had the gun facing down at the ground and didn’t raise it fast enough by the time he shot, hitting Devon in the hip. She reacted on instinct alone, shooting him in the stomach. He died in her arms, bled out before EMTs could get there. She still had nightmares about it, every time she looked at the scar on her hip. She was lucky; the bullet had gone clean through, hitting nothing. A one in a million shot.

“Devon?” Amaro asked, pulling Devon out of her thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I, uh, I have shot two people before Marco, correct,” she replied. “Wish I hadn’t, but things happen on the job. I’m sure you know that.”

Amaro nodded. “Yeah, I—I’ve taken some shots before, too.” He let out a breath. “Takes a toll after a while, huh?” Devon agreed. It came with the job, and therapy was a lifesaver. But some scars took longer to heal than others. “So, how did this one go down?”

Wait, was he trying to interrogate her? Come in as a friend and pry into the case? Or was Devon looking into it too much? She wasn’t sure, but she also didn’t know the guy.

“I think that Tucker would be pretty pissed if I talked to an SVU detective about this,” she deflected, keeping her voice light.

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to grill you or anything. But I agree; he already doesn’t care for me, anyways. Don’t need to give him more ammunition against me.”

“That’s something we have in common. You think they had to ‘push back’ this investigation because IAB is busy? CSU still processing info? Nah, Tucker hates my guts,” Devon chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“I think that’s just Tucker,” Amaro replied, smiling.

Just then, Fin walked up. Amaro stood to leave, as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Just so you know, they finally set a time. 3pm.” Fin announced. Thank god; having a set time took some of the weight off Devon’s shoulders, but it did make her stomach drop all the same. Both Amaro and Fin left then, Amaro giving Devon a small smile, a peace offering after her accusation.

Fin came back 20 minutes later and reluctantly cuffed Devon once more. At least he left them a little loose, so she wasn’t losing circulation. He took her to his squad car, and he, along with Rollins, drove her to IAB’s headquarters.

[stefciastark]

Scars ~ Webpril Day 6

A/N: Here is the final part to the "The Mines" mini story arc :) I hope you enjoy this little chapter of IronDad fluff. It's definitely a topic I want to expand more on with IronDad, and I definitely didn't address it enough in this fic (it's nearing 2a.m so I had to wrap it up somewhere) BUT if it's something you'd like to see, just let me know and it may just become its own fic :)Thank you to everyone who's been leaving comments and kudos as well. It's my first proper return to the world of fanfiction and your support and feedback means the world, so thank you!! xx

~Read it on AO3

~Read it on FFN

This was the second time in…too soon, that Peter had to make a return to the realm of the ‘awake’. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to. There was an intense throbbing behind his eyes that pounded to the percussive beat of Pomp & Circumstance; it was a tune that he had been forced to sit through every year since he was a freshman as they gathered in assembly to wave the upperclassmen goodbye as they left for the real world. He decided that if he survived until his own graduation, he would petition for a drastic change of the ceremony music. ‘I Lived’ by OneRepublic seemed kind of appropriate.

He couldn’t hold back the groan that escaped his lips as the throbbing in his head shifted from the right to the left as he turned his head to the side. He felt smooth satin beneath his cheeks, a pleasant contrast to the rough gravel and dust that greeted him last time.

Sleep tugged at his consciousness, beckoning him away from a world that had so far greeted him with pain and uncertainty. Just his luck though that a pair of fingers began to snap repeatedly in front of his closed eyes.

“No, none of that ‘going back to sleep’ stuff, kid. Time to get up.”

Peter waved his hand in front of his face, trying to shoo away whomever dared invade his personal bubble. “G’way…”

“Ouch…Is that how you thank me for saving your life?”

Peter’s eyes finally cracked open, ready to give his speaker the biggest verbal whooping he could muster – which Peter faced it, he wasn’t going to sound particularly convincing either way. It was then that his mind finally caught up with what his eyes were seeing; Tony was sitting on the occasional chair to the right of the bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands locked together. His knuckles were white, and that tension bled into the expression on his face. Dark circles that looked like bruises shaded the underneath of his eyes, frown lines gently creasing his forehead.

Now that he had a moment to register the rest of his surroundings, he noted with relief that he wasn’t laying in a hospital bed, and there was no accompanying beep of the monitors that usually accompanied infirmary-esque surroundings. In the end, it was Peter’s view of the half-open sliding closet door that told him his answer; he was in his personal bedroom at the Avengers facility. A T-shirt Ned bought him for his last birthday that he’d been looking for for weeks hung at the front. It was the one with a pun that first made him cringe, but eventually grew on him until it inexplicably and unironically became one of his favourites. It had a large picture of a Spiderman mask, surrounded by text that said: “What does Spiderman do for a living? He’s a web designer!”

Thinking of Ned, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something…

Tony saw the second Peter’s eyes widened in panic, and he quickly leaped off the chair to press Peter back down onto the bed as he tried weakly to get up. The pain in Peter’s right ankle that had gone unnoticed until that moment flared up, eliciting a small cry that was a mixture of pain and surprise.  

“W-where’s Ned, is he okay? He was with me in the – in the mine and he wasn’t waking up and -” Peter’s chest rose and fell rapidly, panic flooding his senses, the weight of Tony’s hand on his shoulder doing nothing to ground him, only making him feel claustrophobic as the memories of being stuck under rubble bubbled to the surface.

Tony immediately retracted his hand from Peter’s shoulder. He knew when Peter needed to be left to himself. As much as he wished he could hug the kid’s troubles away, the aftermath of Vulture left Peter with psychological scars. No amount of comfort, exciting new tech projects or keeping busy would undo what had happened, and it was something that Peter needed to confront on his own time and in his own way. Of course, Tony would be there. He would always be there.

“Ned’s okay, just a moderate concussion, some bruises and understandably a little freaked out.” Peter visibly relaxed at the update, glad to at least hear that his best friend wasn’t lying in a hospital bed somewhere, fighting for life. “You know, you’re lucky you’re the same type of super-freak like Rogers.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t he like,” Peter imitated a needle going into his arm and finished with a ‘fshhhhh’ as the imaginary needle plunger was suppressed.

“No, no, I mean he’s an entirely -” Tony stopped himself, dragging his hand across his face, not quite sure how to go on without trailing Cap in the mud. He didn’t particularly want to open that can of worms. Contrary to public opinion, he was trying to play nice. “Look, I’m tired, and that’s not what I meant,” he sighed. “I just mean you got very lucky, kid. Being strong and being able to heal like that is what saved your ass.”

“I’m pretty sure you saved my ass.” Peter’s breathing had slowed down, and he had sunk back into the mattress, eyes no longer looking like he was a deer stuck in the headlights. Tony mentally sighed with relief - crisis averted.

“First of all, I know, I was just being polite. Secondly hey, watch your language. I’m the adult, I get to use those words.” He raised a mocking eyebrow in response to Peter’s expression of light-hearted indignation. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not the one who makes the rules. I don’t want your aunt coming after me after you go home sounding like ‘The Dude’ Lebowski.”

They both entered an unspoken staring contest that was soon lost by both parties as Peter couldn’t refrain from sniggering after no more than five seconds, and Tony broke into a smile not long after. 

Peter’s expression turned serious once more. “Wait, how long have I been here? Does May know? Crap, I should text her, she probably thinks I’m dead, she’s going to freak.” 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y took care of that when you got here,” Tony looked down to check his watch, “nine hours ago.” 

A pregnant silence fell on the room. Peter’s eyes were cast down, staring studiously at the various scrapes and cuts along his arms; his souvenirs from Sterling Hill. Tony could see the gears turning in Peter’s head, and he wasn’t surprised in the least when Peter posed him a question.

“I know I can’t scar because of...y’know,” he swallowed, fingers clenching and unclenching the sheets as he refused to look at Tony. His voice was small when he asked, “But what do you do about the scars you can’t see?” 

Tony paused for a moment before responding. He’d known this question was coming for some time, yet he didn’t really have a response. “I still have nightmares about New York.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Point is, at the end of the day, I try not to let things I can’t control get to me. You did all you could, kid, don’t kick yourself for it.” 

Tony wanted to say more than his little anecdote but couldn’t quite find the words. Years of ‘tough love’ at the hands of his father didn’t exactly give him an ideal arsenal to deal with the sensitive nature of the topic, and the last thing he wanted to do was give Peter the same ‘Stark men are made of iron” ‘golden’ advice he got from Howard as a boy. He felt like an elephant in a porcelain shop, and he was afraid that one day Peter would break.

As Tony rummaged through the manila folders in his brain for the right thing to say, Peter yawned. “Thanks Mr Stark,” his body and mind still in recovery mode after the previous day’s events. 

“Get some rest, Spiderman. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He ruffled Peter’s hair and turned to leave, the kid already snoring quietly seconds after his head hit the pillow. 

Tony returned to his lab; he had some important unfinished business to take care of. Hours later, he had fallen asleep, head resting on his arms over his glass-top desk. The monitor above him glowed faintly in the darkness, thirteen separate tabs open ranging from ‘Supporting Your Teen’s Mental Health’, to the one that was currently displayed: ‘How to Be a Good Father’.

A/N:  Ah Tony, paranoid about wanting to be the perfect father figure to Peter and not wanting to repeat his own father's mistakes. Either way, the (alluded to) topic of this concluding piece is something I want to maybe dedicate a longer fic to. I didn't really feel as if I could give it the attention and in-depth discussion that I wanted to. Unfortunately, juggling university, life, and writing these daily as they come because of the nature of the challenge (and I'm super scared of falling behind with the prompts) means that a lot of these aren't as fleshed out as I'd like them to be, and I'd love to give some of these some more love once the challenge is over. ANYWAYS, long rant aside, hope you enjoyed the small concluding piece to 'The Mines', and thank you for your continued support :) xx

[enchanted-prose]

#10 Renegade Niece

i’m treating myself because I liked writing this and I wrote an impossibly long essay :,)

Word count: 5,294

Characters: Roden, Jaron, Ayvar (Original character), Jamie Todd (Original character), Merry (Original character), Nila

Notes: Edited and my goodness I just loved writing this. Also I forgot to put in lines for the last two submissions and I’m so sorry. There is one important vibe that I’m going to discuss; consider how it feels when your pet begins chewing something they’re no supposed to, and when you tell them to stop, they start chewing faster leaving you no choice but to run at them.

Sleep wasn’t something that Roden excelled at. He fell asleep whenever and wherever he did.

And it just so happened that this time, he’d fallen asleep with his head on his desk.

“Rise and shine!” Bellowed an all too familiar voice, successfully bringing a wave of sound into the once silent office.

Startled, Roden lurched backwards, his chair tipping dangerously backwards until it hit the floor, taking him with it. He shut his eyes. “Good morning Jaron.”

“There’s business to discuss, we can’t have you sleeping.”

“I know, Jaron, I know. Give me a moment, I already have a list of things I need to do.”

Although Jaron was standing at the opposite end of the room, Roden could sense his smug grin. Jaron cleared his throat. “I only wake you this early because I have to ask a favor.”

“And that is?” Roden asked, sincerely hoping it had nothing to do with waxing the hair off of his legs. Jaron had proposed that once, and every member of the king’s circle learned the importance of keeping Jaron occupied with trivial matters in addition to his political duties.

Late morning light glowed all around the room. Roden blinked several times as his head began to plant itself in the waking world. Jaron was dressed in his usual plain clothing, lucky him.

Roden wanted to scrub his teeth clean.

He hated it when he slept in his office.

“I, ah, told Mott to take it easy today because of the events from two nights ago. He has a few reports that need to be looked over and signed.”

“How many reports are there?”

It didn’t actually matter, Roden had every intention of doing them anyways

Jaron scoffed, “I don’t know the answer to that.”

“And when do they need to be finished?”

“Tonight, if possible.”

Roden groaned, and dragged himself to his feet, pulling a piece of paper from his forehead. “Alright, consider them done. But I won’t be able to spar today, Jaron, I have too many things to do.”

“It’s not a problem,” Jaron scratched the back of his head. He looked tired. “Feall is convinced that we have a vital playing piece in our custody, the girl who was captured the night he was attacked.”

The details from that night were still fresh in Roden’s mind.

He went over them as often as he could, always trying to find connections. The girl who’d been taken into custody, a member of the Faola, was somebody Roden had met before. She’d been in the Vaults one night when Roden was on patrol, and allegedly she was assisting another member of her gang in saving a trio of children from a horrific fate.

She’d told him her name: Ayvar.

Ayvar with scarlet hair who bent the rules to help other people.

It was hard to believe that somebody who would brave the Vaults would be driven to cut the head off of another human being.

There was something not quite right about the situation.

“I can see smoke coming out of your ears, are you thinking?”

“Shut up, Jaron.”

“Definitely thinking. Be careful, it’s dangerous.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Roden pinched the bridge of his nose for a split second. “Have you received any information about Queen Danika’s representatives?”

Hesitation visibly weighed on Jaron’s every move. He finally nodded. “They’ve been combing through nearby towns, and will be here tomorrow. I suspect that they will want to interview the girl who attacked Feall.”

“I told Amarinda she was allowed to visit Ayvar if she wanted, I think she’d have more progress than a group of investigators.”

“Good move, is it wrong to say I’m curious about the results?”

“So long as nobody is hurt in the process, I think it’s fine to want to know how it all ends,” Roden gestured to the door. “I’m going to check on her if you’d like to come with me.”

“Amarinda? I don’t think she’d like to be-”

“Ayvar, I meant. I’d be responsible if something happened to her.”

Jaron stepped out of Roden’s office, and combed his hand through his unruly hair. “You think she’s innocent?”

“I try to believe everyone isn’t as bad as everyone says until it can be proven true,” Roden shrugged. He rubbed his eyes.

The dungeons in the castle were odd, particularly because they provided a decent amount of space in each cell. Roden had seen all too many dungeons crafted out of caves and tunnels only big enough for a child. The scent of moldy food was a smell Roden would never come to appreciate. Jaron laughed at him when he stepped away from the mangy guard dog.

There was no telling what would happen if the mongrel bit him.

Roden tried not to think about how he’d die, but he certainly didn’t want his cause of death to be because of a nasty, dirty mutt.

Ayvar had been placed in the last cell. She’d braided her flaming hair around her head, likely to keep it out of the dirt. When Roden and Jaron approached, she sat straight up, her hands cradling her knees to her chest.

“Everything been alright?” Roden asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I suppose,” Ayvar frowned. “I’d rather not be here.”

“I’d rather that you didn’t attack my friends.” Jaron’s biting tone caused her to flinch.

“You don’t really think I was stupid enough to do that, right?”

“I’ve seen plenty of people doing stupid things.”

Roden nodded in agreement. Just the other day, he’d watched Merry shove herself into a barrel and roll off of a bridge into the Roving River. He’d also seen Jaron almost get away with sledding down the grand staircase in the throne room. However, Mott had been there to save the day.

But that unfortunately didn’t stop Jaron from trying to do it again.

Ayvar scowled, “It. Wasn’t. Me.”

“But you were there,” Roden pointed out.

“I was there because I didn’t think the plan would go through!”

“So you knew there was a plan. Who thought of it, if it wasn’t you?”

“I-,” Ayvar jumped to her feet, fire blazing in her eyes. “It’s probably a false name. Goes by all sorts of nicknames, we started calling her Patches. But the arbitrator is a woman, like me.”

“I hate false names,” Jaron mused.

“Ironic,” Roden noted.

"You have to believe me when I say that I wasn't responsible," Ayvar's voice was rising. "I don't care what anyone else says, it wasn't my fault!"

Her voice echoed through the dungeon, and received a bark of disapproval from the guard hound.

Jaron inhaled, "If what you say is true, then we'll release you, I can promise you that."

"It is true and I'll prove it. If Harlowe won't listen to me, then I'll go to Feall. He and I fought our patched enemy together."

"I do recall you saying your patched enemy was actually your friend, at one point," Roden noted. He was still getting used to having a surname to claim.

"That's not true anymore, otherwise I  wouldn't have been left in here."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't want your pity."

"Then you won't get our company either," Jaron shot back as he walked away from Ayvar's cell.

Roden stared at Ayvar, but left before she could throw any words at him. She went back to sitting in the corner, and said nothing as footsteps rang through the quiet dungeon.

A courtier was waiting for them halfway down the steps, and promptly dragged Jaron away to attend a meeting with King Oberson. Roden seized his chance to return to his chambers and scrub his teeth and face.

He'd almost managed to shave when he heard the clatter of stones from the courtyard.

Through his window, Roden could see a group of pock marked boys, their sizes varying, but their intentions the same: Torment Ayvar by throwing insults and rocks into her cell.

Abandoning the razor, Roden left his chambers, tugged a doublet over his head, and prepared himself for shooing away a gaggle of bored brats.

Too much had happened during the past few weeks. The stone-throwing boys were added to Roden's long long list of things that annoyed him.

One of the boys stood out from the rest, Jamie Todd. He'd thrown the first stone. Roden recognized him. Jamie was among the boys who were desperately hoping to somehow gain a knighthood. Hoping to mean something more.

That wouldn't happen so long as he was throwing stones at a girl in a cell.

Was having a little bit of peace in the courtyard too much to ask?

A loud whoop erupted from the boys, one of the stones had probably found its mark. Jamie waved his arms above his head as he did an odd victory dance. They'd been clever enough to draft up a little song:

When Daftie Ayvie passed away,

Whadya think they done?

Chopped her up a fishin’ bait:

Copper for a ton!

Devils have the guards on patrol who let the stones be-

A newcomer had joined the group. A girl. A head shorter than half of the boys. Much shorter than Jamie Todd, who was almost the size of Mott.

Mangled hair, holes in her chemise's shoulders. Merry had come to pick a bone.

"Fe-fi-fo fum!" Merry jabbed her finger at Jamie. "I smell the stink of a big boy's bum!"

"Hey!" Jamie cried, all of his attention glued to Merry.

Roden should have seen it coming.

Merry jabbed her elbow into Jamie's stomach, and down, down, down he went. The other boys scrambled away as Merry grabbed Jamie by the ears.

"She's going to tear them clean off!"

"Get some help!"

"My ears! Don't! You'll rip them-!

"Can't help it! Your ears are wonderfully handy!" Merry taunted. "They're like mug handles!"

Roden dashed across the courtyard as Merry slammed Jamie's head into the ground, resulting in his howls echoing across the courtyard. She triumphantly demanded an apology for throwing stones at Ayvar, but none came.

"Somebody help me!" Jamie bellowed, moments before Merry cracked her head against his.

"See the lovely stars, Jamie!"

"She's kilt me!"

"You're going to wish you'd been kilt you mangy, slimy, son of a-!"

In Merry's hubris, she'd forgotten about pinning down Jamie's hands. He swung his fist into the side of her head. Although she wobbled, she didn't topple over.

"I see a bit of brains dribbling-!" Smack! "-out of your ear!"

"Get off of me! Help! She's kilt me!"

"Pity your mother didn't cook you longer," Merry snipped, prepping to bash Jamie's head into the cobblestones again.

Roden finally managed to wedge his arms between Merry and Jamie, while Lieutenant Alistair picked up Merry by the waist, and dragged her off of Jamie. Roden nodded his thanks as Merry cursed and kicked and Jaimie wept as he covered his ears. He was convinced that his brain was bleeding out from his nose.

"I'll take care of the kids," Roden noted, motioning to the large fountain in the middle of the courtyard.

"Yes sir!" Alistair boomed as he somehow managed to keep Merry from escaping to beat the other boys as well.

"Stand up," said Roden as he let go of Jaimie. He then instructed him to follow his finger as he moved it back and forth in front of Jamie's eyes.

He wasn't sure how rattled Jamie's  brains were.

"I'm kilt," he wailed. "I'm a member of the undead. I’ll never be a knight now!"

"Not quite, but I hope you've learned something."

"I learned that I hate girls!"

"You'll have a lonely life then, I suppose. Don't throw stones at people worse off than you Jamie, it's not what a knight would do."

Jamie wiped his nose, which had finally stopped bleeding. "I'm- I'm sorry we were- we were just bored."

"Don't apologize to me. You have my permission to be inspected by the castle physician. I'll have my lieutenant escort you."

If he hadn't just been smacked around, Roden was certain Jamie would've fallen to his knees with gratitude. Speaking to the captain of the guard and being around Sir Alistair Derforgall in one day? It was any aspiring soldier's dream.

Roden had been in those shoes once. Idolizing Carthya's heroes.

But you couldn't be a hero and throw stones at prisoners in cells.

Alistair had seated Merry on the edge of the fountain. She crossed her arms. “I’m too angry to give a genuine apology right now, but I do feel bad, so I’m sorry. Give me a few hours before I have to say it to Jamie. I don’t like giving empty apologies.”

“Weren’t you just telling me about being safe while throwing a punch?” Roden asked.

“That’s because I’d- gah, don’t remind me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the Dragon’s Keep?”

“Ayvar is my friend, I came to check on her,” Merry shrugged. “Dawn gave me twenty minutes, but I’ve used up that time in, ah, not very smart ways. Did you forget to shave?”

Roden held completely still as Merry trailed both of her fingers across his stubbled face. “I was in a hurry.”

“I kind of like it.”

“Really?”

“I mean, I just like you, shaved or unshaved.”

“You’re a grisly sight. Best mop you up before you return,” he grinned. Roden then pointed to his left eyebrow, where a long, thin scar started just above his eyebrow and dipped down to the top of his cheekbone. “I’ve had a few head wounds myself.”

A smile tugged at Merry’s mouth, and she visibly tried to fight it with a frown. “I suppose we’ll match.”

“We’ll have to see.”

“There’s no point to life if I don’t have a scar that makes people wonder if I’m secretly a pirate.”

“Are you secretly a pirate?” Roden pulled a spare handkerchief from his doublet pocket, “I suppose it’s my turn to clean you up, would you prefer your own spit or fountain water?”

“I’d prefer your spit, actually.”

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t say that.”

“Because it makes you uncomfortable?”

“Quite the contrary, I think there’s a better way to exchange spit than-,” Roden cleared his throat. “I take that back. It does make me uncomfortable.”

It seemed that Merry was uncomfortable too. Her face had gone redder than the blood dripping from the cut on her forehead. “I’ll take water. It’s, ah, really warm.”

She was right, the summer morning sun was beating down on the two of them. Roden cupped the unbloodied side of her face as gingerly as he could. He wet the cloth, knelt on the ground in front of her, and forced himself not to grin as he began wiping the blood off of her forehead.

The frown faltered.

“So,” Merry said.

It wasn’t exactly a question, it was more of an invitation. There was no obligation for Roden to say anything if he wanted to. He was allowed to speak about anything that he chose to do. He could talk about the situation with Ayvar. He could talk about how his niece, Nila, wanted to have a picnic for her tenth birthday and that he didn’t know what to get her. He could talk about how he’d begun to see his childhood friend’s death in his dreams.

How he feared that there was something hiding in plain sight.

Something awful.

She was giving him a choice.

And that made him want to tell her everything.

“I have extra reports I need to file tonight,” Roden said as he wet a new portion of his handkerchief. “But I’ve spent too much time in my office. Makes me lonely.”

“Don’t your friends pay attention to you?” Merry arched her unbloodied eyebrow.

He shrugged, “From time to time. They don’t tell me colorful stories about fish hitting my face.”

That made her smile.

“By the way, I never thanked you for the coin you gave me. Where’s it from? I don’t recognize the design.”

“It’s from my home, but it’s not accepted here. Figured I’d give you a trinket. Have you considered getting a pet mountain cat to keep you company?”

“Unfortunately, the royal mountain cat keeper is fresh out of them.”

Merry’s eyes drifted shut, and Roden did his best not to think of the way her body relaxed as he continued supporting her. “Why not come to the Dragon’s Keep? It’s the slowest day of the week, I can help you. I can even promise extra lemon cream tarts.”

“Would I have to share?”

“With me, of course.”

“Promises you’ll make sure it’s a fair share?”

Merry pressed a bruised hand to her heart, “I never lie, Captain Harlowe.”

He hoped she didn’t see his ears beginning to burn. Roden managed to clear away the drying blood on Merry’s face, and ordered the nearest page to get strips of gauze. “I, ah, I’m going to make sure the wound doesn’t bleed through. Is that alright?”

“I only ask that you make me look as much like a plague victim as possible,” Merry was fiddling with her hands.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

To his surprise, when Roden drew away from Merry’s face, she pressed his hand back into place. “No wait, I’m hoping I can siphon away your extreme battle abilities.”

“Not quite sure how true that is.”

“I told you before, I don’t lie.”

“Not quite sure how true that is either.”

Once again, her face flushed bright red. Merry shoved his hand away, “Thanks, ah, uh, thanks for helping me.”

“It’s only fair.” Roden scratched the back of his neck.The page returned with a small roll of gauze. Roden began setting strips of it on the horizontal gash on Merry’s forehead. “You should probably come up with a story about why you look like a plague victim.”

“I’m thinking that I had three eyes at one point, but I tragically lost my third eye while hunting for a golden potato.”

“Not quite what I was expecting, but I’ll take it. Is there more to it?”

“Do you like hearing me talk, Captain?”

“I’ve told you it’s alright to call me by my name,” Roden said, deftly avoiding her question.

She patted the side of his face, “Captain, my friend, at one point I had a third eye, and it helped me see into the ground. I could find all sorts of buried treasure, making me the most valued person in the Eranbole sea. . .”

Words of third eyes and buried treasure fell short on Roden’s ears. As Merry continued weaving her grand story about pirates and sea monsters, his gaze fell on a curious mark on her bare shoulder.

A jagged scar.

As he finished setting the last piece of gauze on Merry’s cut, he found himself brushing his thumb over the scar, wondering where it came from.

Scars carried stories, whether good or bad.

What had Merry done to get a scar on her shoulder? There were others near it, many of them were hiding underneath her printed chemise. Marks of the past. All pale and pink against her skin.

Merry went completely silent, and Roden flinched once he realized what he’d done.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

Devils have him. Roden looked right at Merry’s crimson face, stared right at those mausoleum grey eyes.

Don’t be the first to look away, don’t be the first to look away-

Suddenly the cobblestones became very interesting.

“I, ah, I’m-,” she stuttered, both of her hands going to tug on her earlobes.

Roden all but jumped to his feet, “I have to go now.”

“I don’t think so, I’m not quite finished with our conversation.”

Roden rubbed the back of his neck, desperate to be away from his mistake.

But he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

“Treat me like a princess, Roden, please,” Merry said, bouncing back from the awkward moment. She held out her hand, palm down, expectant.

A series of scars were visible on her third and fourth fingers, just below the nails. Roden forced himself not to look too long, and took Merry by the hand, “My apologies, lady.”

In a grand motion, Merry waved her hand across the open air, “No apologies are needed sir knight. You’ll find I am quite spotted all over, and not from freckles.”

“I’m really sorry if-,” He began, but Merry was one step ahead of him.

“No, no, don’t be sorry, it’s really alright. I got that scar as a child. My favorite method of travel was jumping rock to rock, and I missed my target once.”

“I’m sure all toads everywhere envied your skill.”

“Oh they did, trust me, they did. I’d ah, I’d tell you more . . But you’ll have to forgive me for leaving so soon, Dawn’s going to have my head if I’m late.”

He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t like watching her leave. 

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

Nila sat on his desk, swinging her legs. Her long golden hair had been pinned on her head, and yet despite the obvious effort that had been put into it, several strands had managed to escape. Dirt stains pooled at her elbows.

She was doing a wondrous job holding a stack of papers for Roden.

“I found a cool feather today, but I dropped it in the river,” Nila mused, a slight frown appearing on her rosy face. “It had stripes.”

“A striped feather, you say?” Roden made a face.

“Black and white, I thought it would look cool as a mast for a stick ship, but I got so excited about it, I dropped it.”

“Then I’ll have to help you find another one.”

Nila tapped her boot heel against the desk, “I’m free on every second day of the week, but only in the afternoons. I can fit you into my schedule.”

“You have a schedule now, do you?” He caught himself chuckling. “I would gladly take any available time that I can.”

Everywhere, there were reports hiding. Roden managed to gather all of Mott’s reports, but unfortunately, had managed to lose track of half of his own. He pawed through every drawer he could, every shelf and cabinet.

If it weren’t for Nila keeping track of what had been found and what hadn’t, he would’ve wasted much more time.

How could he let himself get so disorganized?

Roden ran his hands through his hair, “I think that’s all we’re going to find.”

“I can take a turn looking,” Nila offered. She grinned, a pair of dimples making their appearance. “You’ve obviously got something else on your mind.”

“I don’t- I, ah, everything’s under control.”

Although everything didn’t really feel like it was under control. Roden once again ran his hands through his hair, thinking of anything he might’ve missed. Several hours had passed since he’d last seen Merry. It wouldn’t be long before sunset.

“Are you meeting somebody?” Asked Nila, her boot beating out a new rhythm. “Are you going on patrol again?”

“No, no,” Roden said, walking from his desk to the door. “I mean, yes, I’m going to be with a friend of mine. No patrolling for me though, that’s tomorrow night.”

“That’s interesting. Much more interesting than my evening, anyway.”

“I thought you had a busy schedule, sounds pretty exciting to me.”

“Being busy doesn’t mean I’m having fun. Where are you going?”

“Sounds like you’re planning on trying to come with me. . .”

Nila frowned as deeply as she could. “I’m just asking!”

As he paced back and forth, Roden smiled. He was walking to the beat of Nila’s boot hitting the desk. That drew a grin out of her once he mentioned it to her.

He loved being with Nila. She was charming and bursting with life, and made his day a little bit brighter. In time, he saw her as more of a little sister than a niece.

There were many things Roden would always regret.

Things like never knowing his dead brother; Nila’s father.

Too many opportunities had been lost, and Roden was determined not to lose any more precious moments. He’d been cheated out of years and years of memories.

It was time to make new ones.

But he wasn’t sure if taking a ten year old girl to a tavern was one of them.

“Please, please, please, please, please take me with you,” Nila begged. “I don’t want to have to take tea with Lady Orlaine’s whatever they are.”

“Lady Orlaine’s wards?” Roden offered.

“Yes! Them! They’re mean to me, dreadfully boring too. I call them the Greys. Because they make everything grey around them, get it?”

Roden took the numerous papers from Nila and shoved them into a satchel. He’d have to depend on Merry for ink, he didn’t trust himself not to spill any as he walked across Drylliad.

He wouldn’t be able to know if the Dragon’s Keep was truly empty until he got there, and he’d rather not risk taking Nila to a place not quite appropriate for a child.

She took the rejection well, however, Roden wished he’d been able to bring her with him.

The regret was even worse the moment Roden stepped into the Dragon's Keep, only to find that it was as empty as Merry claimed it was.

Aside from the old man strumming a lute in the corner, the only sound was a ghost of a conversation from the back.

Dawn was behind the counter, her grey streaked hair piled into a bun on top of her head.

Another barmaid was sitting in the corner beside a young man. No sign of Merry.

"Captain! It's nice to see you!" Dawn called, waving her cloth in greeting.

"It's nice to be here," Roden countered with a smile.

She turned around, and retrieved a large tankard, "Are you looking for a drink?"

"Oh! No, no, I'm looking for a person, actually. It's Merry, actually, she wanted to talk."

"I'm sure she did, I'm sure she did. Merry! It's rude to keep a guest waiting!"

The conversation grew louder, louder, louder, until finally, Merry came strutting out. She’d changed her chemise, this one was green and hid her scarred shoulder. A patterned scarf rested neatly over her hair and behind her ears.

She pointed at the mass of gauze on her head, “Still in one piece!”

“I’m not surprised, you can hold your own,” Roden grinned. Now comfortable, he set his paper filled satchel on the wooden countertop, and perched on a tall stool.

“You should see her fight a door, it’s quite frightening,” teased Dawn.

“They are the bane of my existence.” Merry stared hard at the front door, and shook her fist at it before bursting into a series of snickers.

“A truly noble quest.”

Merry snatched a used tankard, and began scrubbing at the insides. Her smile faltered, “How’s Jamie Todd?”

“He’s alright, just a little concerned that he was caught throwing stones at a person.”

“Good, that’s good. You sure he’s fine?”

“Saw him myself a few hours ago,” Roden said. He retrieved a few reports, and set them on the counter. “Do you have-?”

“Ink? Right here,” Merry reached below the counter. “And we have a variety of writing tools to choose from too.”

“Don’t use the quill!” Dawn ordered from the other end of the bar. The door opened and closed. “Take care of that guest!”

The glass Merry had been scrubbing at clinked against the counter. Her brows screwed together, “I’ll take care of it.”

“What are you-,” Roden began, but Merry snapped her fingers near his face. He brushed her hands away, “I know, I know, I need to get my work done.”

“I’ll check back in on you in a moment, have that other guest to see,” Merry leaned over the bar, and smoothed her hand over Roden’s head.

He glared at the first report waiting to be finished. Check the details. Signature here, signature there. Next report. Check the details. Signature here, signature there, and so on and so forth. He caught a few snippets from Merry’s conversation with the new guest.

Something about lemon cream tarts.

Saints, he really wanted one of-

No! He had to do a report first!

Report first, tart later!

Merry set a hand on his shoulder, “Your handwriting.”

“I know, I know, it’s messy,” Roden shrugged.

“I was going to say that I like it, sir knight.”

Oh.

She disappeared behind the bar, reappearing moments later with a lemon cream tart in each hand. Roden received his first, much to his delight, and technically, he did manage to finish two reports.

He deserved a tart.

“-I completely understand! Court life is horrifically boring,” Merry said, her voice barely audible above the lute strings.

“I’m glad somebody gets it!” Chirped the guest, their voice oddly familiar.

But not familiar enough to draw his attention away from his blasted reports.

The lemon cream tart made it easier to bear.

Snippets of the conversation still drifted into Roden’s atmosphere. Merry laughed, “And is there anything else I can get you?”

“No thank you, but I do appreciate that you asked me,” came the reply.

And then Merry’s hand was back on his shoulder, asking him if there was anything she could do to help. Unless she was good at forgery, there wasn’t much she could do.

Roden scribbled through report after report, firmly aware that Merry was watching his every move.

He managed to finish the tart just as he finished his first pile of reports.

“And onto the next one,” Roden mumbled.

“Ah, ah, ah, take a tiny break, Captain,” Merry chided. She set her hands on Roden’s, “One stack is worth a victory celebration.”

“Do I get another tart?”

“Possibly, unless you’d prefer a pie.”

Pies were good, when baked properly.

Merry’s hands were cool on his palms.

Cool on his battle torn hands.

They fit too well in his own. A little too nicely. It was impossible to timidly turn his palms up, impossible not to hold Merry’s rough fingers.

He supposed he preferred that to a tart.

And a pie.

“Why are you holding hands with him?” Asked the other guest from right behind Roden.

He jumped, his eyes flying to the voice’s owner.

Only to find Nila with a little bit of lemon cream still on her top lip.

“Oh, uh, because-,” Merry stuttered, however, Roden had a better prepared retort.

“What are you doing here?”

Nila shrugged, “I was bored, so I followed you.”

“And you saw her come in, but didn’t tell me?” Roden asked, turning his attention to Merry.

She made a face, and clasped her hands behind her back. “I only did what I was told.”

“I wanted to surprise you, mostly so I could prove that it’s perfectly acceptable for me to go with you to things,” Nila pointed out. She clambered onto the stool beside Roden. “And I’m very helpful. I can read through your reports. All you’d have to do is sign.”

“Doesn’t mean you’d understand what’s going on,” noted Roden.

“That’s not important, all that matters is that everything is spelled correctly.”

Merry nodded, “She does have a point.”

A smile spread across his face, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t be rid of it, but he did manage to contain it to a slight smirk.

He handed a stack of papers to Nila.

Every so often, Roden glanced up to make sure Merry was still near, and watched as she cleaned tankard after tankard.

She beamed at him each time she caught him looking.

And all he could think about was the way her cool hands felt when they rested on his own.

[inkofamethyst]

April 8, 2021

Ayyyy got denied from the first internship I applied to!  To be fair, my primary reason for my attraction to it was its location, not even the projects, and they’re online anyway, so I ain’t all that bothered~

Also I was perusing the syllabus of my chem lab last night (while procrastinating) and found out that you’re only docked 10% if you turn in a lab report up to a day late.  Honestly, wish I’d known that back when I turned in that lab report half-finished all those weeks ago (also I could’ve asked for an extension), but hey, you live and you learn.  Also,,,, I probably needed something like that to humble me anyway.

Wanna know something that makes me kinda frustrated?  No, very frustrated?

The fact that my professor for my organismal biology class never posts videos on time.  Like, she’s teaching, what 150 students over the two sections of her course and is consistently a day or two behind on lecture videos.  Now!  I understand that she fell ill early in the semester, and like, that happens!  And she’s super nice and her explanations are generally pretty clear and stuff it’s just that, like, it throws me off my groove dude.

We had our exam 2 today and like,,,,,, ugh.  Like the only reason it wasn’t too bad was because I have a half-decent system for searching through my notes for answers (Notability + powerpoints + decent note-taking) and it’s not cheating because everything is ~open note~, but there were four powerpoints that were posted without video lectures, and one of them was posted the first day that people started taking the exam like ?????  Y’all.  If I was a conspiracy theorist, I’d say that the professor realized that she’d made it in her syllabus that students could take the first two exams and skip out on the next two if they wanted, so she decided to make getting a decent grade on the second exam really difficult so that students have to pay attention for the rest of the semester and at least take the third exam.  But I’m not a conspiracy theorist (though I do think I could think myself into circles like one if I wanted), so I think she probably just got behind after she got sick (and for some reason didn’t use spring break to catch up?  idk).

All that may be frustrating, but she did post a lecture for today, so I’ll probably get started on that... tomorrow.  I’ve watched hours worth of lecture within the past 18 hours for that class (all at 2x speed, mind you, but it actually worked out pretty well because the professor speaks clearly (and slowly) enough that it was effective), so Imma need a bit of a break.

Also,,,, I went to a webinar on getting a job in archaeology today and like,, I know I haven’t done it yet, but I’m not sure if it’s for me.  I might’ve just romanticized it, I think.  Now, my plan is more related to bioanthropology than material culture, but I did want to try archaeology just to see if it clicks, you know?  Maybe it will, maybe it won’t, but the profession itself feels... unnecessarily difficult to break into.  Like, sure, to some extent it could be cool to hop around the US, project to project, but I don’t know if that’s a way I’d want to live, especially since the job security as a contractor is literally nonexistent.

KDFJKDJFKDJ SO THE WEBINAR IS WRAPPING UP RIGht and it’s four white ladies and one white guy and one of the ladies was saying like, “you should definitely try to network with people of diverse project interests but also diverse racial backgrounds” and all three of the other women nodded really vigorously and the guy just sat there stonefaced fjgkdjgkdfglkdf I just gotta say, as much as I love white woman activism (and I’m not knocking what she said by the way, it was actually really nice and there was totally no reason for her to say something like that so whether or not it was productive, I say that it’s the thought that counts right here), white men being uncomfortable and unsure in the midst of white woman activism is even better.

[forgot to post this last night whoops!]

[beautifulletdownfics]

Twenty Good Reasons :: Part One

Hello!  Welcome to the ‘Someday, Someday’ sequel! I hope you’ll enjoy your time here!  Before you start, make sure you check out the Harry & Nina Chronology page to catch up on a few of the drabbles and novellas that slot in the gap between ‘Someday, Someday’ and ‘Twenty Good Reasons’. As always, please don’t be strangers, posting into the void is a terrifying thing! Love K x

+++

I wrote a symphony.

I had written a symphony and tonight I was conducting the London Symphony Orchestra in what would be my professional debut as a composer and conductor. London’s Royal Albert Hall was sold out, a fact I sincerely wished the Director of Music kept to himself. I tried not to think about the magnitude of the opportunity I had tonight to disappoint, to not live up to what was expected of me.

The conductor’s suite was cold and quiet around me, and with no instrument to tune to keep my hands busy, I was flipping through a five-year-old edition of Hello Magazine. My eyes stared at the clock on the wall, not taking in any of the dated royal gossip or reality star news, it was an odd juxtaposition really—London’s premier music venue housing a copy of the gossip rag from the pits of hell.

Months of tension and trying to sleep through the noise of dozens of melodies simultaneously rolling through my thoughts at once had finally dissipated into an unsettling silence. The notes weren’t fluid anymore, they were set, and a seventy piece orchestra knew the movements backwards and forwards.

It was anti-climatic in the sense that the worry and stress didn’t end, they just became centred in a different place. Instead of biting my nails over crescendos and harmonies, I was in the middle of an even more terrifying process of considering how it all might sound to the thousands of people above me, being ushered to their seats.

I picked at the sequinned hem of my dress and wondered what the heck I was supposed to do tomorrow.

Tomorrow—when I wasn’t writing and rewriting the movements anymore—when what felt like my life’s work was out there, and I couldn’t hide it way anymore. Did I just wake up as usual, walk to the cafe down the street and order a latte? Sit at a window seat, and one by one delete all the notes and voice memos on my phone from the last twelve months of writing? Did I immediately start work on a follow-up? Would anybody want a follow up from me?

I suddenly wished more than anything that I was in the green room with my peers warming up my horn for any typical performance. Knowing I was going to walk out on stage after they did made my stomach hollow out.

My phone started vibrating from its spot on the vanity in the corner, and when I got to it, I stood over it for a little while, looking at Harry’s name flash up on the screen with a call. After three years my instinct was to reach out to Harry whenever I felt like this; like I wasn’t in control of how time was moving, and I wasn’t sure how to reach back into my life and be present. My fingers itched to answer his call, to hear his voice and be comforted by whatever lovely and motivating things he would say.

But I couldn’t. I’d fall apart if I heard Harry's voice tonight because he wasn’t here. He wasn’t here, and that something I was completely unprepared for.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault, not really.

If anything the fact Harry couldn’t be here was because of me. Harry planned his Asian touring dates around when my debut was supposed to take place, a few weeks from now. A month ago I played tonight’s suites in full to the orchestra board and directors, and they decided they wanted to move everything forward, opening the season with my debut instead of having it in the middle of the season.

It was a promotion for my work, and it was a huge show of faith and support from my community. But it meant Harry had shows with tickets already sold and there was no good way of telling fans in four cities they were going to be refunded or offered tickets for alternate dates. Particularly when Harry’s picture was sure to show up in London somewhere, and it would be plainly obvious he cancelled shows to see his girlfriend.

A text flashed up on my phone.

Harry: I love you. You’re going to be fantastic. Remember to breathe. x

It was sweet of him to text, he would know more than anyone how I was feeling. I didn’t have it in me to do the time conversion to where he was at the moment. He was right in the middle of the Asian leg. I tried my best to swallow my sadness down—I knew Harry wasn’t choosing to miss this.

After finding out tonight’s performance was going to be so much earlier than I had expected the time flew by quickly as I went through all the rigours of finalising the score and then rehearsing it with the orchestra. It had been four weeks of early mornings and late nights, fielding questions from players and getting it up to performance standard. Harry was a saint for dealing will all my teary FaceTime calls and the almost daily texts about giving up.

I tried not to overthink how wrong it felt knowing Harry wouldn’t be there afterwards to celebrate with my family and friends. All the late nights I spent with Harry pouring over my compositions trying to find the notes that were out of place and to then not have him sitting in the audience the first time it was played—and my first time conducting a professional orchestra … It felt like I was being robbed of something.

He was the perfect helper over the twelve months the symphony took to write. Some parts happened quickly, and others were hard-won, with dozens of edits and reprises. Harry was the best second set of ears I could have asked for. He learned over the years how music was put together, and when I was pathetic and frustrated in the middle of the night, he spoke my language in calm, loving perfection.

I had my dad to be my critical, technical sounding board, and my boyfriend to be the ever encouraging, soft set of hands I needed when it all felt hopeless. Harry knew when to push me to keep going, and when to pull me from the room and distract my mind with something else.

I missed him.

Harry and I hadn’t spent more than 72 hours together in four months. There were a handful of weekend visits—most notably my twenty-fourth birthday we spent in Copenhagen—and three days quite recently spending Christmas with our families ... But beyond that, Harry and I were doing long distance, the end in sight but too far away to be a real comfort yet.

In some ways, the four months apart seemed to had passed exceptionally quickly, but in others—mainly the ones that seemed to carry the most weight—it was as if time had slowed to twice it’s speed and filling the extra space was all the time I spent missing him.

I spent half my days hating technology—hating talking through a phone with typed or faceless words, and hating early mornings on Skype where a 2D depiction of Harry could only soothe so far—and the rest of the days clutching my phone like a lifeline, praising the 21st century for its ability to connect to people on opposite sides of the planet.

We made it work, which was a line I’d stolen from Harry in interviews over the years. But it was true, nonetheless. Sometimes it felt overly simplistic, but there was a simple truth to it that I liked.

Today though, I had vowed to be happy even in his absence.

“Ten-minute call,” My eyes snapped to the PA system in the corner, and I let out a long stream of breath.

It was time.

+++

I held my baton tightly in front of me, shaking from the adrenalin.

I deliberately avoided looking to where I knew my family and friends were sitting when the house lights were turned on.

The applause was almost deafening and completely overwhelming. I held up my arm to the orchestra, diverting the praise of the audience to the players behind me. They had done spectacularly, and once my heart was done exploding from my chest, and I came down off all my nerves, I would be able to adequately comprehend it all.

The applause started quietening down as the Director of Music, Ian, walked out to join me on stage, a handheld microphone in his hand. He kissed my cheek and gave me a warm hug, calling for another round of applause for me that I awkwardly stood through. I recalled our conversation eighteen months ago, where he encouraged me to do this, to challenge myself.

There was a loud whoop from behind me, and I laughed when the horns section was on their feet cheering me from their positions. They were my closest allies in the orchestra and they’d more than earned their stripes tonight. I gave them a little bow and turned back to the front.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our very own Maestro Nina Lawrence,” Ian said into the microphone, smiling through the distinguished term that I definitely hadn't earned yet, “I am sure this is only the beginning of what we will see from you,” He smiled at me.

There were a few more moments on stage before he led me off, the orchestra following close behind me. I sat on the first seat I found in the wings, tilting my feet back onto my heels and dragging my hands through my hair.

“Ni-na!” My name was called out as the players spilled into the green room, a body pressed up next to me, and someone grabbed my arm, “You’re fucking brilliant!”

I smiled up at one of the trumpet players, “Thank you. I feel like I’m about to combust.”

Somebody shouted for a toast, and I watched, completely surprised, by the arrival of trays of flutes of champagne. By the time all the officials and board members had given their own motivational, encouraging addresses, congratulating me and everyone for all their hard work, nearly all my family had snuck in. Friends too were now making faces at me from across the room where they all stood near the door.

When everyone broke apart, I made a beeline for them, asking one of the venue wait staff to follow me with a  tray of drinks. My shoulders hurt by the time I was finished getting hugs from everyone, some tearier than others, my dad the teariest of all. My cousins and my childhood best friends mingling with friends from the orchestra and my life with Harry in a way that overwhelmed me with a sense of belonging to a powerful group of people. Finally, I tucked myself under Rodger’s arm for a touch of respite from the limelight, my back almost touching the wall behind us as he chatted to Laykn and Max.

“None of those sad eyes today, alright?” Rodger turned his head down to the side of my face and spoke under his breath.

“Shhh,” I squeezed his fingers near my shoulder as I took a deep breath and tried to swallow against the tight feeling pressing against my throat, “I’m not sad.”

“Nina,” He chuckled, “You’re inches off looking like you’re attending a funeral.”

“That’s not true!” I argued feebly, chancing a look at him and giving him wide eyes like that might convince him. As Rodger didn’t know me better than almost anybody else.

“It is,” Rodger bit back, smiling at my mother who turned around when my old flatmate failed to whisper quietly enough, she gave us a concerned look but went back to chatting to a friend of our father’s, “And Harry would be so upset if he knew he was ruining this for you,” Rodger’s voice was softer now, “I know this is worse for him. Everyone you love is celebrating with you today, and he’s literally one of the furthest places on earth from you that he could possibly be.”

“It’s not his fault,” I said quietly, looking at my nails and picking at a loose bit of skin I’d been biting all week.

“No, it’s not,” Rodger agreed, resting his head on the crown of my head slowly in warm affection, “But he’s watched you work so hard for this for years, Nina … I know he’d be distraught if he thought you were going to be sad all day because he can’t be here.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “You know it, do you?”

Rodger halted for half a second and then I felt him shrug against me, “He might’ve sent me one of his perfectly punctuated text messages last night instructing me to kick you up the arse if you started looking weepy.”

Something pinched at my heart at Harry’s pro-active concern, “I can’t believe he’d describe me as ‘weepy’,” I huffed, knowing that was precisely the word my boyfriend would use.

“This isn’t about him, this is your night.”

The thing was that my friend was so right about what Harry’s reaction would be to my outwardly missing him today. Harry had lectured me numerous times this week.

When my family and friends followed me back to the conductor’s suite for one more champagne before the celebratory dinner my parents had insisted on organising, I was unable to not still feel disconnected somehow. There was relief though, and an astronomical sense of achievement and satisfaction, and for the first time all day, I felt caught up in the happiness of it all.

The room felt far bigger when I was in here alone before the performance, it was much nicer crammed with my loved ones, all lightly teasing and bullying me. It was loving, and I could read the pride on their faces. I got extra hugs from both my parents and from aunt Anne and my uncle Ted. The cousins and my brother were out in full force—Martin refused to stop filming me and asking mock, documentary-style questions, Josh and Ben didn’t stop trying to make me re-enact walking across the stage. And Oliver was doing impressions of me, waving my baton around and tugging on the lapels of the new suit he got for his tenth birthday.

My dad was holding his phone up taking photos the whole time, managing to wrangle us all together into the groups he wanted. I felt like I’d had an individual photo with everyone a hundred times over.

“It’s the middle of the night in Tokyo,” Laykn draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side, letting me take a sip of his warm champagne. He knew me well enough to know I had checked my phone a few too many times.

I just wanted to hear from Harry.

“I know,” I sighed, “Sorry.”

“Nah,” My younger brother dismissed, “It’s alright. You miss him, that’s okay. Maybe it means you’ll be nice and let me eat your fries at dinner.”

“Ha, fat chance,” I told him. “And I’m not sure this is a fries kind of place.”

Laykn looked at me playfully down his nose, his fingers darting about pocking his tie back through the gaps in his shirt,  “It’s a rich people’s place, Nina. They’ll make you whatever you want as long as the booking name is under Harry Styles.”

I punched Laykn in the arm, and he laughed loudly, “You’re a jerk. Mum and dad organised dinner.”

“I think Harry pulled some strings,” Laykn teased, “And don’t kid yourself, I’m your favourite jerk,” He amended quickly.

“Yeah, whatever,” I agreed, “I’m going to go find the bathroom,” I whispered right into his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of the room.

I waited until I was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet with the lid down before I unlocked my phone again. I checked any of the places communication from Harry might’ve come from, but then when all my email and messaging apps were coming up blank, I had to fight off the disappointment without tearing up.

I knew that it was still essentially nighttime in Japan where he was, but that didn't stop my heart breaking a little at the fact I’d just lived out one of the biggest days in my life while Harry slept. It had been a big day for me, and although I handled days like this a lot better than I might’ve when we were first dating, knowing that Harry was at least awake at the same time was more comforting than I’d care to admit.

After taking a few moments to actually use the facilities, I gave myself one final pep talk in the vast, softly lit mirror before readjusting my dress and mentally preparing myself for what I knew would be a boisterous dinner.

I walked out of the restrooms, flipping my phone over in my hands and concentrating on taking a few deep, filling breaths. The bare concrete walls of the backstage tunnels were marked up with dozens of scrapes and a patchwork of different staging tape. It was chilly too, and I told myself to put my coat on when I got back to everyone, we needed to leave for dinner soon.

“Hey pretty lady," I heard just behind me, my peripheral catching just the slightest movement of someone off the wall.

He smiled when I turned back to face him.

The light glistening in his eyes was the first thing I noticed. But my heart started racing, and my legs were moving before I could really think what was happening, all I knew was that the string connecting my heart to my tear ducts was tugging wildly.

Harry.

He was standing wearing a beautifully tailored pair of high waisted black suit pants, a soft white tee and double-breasted black blazer. I was sure my mouth was hanging open as wide as it felt my heart was busting open in my chest, “Harry!”

"Surprise," He giggled out, bending his neck down slightly when I opened up my arms and reached towards him on my tippy toes, folding my arms up over his shoulders. His arms crossed at the small of my back, and all the air left my lungs when he pulled me against him tightly. “Kept me waiting out here long enough, I didn’t want to make you cry in front of everyone.”

"I hate you," I whined through the shock, but my throat was clogged up with the tears that had already started escaping my eyes. “You’ve been here the whole time? When did you arrive?”

“A few hours beforehand … Tried calling you when we got here though,” He mumbled into my neck, “I was regretting not telling you I was coming because I knew your nerves would be killing you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I knew I’d cry if I spoke to you, I just wanted you here.” “Well, I was here,” He laughed, “And you were fucking phenomenal. I cried like a baby.”

“You’re here!”

Harry's grip on me tightened, and he stood up a little, pulling me with his body, “I am. You look beautiful."

“You haven't seen me in four months," I sniffed, turning my head to press my nose into his neck.

"God, don't I know it," Harry moved his hands up my back and settled them on my shoulders, "Fuck, why do I do this to myself? You're an angel," He pulled back and leaned down to kiss me.

Our lips were hopeless at staying together, even though we hadn’t kissed in months and months. The emotions were catching up with me, and I struggled to settle anywhere between laughing and sniffing back my tears. Harry’s lips turned up into a smile and he pulled my forehead against his, watching through amused, wetted eyes as I tried to keep myself from bawling.

“You’re useless,” He laughed, sniffing away his own emotions when I traced my fingers under his eyes to catch the tears.

“What are you doing here,” I asked, squeezing my eyes shut and moving up again to press my cheek against Harry’s in a desperate attempt to feel closer. “You’re in Japan.”

“I’m not in Japan,” He said softly, “I’m here for you. No one’s as proud of you as I am, Nina, you’ve worked so hard for this.”

“Stop,” I groaned, embarrassed.

“It’s true,” He defended seriously, “You’ve got more talent than anyone I know, and you work harder than everyone else as well. The performance was astounding, you had the whole room captivated. Your work is beautiful and you should be so proud. I’m so proud.”

“Stop,” I interjected.

“It’s true,” Harry swallowed thickly, “You’re always working towards getting better and being better, and you’re constantly creating something completely brilliant that half the time I don’t understand until you stop and baby it down for me … You’re incredible, and I’m so proud of you, my Maestro.”

I felt myself blush, having heard Harry sprout out that affectionate declaration many times before.

“Did everyone know?” I asked, still holding him tight.

“That I was coming?” His chest moved against mine in a few small chuckles after I nodded against him, “Yeah.”

“All of them?” I thought of my whole family and all my friends sitting waiting for me to return from the bathroom.

“Every last, stinking one,” Harry said in what he thought was an endearing Dennis the Menace impression. I pulled back and smiled as I looked up and watched him continue, “There was no way on earth I wasn’t going to be here for this. No fucking way.”

“Seriously,” I shook my head and swallowed back another lot of tears, “You can’t be here right now, you’re in the middle of tour, and you’ve got shows every—“

“Shhh,” Harry took my lips between his again for a few seconds, “Don’t worry about any of that, you think I wouldn’t move mountains to be here? I’m here.”

I smiled and let the tears escape this time, “I love you.”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I love you, too.”

I settled back down into my heels and shook my head, "I can't believe it. This morning I woke up thinking there was still three weeks before I'd see you ... And now ..."

He grinned, "I pulled off the perfect surprise then. C'mon, your brother has been texting me for the last twenty minutes about how hungry he is. Impatient little git, isn't he?"

I rolled my eyes and let Harry arrange our fingers together in a tight hold, ”He's famished apparently.”

Harry’s lips pressed into the hair just above my ear before he stood up straighter and slowly took a step forward. I let him lead me along for a few steps before overwhelming happiness overcame me, and I skipped ahead to tuck myself under his arm snugly.

"I love you, Harry Styles,” I told him quietly, ducking my head when we came to a junction where the greenrooms met the holding room, “Thank you so much for coming.”

There was a small tug on my hand and then Harry stopped walking, looking down at me curiously he tilted his head to one side, “You’re welcome, but I hope you realise coming was less than altruistic of me … I’ve been pretty desperate to see you as well, Neens.”

“‘Cause I’m your favourite person?” I said, grinning when Harry’s thumb dug into my side.

“Damn straight, you are,” He nodded, hooking his hand around my neck and leading my lips up to his.

I shut my eyes and let the kiss be led by Harry. He kept it slow, dragging his lips up to my temple and resting them there for a moment.

“Your family will think I’ve kidnapped you,” Harry said slowly as he wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed once before letting me go again and starting to walk. “And I’m starving as well, let’s go, yeah?”

I latched both my hands over one of Harry’s and manoeuvred us quickly back to where everyone was. There was a room full of happy faces when we finally got there, together, and I shrunk into Harry’s side shyly at the stupid catcalls from them all. Georgie held her phone up recording the moment with the promise of sending me the ‘adorable’ photos later. Laykn muttered something about it being ‘about bloody time', Harry beamed though, kissing me firmly in front of everyone.

+++

It was sweet relief to finally be in the back of a cab pressed neatly beside Harry on the way to dinner. I dropped my head to his shoulder sleepily even though I knew we were only a few blocks from where the Langham was.

Harry quickly greeted the driver and said the name of the street we needed before he turned covered my thigh with his palm and massaged it slowly, “Do you think we should get a pet?”

“A pet?” I asked, completely surprised by what came out of his mouth.

“Yeah.” “That’s what you're thinking about right now?”

“Been thinking about it for a while,” He misheard my tone. “We should get a pet, don’t you think?

“No, I absolutely do not think,” I challenged him, “Pets are so much work, and you go away all the time and what if I want to come to see you? It’d be annoying for us to have a pet.”

Without looking at him I knew the face he was pulling, all wide-eyed and pouted lip, “But imagine having a little furry bundle of love in our lives, Nina. I think you’ve been very flippant in dismissing what could be the best decision we ever make.”

“Harry.”

“I want a puppy, Nina,” He went on, taking a deep breath and racing through his words like that might convince me,  “A little fluffy one that needs help learning to howl and hates walking on the kitchen tiles. A cockapoo, like Rodger and Adriana’s dog. Doesn’t that sound adorable?”

“Harry, we can’t—

“—I said,” He interrupted, “Doesn’t that sound adorable, Nina? With little paws and that look of love, only dogs can give? And when we’re both away Gem can take it, or Josh.”

“Har—

“—Or Laykn! We can send little Pauper to university with your brother for a few days.”

“Pauper?” I gave Harry a look.

“Great name, hey? I’ve been brainstorming.”

“What makes you think I’d let you call our puppy ‘Pauper’. What a stupid name for a dog.”

Harry smiled widely, “Our puppy, eh?”

I paused, realising my mistake, “Shut up.”

He laughed at me and raised his arm up to rest it around me and pull me against his side, “I’m going to win this, I can tell.”

“You’re really not.” “Am too.”

We rode in silence then, the radio playing softly upfront and the streets of London slipping past us in their usual way. Harry was humming along, and when I eventually turned to look back at him, his eyes were already watching me.

“What?” I asked quickly, sitting up and moving out of his arms.

“Love you, you were fucking incredible up there tonight,” He said quietly, leaning his head back against the seat and not changing his relaxed expression in the slightest. His slight smile only created half dimples in his cheeks, and I found myself entranced by the curl of his eyelashes.

I felt my cheeks heat up immediately, “You’ve got that look.”

His eyes widened a little as his fingers snuck across my lap to reach for my hands, “What look is that?”

“The one where you’re secretly imagining me naked,” I said bluntly.

“Ha!” Harry didn’t hide his amusement at all, letting out one loud sound and then falling into an adorable bout of silent laughter, he leant forward and placed a hot kiss to the shell of my ear, “Well, it’s not a secret anymore, is it?”

“Harry!” I smacked him in the chest with my free hand which he quickly grabbed at and held in place.

“The best part is that now you’re imaging me naked,” Harry hummed out lightly.

Before any more could be said, the car was stopping, which had Harry kicking open the door and pulling me out with him. I stood for a second and waited for him to take my hand, leading me up the front steps and straight to the reception of the restaurant.

Inside everyone was already seated, and on their first drinks, I walked around the table and greeted everyone individually. We had a round table in a vast, impeccably styled private dining room. Two seats had been left free for Harry and me, he took the spot next to my dad, and I lowered myself into the place next to my mum.

It was the first time all day I actually felt relaxed. I sat back in my chair and let the pain in my feet ease. The boys were all challenging each other to different meals, making up anything that was in a different language and then convincing Oliver anything foreign would just taste like chicken. Isobel, Georgie and Sam were asking Harry about Japan, listing off a particular liquor they wanted him to bring back for the next time we drank together.

Everyone took far too long deciding what to eat and then even longer actually getting through all the food that arrived. Harry told me he slept through the food on the plane over and was much hungrier than even he knew. I let him take from my plate much to Laykn’s dismay.

“Happy?” My mum leaned over and put her arm around my shoulder for a quick hug, whispering and then watching my reaction with a massive smile on her face.

I pulled Harry, and I’s joined hands over onto my lap like he might disappear if he wasn’t as close as I could get him, “Yeah,” I replied, “Perfect.”

“You look happy,” She observed, “And Harry’s got his dopey face on.”

I laughed and looked back over to my boyfriend who was blushing at something Josh and Martin were teasing him about, “Do you know how long he’s got or …”

When I turned back around to face her, there had been a definite fall in her features, “Nina … He just got here, why don’t you—“

“—I know,” I cut her off, “I know. Harry isn’t meant to be here at all, who cares how long he can stay, right?”

She gave me a small smile and a kiss on my cheek just before I was pulled into defending Harry against whatever he was being attacked for now. Everyone looked happy, though, and I was glad to sit and be taken into whatever conversations I could. It was fun, and it felt almost like it was the holidays, and we all had nothing to do but enjoy each other. I found myself thankful for the occasion in an entirely different way to how I had appreciated it earlier in the day.

Eventually, after an embarrassing dessert experience that involved my receiving a ‘debut cake’, everyone started looking at watches and deciding it was time to end the dinner. Anybody who didn’t live in London had been invited by Harry to stay at our house.

“We’re not going with them,” Harry said to me at the last minute, after the bill was paid and we were all standing out farewelling each other in the foyer.

I looked over at my parents who seemed to already know this information, and everyone else was already loading into Ubers and Cabs.

“We aren’t?”

Harry smiled, “Say goodbye,” He nodded towards my family, and I offered them all a small wave without hiding my confusion.

“Where are we—”

Harry leant down and kissed me quickly, “—I got us a room for the night.”

“Here?” I asked astonished.

He nodded.

My eyes nearly fell out of my head, “Harry! That’s mental! This place is fancy.”

“Yeah,” He changed our positions, so his arm was draped across my shoulders and he started leading me over to the hotel reception, “Well … You’re a gorgeous woman in a beautiful dress, and I ironed this shirt so I’d say we’re pretty fancy. And it’s a celebration … Not to mention the fact we’ve hardly seen each other in four months …”

“Harry,” I warned slowly, feeling myself grow jittery when I saw the glint in his eyes.

He moved his hand down my arm and rested it across the back of my ribcage, fanning out his fingers to reach as high as he could, “I’ve missed you,” Harry whispered in my ear lowly, “And you look bloody stunning, Nina. I didn’t feel much like sharing you with your family at home.”

Home.

That was a concept that I was still getting used to, despite it having been almost a year since I moved all my things in with Harry. Probably because I’d spent most of that time highly stressed about composing, and Harry had been away for so much of it. But still, the fact remained, we lived together now and with that simple fact came a new level of pure intimacy that I relished in. I could only imagine how much better it would feel to have a good chunk of time together there come to the end of the tour for Harry.

“What’re you thinking about? Me naked?” Harry’s voice came right into my ear again.

We were standing at the desk, waiting behind another couple, and Harry moved around to stand tightly behind me, his arm affectionately across my neck.

I looked at him from the side of my eyes, “Just how nice it’ll be to actually live together for an extended period.”

“Hmm,” Harry agreed readily before stepping forward and introducing himself, he turned back to me while we waited for the check-in paperwork, “It will be pleasant.”

“Seriously, how much are you spending on—” I asked, reaching up onto my tippy toes when a piece of paper was placed in front of Harry.

“Oh-oh,” He tutted, plucking it up and shifting, so his back was to me, he smiled at the receptionist, signing his name quickly, “This is perfect, thank you.” She disappeared again, and he turned back to me, I tried not to think about how much whatever extravagant room we were about to stay in would be costing him. Not to mention the cost of him flying out here from Japan in the first place.

I caught a familiar movement over his shoulder and quickly diverted my eyes, “Does it matter if you’re seen here with me?”

Harry frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Someone just took a photo.”

Harry looked back over his shoulder to where I was looking, “Oh,” He turned back to me, “No, it’s okay.”

A keycard was handed over, and Harry profusely thanked the receptionist who pointed us in the direction of the elevators. We walked passed the group where I had seen the photo being taken, Harry gave them a polite little wave with a coolness I know I lacked.

When the doors opened, and we stepped inside, I watched Harry in the mirror as he pressed the for the flood we wanted, “It feels odd not having bags, doesn’t it?”

“Feels sexy,” Harry grinned.

“It feels conspicuous,” I returned.

Harry chuckled, leaning over to kiss my forehead, “I brought some things from home over earlier.”

“Oh.”

“You’re just so cute when you’re worried about silly things, Neens,” He explained.

I was about to rebut when we came to the door for our room. Harry opened it with no hesitation—his years of staying in hotels showing— and he propped open the door for me to walk in ahead of him. I ducked under his arm and hung my evening bag on the back of the door, continuing to where the whole room opened up to an expanse of windows.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the drawing desk by the window. Sitting up in a long, white vase was a dozen white and red roses.

“Harry … What are these?”

“Happy debut,” He said behind me as he pressed his chest to my back and wound his arms around my front, when I looked down he was holding a medium-sized, navy box out in front of me, “This is for you as well.”

I slowly took the box out of his hands and straight away he held them firmly across my stomach. His chin rested on my neck, and he observed as I ran my finger over the engraving on the front.

“Harry Winston,” I read the engraved name, “What on earth—

“Open it,” Harry instructed softly, turning his head to one side to press a kiss to the base of my neck.

The box opened with a satisfying pop sound and it folded out like a flower. Resting in the velvet insert was a beautiful, round pendant necklace.

“Harry, you’re not supposed to get me something.”

“Take out,” He urged, poking the back of my hand with his index finger.

“I don’t want to break it.”

Harry chuckled lightly, “You won’t. Take it out, and we’ll put it on you.”

It turned out that it was quite hard to extract from the box, and in the end, Harry in his own fit of giggles had to pull out the whole lining of the box and work from the underside to get it out. But he managed to get the necklace out and just before he put it on he made me go into the bathroom with him, so I’d be able to see in the mirror.

“Lovely,” He declared once the clasp was secured and the small pendant was resting on my skin. Harry ran his hands down my arms and back up again while I inspected how I looked wearing it.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” I decided very quickly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry returned, looking very pleased with himself behind me.

The movement of his hands halted for a moment as he bent down a little to kiss the back of my neck gently. It was a soft kiss that sent something delicious all the way down my spine and the back of my legs. He hummed against my skin, and his fingers trailed up to the zip at the top of my dress, carefully dragging it down to pull the two sides apart carefully.

“We’re going to have to hang this up if I’m going to be doing the walk of shame in it tomorrow,” I told him, referring to my dress.

“My girlfriend doesn’t do walks of shame,” Harry corrected with a growl, his hands slow and deliberate in their movements, “I’ve got something for you to wear tomorrow and pyjamas.”

“You have?” I turned around in his arms and was honestly surprised by him being that prepared.

“I do,” He said in a funny, high pitched voice, “What did you think I meant when I said I brought some things over earlier? It’s moments like these it comes out that you don’t think very much of my gentlemanly ways.”

I moved my arms up to rest over his shoulders and pulled myself up onto my tippy toes, “I’m happy to be proved wrong.”

Harry’s eyes went to my lips then, and I knew there wasn’t going to be much more talking. He pulled me against him and started out the kisses slow and sweet, getting me ready for when the four months of not seeing each other took over, and our hands started moving of their own accord.

It didn’t take long before Harry had me lying on my back on the bed, my dress over the back of the nearest chair and Harry’s nice clothes draped over the top of them. From there it was all hushed words of missing each other, and incomprehensible noises that only made the moment hotter and more dizzying.

After three years so much about sex with Harry was better than I ever could’ve imagined. Because he knew me on so many different levels, the physical connection between us was only heightened. And it grew in me some enormous sense of pride to know I was the only one who got Harry curling his toes together and panting against my skin.

He was all mine, and I got every inch of him to myself.

It was well past one in the morning by the time we were lying side by side, and I was finally reflecting on the day as a whole. My stomach was filled with a warm, settled feeling just having Harry next to me in bed again. Sleeping alone had been something I hated getting used to still. Having another, albeit longer, body beside me I was sure was the best end result I never would’ve dared to dream might happen today.

“What time are you setting it for?”

Harry stopped moving his fingers across his phone screen and turned his head my way, “What?”

I made a point of looking where the clock app was open in front of him, “What time are you setting your alarm for?”

“Neens,” He said sadly, not giving me an answer but only giving me a look that said whatever his response would be I wouldn’t like it.

“Harry, what time?” I asked again, moving my head over to rest against his shoulder for a better look at the screen, “Three a.m.?” I readout.

“Nina—

“—Three in the morning! Harry, what the hell kind of insane time is that? You can’t—

I was cut off by Harry rolling onto his side and forcing me into silence with a kiss, “Don’t get upset, Nina. It’s okay.”

I frowned and watched him as he hovered over me, “You’re leaving in the middle of the night?”

“I can’t stay any longer, I’m sorry. I’ve got an interview I can’t miss before tomorrow night’s show.”

My eyes widened in shock, “You’ve got a show tomorrow … Tonight?” I corrected myself.

“The time difference is a bit funky, but basically, yes.”

It dawned on me then that Harry had only had a day and a half off, that he had jumped on a plane after a matinee and had to be back for a show the following evening. That instead of going out to dinner with the crew and then sleeping until midday like I’m sure he needed, he had flown thirteen hours to London to have not even ten hours on the ground before flying back again.

He wouldn’t even see daylight in the UK.

“Why did you come?” I asked in a small voice, feeling tears welling with the guilt that was settling in. He was going to be exhausted for days from crossing all the time zones.

He let out a horrified laugh, “Why did I come?” He repeated, sounding every bit as defensive as I expected him to be, “I came because today was a huge day for you, and because I could, and because I wanted to.”

“You’re going to get sick from being tired and all the travel.”

“I don’t care,” He shook his head and hooked a leg between mine, “I don’t care.”

I pulled his neck down and held him there until he settled most of his weight on top of me in a tight cuddle, “I don’t want you to go so soon,” I sniffed.

Harry’s hands ran up my sides from my hips, settling under my arms and warming the skin below my breasts, “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, you idiot, ” I laughed through new tears, “You’re here. You came. You’re too good to me.”

“I love you, Nina Lawrence.”

“I know,” I sighed, containing my emotions slowly.

“I’ll always come when I can.”

“I know.”

++

Well, there’s our intro to Harry & Nina, 3 years later. What did you think? Predictions? 

[szopenhauer]

where were you 2 hours ago? in the local store do you kiss a lot of people? I kissed only one person in my entire life

are you wearing socks right now? ... no

have you bought any clothing items in the last week? yes

one thing you hate about yourself? my chronic illnesses mostly

what do you know about the future? we will all die, sooner or later

do you have a tan? slightly, on my arms

what day is tomorrow? Sunday 

are you dating someone? yes

why? because of many reasons

using your current first initial choose a different name for yourself. Zefiryna  or Zyta if polish what piece of furniture have you replaced the most? hmm... dunno, I’m not rich enough to replace my furniture

what do you think is the most over-rated candy ever? candies are overrated in general what is broken that you have, that you wish was fixed? my body  line from the last thing you wrote to someone? jak uważasz

Have you ever wondered what you look like when you’re sleeping? yeah ^^” Do you put your friends or family first? my parents and my S.O. Do you have bad allergies? ugh... Are your parents proud of you? there’s nothing to be proud of Would you ever be your school’s mascot who wears that costume? I could Is/was your school full of fakes? obvi What age did you start staying home alone? I’m not sure tbh but late

Would you rather see the Great Wall of China or Big Ben? Big Ben because I’d prefer to visit England and not China Ice Ice Baby or U Can’t Touch This? both XD

Can you do a handstand? used to Do you own any shirts that are yellow? several What’s a brand of shoe you like, but wouldn’t buy a pair? creepers for example Would you like to live in a cottage home? yup but I won’t

Are you comfortable with your height? wish I was a bit taller Last text received?

Are you afraid of heights? not really

Were you happy when you woke up today? I was glad I could sleep almost 10 hours Have you ever laughed so hard you cried? few times hahaha Do you curse in front of your parents? oh well ^^” Are you slowly drifting away from someone close? ... What are you listening to right now? iamamiwhoami  How is the weather right now? warm Have you ever been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing? I don’t recall Do you use chapstick? ewww, gross How long do you think you will live? not much longer How’s your life going lately? no comment Have you ever had to get your blood drawn? countless times What is the most important thing to you? health that I don’t have Who was the last person you high fived? someone close to me Who hugged you last? parent Why do you feel the way you feel? where should I start... When was the last time you went shopping? this day as I already mentioned Are you liking how you look today? it’s ok Do you hate when they give a lot of tv commercials? especially when they repeat  Are you a very stressed out person? that I am 

Do you hate when people stare at you for no reason? awkward Which color is better? Red, Blue, Green, Black, or Yellow? definitely not red and blue *said a person who is wearing this today:

*I also hate pink, you will never understand me  Are you good at hiding your feelings? can be but what for Is anyone annoying you right now? not rn Did you cry today? not so far When was the last time you had a sleepover? years ago Do you like taking pictures? kinda Don’t you hate that when it’s freezing cold outside your eyes get teary? that’s awful

Have you ever trespassed? it wasn’t a big deal Do you tell your parents where you are going? basics at least Can you give a good back massage? been told 

Did you ever mix up the words “message” & “massage”? possibly Are there any other words you get mixed up? there are  Do you think women should hold open doors for men, too? why not, it’s nice to be helpful Do you raise your hand or participate in class? umm... I had my moments Would you ever spend the night in a treehouse? doubt it? What do you think of people who own wild animals? hard to tell If a book was written about your life, what would be in the summary? no idea  Are you good at explaining things, in general? I try my best to be straightforward and turn out being misunderstood If your friend had a drug-problem would you abandon them? I might, sorry Has a friendship ever ended over similar reasons? I wasn’t in a situation like this before Do you like window shopping?  fun Do you mind lending money to your friends? I’m poor What, to you, is the best part of traveling? souvenirs Do you like to try new things? very rarely Does it bother you if someone talks bad about you? gossips/lies bother me

What time of day feels the most magical to you? sunrise and evening/night? Does your head hurt right now? bardziej mi się kręci w głowie po prostu Is your hair wet right now? dry Have you ever dreamt of being a famous athlete? I had a night dream about being an athlete ore than once but I dislike sports  Do you have a rich friend that you’re jealous of? whoops you got me Are you interested in a girl who has a girlfriend? that girlfriend is me muahahaha Do most of the guys who like you annoy you? omg truth (I’m a lesbian though) but majority of society annoys me (especially men) so... What musical do you think you could play the lead in? Cats if I had talent What medical conditions do you have? what medical condition I don’t have... Do you wear leggings often? everyday Are you responsible in general? I avoid responsibilities  Would you consider yourself mature? not enough, I’m childish  Can you reach your ceiling? me?... Do you have a reading nook? I’m a librocubicularist Who is the cutest baby you know? babies ain’t cute  *weird fact - I think those with Down syndrome are prettier - is that offensive?

What makes you nauseous? I constantly feel nauseous

Someone walks into your room, what do they notice first the amount of plushies

When you have sex, do you keep your eyes closed or open when finishing I tried to keep them closed, I’m embarassed If I stepped into your shower, what is the first item I would notice who knows

How many times a day do you think you sneeze it’s not a daily thing to me Your phone rings but you don’t know the number, would you answer it if I wait for a call like from hospital etc. How many cars have you actually owned 0 Do you always take a shower after you have sex no When you wash your hair in the shower to you face the faucet or away:. face Would you let the girl pay on the first date if she really wanted to split or else I just feel ashamed Have you ever had a friend who preferred the same sex I’m that friend ha! What was the name of the last alcohol you consumed that got you trashed not applicable Do you let your girlfriend drive, or do you prefer to we don’t drive The last time you had sex was it in the morning, afternoon or night afternoon

Are you afraid of stink bugs? they’re harmless :o Do you have a printer? but we don’t use it What is the closest thing to you that’s yellow? pencil  Does anyone own any embarrassing pictures of you? I’m ugly on all photos... Do you care what others say about you? who and what? Are you into anime? blergh Name one movie that has made you cry more than once. ex. Five feet apart When is your father’s birthday? Mother’s? next year *my father is a Pisces and my mother is an Aquarius like me  no more info for ya! Are you a sarcastic person? very Do you overthink things? 24/7, every single detail, even from ages ago Are you naturally paranoid? would say so

What was the last song you listened to? Lola Marsch - Echoes

Which is more important in your life, TV or Internet? internet, I don’t watch TV and I’d even choose net over movies if I had to Do you overuse smileys? gifs :P When was the last time you ate something? an hour ago *but I fill out this survey for couple of hours  Have you seen all of the Jaws movies? I haven’t seen any of ‘em Do you know what Entomophobia is? had to google it When was the last time you played cards? (not on the computer) months ago Ever owned a pair of the original Nikes? (white, with only a single swoosh) not my type of shoes Ever worn leg warmers? yes, I still have several pairs  When was the last time you read a book over 700 pages long? never, I only written over 700 pages Have you ever had a black eye? nope, just bags under my eyes

How do you mark through your word search puzzles? I cross them with my pen Do you hate people who ask a lot of questions? I enjoy questions but... Have you ever seen a roll of bluish-green toilet paper? yep Can you name five ‘z’ words off the top of your head? besides my name? in english or polish? If a rooster laid an egg on the peak of a roof which side would it roll to? roosters don’t lay eggs