#I wish I could finish his inventory but I’m like not really inspired to or full of ideas

[dreamyprinx]

gasp! another character ref sheet! this time for my character Lanturn Lustre, a student wizard just trying to get by! his mean of getting by may or may not include seducing rich men into giving him expensive gifts and money and he may or may not have gotten a bit too use to living lavishly,,,

✧ reblogs are appreciated ✧ | ♡ buy me a kofi ♡ | ☾ commission info ☽ | ☁︎ click for better quality ☁︎

[kmgkmg]

BACK TO US - BONUS. PLAYLIST BREAKDOWN

┊masterlist┊

for those that connect to music as deeply as i do, i thought it would be a good idea to make this post! diving deeper into my picks for the back to us playlist, all of the tracks are extremely intentional and you might not have even noticed their presence since i tried to weave them in naturally!

**below cut i give details about each track, spoilers included so i recommend reading once you've finished the series. long post (1.5k) since i included reasons + lyrics under the cut!**

first section: reuniting

✧ keeping tabs by niki: i can 100% see joshua listening to niki's music! her voice would match his really well imo and i could see him trying to harmonize with her voice as he was cleaning or smthn! while reader's emotions towards joshua aren't as strong as this song, it definitely has the same vibe!

you left without saying goodbye ---- i wish i never met you. you are the worst thing that i'm still keeping tabs on for some stupid reason. you were just being nice. now i fully believe you're out there somewhere also keeping tabs on how i might be feeling.

✧ sugarcoat (natty solo) by kiss of life: again this is veryyyyy joshua coded! when he recommended emotional oranges on summer vacation with vernon, i knew i had to add this track. the pop/rnb vibe is perfect. the lyric i included imo sums up how joshua came to his conclusions way too quick.

the image of me that you judged arbitrarily cannot be all

✧ haunt me by rini: this really describes the longing that they both felt for each other after joshua cut contact with reader.

thought i heard your voice, my favorite sound. was is somethin' there? ---- 'cause you haunt me, daily, nightly. get no peace of mind.

✧ still by jeff bernat: an artist that joshua has mentioned several times before! he's actually the person that got me into bernat's discography when i used to be a joshua/hoshi stan lol. another longing song (shocking to no one). goes over joshua's thoughts about getting past reader abandoning him :(

it's been a long time since we last spoke. i still wonder what you’re up to, after all that shit we've been through. ---- and there's probably people telling you that i’m doing fine, just taking my time. although it appears that i’m strong, it still hurts.

✧ not my job by flo: actually used lyrics of this song in 01. gentleman hong hahahaha. when reader asks joshua to tell the campers to knock it off with all the shipping, joshua says:

it's not my job to make you feel comfortable.

✧ summertime by flo: kinda inspired an interaction btwn reader and hoshi in 02. camper spirit when reader is like "i'm not going to let someone who deserted me ruin my summer."

second section: what are we?

✧ lemondrops by telana: the song that is behind it all!!!!!!!!!! i had no idea i was going to turn this into a series. it was originally going to be domestic fluff of reader giving joshua lemondrops so he could sing. but i mean hey, i gave credit where credits due, naming 06. popsicles and lemon drops after this song! just a very comforting song, one that definitely shows the dynamic between reader and joshua when they were close. the closeness that both of them miss.

✧ like i feel (feat. mereba) by xaiver omär: this song is LITERALLY about friends-to-lovers, i would be a fool to exclude it! kept this track on repeat while writing 11. taking inventory. joshua says to reader:

so, let me know if you feel how i feel. ---- also reader confesses with: i swear, i tried letting go of the feelings i had for you which is inspired by the song's lyrics of: swear i tried lettin' go ---- but i mean everything about this song is so good, esp this line: i feel a family of butterflies all in my gut, oh, and they're fluttering

✧ m.h. by yeek: just added this song for my own pleasure tbh, but one of the main repeating lines is definitely joshua's feelings towards reader when he starts hanging out with them more (around part 06/07)

i miss you when i see you no...(they) hit me with i love you.

✧ gotta get back (feat. pink sweat$) by p1harmony: another track i could see joshua singing along to

i know i'm not perfect, and i've hurt your heart before. so, i don't wanna make a promise i can't give. ---- never had someone make me feel all these ways before and now it seems that i can't get you out my mind. you got me hanging on to every word you say.

✧ all our time (feat. jae stephens) by xavier omär: summer breeeeze. perfect summertime song, could definitely see chan dancing to this for a dino danceology. and it would stick in reader's head after leaving pledis studios. would be the summer anthem for hoshi and reader.

✧ simple life by lexy panterra: nothing much lyrically, just a summertime vibes track.

✧ mornings (see you again) by alextbh: for the he/him readers! alextbh writes so many songs w a guy lover in mind, so i highly recommend checking his discography out.

been outta focus lately. all these images, playing in my head. i can't help it

✧ mess around by starchild & the new romantic: unable to think of a good description for this song so 👍

i know i shouldn't mess around, i shouldn't even hardly doubt you. i know i shouldn't fuss & fight, i shouldn't hardly run around you. all of these thoughts in my head...

✧ good life by otis kane x clay: this song is so smooth and incredibly joshua coded. kinda reminds me of niki's songs as well, vibe wise.

all the games aside then, i want you in my space. and now that you're in my world i'll never be the same.

✧ the chase by alextbh: no lyrics for this one, very sad if you listen to them but the vibe of the song regarding the instrumental and such fit the series!

✧ bamboo by ivy sole: another song in there for vibes, very much a summertime song!

✧ back to us (feat. julissa leilani) by jeremy passion: filo-american singer! idk if he's ever recommended his music, but i mean listen to it and it's just the embodiment of joshua's vibe into a song. obviously this song holds a lot of meaning for the series, it is literally the title! the song is more about a couple falling out of love, but this is based on vibessssssss! (it's a groovy little song, what can i say?)

✧ je t'adore (feat. ty senoj) by sylo: another song in the playlist for vibes. but again, very joshua coded imo! groovy pop is right up his alleyyyyy

third section: this is not a drill

✧ trust by thuy & rini: oh? rini makes a comeback? definitely a good song for explaining how reader and joshua slowly open up to each other, their need to build trust first.

baby, let your guard down. world's loud, we could shut it out. you can put ya trust in me if you choose. ---- how do i make you realize i'ma stick around if it's with you, you, you.

✧ ride with me by pink sweat$: a song joshua recommended in his 'beach drive' playlist on spotify! beach drive, perfect way to describe it. and when you think beach, you think summer, right? summer...summer camp? aha...

✧ blur by dhruv: joshua's double take cover remains iconic! and i really love dhruv's voice so i knew i wanted to add a song of his for sure! joshua's tweet in 08. another serious camper takes the first lyrics of the song:

the room tonight became a blur and all i could see was them you dancing.

✧ misfits' sunday by jooyoung: jooyoung's voice is perfect for a love story, i mean it fits all the moods. he usually does smooth rnb and although this is a newer sound he's been experimenting with, i thought the lyrics fit the series nicely!

we were young and naive nothing to worry. all the memories, fading with graphite scribbles. we grew too fast, a blink, slow talks.

✧ ore ore by sole: another track that i can't figure out how to describe...

love isn’t too far from us, love can handle everything.

✧ lucky by jason mraz & colbie caillat: tfw reader walks past joshua rehearsing with this song... (ahem, 10. what's your eta, anyone?)

lucky i'm in love with my best friend.

✧ angel 2 me (feat. jeff bernat) by mckay: jeff bernat feature, you know joshua would love this song and cover itttttt!

✧ ikaw lang by nobita: it's pretty established joshua loves filo artists, this would be a track he would play all the time. the title translates to only you.

oh, what a beautiful sight it is to look into your eyes. the way they sparkle, i cannot fathom. the way you look back at me, how brilliant they shine. heaven must be on earth. stars actually fall from the sky.

✧ 7pm (apple music home session) by joshua: joshua lulling reader to sleep with his guitar??? 🫠

at seven in my house, we'll sing both our lungs out and dance to the moonlight 'cause everything feels right.

✧ whether or not by gabe bondoc: the inclusion of gabe bondoc should be no surprise to a longtime carat! joshua loves his filo artists and i still remember this predebut vid of him singing some gabe bondoc!

i've dreamed a thousand dreams and still nothing compares to the feeling that you give me while you're standing here. i don't care if its fair.

[moon-light-jukebox]

A Truth Universally Acknowledged - [Hotch x Reader] - Chapter 1

masterlist // series index // next chapter

Summary: Reader is a member of the BAU that is liked by everyone...except her unit chief, Aaron Hotchner.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k for Chapter 1. 

Genre: Angst. Eventually Smut and Fluff. 

Content Warning: None for chapter 1. 

A/n: This is going to be an enemies to lovers story. It is loosely inspired by pride and prejudice. I decided to release it today because I hit 1.3k followers a little bit ago. Thank you all so much. 😊

--Chapter 1-- 

One of the lessons I learned early in life is that not everyone is going to like you. You can be the nicest, sweetest, prettiest peach on the tree…and you’re still gonna run into a mother fucker who hates peaches. And that’s okay.

I wasn’t for everyone; the people that loved me loved me fiercely and that was more than enough. It didn’t matter that some people didn’t like me.

…but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why Agent Hotchner hated me.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Garcia had told me, but even she didn’t look super convinced.

Hotch wasn’t an easy man. He was intimidating, domineering, and intense; but sometimes when he was with his team, I saw him smile or even laugh at something they had said. I had seen how his eyes lit up whenever he talked about his son. He wasn’t cold, detached, and mean to everyone.

Just to me.

--

Occasionally, I try to mentally run through my time at the BAU to see if I can pinpoint the thing I did that made the unit chief dislike me. It really didn't matter if he liked me, but he seemed offended by my existence. It didn't make for an easy working relationship, and if I could somehow apologize for what I had done, then maybe things at work would get easier.

I wasn't a member of the BAU team that went out in the field; I wasn't a profiler, but I was part of the entire unit. Most people only thought of Hotch's team that jumped on a plane with him when you said BAU, but dozens of us stayed back and worked behind the scenes to make sure things ran smoothly. Even though I wasn't a profiler, I was still so happy to be a part of this unit; all I had ever wanted was to make a difference.

It just seems that the difference I made was a bad one.

“Hey,” a voice called, drawing me out of my thoughts. Agent Jaruau, JJ as she told everyone to call her, was standing beside my desks with a manila FBI file in her hands. “Did you file this?”

My brow furrowed as I took the file she handed me, running my eyes over the document. Everything looked right…until I got to the bottom line.

“Shit,” I mumbled, my eyes snapping back up to look at hers. “I’m sorry.”

JJ waved her hand, dismissing my apology. “It’s no big deal, I made that same mistake fairly often when I worked as a media liaison. That form is confusing.” She gave me a small, genuine smile. “It’s already been logged into the system…” the pretty blonde woman let her words trail off, but I knew what she didn’t want to say.

“Hotch needs to sign off on the change,” I finished for her.

“I can take it to him for you,” she offered. “I don’t mind.”

I shook my head. “That will just make it worse.” I stood, squaring my shoulders. “It’s okay. It was my mistake; I’ll take responsibility for it.”

She just patted my back when I walked by, making the dreaded walk across the bullpen, up the stairs to Hotch’s office. This sort of dumb clerical error wouldn’t be a big deal for anyone else, but everyone knew how Hotch felt about me.

Huffing out a breath, I rapped my knuckles on his office door.

“Come in,” his gruff voice called out.

I kept my eyes downcast when I entered the room, shutting the door behind me. I sort of looked at dealing with Hotch in the same way you’d deal with a predator. No sudden moves, no direct eye contact, nothing that could be seen as challenging.

“Sorry to bother you, sir.” I began, my fingers gripping the file in my hand tightly. “I just need your approval on a system record change.” I held out the file folder.

It was promptly ripped out of my hands. “It’s customary to look at someone when you speak to them, Agent.”

Heat burned in my cheeks, but I lifted my gaze, grateful he wasn’t looking at me but at the file in front of him.

“Why does this need a record change?” he asked, still not looking at me.

Here goes nothing. “I made an error on line 35.”

I saw the grip he had on his pen tighten ever so slightly. “I see,” he said softly. “Tell me, Agent, did you bother to read the form before you filled it out?”

"Yes, sir," I said quietly, feeling the muscles in my back tensing.

“Then how did you make such a stupid mistake?” Those dark brown eyes finally came to rest on my face. “I can’t have agents in this unit who are so careless. I don’t have the time to be cleaning up after anyone’s mistakes.” His voice had gotten sharper, he wasn’t quite yelling, but his words struck me hard just the same. “Is that clear?”

I nodded, focusing my eyes on his left ear. I was afraid if I saw the anger in his eyes that it would hurt me even worse.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

My throat worked as I tried to swallow my emotions. “I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again.”

He tossed the file on his desk. “See that it doesn’t.”

I snatched the folder off of his desk and all but ran from his office. I made the return walk down the stairs and across the bullpen to my desk. I dropped the file on my desk with a shaky exhale.

I really wanted to be the sort of person who could accept criticism without getting so emotional. I wanted to be the sort of person that could put up a brave face and let painful words just roll off of me.

But I wasn't.

I stood in front of my desk for a moment, weighing my options. I could sit down at my desk and try to pretend I wasn't gutted, or I could run to the bathroom and cry alone.

I chose the latter.

--

Whenever I got so upset, I always felt like I had let the other person win. Running out of the bullpen and locking myself in a bathroom stall while I angrily dashed away the tears the rolled down my cheeks made me feel like a failure.

I kept telling myself that it didn’t matter what Agent Hotchner thought of me. I was good at my job, I had to be, or he would have already fired me. His complaints seemed to just be with…me as a person.

I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and took inventory of my reflection. It looked like I had been crying, but that’s nothing a makeup wipe couldn’t mostly fix. Besides, what did it matter if Hotch made me cry? He made Anderson cry all the time and no one said anything to him.

It wasn’t until I was tossing my makeup wipe away that I let out a slightly bitter chuckle; I realized I still mentally refer to him as “Hotch,” it’s what he told everyone to call him.

Everyone but me.

--

I had long ago decided that coffee was the answer to almost every problem life had. I think the only person who made more trips to the coffee machine than me was Dr. Spencer Reid. He didn't talk to me a lot either, but I don't think that's because he didn't like me. I think he was just awkward and nervous. Maybe I should try to talk to him more.

Dr. Reid wasn’t at the coffee station when I made my way there after exiting the bathroom, but another member of the BAU was. If it had been anyone else, I might have tried to turn and act like I wasn’t going to the coffee pot in the first place, but I’m sure he had already noticed me.

David Rossi didn’t miss much.

I made my way over to the kitchenette counter, grabbing one of my mugs out of the cabinet before turning my head in his direction.  "Good morning, Agent Rossi," I chirped in greeting.

The older man returned my greeting, his eyes running over my face in a way that would have been terrifying if I didn’t know the man. I still wasn’t sure how someone could look so friendly and so calculating all at the same time.

“You okay, kiddo?” he asked, dropping his focus to his own coffee cup on the counter.

My teeth gnawed on my bottom lip as I considered my answer. “There’s no point in trying to lie to you, is there?”

The man who developed the art of profiling chuckled at my question. "No, not much of a point," he informed me, his voice kind. He didn't seem the least bit off-put by my question. "It's also probably not fair of me to ask such a hard question."

“No, it’s fine,” I insisted.

The older man just shook his head. “We both know it’s not.”

I felt tears prick the inner corners of my eyes again. “I just…I don’t know why he hates me so much. And I wish it didn’t bother me but-.” My voice cracked, betraying how upset I truly was.

Rossi let out a defeated sigh and reached his hand out to cover my own. “I’ve known Aaron for a long time, y/n. He’s a good man, one of the best men I’ve ever met.” He patted my hand before he pulled away to pick up his own cup. “Doesn’t mean he’s not a dick sometimes.”

I just gave him a slightly watery chuckle. “It’s okay. I just need to toughen up.”

“You don’t need to change a thing, Bella.” Rossi gave me one last smile before walking back to his own office.

I had already turned my focus back to my own coffee cup when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, a primal instinct to let me know that I wasn’t totally safe.

There was no reason to look around; there was only one person who could make me feel that way in this building. My focus remained on my cup as I stirred in my packets of Splenda. Every cell of my body was telling me to run, but what was the point? Besides, he was less likely to yell at me in front of other people.

I hoped.

The air shifted when he took the same place against the counter that Rossi had just occupied; I'm sure he noticed subtle changes in my posture, no matter how hard I tried to hide them.

I gathered up the empty packets in one hand and gripped the handle of my mug in the other. “Excuse me,” I mumbled as I moved around him.

I hadn’t taken more than two steps before he spoke. “Agent.”

“Yes, sir?” I spun on my heel to face him.

He looked just the same as he had in his office. Trademark scowl, closely cropped dark hair, piercing dark eyes, black suit, red tie. Most of all he still looked utterly displeased that I existed in his general vicinity.

Agent Hotchner seemed to hesitate for a minute while his eyes ran over my face. “I…I, um.” He paused to clear his throat. “I expect that form to be re-entered into the system before the noon briefing.”

Right. I glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time was 11:15 am. “I’ll do it right now.”

He looked like he would say something else but snapped his lips together, giving me a sharp nod instead. I took that as a dismissal and made my way back to my desk.

Aaron Hotchner had won this round. 

-- 

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[rot-shield-hero]

imagine if, during the Cal Mira arc, Naofumi knew how to surf and had actually figured out how to surf in that world.

This is a very long one. Enjoy

Naofumi always liked the beach. He enjoyed being in the water more than being in the sand, always making a dash to the edge of the shore once his feet hit the sand. Ever since he was younger, he would watch surfers and wish to partake in the same activities. It took a year of begging and showing his parents how much he wanted to learn. By the age of five, he had lessons until he received his own surfboard. All of his hard work had paid off.

Even when he slowly shut himself in, preferring manga and anime over anything else, he would still go to the beach to clear his thoughts and mind. He even learned how to make his own boards. It was his part-time job, secret kept from his parents after they pushed him aside for his little brother.

His little brother had even taken up surfing but not as much as playing games since he hates bailing and getting salt water in his mouth and nose.

Then, he was summoned to the country of Melomarc, forced into the role of a devil hero through rumors and lies. He could never go to the beach. He was forced to travel and grind levels, forced to fight in battles. The only sense of closure was working with the blacksmith, Erhard. He asked if he could work on a project, personal and secret. It would be a surprise once he finished and perfected it.

So when given the chance, he worked on a board similar to the one he used to own but with a different design painted on it.

He couldn't test it without the beach, but the length and weight felt good. He also laid on top of it as if he were to paddle. It felt like his old one, even the material he used was somewhat similar. The wood was light and soft, a nice redwood. When finished, he presented it to Erhard who stared at him in confusion before he explained what it was and how it was supposed to be used. "If we ever go to the beach, then I'll even show you!" he offered with a smile—rare and bright.

"Well, I'll hold you to that." He chuckled and slapped him on the back, knocking the wind out of him. Naofumi coughed and put the board in his inventory.

The chance ended up presenting itself in the form of Cal Mera Archipelago. Of course, Erhard wasn't able to join them, but he wished Naofumi luck that his board was perfect.

That in itself meant a lot to the shield hero.

On the boat, he met L'Arc and Therese. Two people that he found himself liking. They even offered to join him in grinding levels, which they held truth. While he looked forward to that, he looked forward to impressing them with his surfing skills.

The opportunity came when he took the girls to the beach. He watched them for a moment, but mostly kept an eye on the water.

The sun beats down on them in a good way, the salty air feeling good on his skin. He smiles, helps Filo with finding shells, and keeps an eye on Raphtalia while she wads through the shallow part of the water. He watches the waves, grinning as he thinks of going in. It's ten minutes into their trip when he sees L'Arc and Therese. Now is the perfect time.

"Filo, will you be okay on your own for a little? I'm going into the water."

"Oh? Why?"

"Hmm, you'll see. Look, go with L'Arc and Therese." He chuckles as he watches Filo run over and summons his board. Taking off his shirt, he tosses it onto the sand and ties the leg rope around his ankle. He's aware of the confused stares from the people but he doesn't really care.

Surfing brings him a sense of freedom. He goes into the water, paddling outwards as he slowly becomes more and more determined to get the right wave. He closes his eyes, feeling the water and rocking with the motion before grinning and heading out a little further before readying himself.

The wave hits and he grins, feeling more alive now than before. On the first wave, he keeps his tricks simple, trying to find himself again. A bottom turn and a snap. He finds himself with a nice little audience but mostly focuses on the waves and on his party. The bigger the waves the better. He hits them well, getting in some airs and foam climbing. He goes in once more, doing an alley oop.

He could spend all day and night just surfing but he knew he had to get back. With a small sigh, he goes for one more, planning on the rodeo flip that he perfected before all of this.

It fails. He didn't land right, hitting the water and getting rolled under the wave. Fortunately, the board didn't break or else he would have allowed himself to drown since it had taken him forever to make it.

Resurfacing, he coughs and wipes his face as he holds onto the board. Seeing how far he is, he tends to ride this last wave to the shore, doing bottom turns and a cutback.

"Whoa, kiddo, you good?" asks a familiar voice. "You scared us on that last one, thought I would have to go and save you."

Naofumi gives him an unimpressed look. "I'm fine. Not really the first time I've bailed on my tricks. Just good to know I haven't lost my touch."

"Naofumi-sama! That was so cool!" He braces himself for Raphtalia's hug, hugging her back. "Can you show me how to do that? It looks so fun!"

He glances at L'Arc with a small smile. "What about you and Therese? You want to learn too?"

Finally! I was looking forward to writing this one but never got the inspiration until just now. I do not surfboard, i don't know anything about it and had to do some brief research. Honestly, the only thing i ever came to knowing it is from Soul Surfer. Hope you enjoyed this as it is one of my more longer ones. Please feel free to send me more asks.

Or add on.

[reki-of-the-valley]

You Are My Sunshine

It’s here! The fanfic based of off this post of mine

Find it on AO3 here

1 - Langa

Langa wakes up in a cold sweat, gasping. His room is plunged in darkness, only the faint glow of streetlamps outside his window filtering through his blinds. In a daze, he reaches for his phone, blinding himself as he opens it to check the time. 3:28 am. There’s school in the morning, Langa knows this, but he isn’t sure he’ll be able to fall back asleep. The dream is starting to fade, the once sharp images starting to blur together, but it keeps him awake. Or rather, one image sticks with him, keeping his eyes wide open: Reki’s bright smile. Langa had been dreaming of Reki.

It isn’t uncommon for Reki to pop up in Langa’s dreams – all of his friends would pop up from time to time – but this time, it was different. It was just Reki and nothing seemed to have been really happening. Nothing Langa could remember, at least. But Reki had been there, smiling as he always did. He had been smiling so bright, like the sun. Sunshine, Langa thought at the mental image of his best friend’s grin. Reki with his crooked front teeth, smiling so big. Sunshine, as he smiled at Langa. A smile all for Langa, only for Langa.

Langa lies there, staring at his ceiling. Sunshine, Reki is my Sunshine. That alone has Langa smiling in the darkness of his room. He tries biting the smile back, but he can’t help it. Anyway, no one is there to see him smiling like a fool to himself.

Snippets of the dream come back to him before vanishing once more: the warm wind in his hair, the swirls of pinks and purples and reds in the sky behind the pair, the feel of Reki’s calloused fingers tightening around his own, the brightest smile Langa’s ever seen. They come and go like waves crashing against a beach. The beach. Sunshine.

Langa shakes his head before flipping onto his stomach and burying his face into his pillow. He needs to get the mental image out of his head. He can’t keep thinking of Reki like this. His heart can’t take it; his head is screaming. If he had known that he would end up dreaming of Reki like this, dreaming of his smile, dreaming of his mouth, dreaming of his lips, Langa would have shut down the possibility of Reki liking him back ages ago. But here he is at 3:37 am, thinking of Reki, thinking of how his dream would have ended. The last thing Langa remembers is Reki’s fingers against his burning skin, their bodies so close. Sunshine. It’s all Langa can think of. My beautiful Sunshine.

Langa needs to sleep, but he can’t bring himself to close his eyes. Whenever he does, he sees Reki, Reki so close, and he dreams of what it would be like to kiss his best friend. Would Reki be kind to him, kissing him gently under the setting sun? Would Reki hold him when Langa would inevitably tense, afraid of having messed up? Would Reki smile into the kiss, his beautiful smile pressed to Langa’s lips? Probably not, because Reki wasn’t going to kiss Langa. At least not in real life. In Langa’s fantasies, then maybe his Sunshine would be gentle and kind and loving. In Langa’s fantasies, Reki would love him as much as Langa loves him.

It’s 4:17 am when Langa checks the time again. He still hasn’t managed to fall back asleep. He contemplates texting Reki, but he knows the boy is asleep. And if he isn’t, well, he should be. Unlike Langa, Reki doesn’t need all that much sleep to be functional. He could be bouncing off the walls with only three hours of mediocre sleep – Langa knows he becomes moody if he doesn’t get his 7 hours of sleep.  And unlike Langa, Reki refuses to put his phone on silent when he goes to bed which means that, if Langa did decide to text him, his phone would buzz and wake him up. So Langa doesn’t text Reki. He can’t continue thinking of Reki this much. He can’t afford to lose more sleep over this. Aren’t crushes supposed to go away after a few weeks at most?

Langa flips to his side, pulling his blanket over his head. He needs sleep. He needs to stop thinking of Reki. He needs to stop thinking of him as his Sunshine. There’s school in the morning. There are assignments he has to work on. There are new tricks Langa wants to try on his skateboard. There’s the inventory to do at work. Anything but Reki. Anything but his bright grin. Anything but his smile against Langa’s. Work. School. Skateboards. Or nothing. If everything went away, maybe Langa would finally be able to drift back to sleep. If he thinks of nothing… as long as it isn’t Reki… he can sleep… he can dream of a pink and purple and red sky… he can dream of…

—

2 - Nanako

The sun is high in the sky as Langa walks next to his mother. The warm wind is kissing his face, pushing his hair back for him. It’s a nice day to be out. It’s a nice day to spend with his mother; it feels like forever since the last time he accompanied her to the grocery store.

Nanako is walking by his side, asking him about what he wants to eat so she knows what to buy. Langa shrugs. He isn’t picky, anything his mother makes is good with him. She chuckles, saying something about him never changing. Langa doesn’t quite get it, but he simply nods. He never knows what to tell his mother. He never really knows what to tell anyone.

He follows her into the grocery store, a few steps behind her. People are brushing past him, young and old. Langa likes watching people, wondering what their lives are like. Sure, their faces all blur together, and the moment he’s looking away, he forgets about them, but he likes wondering what it’s like being someone else. He likes watching the old couples walking together, going on with their little lives. He likes watching the mothers juggle their children, sometimes giving in and buying the packs of cookies that are presented to them, sometimes scolding their children for taking things they don’t need off the shelves. He likes watching the groups of teenagers counting their coins, making sure they have enough for the snacks they want. Everyone has a different life, a life Langa will never know. Everyone is different and Langa finds that concept fascinating.

Langa watches as his mother picks up a few vegetables. He isn’t sure what the difference is between them, both leafy and green, but his mother seems torn. He points to the ones on the left which seems to satisfy Nanako. She says something about the many ways she can use it and Langa nods. He knows he’ll forget in an hour, but he still listens. He likes learning. He wants to be able to make meals for those he cares about.

They move around the grocery store, Nanako talking, explaining, planning the meals of the week, while Langa listens. It’s often like that, Langa just listening. He knows he should speak up a little more, voice his opinion, answer his mother with more than a curt nod or a shake of the head. He knows he should try to hold a conversation with her, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Something about having to talk, it makes him tense. He never really liked talking all that much. He rather just listen to others. They were always more interesting than him.

“I wish I had made more traditional dishes when you were younger,” Nanako says half in English, half in Japanese as she picks more vegetables from the stand. It’s a bad habit that she and Langa have, mixing the two languages when they talk to each other. “I feel like you missed out on that and now I’m paying for it. I never know what to make, always afraid you won’t like it.”

“I always like what you make.”

“I know you do, but that’s because I always make the same things. And when I do want to make something new, things I used to eat at your age,” Nanako sighs, putting back the package she had picked up. “It never comes out right and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Even when I follow recipes, they’re never quite how I want them.”

Langa doesn’t know what to say. He thinks back to what his mother used to give him back in Canada and he realizes there really weren’t that many traditional Japanese dishes. He remembers eating lots of rice with his meals, but the dishes themselves weren’t Japanese. They weren’t even Asian-inspired most of the time. They were what he had always considered normal, no name associated with them. He remembers when eating shitty Chinese takeout was considered exotic.

“I like what you make. I’m not picky.”

It isn’t a perfect answer, probably not what his mother wanted to hear, but she takes it. She smiles at him, chuckling lightly as she pats his arm.

“I know you aren’t. I’m very lucky that you aren’t.”

“And,” Langa’s voice surprises him, but not quite as much as it surprises Nanako. Still, he finishes his thought. “I could always ask Sunshine’s mom for pointers on how she makes her dishes. I’m sure she would be more than happy to help you.”

Nanako is looking at him, an eyebrow raised and an amused smile playing on her lips. The silence that falls between them is shattered the moment Langa feels his heart pound in his chest and his ears. He can feel the blood rushing to his face as he’s waving his hands around frantically.

“Wait! No! I didn’t mean-! I mean, Reki’s mom! I’m sure she-!”

Langa bites the inside of his cheeks, ducking his head in embarrassment. He can see everyone around looking at him funny, at his English outburst. They quickly return to their lives, completely forgetting about Langa, but he doesn’t forget. Not when his mother is laughing at him, patting his arm affectionately. Not when he still hears his words ringing in his head. Sunshine. Sunshine. Sunshine. He wasn’t supposed to say that.

“We’ll talk about this ‘Sunshine’ when we get home, hm?”

Langa wants to die. He does not want to talk about this ‘Sunshine’ when they get home, but he simply nods, trailing behind his mother like a little kid afraid of getting lost. He’s almost 18, but he feels like he’s 10 again. He feels so small with everyone looking at him. He knows they aren’t, but still, it feels like they’re judging him. Judging him for his loud voice. Judging him for the pet name he had picked. Judging him for calling his totally only platonic best friend Sunshine.

So he makes himself small, refusing to talk unless addressed by his mother. He isn’t sure he would survive if he embarrasses himself another time.

—

3 - Reki

The cold air feels wonderful against Langa’s flushed cheeks. It tangles in his sweat-drenched hair, pushing it out of his equally sweaty face. He’s hot, he’s panting, but he’s high on the thrill of the night. He doesn’t feel the exhaustion, even if he knows his body is ready to give in completely.

Another race won for Langa, not that he cares much for his winning streak. It’s more about going against new challenges for him, rather than actually winning. Not that he doesn’t like the feeling of winning! He loves that thrill, especially when it’s Reki grinning at him, pumping his fist in the air, and screaming that Langa won. But his favorite part really is the novelty of each race, never having the same tricks pulled on him twice. He loves having his mind racing, trying to figure out his opponent’s next move, as the wind hits his face. He loves being kept on his toes, both literally and metaphorically.

Langa’s mind is in a blissfully hazy state as he walks next to Reki, their shoulders bumping, their hands occasionally brushing against each other. Reki is talking – Reki is always talking – his hands waving around as he does. The street is deserted, their neighborhood plunged in darkness and silence, but it still feels lively because Reki is there. Reki is there to brighten everything. Reki and his enthusiasm, going on and on about the way Langa had swerved, the way he had jumped, the way he had won. Reki and his bubbly personality that is just like the sun.

Langa knows they should just go home, maybe both crash in Reki’s room, a sweaty mess of giggles and pants, but he finds himself tugging Reki down another street. Reki doesn’t resist; Reki never resists. Even if they’re both exhausted, muscles aching from all the physical strain of skating, they’re make their way down the street, kicking rocks under half-dead streetlamps. Being outside just feels nice. The cool breeze, the freedom of the night, Langa likes it. And he gets Reki all to himself for just a little longer. Langa likes having Reki all to himself, with no one there to interrupt them.

Langa’s stomach lets out a loud grumble, a pain piercing through him. Hunger. He’s always been a big eater, the perfect stereotypical teenage boy, but his mother has always understood. He was always out and about, burning all his energy on his board. First it had been snowboarding, now it’s skating. And after tonight, it’s understandable. He had given it his all, after all.

Reki nudges him, giggling like a fool. Langa feels his stomach flip when Reki snorts, his hands covering his mouth immediately after. But he’s still giggling, pitchy and breathy, and Langa falls. He falls for this boy, this boy who’s always been insecure about his laugh, this boy who’s always muffled his laughter whenever he felt it get uneven, this boy who trusts him enough to laugh so freely, snorting and giggling. Langa falls even deeper in love with this Sunshine of a boy. Langa loves Reki. Langa loves Reki and Reki doesn’t know this as his fingers tangle with Langa’s, pulling him along as they walk towards the closest open fast-food joint.

Langa isn’t sure of what he’s doing. His mind is hazy, clouded by the feeling of Reki’s calloused fingers against his own. He can feel every scar carved into Reki’s palm, soft and rough and everything in between. All he knows is that Reki is still talking, that he’s still grinning, that he’s pulling Langa along. All Langa knows is that he would follow Reki to the end of the world if it came down to it.

“Are we getting burgers, Sunshine?”

Reki’s eyebrows furrow. He’s staring at Langa with a funny look on his face. But his smile doesn’t falter. Well, maybe it does. His smile is there, but it’s not quite the same. It’s not crooked teeth and laughter. It’s questioning as he stands there, right next to Langa. It’s-

Langa feels his insides flip. Everything squeezes inside of him. Sunshine. His throat dries. It closes up. Sunshine. This isn’t his mom who simply teased him about the name. Sunshine. This isn’t a stranger Langa would forget about within the hour. Sunshine. This isn’t his head or his heart. Sunshine. This is Reki. This is Reki who now knows about Langa’s shameful secret. Sunshine.

Langa couldn’t deny that Reki was a Sunshine because it was the truth. He was bright and happy and warm and essential to Langa’s life. Reki was sunshine, but saying it out loud, saying it to his face, it was truly admitting, fully putting his feelings out there. It was admitting that his feelings were real. It was Langa finally, truly acknowledging that what he felt for Reki was more than puppy love, more than a schoolyard crush. Sunshine had always been Langa’s entryway into love, whether he liked it or not. Sunshine was Langa admitting that he thought a little too often about Reki, a little too intensely, a little more than just platonically.

Pretty laughter breaks from Reki’s lips as he nudges Langa’s shoulder. His hand had slipped away from Langa’s and Langa already misses its heat. He feels cold now in the night air. Reki knows what Langa said. Reki knows that it’s weird. Reki is uncomfortable. Langa messed up again. He always messes up.

“Sure, dude! Man,” Reki bumps his shoulder against Langa’s once more, flashing him a grin, “I’m starved. You payin’ or is it on me tonight? I can’t remember who paid last time.”

Langa blinks a few times as he matches Reki’s pace. Reki isn’t saying anything about the name. He isn’t saying anything about Sunshine. Maybe, somehow, Reki didn’t notice. Maybe he doesn’t find it weird.

“You,” Langa feels his throat clog, but he pushes through his awkwardness. “You don’t mind that I called you Sunshine?”

“Why should I?” Reki’s eyes are big and they glow under the flickering light of the streetlamps. Crooked teeth show again. “I mean, it’s not some weird thing, is it? It’s not an English insult, is it?”

Langa is hit with a wave of relief as he shakes his head. Reki is oblivious to the meaning of the name. Sweet, oblivious Reki. He doesn’t know how much Langa loves him.

“No, no it’s not. It’s just… a nickname? I guess? It’s not mean. It’s a nice thing to be called.”

“Then you can continue calling me that, if you want!”

Sweet, oblivious Reki. He doesn’t know what he’s doing to Langa, but that’s alright. It’s alright as long as he’s still walking by Langa’s side, his warm hand brushing against Langa’s cold one. It’s alright as long as he’s still smiling, bright and beautiful. It’s alright as long as they don’t change. Langa doesn’t want them to change. He loves Reki and that’s alright. He loves Reki in every way possible.

—

4 - Miya

There’s an electric feel fizzling through the air, energizing everyone at S. Langa watches the skaters, the ones that stand on the sidelines, staring at their phones, the ones screaming with their friends, the ones challenging each other. Langa watches all the different dynamics, all the different people he doesn’t know. He knows he has been challenged by a few of these people, he knows a good number look up to him, but he doesn’t know any of these people. He knows none of the people he’s looking at. None except his friends who are standing by the starting line.

Through the noise of the crowd, Langa can hear them loud and clear. All the other noise filters out, only Reki and Miya’s voices standing out as Langa gets closer to the pair. They’re bickering as they always do before a race. Reki is teasing Miya, his bright smile turned something mischievous. Langa loves how Reki treats Miya the same way he treats Koyomi. He teases, poking at the younger boy, but he’s never mean. Reki knows how to get under Miya’s skin, but it’s all fun and games. Miya is never mad at him, even if he does react like he is, crossing his arms, his face scrunching as he spits out insult after insult. And Reki laughs those insults off, patting the boy’s head.

“He’s thirteen; it’s just how they are at that age,” Reki had once said when Langa asked if it bothered him, all the things Miya had said to him. “Koyomi is worse. She really knows where to hit for it to hurt. Like, literally and with words. She’s ruthless.”

So Reki simply stands there, smiling while Miya tells him that he’s going to lose in his smug little voice. And when the boy’s voice cracks on the last word, his whole face flushing, Reki simply chuckles, patting his arm.

“Alright, sure. But don’t be surprised when you have to do my English conjugation homework later. You know, when you lose?”

Miya whips around to face Langa who’s just standing there, quiet and awkward, watching his friends bicker and trash talking each other. The boy’s face is red and scrunched. Langa wonders if he’s actually getting worked up or if it’s just Miya being Miya, a kid learning to deal with his emotions.

“Tell the slime that he’s going down!”

Langa shrugs. Both his friends are amazing skaters. So he says that. Miya doesn’t seem to like that answer, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he huffs, but Reki’s grinning and that’s all that really matters. Because in the end, he knows that the two will have fun, no matter who wins and who loses.

Reki checks his phone. It’s almost time for their race to start. Miya is shifting his weight from side to side. He isn’t nervous, he insists that he isn’t, but Langa knows better. Langa knows that despite what he says, Miya takes these competitions very seriously. Miya likes winning. Miya wants to win. Miya feels good when he wins. It’s the way he calculates if he’s good enough or not. Langa and Reki had tried changing that way of thinking, but it’s harder than it seems. Still, Langa wants Miya to know that it’s not all about winning. That’s why he’s patting the boy’s back, smiling down at him.

“You’re going to be amazing, Miya. You always are. No matter if you win or lose. You’re a great skater.”

Miya ducks his head, his hood hiding half of his face. He’s like Reki when it comes to being praised. He blushes and hides, but he likes them. He likes being reassured. Both of them do, but Reki is harder to praise. Reki won’t hesitate to shut Langa up, his hands clasping over Langa’s mouth for him to stop talking. One day, Langa will get through to him.

“And you,” Langa moves to Reki, squeezing his shoulders as he smiles. It’s easy to smile around Reki. “You’re going to do great. Like always. So good luck out there, Sunshine.”

Reki grins – Reki always grins – as he nods, grip tightening around his board.

“Sunshine?” Miya’s voice is loud and clear and judging. “Really? You…” He scoffs, kicking at the rocks on the ground. Langa doesn’t need to see him to imagine his figure, hands stuffed in his pockets, face pinched and judging. Always judging. “That’s so gross, you slime. Of all the names you could have picked, you go with something as cheesy as Sunshine?” A gag. “Gross. And I can’t believe it!” A voice crack. “You guys could have at least told me that you’re dating each other! How long have you been hiding this from me?”

Langa doesn’t see Miya. Langa doesn’t see anything, actually. He can’t move. Everything freezes. Everything feels distant. His insides twist as the boy keeps talking. His heart stops beating in his chest. His throat clogs up. He feels sick. Langa is going to be sick. Langa is going to be very sick very soon.

Everything possible went wrong. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised at Miya’s reaction. He knows that Miya is pretty fluent in English. He knows Miya spends a lot of time playing video games online, playing with people from all around the world. He knows Miya spends a lot of time on social media. He knows that Miya isn’t a native English speaker, but that he’s somehow better than Langa in English. He knows that Miya understands him whenever he says anything in English.

But Reki doesn’t know. Reki never knows what Langa is saying. Sometimes even when Langa is speaking Japanese, Reki stares at him like he just blurted out 100 digits of Pi or tried explaining the quadratic formula. Actually, no, because Reki understands that. Reki knows math. Reki is amazing at math. But he’s horrible when it comes to languages. Reki is terrible at English because words are hard for him. Letters are weird to him. What’s the difference between a p, a d, a q, and a b? They all look the same to Reki. So Langa can get away with blurting things out in English around him. Reki just accepts that he doesn’t understand and it doesn’t seem to bother him. Because Reki is amazing at math, but he sucks at languages.

“Langa?”

Langa is gasping for air. Everything is blurry. Everything except Reki’s hand on his arm. Reki, the way his fingers are digging into Langa’s skin. Everything is blurry, everything is hazy, everything is choking Langa, everything except Reki. Reki and his warmth. Reki and his kindness.

“Langa, you good, man?”

Reki is crouching next to Langa, steadying him on the uneven ground. He hasn’t let go; he doesn’t seem like he’s ready to let go any time soon. And for that, Langa is grateful, even if his breathing is uneven and difficult. He’s grateful, but guilt twists in his gut. He can see it, he can see the panic in Reki’s beautiful bright amber eyes, the uncertainty, the anxiety. He can see Reki growing anxious, but he can also see how he’s pushing all of that away for Langa. Langa can see Reki pushing away all his own feelings, all his own emotions aside for him. He’s trying his best to be there for Langa as this overwhelming feeling grows, hazing everything around him. Faces blur, Miya’s voice drains out, even Reki’s face starts going fuzzy. One, two, three, Langa tries counting the freckles on Reki’s face. One, two, three, Langa tries calming himself. One, two, three, Langa’s never felt this before. One, two, three, everything is wrong.

He can hear them, the distant voices of Joe, of Cherry, even of Shadow. Langa doesn’t understand what they’re saying, but he can hear them. He can hear Joe, his deep voice rumbling through the air. He can hear Cherry, his dry voice growing nearer. He can hear Shadow’s loud and rough voice, a voice that’s always made him wince ever so slightly. And then there’s Miya. He can hear Miya again. He can hear Miya’s frantic, panicked, defensive words. Words he doesn’t understand. Are they in English? Are they in Japanese? It’s probably Japanese; they are in Japan after all. And then there’s Reki. Reki’s soothing, calming voice snapping as he turns away from Langa. His kind eyes had turned hard as he turned at the young boy. And his voice… Langa had never heard Reki sound like that.

“We’re not dating, so cut it out, Miya!”

They’re not dating. The words ring in Langa’s air. They never will date. Reki doesn’t like him like that. Sweet, beautiful Reki, he doesn’t love Langa the way Langa loves him. He doesn’t even know that Langa loves him so much. Beautiful Reki with his big amber eyes. Beautiful Reki with the prettiest laugh, especially when he snorts. Langa loves him and he doesn’t know because he never will love Langa back. Not like that, at least.

The crowd that had formed around Langa and Reki and Miya starts to thin out. Langa’s vision is starting to come back as his breathing slows. The colors aren’t blurring together as they had been moments prior.

He can see Joe pushing people away. They don’t resist; Joe has that power, people never question him. Shadow is helping him, though he’s more intimidating, scaring people away rather than ushering them away like Joe. And Miya has disappeared, but Langa catches a glimpse of green next to Joe, small against the man’s large frame. It’s probably Miya, but Langa isn’t quite sure. He isn’t quite sure of anything, if he’s being honest.

He catches Cherry glancing at him and Reki. He can’t read the man, he never can, but somehow, it calms him. It calms him to see Cherry standing there, arms crossed, his eyes flickering between the two boys on the ground and the thinning crowd. It’s protective. It’s… nice. Langa isn’t quite used to being cared for, he isn’t quite used to being the one on the ground, he isn’t quite used to being the one needing assistance, but seeing his friends there for him, looking out for him, it feels good.

Reki shifts in front of him, dropping down onto his knees. His head hangs back as he takes a deep, shaky breath. Oh, Reki is shaking. Langa was so fixated on himself that he didn’t notice how much Reki was panicking. He’s shaking like a leaf. He’s- Reki is laughing. Reki is laughing and shifting again, getting as comfortable as he can on the ground. He’s laughing, his eyes bright and big as they meet Langa’s. Reki is laughing while Langa just sits there, awkward, embarrassed, only starting to calm.

“Man,” Reki rubs at his nose, his voice higher than usual from the laughter, “I can’t believe that happened. Like Miya was… Man, I didn’t know what to say.”

“You,” Langa surprises himself, his voice catches him off guard, but he doesn’t stop. “You handled it pretty well.”

“You think?”

Reki’s cheeks are flushed. He’s still rubbing at his nose, a nervous tick of his. But he seems calm. He’s grinning. He looks beautiful like that. He always looks so beautiful.

Langa nods, not trusting his voice. And as he nods, his eyes flicker down. His body burns, his throat clogs up, but it feels different for moments ago. Everything contracts, but it releases just as quickly. Because it feels good. It feels good to have Reki’s hand over his, though Langa isn’t sure when that happened. He hadn’t felt Reki’s hand cover his, but now it’s all he feels.

Langa gulps. Reki’s hand is on his. It’s not the first time – Reki is an extremely physical person, from the small touches like their hands brushing together as they walk side by side to the bigger gestures like hugs – but Langa doesn’t know what to do. It’s not like the other times. Reki doesn’t have a reason to have his hand on Langa’s. But he chose to do so. He voluntarily chose to touch Langa, even after this whole fiasco.

“Hey,” Reki’s eyes flicker to where Chery was standing but has since left before coming back to Langa’s, “you good man?”

Langa nods again – it’s all he can manage to do, especially when Reki is looking at him like that. His deep amber eyes seem hazed with something Langa can’t quite pinpoint. They look softer, somehow. They’re not quite as big as usual, not flickering around excitedly like Langa is used to. They’re fixated on his face, on his eyes. Reki is staring at him, staring as if Langa is all there is to see in this big, wide world.

“You can tell me if something is bothering you, you know that, right?”

Langa’s heart flips in his chest as he straightens out. It was involuntary, Langa swears. He hadn’t meant to stare at Reki’s mouth, his eyes catching on the perfect curve of his lips as he smiled. It was an accident. Everything that happened tonight was an accident.

“I’m sorry,” Langa blurts out, leaning closer to Reki to make sure he hears him. He wants to make sure Reki knows how sorry he is about everything. “I’m sorry about the- about the whole- I shouldn’t have-!”

Langa bites the inside of his cheeks, sinking back into the ground. He just wants to apologize. He just wants to tell Reki that it will never happen again, that he’ll be more careful next time, but the words clog up in his throat. He can’t say it. He can’t say anything. Langa can never say anything.

“Is this about the whole Sunshine thing?”

Langa nods, shame filling him once more. He hates that he even dared allow himself to call Reki Sunshine. It was a name of his fantasies. It was a name given to the boy that could love him back. It was his feelings slipping out, completely out of control. It was Langa falling in love with the impossible.

“S’fine, dude.” Reki is smiling again. He’s shifting closer to Langa. “I really don’t mind. I mean, it’s not mean, so… You’re allowed, dude. It’s okay.”

Everything suddenly feels fuzzy and warm inside of Langa. It’s from the way Reki had gotten closer, their knees bumping and touching. It’s from the way Reki’s thumb is rubbing soothing circles into Langa’s knuckles. It’s from way Reki is looking at him, looking at him as if Langa really is the only person in the world. It’s from the way Reki’s cheeks are dusted with a rosy blush, his every freckle like a little star against a setting sun. Everything feels warm and fuzzy inside of Langa because Reki is there.

Langa never wanted them to change, but something has shifted. Their entire world shifted, but it’s not necessarily a bad thing. Change isn’t always bad, Langa has to remind himself, because if there wasn’t any change, then he wouldn’t have been here, staring at this beautiful, infinite golden hour that’s playing in Reki’s eyes. He wouldn’t be here, lost in those eyes. He wouldn’t be here, just him and Reki.

Langa had never considered himself a shy or nervous person. He never had a problem saying what was on his mind when he was prompted to speak. He never minded sounding blunt because it meant that he was being honest. Sure, it never hurt being a little less direct, a little softer, but if all he could manage was being blunt, then so be it. So far, it had always worked. Yet, staring Reki, Reki with his big and kind eyes, Langa finds himself tongue-tied. The words clog in the base of his throat, refusing to come out.

It’s now or never, Langa knows that. He has to say something now or he would have to die with his feelings buried deep in his heart. It’s now or he’ll never have another shot at confessing. It’s now or he’ll never get to see this beauty ever again.

His nails dig into the ground as his eyes squeeze shut. He feels hot. He feels like he’s burning from the inside. It’s now or never. Langa has to do this now.

“Reki, I like you.”

The words spill as Langa tenses. He feels his shoulders go stiff. He feels his stomach twist. He waits. He can’t open his eyes yet. He waits. He feels Reki’s thumb freeze against his skin. He waits. He knows the rejection is coming. He waits. He waits for his heart to shatter.

Pretty laughter. A snort. Pitchy giggling. Langa opens one eye, looking up at Reki. His face is completely flushed, his cheeks as red as his hair, but he’s giggle and nodded and grinning. He’s grinning from ear to ear. Langa relaxes, his breath hitching at the sight. Reki doesn’t hate him.

“Yeah, man? For real? You mean it?”

Does Langa mean it? Of course he does. It’s probably the most truthful thing he’s ever said in his life. He nods. Reki laughs excitedly. Nervously. He’s rubbing at his nose again.

“Man, aw, dude! That’s-!” The giggles are breaking up his sentences, not that Reki seems to be able to formulate a single coherent thought right now. His mind is probably racing. “Yeah, okay, yeah, man! I mean- Aw, dude-” more rubbing of the nose, his face flushing even deeper if that’s even possible. “Dude, this is so much harder than I thought… Of course, you somehow manage to make it sound so easy. You’re so good at this stuff, man.” Reki takes a deep breath. It’s a little shaky, but he’s still smiling so wide. “Langa, dude, I like you too!”

They’re both shaking. They’re both shaking and grinning and nodding and laughing. Langa feels breathless, adrenaline fueling him. The feeling, the feeling of Reki saying that he likes him too, the feeling of having Reki smile at him so brightly, looking like literal Sunshine, it’s better than winning any race. It feels a million times better than nailing a difficult trick. It’s… Langa had never felt that until now. He feels light and breathless and happy. So happy. The happiest.

Langa has to bite the inside of his cheek, ducking his head down and resisting the urge to blurt out to Reki that he loves him. He can’t blurt that out, not yet. Maybe next week. Maybe in a month. Maybe tomorrow. But not yet. One step at a time. So he contents himself with a smile that starts hurting his cheeks. He’s never smiled this big before.

Langa isn’t sure what all of this means, if they’re boyfriends or not, but he knows Reki likes him. Reki likes him and they’re holding hands, fingers intertwined as Reki is pulling Langa off the ground. Langa isn’t sure where they stand now, more than friends, not quite in a relationship, but they will talk about that later. They’ll talk about it when it’s just them, in the quiet of their homes. They will talk about them when they’ll be free to giggle like fools, embarrassed and flushed, when there won’t be anyone to interrupt them.

For now, Langa will have to do with this, Reki’s hand in his as he drags Langa back to their friends.

Miya sidesteps behind Joe as soon as he sees Reki and Langa coming up to him. He looks unsure and pouty, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his hood and hair falling over his eyes. It’s in those moments that Langa realizes how young Miya is compared to him. It’s in these moments that he realizes that Miya is barely a teenager and he’s almost an adult. Langa isn’t mad at Miya, but Miya might not know that. Miya might not be old enough to truly, fully realize that he is allowed to mess up from time to time. Especially not when he’s constantly pressured to be the best at everything he does.

Reki’s hand reaches out to the boy, pushing his hood off to ruffle his hair. Langa watches the interaction between the two. He watches Miya’s eyes widen, gapping a little at Reki before pulling his hood back on and huffing. He watches Reki grin at the boy, reminding him of their beef. He watches as Miya relaxes, stepping away from Joe. And he watches Joe and Cherry exchange looks, words that don’t need to be said for them to understand each other. Langa doesn’t understand them, but he knows it’s nothing bad.

Reki bounces from foot to foot, shaking his whole body to relax while Miya stretches his legs and rolls his shoulders back. They both look pumped, ready to take the other down. Their eyes are bright as they look around, watching the people gather around once more. Langa knows this will be a good race. He knows that neither one will go easy on the other.

It takes a few minutes, but the crowd finally gathers around the starting line. It’s almost time to start, electricity fizzling through the air. Reki versus Miya. Two amazing skaters are about to go head-to-head. No one wants to miss that, even if it is a little later than it was supposed to.

Reki bounces up to Langa, his palms sliding down Langa’s arms until they’re flush against his, their fingers locking together. Reki is grinning, bright and warm and sunny. Reki is grinning, crooked front teeth and beautiful. Langa can’t help but smile back at him.

“It’s almost time.”

Langa nods. “You’re going to do amazing, Reki.”

“Hey, Langa?” Langa hums as Reki begins to swing their arms between them, hands still clasped together. Dusty rose colors his cheeks. “Can you say it again? Please?”

Langa furrows his eyebrows, his head tilting ever so slightly. “Say what?”

“You know! You know… the thing?”

Oh. It’s hard not letting the laughter bubbling inside escape from his lips. If he wasn’t already in love, Langa definitely is now. How can he not when Reki is looking like that, chewing on his lip as he glances away, shifting from foot to foot? How can he not be in love with this ray of sunshine?

Langa isn’t sure what prompts him to act the way he does, but he doesn’t regret it. He doesn’t regret tugging Reki closer, causing him to stumble until their bodies are flush against each other. He doesn’t regret pressing a kiss to Reki’s warm cheek. He doesn’t regret the whispers that break from his lips.

“Good luck, Sunshine. Win this one, for me.”

[ravs6709]

Kiss The Cook- YJH & Kimcom

This fic was inspired by this post here by @kaptainkoalaoshiz . I saw it and had inspiration, and it's just short and sweet fluff, which happens to be my specialty

Technically takes place post epilogue, but other than some vague spoiler in the beginning, there's not really much spoilers, I think. It's my first orv fic, so I'm still kinda getting a hang of writing the dynamic, but enjoy!

Warnings- none, I think?

•~•~•~•~•~•

Han Sooyoung was the first in their group to wake up. Upon realizing that she was the only one awake, she grabbed her laptop and added on to her latest novel that she'd been writing. After a while, she couldn't figure out what to write next, so she got up and took a walk.

As each day passed by, the streets of Seoul began to look more like they did before the apocalypse. While it'd been over for a long time now, she still had to get used to being able to casually walk down the streets without the threat of a scenario looming.

It would have been an ordinary day- she'd finish her walk before going home, eat breakfast (mostly likely made by Yoo Joonghyuk), write some more until she'd make Kim Dokja read it over, argue with him over the edits being made, the usual.

Except… as she passed by a shop, a particular item caught her eye. She bought the item and walked home, a grin on her face.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Yoo Joonghyuk walked into the kitchen to make breakfast. In the past, he only cooked for himself, but once he started living with the others, everyone agreed that since he was the best cook, he'd make the most of the meals for everyone.

(He protested at first, then reluctantly agreed because he didn't like eating food cooked by other people. But it became something he enjoyed, the delighted smiles on their faces as they ate their meals made him feel a little warmer.)

He picked up his apron, then frowned. It looked similar to his apron- dark and plain- but there was writing on the front that definitely did not belong to his apron. The text was white, and read, "Kiss The Cook. "

It took him less than a second to know that this was a trap. The problem was, he didn't know who had switched the aprons, or when it had happened. Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung would definitely pull a prank like this, but he wouldn't be surprised if they'd gotten Jung Heewon or even Yoo Mia involved. That meant that there were plenty of spots where his apron could be, and if Yoo Mia was involved, it meant that he wouldn't be getting his apron back, since she'd have it stored in her inventory.

With a resigned sigh, Yoo Joonghyuk put on the apron and started making breakfast.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Kim Dokja woke to the scent of food. He brushed his teeth, then went into the kitchen to see what was being prepared.

"Breakfast isn't ready," Yoo Joonghyuk said, not even bothering to turn around and look at him. "Get out of the kitchen."

Naturally, Kim Dokja did not not leave, and instead took a few steps forward.

"Oh, this looks good," he remarked.

"Of course it does," Yoo Joonghyuk replied, angling his body to turn away from him. "Now leave."

"What are you hiding?" He asked, moving so he could stand in front of him.

"Nothing, now get out." Except that he was still turning away.

It took nearly thirty seconds of moving around (and listening to Yoo Joonghyuk's threats) until Kim Dokja could finally see what he was trying to hide.

"Oh," he said, eyes falling on the writing. He grinned. "Well, don't mind if I do."

Kim Dokja gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then ran out of the kitchen. "This wasn't my idea!" He yelled.

"What are you yelling about?" Han Sooyoung asked. She turned to look at where he'd been running from. "Oh, that makes sense."

"Was it your idea?" He asked.

She nodded, a grin on her face. "He's lucky that I only found the apron in black. Either way, he'll probably kill me. Well, he'll kill you first. I wish I got to see his reaction when you went in."

"What did you do to oppa?" A high pitched voice asked. Kim Dokja and Han Sooyoung turned to see Yoo Mia.

Somehow, the grin on Han Sooyoung's face grew larger. "Let's go see him right now."

Kim Dokja stood at the entrance to the kitchen while Han Sooyoung and Yoo Mia walked inside. As Han Sooyoung approached Yoo Joonghyuk, he picked up a knife and pointed it at her, all without turning around.

"Leave the kitchen, Han Sooyoung," he ordered.

"Put that away," she warned. She picked up Yoo Mia in her arms. "You can't go around pointing a knife at your own sister."

Slowly, he turned around. He took one look at Yoo Mia looking at the knife disappointedly, then put the knife down.

"How'd you even know it was me in the first place?" she asked.

"Kim Dokja was just here, I figured you'd come next."

She shrugged. "Mia, do you see what it says on his apron?" She stepped closer towards him. "You know what to do."

Yoo Mia wrapped her arms around her brother's neck, then gave him a kiss on his cheek. She was loud about it, something Yoo Joonghyuk would scowl at, but because it was his sister, his expression actually softened instead. Han Sooyoung took that chance and stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek too.

"Why are you so tall ?" she muttered with a curse.

"You're just short."

She cursed then left the kitchen. She put Yoo Mia down, who ran off.

"What a coward, bringing Mia with you," Kim Dokja told Han Sooyoung.

"Not all of us lack self-preservation skills," she replied. "It's called being strategic."

He opened his mouth to reply, but then Yoo Sangah passed by them.

"Good morning Dokja-ssi, Sooyoung-ssi," she greeted.

The two of them greeted her back, then watched as Yoo Sangah walked into the kitchen.

"Oh, I see," she said, looking at the apron Yoo Joonghyuk was wearing. She kissed him on the cheek, and unlike with the two of them, he didn't scowl. "Thank you for breakfast, and for everything else, Joonghyuk-ssi."

He nodded slowly.

The rest of Kim Dokja's Company began to get up, and quickly caught on to what was happening, each of them going to give Yoo Joonghyuk a kiss. 

"What do you look so confused about?" Jung Heewon asked. "You look like Dokja-ssi every time we tell him that we love him. Well guess what, you're a part of the family too." She kissed him on the cheek.

Before Yoo Joonghyuk could say anything, Jung Heewon left the kitchen.

("Do I really make that kind of face?" Kim Dokja whispered.

"Yeah, you do," Han Sooyoung replied.)

It was heart-warming when Lee Hyunsung carried Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung on his shoulders so the kids could give him kisses, before leaning down himself to give him a kiss on the forehead.

"Hey Master," Lee Jihye greeted. She kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks." Then she left.

Lee Seolhwa walked in soon afterwards. If it'd been in the past, it might have been awkward as she kissed him on the cheek. But after all the years that had passed by, it wasn't, and as she walked out of the kitchen, his lips curved up in a slight smile.

After breakfast was finished, Yoo Joonghyuk called everyone over so they could take their shares. Kim Dokja noticed that Yoo Joonghyuk had an odd expression on his face, but before he could figure out what it was, the apron was being forced onto him by strong arms.

In the past, Kim Dokja might have been able to overpower him, but at this point, the protagonist was clearly stronger. The apron was put on him with little resistance.

"It's your turn," Yoo Joonghyuk said, then held Kim Dokja tightly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead.

The rest of Kim Dokja's Company took the chance to shower Kim Dokja in affection too. By the end of it all, they were all smiling.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Orv taglist- @subrosasteath

I may or may not write more stuff for orv, but if you wanna be added to the taglist, just lmk

[heart-of-gold-outlaw]

Welcome Home | Chapter Nine

Chapter Title: Paint It, Black 9/? Wattpad

You manage to catch a grand total of three fish. After that, you decide you've had enough. And yes: it has everything to do with the four hooks you had to dig out of your hand. Helping out camp is one thing. Actually putting in effort? That's another entirely.

By the time you hike up the hill to Horseshoe Overlook, the sun is starting to set. You look around. Hopefully, you can go straight to Pearson's wagon. The fish weigh heavily in your satchel—the one that Arthur gave you. That thought alone brings a blush to your cheeks, and you hurriedly give Pearson the fish to distract yourself from it.

"These'll do nicely, Y/N," he says. "Let's see, bluegill, pickerel, and..." He heaves out the largest one you caught. "A smallmouth bass."

You bite your lip, suddenly a little unsure. "They're okay?"

Pearson blinks, taken aback. "Well, sure. Why wouldn't they be?"

Because I caught them, you think. Instead of saying that, though, you shake your head and smile.

"No reason." You turn with a wave. "See ya, Pearson."

Whether he notices your obviously fake attempt at lightheartedness, you'll never know. Still, it's not like it matters. Pearson, you've decided, isn't the most observant of the bunch. But he does cook a damn good stew.

You find yourself drifting toward Arthur's tent. He isn't back from Valentine yet, though you think he'll be back soon, if the sun is any telltale sign. The wagon doubles as ammunition storage, and you figure you might as well take inventory. Being from modern times—modern jobs—has its perks, apparently.

Although you barely know the difference between rifle and pistol cartridges, you manage to count and organize everything. The wagon looks ten times better by the time you're done.

If only I could do that to the rest of camp, you think with a smirk. Maybe they wouldn't be outlaws if they knew how to take care of themselves.

You pick up a box of bullets. Revolver, you realize. They're not all that interesting, but they are bigger than you thought. Briefly, you wonder if you'll ever learn how to use a revolver. The one Arthur gave you back at Six Point Cabin still sits by your bedroll, practically untouched. You've thought about practicing. Hell, you've thought about a lot of things. But somehow, you just know that if you try anything by yourself, you'll wound up with another burnt hand.

You hold the bullets at arm's length. It's not that you're afraid to try. You're not really afraid of anything, save for the obvious. And yet with the way things have been going, you might as well play it safe.

"They ain't gonna bite you, you know."

Barely stifling a shriek, you whirl around. Of course—of course—, Arthur's standing behind you. There's an amused half of a smile on his face, and you feel your cheeks burning for the second time that evening.

"I know," you say. "I was hoping they would, though. I'm into that shit."

Sometimes, you wish you could control the things that come out of your mouth.

Arthur stares at you, clearly trying to process what you just said. You don't really want to explain yourself. Honestly, that's a conversation you never want to have.

"When did you get back?" You ask, changing the subject.

"About five minutes ago." Arthur reaches over and takes the box of bullets from you. "You thinkin' of practicing?"

A laugh escapes you, loud and a little too forced. "No, not in the slightest."

Arthur seems to know you're lying through your teeth. He gives you a look, then glances down at the ammo again. You can practically see the thoughts going through his mind. It's... slightly unnerving—and slightly adorable.

Actually? You need to stop. If Arthur finds out about your little crush on him, it's game over.

"C'mon," he eventually says, startling you out of your reverie. He pockets the ammo and motions toward your bedroll. "Grab that revolver an' meet be by Florence."

You must look a little uncertain, because Arthur smiles reassuringly and pats your shoulder.

"Don't worry," he says. "I'll teach you how to use it."

In seconds, the nervousness you felt goes away. As Arthur heads for the hitching posts, you hurry to your bedroll and pick up the revolver. For the first time, you recognize the craftsmanship that went into it. Elegant engravings swirl around the barrel, and the grip is a lovely ivory with a carved butterfly. You don't know where Arthur got it. Then again, no sense in complaining. It's absolutely beautiful, and you'll take beauty over, well, nothing any day.

You walk over to the hitching posts. Arthur's already in the saddle, looking strong and sure atop Florence. He reaches over and effortlessly lifts you behind him. At first, you're slightly unsteady. You don't suppose you'll ever get used to horseback. But eventually, you settle into Florence's gait as Arthur sets a steady trot for the river.

"We've got about an hour of daylight left," he says. "Might as well make use of it."

"Uh huh," you say, unable to focus on anything but how warm he is. "Sure."

Florence misses a step, and you immediately cling to Arthur in a death-grip. He glances over his shoulder. You don't miss the amused look in his eyes, nor the slight curve of his lips, but you ignore it in favor of, you know, not dying.

For what seems like the millionth time, you marvel at the scenery around you. In the future, you don't really get a chance to sit back and admire natural beauty. There's not really much of it left. Sure, you could take a vacation to Yellowstone or Yosemite, but it's not quite the same. Too many cars, too much... future.

It doesn't take long for Florence to get to the river. Arthur steers him toward a fallen log. He dismounts quickly and expertly, while you do your best not to fall off without your anchor.

Despite everything, you pitch forward. Arthur reaches out and catches you before you can faceplant in the mud, and you hear him try to hold in his laughter. Your face heats up.

"Sorry," you say when you're steady on your feet. "Not really used to sidesaddle yet."

"Ain't gotta apologize," he says, hands still on your arms. He's smiling. "You'll get it."

You smile too, looking into the soft blue of his eyes. For a moment, you forget why you're by the river in the first place. But eventually, Arthur clears his throat and looks away, moving his hands from your arms as he walks to the fallen log.

"We'll start off pretty close," he tells you, "and then go from there."

He reaches into his satchel and pulls out some bottles. You think you recognize whiskey and rum. What surprises you is that they're full.

"Isn't that a waste of good alcohol?" You ask.

Arthur laughs as he sets the bottles on the log. "Was plannin' on giving these to Dutch, but I like this idea more. Been meanin' to teach you to shoot for a while."

Your brain shorts for a second. "Really?"

"Sure." He finishes setting up the targets and moves to stand by you. "Can't help us rescue Sean if you ain't had a little practice."

He stands by you after setting up six bottles, then shows you how to hold the revolver. Your grip is too tight at first, and Arthur waits patiently as you adjust it. Eventually, you manage to get it where it's comfortable.

"Like this?" You ask, looking to him for confirmation.

He nods. "Exactly."

Pulling out his own gun, he quickly shoots one of the bottles, absolutely obliterating it into nothing. You flinch a little at the sound. You've never really been a fan of loud noises, but you suppose you'll have to get used to them.

"Don't try to think about it too much," he tells you, "and be ready for the kick."

You hesitate for a second, then extend your arm so the revolver's pointing at one of the bottles. "How's this?"

Arthur inspects your stance, lips pressed together in thought. He moves closer and gently grips your arm to bend it slightly at the elbow.

"Relax, Y/N," he says. "It ain't gonna bite you."

You find yourself thinking only of how warm he is, how the slightest brush of his hand against your arm sends butterflies through your stomach. Forcing yourself to snap out of it, you nod your head almost mechanically.

"Okay," you tell him, adjusting your posture. "Like this?"

He steps back and gives you a onceover. "Better," he says with a smile. "Now let's see if you can hit anythin'."

Biting your lip, you pull the hammer back and squeeze the trigger. You can't help but jump slightly when the gun goes off, and the bullet goes awry. A splash and a fountain of water tells you it landed in the river.

"Oops," you manage.

Arthur, to give him credit, doesn't laugh. Instead, he corrects your stance again and puts his hand between your shoulders.

"Relax," he says smoothly. "First shot's always the worst."

"But it isn't my first," you protest. "I shot that O'Driscoll."

"Point blank." He presses his hand against your back ever-so-lightly, aligning your shoulders so you're not so tense. "Now try again."

You hope you're not blushing as much as you think you are. Taking a deep breath, you aim the revolver again and pull the trigger. The first bottle explodes in a flurry of shattered glass.

"I hit it!" You beam at Arthur triumphantly. "I actually hit it!"

He smiles at you, a soft grin you don't think you've seen on him before. After a moment, he motions for you to move on to the next bottle. It takes you another try to hit this one, but eventually, it joins its companion and shatters.

You keep practicing until finally—finally—you hit all the bottles. After that, Arthur looks at the almost-dark sky and tells you it's time to head back. You have to admit, you're a little disappointed. Well... until he says he'll take you out again tomorrow.

Back on Florence and trotting steadily toward camp, you manage to ride sidesaddle without wobbling too much. And as you climb the hill to Horseshoe Overlook, listening to Arthur hum contentedly to himself, you find yourself feeling more at home than you have in years.

Inspired Music: The Rolling Stones | Paint It Black 

[the-bee-graveyard]

The Fine Line: Chapter Four

Other Chapters

Summary: The glader’s trauma is finally discussed (I’ve been meaning to put it in here but this is the first chapter I could make it work) Minho goes rogue and takes matters into his own hands. We finally get somewhere with Newtmas? Sort of? (Not a lot of Brendresa this chapter I’m afraid) 

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added/deleted): @izzymultifan @madmathis18

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, VIOLENCE, BLOOD MENTION

Chapter Four: Lines Are Erasable If They’re Drawn In Pencil

Part One: Thomas’s POV

The Last City burned in slow motion.

That’s what it felt like to the people who were there. It was a beautiful thing, watching that city burn, it felt like the final destruction of evil. Thomas didn’t have time to take in his victory, not as he dragged Newt through the ruins.

His friends shallow breathing made Thomas’s heart stop every time he heard it pause, even just for a second. He could collapse himself from exhaustion, but if he collapsed they both lied and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Newt die. He couldn’t let Newt die. 

Then Newt woke up, and Thomas wished he’d stayed unconscious for just a few minutes more. 

“Tommy, kill me,” Newt whispered at Thomas wrestled the knife from his hands. “Make amends. Do one right thing.” His voice dropped to a whisper, and Thomas could physically feel his heart breaking. “Please, Tommy, Please.” Newt relaxed a bit, giving Thomas just enough time to knock the knife out of his hands and send it flying, hitting the pavement again a few yards away.

Newt lunged for the knife, but Thomas pulled him into a tight embrace. Newt squirmed and punched at Thomas’s back, but Thomas kept a firm grip. He could feel his grip slipping though, and as Newt tried to pry him off again Thomas grabbed a large chuck of rock.

“I’m so sorry Newt,” Thomas said, tears flowing down his face like two rivers running beside each other. “I’m don’t want to do this. I don’t want to hurt you.” He hit the rock up against Newt’s head, hard enough to knock him out and he prayed light enough to do nothing else.

Newt sunk to the ground and Thomas sunk down next to him, shaking violently. 

“Thomas! Thomas!” A voice called. Thomas spun around to see Brenda running towards him, the serum in her hands. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Newt. “He’s not-?”

“He’s not dead,” Thomas assured her. “But give me the serum, he’s damn close.” Brenda stuck the needle into Newt’s arm. It was supposed to do something. But it didn’t.

“Newt,” Thomas whispered. “Newt please, please come back to me.” But nothing happened. Thomas pressed his hands to his friends chest, but there was no heartbeat. “I love you Newt, please.” 

Thomas’s eyes shot open. He almost fell out of his hammock as he climbed up and went over to the sleeping blonde next to him, pressing his hand to Newt’s chest making sure not to wake him. After watching Newt’s chest move up and down with breathing and feeling his heartbeat he went back to his own hammock and pulled something out of his pocket.

A necklace. The necklace.

The necklace Newt gave him back in the last city. Thomas blinked and the image of Newt begging him to take the necklace from him, Newt dying. Thomas quickly opened the necklace in hopes to get rid of the image, pulling out a piece of paper, a letter.

For a moment Thomas thought he shouldn’t read it. Newt wrote it when he was dying, maybe he only intended for Thomas to read it after he was gone. Thomas began to read the letter anyways, he was never known to say no to an impulse.

Part Two: Minho

So, none of their plans had worked so far. Minho really thought he had it with truth or dare, but of course Newt had to go and shut it down. Minho did see the look of disappointment on Thomas’s face had inspired him to continue on, and to go rogue.

Sonya was going to kill him for this. Thomas was going to kill him for this, if this didn’t work out. Maybe even if it did. Hopefully he’ll be too busy kissing his new boyfriend to assist Sonya in murder. Sonya didn’t need the help.

Minho skipped breakfast to break into the tech tent (where they kept all the technology). He could get something from Frypan later, he could not get what he needed later. It had to be now, while the tent was empty.

Minho dug through two crates before he found what he was looking for: a small handheld voice recorder. He stuffed it in his pocket quickly and begun heading for the exit when a raven haired blue eyed girl appeared in his way.

“Minho? What are you doing in here?” Teresa asked.

“Better question is what you’re doing in here,” Minho replied quickly, trying to look for places he could run or find excuses he could use.

“Vince sent me to work in here, do inventory and stuff like that,” Teresa said.

“I won’t tell if you don’t tell,” Minho said quickly.

“Minho, I’m the one who’s supposed to be in here,” Teresa replied calmly. Minho gave her a charming smile which usually got him out of situations. Teresa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine, go. But we’re not done with this conversation.” Minho thanked her and dashed off to find his favorite clueless idiots. 

Thomas found him first, almost ran into him really. “Minho,” Thomas gasped. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you.”

“That’s perfect, I’ve been looking for you too,” Minho said. “Now what's this about Tommy boy?” Minho expected to get the usual ‘only Newt can call me Tommy’ speech. Instead he got two pieces of paper shoved in his face.

“Read this,” Thomas said. “Would you consider this a love letter?” Minho took the pages from Thomas and began to read as quickly as he could.

He finished, and the fact that Thomas had to question whether that was a love letter or not was concerning. ‘From the moment you ran into the maze I knew I’d follow you anywhere’ was the gayest shit Minho had ever and would ever read.

Minho had to try his hardest to restrain himself from squealing. Another idea came to him (the creativity was really flowing for him today).

“Dude, that’s totally a love letter,” Minho said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Thomas said, looking slightly confused.

“If you could respond to this letter, how would you?” Minho pressed the record button on the recorder in his pocket. 

“I’d tell him since the minute I came up in that box, since he first looked down at me and I looked up at him there was never anyone else for me. That I realized that I was in love with him when he looked at me after he made me a runner, knowing he put all his trust in me and I couldn’t fail him. And that night in the scorch, I believed what he said to me, and I kept going because of him. And how I would have caught the flare a hundred times instead of him. That I have and always will love him.”

Minho would’ve teared up if he wasn’t so giddy with excitement. There’s no way that could be seen as platonic bro stuff, right? (knock on wood). 

“Great thanks Tom, love you my dude,”Minho said before running off to seek on the other half of the boyfriends-who-weren’t-aware-they’re-boyfriends.

Part Three: Newt

Newt was immediately suspicious when he saw Minho running towards him with a stupid grin plastered on his face. Newt had been working in the gardens with Sonya and Harriet (they usually hunted but they were all stocked up on meat so there was no need today) when he saw his friend coming towards them. 

Newt had been talking to Sonya about different types of plants. She’d ask a question about what type of plant it was or something like that and he’d tell her. He found he liked having someone to teach quite a lot, he liked having a sister.

“What the fuck is this about?” Newt sighed as Minho arrived at his side.

“Yeah, what the,” Sonya paused mid-sentence.

“Fuck,” Harriet inserted.

“Is this about?” Sonya finished, glaring at Minho suspiciously.

“I just need to talk to Newt in private about super secret bro stuff,” Minho said. The siblings and Harriet all glared at Minho was disbelief. “I want to talk to him about Brenda and Teresa’s undeniable chemistry.” Sonya and Harriet shrugged and went back to work. Minho grabbed Newt’s arm and began to drag him towards the beach, Newt trying to twist out of Minho’s grip. Newt was strong, but Minho was stronger.

“What’s this really about,” Newt said as his shoes hit the sand. He really hated being on the beach with his shoes on. 

“Don’t talk, just listen, kay?” Minho said, pulling a voice recorder and hitting play before Newt could protest.

He recognized Thomas’s voice immediately. He quickly thought of Thomas pressing his hand to Newt’s chest this morning, Newt pretending to be asleep as his heart sped up.

“I’d tell him since the minute I came up in that box, since he first looked down at me and I looked up at him there was never anyone else for me. That I realized that I was in love with him when he looked at me after he made me a runner, knowing he put all his trust in me and I couldn’t fail him. And that night in the scorch, I believed what he said to me, and I kept going because of him. And how I would have caught the flare a hundred times instead of him. That I have and always will love him,” Thomas said.

Newt couldn’t stop the tears from spilling out of his eyes. Minho clearly didn’t expect this reaction, he quickly pulled his friend into a hug though.

“Is something wrong? I thought you’d be happy to hear that?” Minho said.

Newt was happy, he really was. He’d spent the past months pining hopelessly, praying Thomas would love him back even just a little bit. He remembered all the nights he’d woke up looking for Alby or Minho and Thomas was always there to hold him until he fell back to sleep, or if he didn’t think he could go back to sleep to stay up and talk with him. How one time on the move looking for Minho they almost kissed but Vince called them over before they could, how Newt had stayed up for days thinking about what could have happened that moment.

And now he was getting that opportunity again.

“Happy, so happy Min, just overwhelmed,” Newt said, wiping the tears on his sleeve. Minho grinned and hit him on the back lightly.

“Go get your lover boy then.”

[searchingwardrobes]

Self Promo Sunday

I have honestly really enjoyed going back to my older fics and making picsets for them to post here on tumblr. This one is a cute little one shot that came to me because I did a brief stint in direct sales and was HORRIBLE at it! (I sold - or tried to sell - scrapbooking supplies). I know Killian is good at charming his way out of trouble and using his charm to steal things, but I imagined that being a salesman wouldn’t be as easy for him. You see, I was horrible at sales because I don’t like talking people into buying something when they clearly don’t want to. Killian Jones is very passionate about choice and free will, so I imagined the following story!

Words: 2k and some change

Rating: G for silly, sweet fluff

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  @snowbellewells​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​ @kmomof4​​​ @let-it-raines​​​ @teamhook​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​ @shireness-says​​​ @stahlop​​​ @scientificapricot​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​ @thislassishooked​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​ @kday426​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​ @nikkiemms​​​  @optomisticgirl​​​ @carpedzem​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​ @snidgetsafan​

Emma Swan really hopes Killian Jones has a second job. Because she’s never seen a worse salesman. The first time he comes into the diner, the last thing she would have pegged him as is a salesman. All mussed hair and black leather with piercings and a tattoo. The heavy black vinyl bag leaning against the booth next to him that says Buy the Book: Direct Sales is out of place.

He’s so bad at it that it takes him forever that first day to give her his sales pitch. Until his second cup of coffee, to be exact. That’s when he hems and haws as he gives her his business card. She stares at it, wondering how she can politely decline as he scratches behind his ear and slides a glossy catalogue across the table. She normally wouldn’t have any qualms at turning down either a sales pitch or a pick up line with a gruff not interested, but he’s so adorably nervous. He starts pulling sample inventory out of his bag, and that’s when she’s in trouble because Henry sniffs out the books like a bloodhound. Her son hops from his stool at the counter where he’s been doing his homework, and eagerly starts looking through the books.

“Look at this one, mom!” Henry exclaims, holding up a pirate sticker and activity book. “It’s not for babies. It’s got cool facts about the history of real pirates.”

Yes. Emma Swan’s son is not your typical ten year old. He’s both a bookworm and a history nut. And she loves him for it. Which is why she buys it. Not because salesman Killian Jones has killer blue eyes.

She pulls a twenty from her apron pocket, hands it to him (because there’s no way she’s giving a guy she just met her credit card information), and tries not to swoon when he smiles. It’s killer, too. She’s his first customer, he tells her, and she can’t help smiling back. He frowns, though, when he realizes he doesn’t have change for a twenty, and then Emma rolls her eyes because, really? It’s just a nickel. He smiles again at that and, well, crap. That smile!

She rolls her eyes later when she sees the ten he left for a tip along with a note telling her she’s “bloody amazing.” The fool went and gave the majority of his profit right back to her. Yeah, he really sucks at this.

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

The second time he comes into the diner, he wisely comes in the afternoon again, ensuring Henry is there doing his homework. But this time, he tries (and fails) to chat up fellow customers to get a few sales. They seem skeptical of a salesman who looks more like a biker/rock star than someone who peddles used cars. Emma almost laughs when the only single woman in the diner’s face instantly falls when Killian Jones produces his business card and a catalogue. Seems his blue eyes and his smile are powerless against a woman scorned. She huffs as she tosses her tip on the table and exits the diner post haste, leaving a clearly baffled Killian behind.

When Emma approaches his table, he smiles half-heartedly and she feels sorry for him. Once again, he doesn’t try to sell her anything until she fills his coffee mug a second time. That’s when he pulls out a book he thinks Henry might like, all about knights and castles of the Middle Ages. Henry eagerly peruses it, and Emma is a sucker once again. She buys it because Henry loves history so much he’s the only ten year old Emma has ever heard of who was pumped about a weekend trip to Gettysburg. It’s not because of the way Killian Jones swipes his tongue over his lower lip when he’s nervous.

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

The next time Killian comes into the diner, Christmas music is playing and a garland of evergreen hangs in loops over the counter. It’s mid-morning, so Henry’s at school. After his second cup of coffee, Killian admits he came when he knew Henry would be at school because he was hoping . . . and then he’s hemming and hawing again, rubbing at his neck and scratching behind his ear. Emma thinks for a split second that he’s trying to ask her out until he pulls his company’s Christmas catalogue out of his bag. She tries to ignore her disappointment when he asks if she’s finished her Christmas shopping yet.

She ends up buying a “Daily Inspirations for Teachers” desk calendar for Mary Margaret and Nicholas Spark’s newest bestseller for David (a guilty pleasure she loves to tease him about). For Granny she gets a book of knitting patterns. Killian pulls out a book he thinks Henry would like: a leather bound book of fairy tales with the title Once Upon a Time embossed in elegant script across the front. Emma knows Henry would love it, but gasps at the price. A forty dollar book is way over her budget, and like the horrible salesman he is, Killian doesn’t push it. She orders two graphic novels for Henry instead, and when she places the order she slides her credit card across the table.

Killian tells her it’s his biggest order to date and smiles so wide Emma is able to confirm her suspicions. There are dimples underneath that scruff. She begins to second guess her assertion that he’s a bad salesman. Because she’s pretty sure he could sell beachfront property in Kansas with those dimples.

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

In January, Emma is alarmed when a dejected Killian Jones enters the diner and slumps in his usual booth, his head in his hands. Emma decides to stop the charade when she approaches his table.

“You don’t have to wait till your second cup of coffee.”

Killian lifts his face to hers and quirks an eyebrow in confusion, “I’m sorry, love?”

“You know,” Emma says, gesturing with her order pad, “selling me books. What do you have for Henry this time?”

Killian sighs and leans back in the booth, “Alas, Swan, I am no longer in the business. I’m pretty much the worst salesman in the world.”

Emma hates that she chuckles, but she can’t help it, “Yeah, you pretty much sucked.” Killian, thankfully, laughs as well. “I’m glad I was your best customer, then. While it lasted.”

Killian winces, “Actually, love, you were my only customer.”

Emma’s jaw drops at that and her sympathy grows exponentially. She never bought that much, really. She glances around for Granny as she slides into the booth across from him. Although, based on Granny’s reaction to the knitting book (Why don’t you kiss the man already instead of buying all his books?), she doesn’t think she’ll mind.

“Are you okay? I mean, you don’t seem like you’re starving and destitute, so I’m assuming you have another job.”

“Several, actually,” Killian says, drumming his fingers on the table. “My brother and I do seasonal work on the Cape with a boat charter we own.”

“Cape Cod?”

“Aye. The Cape is beautiful in the spring and summer, but in the winter it’s downright depressing. So I like to come here to Boston once we winter the boat. The hustle and bustle is a nice change of pace, and I love city life during the holidays. Plus, like your boy, I’m a bit of a history buff. I work seasonally at the bookstore down the street.”

“So why the direct sales?”

Killian sighs, “A foolish notion. The bookstore only hires me through the end of December. I thought with this second job I could stay in the city until spring,” he shrugs. “Turns out convincing a customer in a bookstore to buy J.M. Barrie’s original Peter Pan instead of the abridged illustrated version is a mite different from selling books all on your lonesome.”

Emma’s heart drops at the implication of what he’s saying. “So what will you do now?”

“Slink back to the Cape with my tail between my legs and help my sister in law at the ice cream shop, as usual.”

So he’s leaving Boston. He’s leaving, and Emma is surprised at how much it disappoints her. “An ice cream place on the cape can make it through the winter?” She almost face palms. Can she sound any more desperate to convince him to stay?

Killian doesn’t seem to pick up on any subtext, thank goodness. “Elsa inherited the place from her aunt. She and her sister helped out there since they were kids. They know how to make it through the lean months. Dull as tombs, though. Yet, as they say, spring will come again!”

Emma tries to smile, but she knows it’s half-hearted. Killian reaches into his bag and pulls out the leather bound book of fairy tales she couldn’t afford at Christmas. Emma arches an eyebrow, “Still trying to make a sale?”

“Oh no, Swan, this is a gift. To thank you.”

“Killian, I can’t accept that. You need to sell off your inventory, or you’ll lose everything you invested.”

Killian chuckles sardonically at that, “Too late for that, Swan. Besides, you’re the only one who ever bought anything, and you know it wasn’t for the books. You felt sorry for me.”

Emma’s face flushes, and she wishes she could tell him that wasn’t it. She’s always despised pity and vowed she’d never doll it out. But how can she explain that while still guarding her heart? Instead, she accepts the leather book and hugs it to her chest, mumbling a soft “thank you.” Killian smiles in return and exits the diner without ever ordering a thing. And she hates the finality of his departure and the possibility that there could have been a them, but now she’ll never know.

She looks down at the book in her hands and notices a little rectangle of cardstock poking out of its pages. She pulls it out, expecting it to be Killian’s Buy the Book business card. Instead, it says Jewel of the Realm Charters with the names Liam and Killian Jones and a phone number. Emma’s heart flips in her chest when she sees that Killian has jotted a note on the back.

I owe you and Henry a free day of sailing. – Killian

The fool still knows nothing about making a profit.

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

In February, Emma Swan walks into Any Given Sundae along the shores of Cape Cod. She convinced herself there was nothing stalker-ish about her showing up here, but now that the bell is jingling above the door and the blonde woman behind the counter is smiling at her, she’s having second thoughts. Killian had mentioned his sister-in-law’s name, so it’s not like she had to be a private detective or anything to find the place. Still, who drives all the way from Boston to Cape Cod just to visit an ice cream shop? In February?

“May I help you?” asks the blonde, and Emma fiddles with the end of her scarf. She was kind of hoping Killian would just be there when she walked through the door.

“Um . . . I . . .” and she almost laughs thinking of the way Killian would hem and haw when selling her books. She glances around the store. It’s one of those tiny places that beach goers walk in and out of on hot summer days. There are no tables or chairs anywhere in the place. But in the corner a display table has been set up. A display table of books. Emma walks towards it. “You sell books?”

“Oh,” says the blonde – Elsa, she assumes – with a dismissive wave of her hand, “that’s a failed business venture of my brother-in-law’s. Please buy one. I need to get those out of here before tourist season.”

Emma reaches out and runs her fingers along the edges of the books.

“Swan?”

Emma turns to see Killian standing behind the counter with a large tub of ice cream in each arm. He deposits them quickly into their slots behind the glass then comes around to face her. They stand there staring at each other for a few moments, grinning like a couple of idiots.

“Wh-what are you doing here, Swan?” he stutters, and she swears he sounds more nervous than he did when he was trying to sell books.

“Guess it’s too early for that day of sailing, huh?” she teases with a shrug.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he teases back, “there’s a foot of snow on the ground, Swan.”

Emma bites her lip and fiddles with her scarf again, “Actually, I came to tell you thank you. For Henry’s book. He loves it.”

Killian raises his eyebrows, “You drove all the way out to Cape Cod to tell me that?”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes Emma blush, and they just stare at each other again like goofballs. She sees Elsa laugh and shake her head out of the corner of her eye, and she thinks that she couldn’t possibly embarrass herself any more than she already has. So with a roll of her eyes and a screw this, she grabs him by the shirt collar and kisses the living daylights out of him.

He dives back in for more when she finally pulls away, and when Elsa tells them, “Easy there, tigers, you’re gonna melt all the ice cream,” they laugh against each others’ lips.

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

Two months later, Henry brings his book along when Killian takes them sailing. He reads parts of it out loud to them when Killian lays anchor, and Emma finds that it’s modern versions of classic fairy tales. Snow White is a bandit with a bow and arrows, Red Riding Hood is a werewolf, and Captain Hook is a hero who falls in love with a princess. And Emma thinks that she really likes this story. A pirate and a princess.

But she likes theirs better.

A salesman and a waitress.

Make that a horrible salesman and a waitress.

[sleepy-sunlight]

"Don't you dare" for Cullen x Inquisitor

Of course! I thought I’d be plenty of fun to write something with this prompt and had so many different possibilities! I just hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with and have a fantastic day dear

“Don’t you Dare”

———————————————————————————————————–

Cullen was not sick.  

The Commander of the Inquisition’s armies, did not get sick.

It was simply an impossibility.  

His schedule, already threatening to burst with its constant business, couldn’t handle the irreparable damage that an illness would inevitably cause.  

So, Cullen elected to just, not be sick.  

Sure, his head throbbed like someone were banging a mace against it, his bones rattled as if they may break at the slightest pressure, and his throat left his voice drier than sandpaper, but he most assuredly wasn’t sick.  

The conclusion he’d come to however, wasn’t nearly as well accepted by others.

Josephine for one, had turned out to be quite the nag.  

“You look like you’d collapse at the smallest breeze.” She had once said as he staggered into her office, only able to give her a small dip of his head before he glanced back to his papers.  

She pursed her lips and rose  from her seat, settling her hands on her hips. “You know Commander, you’re much more charming when you answer those speaking to you.”  

“You wouldn’t understand me if I tried.” He rasped.  

“What was that?”  

He almost laughed.  

He scribbled it down onto one of the few documents he hadn’t drowned in his reports, the fellow advisor having to stifle a snort.

“Feeling a little under the weather, are we?” She scoffed. “I hope you have a plan on just how you’re going to hide that from your darling Inquisitor. They can be quite the worrier, if you hadn’t noticed.”  

Her cheeks puffed out with amusement as she spoke. “And seeing how often you stare at them… it’d be hard to believe there’s something you haven’t noticed.”  

Did he perhaps make a rude gesture involving his middle finger? Yes. Did he regret it? No.

With most others he’d be a polite statue with a brooding expression but Leliana and Josephine somehow managed to bring out the snarkiest parts of him he didn’t even know was there. It was like having his sisters pester him all over again – if one was a deadly assassin and the other an Antivan diplomat.  

“Don’t get upset with me for pointing out the obvious,” She mused. “You may as well go and try to get a head-start on resting. Nothing heals the body like sleep.” 

Can’t sleep. I need to keep working. He scribbled onto his parchment.  

“Well, maybe this is your body telling you to take a break,” She frowned. “If you even know what that word means.”  

Wars don’t stop to take breathers. Neither will I.  

She rolled her eyes and approached him so that she could set a comforting, firm hand on his shoulder.  

“If wars are the only thing that inspire you these days, no wonder you’re so close to crumbling.”  

She glanced up to him and her gaze held a rare sincerity, nothing like the façade he’d seen her hold far too many times with fellow representatives of state.  

“Please reconsider, for your own good.”  

The words had lingered with him since, and even then, standing in the war room the next day, while his pride had won out, guilt still managed to tug at his chest.  

She hadn’t treated him any differently but a sort of knowing enveloped her all too clearly.  

And with your arrival, she struck him a single glance and the tiniest hint of a smug, awaiting smirk.  

She really was one of his sisters in all but blood, wasn’t she?

You came to the table with a highly held head and the familiar, gentle smile he’d come to know and not-so-secretly adore. You gave a bright wave with the free hand that wasn’t grappling a thick stack of documents, and your gaze almost instinctively traveled to him before your already rosy cheeks became that much darker.  

“Good afternoon everyone. I trust everything has been going well?” You asked, shifting your attention to your other dear advisors, rocking on the soles of your feet in anticipation.  

“Of course. My recent excursion with an Orlesian noble in fact has earned us a significant donation. I think it will be well spent towards reinforcing our inventories.”  

Leliana simpered and leaned forward against the table, once so curt and stiff now proud smiling like she held a secret she simply couldn’t wait to spill. “While Josie was off gallivanting in Orlais, I found the location of several secret hideouts near Denerim, Redcliffe, and Ostagar. My forces remain near, waiting for your command.”  

“Oh?” Josie wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t realize we were competing Lily.”  

“You knew,” She snickered. “You just didn’t realize you were losing.”  

“Lily!”  

“I’m teasing…!” Leliana laughed. “But if we were competing, I’d be winning.”  

Before Josephine could snap another witty comment, you cut through with an amused lightness in your voice that only poured further through with your laughter. “Alright now, let’s give it a rest. We haven’t even given Commander Rutherford a chance to speak. Maybe he’ll throw you both out of the water!”  

Oh no. He thought.  

You beamed at him and he swore even the brightest rays of sunlight were dull in comparison to your warmth, his breath hitching and stomach fluttering with those awful butterflies he’d never confess of.  

“So… Cullen, what have you got to report?”  

He knew there wasn’t much of a chance this would end well, so he braced himself and took a deep breath, clearing his throat.  

“Well as of late…”

His voice sounded like gravel, coarse and dry like it were painful to utter a sound, and his throat already crackled and ushered forward another cough that he couldn’t quite swallow down.  

Your eyes had widened like saucers the very second he spoke, and your brows had knotted with concern by the time he’d finished.

“Cullen…” You were ripe with concern, Cullen biting the inside of his cheek with that tinge of guilt growing to a wave crashing against him. “Do you feel alright?”  

“I ah – I admit I feel a bit under the weather but it’s nothing I can’t manage.” He tried to soothe your worries with a crooked grin but your focus remained plastered to his dark circles and ragged breaths.  

Why did you have to care so much?  

Why did you have to care so much about him?  

He didn’t deserve it anyways; he knew that much.  

But his heart still swelled regardless.  

“Are… are you sure about that?”  

He couldn’t lie to you, but he certainly wished he could then.  

“I – I won’t let it get in the way of my duties. It’s nothing to fret over.”  

You folded your lips into a frown. “This isn’t a matter of whether you can still work. This is a matter of your well-being.”  

Josephine sighed. “I tried to tell him, Inquisitor, but I’m afraid you’ve simply hired a very stubborn man. He’s quite dedicated.”  

Dedicated.  

To his work, or to you? The distinction had become blurred.  

You rubbed at your temples and dropped your shoulders in exasperation. “The soldiers rest, Josephine and Leliana rest – even I have to rest! Our bodies need it. That’s how we prepare ourselves for the trials of tomorrow.”  

You visited him often throughout the day, filling his once quiet and lonely days with laughter and rambling stories of your childhoods and beyond.  

But every time you visited; you’d noticed one thing.  

“You aren’t resting.” You wrinkled your nose. “You’re hardly doing anything other than working!”  

“Working is what will allow the Inquisition to progress.”  

“We certainly won’t be progressing if the Commander of our armies dies from exhaustion – or this new sickness of yours!”  

Cullen wasn’t one to raise his voice. Neither was he one to let his frustration get the best of him.

But he did then.

His papers dropped as he slammed his gnarled, heavy hands onto the war table with a force that left its legs threatening to break beneath him.  

“I am not sick!”  

His words echoed and bounced off the walls like they were in a cave, hollow and imposing with a weight tethered to all of their shoulders. His shoulders dropped and a heavy sigh slipped from his lips, lifting up his head to meet yours.  

Josephine was set aback by his outburst, stumbling a bit away from the war table with a dropped jaw, trying to figure just what to say when venom still stung at the air.  

Leliana, had averted her attention away but her tightly wound fists and twisted expression revealed just how desperately she suddenly wanted to leave the room. She already had enough stress, this wasn’t worth the fight – especially not with the few people she considered her friends.  

However, you, on the other hand, locked a steely gaze onto him.  

You’d never looked so stern. After all, since you’d both met he’d come to memorize your smiles and rosy beam that could leave flowers blooming in your wake. Your anger had never been aimed towards him.  

And now knowing your scowl, he’d give anything to take it away.  

“Cullen-”  

“I’m sorry I… I ah – I lost myself.”  

“Let me finish.” You snapped, beginning again.  

“Cullen, whether you like it or not, your body has limits and if you’re not willing to acknowledge that, then I certainly am.”  

Oh no.

If what he thought was coming, was in fact coming, it better not be.  

“There’s no need-”  

You rounded about the table, undeterred.  

“As your leader and Inquisitor, I’m faced with no other option…”  

He furrowed his brow and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his mind whirling and banging all at the same time in a horrid mangle of a storm.  

“This really isn’t necessary I don’t-”  

You stopped him as you met him on the opposite end of the war table, reaching out to settle a gentle palm on his arm, so much smaller and softer than his own. It distracted him, if only for a second until he caught the inklings of a smile touching your lips.  

“Don’t you dare.”  

“Too late.”  

You didn’t even try to hide your toothy grin – there wasn’t any point.  

“I’m putting you on sick leave.” The second you uttered the command, Josephine scribbled it down for the records. It was official, there was no use fighting.  

“You’re relieved of your duties until I deem you to be of good health.” You winked, and as much as he hated it, Cullen’s cheeks turned red. “Enjoy the break.”  

He hated it.  

He despised it.  

There was so much that could be done! How was he expected to simply sit back and ignore it all? And for what? So Mother Giselle could force some herbal remedy down his throat?  

At least, that’s what he’d been expecting.  

Mother Giselle did visit, and she did send medicines of all sorts his way, but he’d found something he’d almost considered foreign in how long it’d been missing from him.  

Quiet.  

Peace and quiet.  

No bustling soldiers barreling into his office with questions or deadlines littering his conscious in the latest hours of the night, but instead a simple breeze or  the faint creaking of the old weary floorboards were the things that greeted him in the morning – that and of course, you.

Your company was perhaps the only one he didn’t mind.  

He’d even worried you wouldn’t visit. Of all things to fret over.

The next day when the morning was still stained with nightly purples and blues you’d knocked warily upon the door to his office.

He’d expected a random soldier who hadn’t quite received the news, so finding you on the other end of that door did nothing short of send his heart leaping.  

“Inquisitor I-” He tried to croak out a curt welcome before you eased him back with a wave of your hand, moving inside.  

“There’s no need for official titles here Cullen. We’re friends.” You chuckled, folding your arms across your chest. “Have you settled in nicely?”  

Friends.  

It’d be an awfully long time since he’d had something like that.  

“Yes I – I’ve accepted it as well as I could.” He wrapped a sheepish hand around the back of his neck. “I’m… sorry for my behavior. I should’ve handled myself far better – it was rude, and none of you were deserving of that.”  

“Oh, it’s fine! You were sick, stressed, and frustrated. Anyone would’ve yelled at least a little in your situation. I understand.” You snickered.  

It was good to hear you laugh; it was a sound he’d never forget for as long as he lived.  

“But…”  

He was snatched from his thoughts in an instant.  

“If you ever try to pull a stunt like that again where you nearly work yourself to death; I might just lose my mind.” Your playful words betrayed the pensive glint in your expression. “I truly care about you Cullen. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself like that. You wouldn’t want me to push myself like that, would you?”  

He didn’t even hesitate.  

“Well, of course not-”  

Whatever puzzle pieces he hadn’t quite connected in his mind, snapped into place then.

“Ah… I see.”  

You chuckled, leaning against his desk with crossed legs. “You’re an amazing person, I’ll believe in that ‘till the day I die – but you’re still a person. And people need to take time for themselves. There’s nothing wrong with that.”  

His brain almost shut down after you called him an amazing person, but he hung in there, just barely. He just prayed you couldn’t see the red now creeping up his ears or hear his heart thumping like a drum against his chest.  

“Time for myself… r-right.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  

You stood up and reluctantly carried yourself to the door, not quite wanting to wrap your fingers around the knob just yet. “Good, I’m glad to hear it.”  

Cullen didn’t want to hear the click of the handle. He didn’t want you to leave.

“But uh – if it’s time to myself, I can spend it however I’d like, correct?”  

“Yes?”  

You peered back with raised brows only to meet him staring back at you, smitten smiles spreading from ear to ear upon both of your faces.  

“Then, would it be terrible to ask you to stay?”  

You never darted away from a door so quickly, but you tried to hide your excitement. You did a poor job of concealing it, but you tried.  

“Not at all.” You remarked in a cheerfully bright tone. “Just don’t get me sick?”  

“No promises.”  

“Darn.”  

But you didn’t move, you stayed right beside him, and you enjoyed that rare time of peace and quiet, together, with hands sneakily grazing close and your fingers somehow finding a way to entwine their pinkies together.  

And if this is what all breaks entailed, Cullen supposed he wouldn’t mind another.  

[peaches-of-1]

Day 5 | Gingerbread

Black!Reader x BTS

You weren’t sure if this was really the best job for you seeing as it included talking to people a lot and explaining in excruciating detail how things went even though there was clear instruction on the back. What was worse were the children who tried to eat the Christmas display even though there was a sign that said, “DO NOT EAT” in red glitter letters. Parents wouldn’t even try to stop them.

Still, you needed a job since you lost yours recently for not accepting the creepy and borderline stalker advances of your boss’s son. So here you were in a clear apron and green sweater with comfy jeans and Converse on working in the newest addition to BigHit, its café. Unlike most corporate cafés, BigHit Café was not attached to the main office building of BigHit Entertainment. Instead, the dark wood and green marbled setting was near Han River.

This means it was where a lot of families came to visit as well as beautiful couples, not to mention foreigners and bloggers. It was a very varied clientele, so you were usually very busy. Especially today.

Because you were “one of the best workers”, the manager decided you’d be here during today’s LIVE episode of Run BTS which would be a competition to build the best gingerbread house within the span of 90 minutes. You had spent all day yesterday decorating the café to look like such a sweetened dwelling on the outside.

Today, you were in your Christmas attire and one of the judges of the competition along with a lucky fan and another co-worker. There were more cameras than usual, and you saw the seven beautifully exhausted idols walk through the door in their own holiday merch. Jungkook’s gray sweater had a picture of their logo filled in with a green and red vertical ombre. J-Hope was wearing the same one underneath his thick padded coat.

Jin’s and Jimin’s sweaters were that of the logo surrounded by a wreath. Because of Suga’s new significant other being Jewish, he was wearing the Hanukkah version, a blue sweater with a silver and lighter blue ombre BTS logo. Namjoon and Tae were the only ones wearing the Kwanzaa versions. It warmed your heart that the boys were doing their best to support all the holidays that ARMY might celebrate.

You were wearing the Kwanzaa one today, of course. That was one of the perks working here was that BigHit merch was part of your uniform, so you got one free shirt/sweater a month. It was also the reason why the aprons were clear, so that patrons could see what you were wearing and ask where they could get it.

Of course...you needed more than one shirt a month, so you had to buy merch in order to be in uniform. But like, other than bills what else were you gonna be spending your money on? BTS merch, duh.

Anyways, the fact that you were wearing the green version of the Kwanzaa sweater and Namjoon was wearing the black version got you a polite smile from him. Taehyung stood in front of you as you greeted the group and their managers...as if he wanted to say something. However, the young man stayed silent until he was called to get his makeup touched up.

Maybe you were just being paranoid or hyperaware, but it seemed like the guys were talking about you. However, they were nothing but professional. You and your co-worker brought out the now cooled down trays of gingerbread that had already been cut into the proper shapes. The very excited fan helped to uncover the selection of candies they could use on their houses.

“Can I use the cute employee too? I think she’d make my house look the best.” J-Hope said, a smile on his voice.

You looked over to Kara who was always getting hit on, but it soon clicked that he was looking at your face. That very same face soon got heated cheeks because what? Was J-Hope hitting on you? Nooooo. No. He was just playing around.

“That’s cheating to put something already so beautiful next to whatever you make, hyung.” Jimin replied with a giggle.

Jin then added, “Leave the pretty girl alone. She’s just doing her job. Besides, she should only be paired with someone who is almost as attractive as she is.”

Jungkook gasped loudly, “Oh, hyung, you just admitted that you think she’s more attractive than yourself. You’re just as bad as the others.”

The oldest member blushed, “I just, what I meant was--” he looked over at you and bowed. “I am sorry.”

“It’s ok. It’s fine.”  You replied and couldn’t help but feel your cheeks.

Taehyung blurted out, “We have matching sweaters!” with no follow up.

“Oh, look what you’re doing. You’re embarrassing her.” Suga said and then looked at you. “What is your name?”

“Y-Y/N.” You stuttered out. “Please call me Y/N.” You said with a bow and pointed to your name tag.

He said that he had already read your name tag, but just wanted to hear me say it. Your heart felt like it was just about ready to explode with all of their kind compliments as they began to focus on the competition. Even though you had thought you’d be judges, you were simply there to help the guys and do touch ups so that they weren’t horrible. The public would be voting on them tomorrow.

Was there even fridge space for three finished gingerbread houses? Each young man was basing it on whatever they wanted. The thing they were having the most trouble with was putting the pieces together. Even when a building went up, it would crash seconds later because of too much or too little frosting. You were called in when they had broken a piece past repair.

They could call on any employee or the fan to help up to three times, and it felt like your name was the one being called all 9 times. However, Kara was helping Hobi with his roofing and the fan gave team JinKook inspiration to do a Bt21 themed house. Kookie got excited and started trying to create the characters out of marshmallows and frosting while Jin decorated the actual house.

“Y/N-nim!” Jimin called sweetly. “Can you help me with something?”

You walked over and asked what they needed help with. He wanted to know how to do the dripping icicles on the roofing, so I started to do it for him.

“No, no, no. Show me how to do it, please.” He said, his grin becoming more mischievous by the second.

Taehyung smiled, “I’ll work on the gingerbread man. I need green frosting.”

He got up to do so while Suga asked me how the front was already. You told him it was very neatly done before showing Jimin how to get the pointed dripping effect using some of the discarded bits of spiced cookie to pipe out some examples.

“You are really good at this, Y/N-nim~” The mochi like blonde said with smiley eyes.

“Thank you. I think you have the hang of it, so I will leave you to it.” You gave a bow and then went towards Kara before being called by Namjoon who had his hand up.

If this was another broken gingerbread person, you were going to just tell him to glue it with frosting. Kara gave you a cheeky head nod to go to them. You felt bad for the fan as she was supposed to be the center of attention for this event.

He didn’t look at you in the eye as he asked, “I um, we are not sure what to do. I’m pretty sure we won’t be getting first place, but it just looks bad.”

“So just a general help?” You giggled.

“Yes, please.” He replied, scratching the back of his neck, getting frosting on it.

You just handed him a napkin and quickly fixed up the roof to let them put candies on dots placed on the empty shingles. It was the 500th time you had been doing it this holiday season, and it was just November. Him and J-Hope thanked you before you went back and sooner or later, time was up.

Then it was time for voting. The sloppiest of the three houses was the one Namjoon and Hobi made since they didn’t have artists in their groups. The BT21 house had collapsed halfway through, so JinKook quickly made a simplified but still amazing house to present.

Still, it was too simple compared to the others. The one that Suga, Jimin, and V made together was the perfect mix of the two houses. That’s the one that ended up winning.

The prize was a Christmas themed date with the fan. They were glad to get to know her better and ended up leaving with her. The others had to help clean up. You’d be putting their houses up for sale for an auction and the money would go to UNICEF. The winners had well hidden pouts behind their smiles, wishing they had lost instead while the losers were glad because they got to spend more time with you.

They kept asking if you needed help with things and to let them do things instead. However, Namjoon kept eating the candy he was supposed to be putting away. He gave you such a charming smile in return, you didn’t care that he was chomping away on inventory. It seemed that he was a nervous eater.

“I’ve been craving this taste for a long time, too.” He said and then helped to keep the door open while you put his house into the fridge.

It wasn’t long until you and Kara were bowing to the four remaining idols. There were gift bags for the both of you, and you were glad to get such compensation for a stressful overtime. Both of you were sure to go fast asleep since this was all you had to do today.

You wanted to go through your bag first. CDs, signed mini poster, a Christmas Cooky, and...a KKT. After typing it into your phone, you nearly chucked your phone across the room. One by one, the boys greeted you and asked if you would date them, all seven of them.

[enkisstories]

Just like them (part 6)

Park Avenue 1554 November 17, 2038 1:14 am

They say the android rights movement was kicked off when the painter Carl Manfred returned home from a party and found the light switched on in his workshop.

Daniel Phillips-no-longer had just returned home from a coffee shop at Capitol Park and found the door to the terrace ajar. It was everyone’s guess what would start from that point… The real question was, had someone come in, and was still sneaking around the apartment, or had the burglar already left?

Now normally Daniel would have taken out his phone to make a call, to prove a point. But in this situation time was of essence, so he started dialing the DPD in his head. However, the signal didn’t get through. None of his thought-commands left the android brain, Daniel realized. He couldn’t make a call, browse the internet, or connect to the various household electronics. Something was jamming his signals, effectively putting the android into flight mode.

There was a shadow, then an incoming signal, that the deviant rebuked, and then something heavy impacted on his head. The last thought that crossed Daniel’s mind before temporarily shutting down was that Tina Chen had been right: He really wouldn’t have needed to worry about the missing apartment key. The still not repaired door alone had been an invitation to a burglar.

And the first thought upon waking up again, sometime after sunrise, was that said burglar must have been an android, because their first impulse had been to wirelessly shut down Daniel before they had went for the baseball bat.

“Kin-betraying swine!” Daniel hissed. “Just you wait, I’m going to unleash Connor on your sorry ass!”

The apartment’s new inhabitant took a few minutes to take inventory of what was missing. He was in luck, because most of the irreplaceable stuff in the flat was of low monetary value and therefore hadn’t been of interest to the burglar. All the family photos and little mementos were still there and what had gotten taken wasn’t really needed, especially not when you didn’t eat and were able to watch TV in your own head.

Daniel fed the fishes and the pet rat, a half-starved white-and-black patterned fellow that he had taken in after his owners had fled Detroit in a hurry. Then he left the apartment again to personally report the incident to the police. The deviant also didn’t like the hum behind his forehead that had grown quieter, but wouldn’t subside altogether. He decided to swing by an Android Zone for a checkup later, just to be on the safe side.

Entering the precinct Daniel realized that it was his third visit in as many days.

That’s three times more than in my whole life before the revolution! Am I living here now or what?!

The reception was manned, once again, by an ST300 android, no longer Tina Chen acting as a substitute. Only now the ST300’s nameplate read “Rika” and the LED on the android’s temple was missing. Rika smiled at the arrival, but before so much as a greeting could get exchanged, Detective Reed stormed out of the restricted area, drawing everyone’s attention. The man was muttering under his breath - lots of “fuck”s, but Daniel also recognized a short phrase: “team building measure my ass”.

“This is the detective you will want to talk to, Mr. Daniel”, Rika told Daniel after he had explained what had happened to him earlier. “Mr. Reed of the android related crime section.”

Gavin turned around sharply.

“Unless it wants to turn itself in, whatever it has to say won’t fall into my responsibility.”

“But it does!” Daniel insisted. “I was attacked by an android tonight!”

The statement was met with a gleeful grin: “You tin cans are duking it out amongst each other now? Works for me! Well, it was nice having known you, “Mister” Daniel. Now vamoose!”

The detective proceeded to grab a package from the counter, growling “Your locomotion software bugged or what? This is the last time I’m coming out here to fetch something!”, to what Rika replied in her usual friendly voice that she’d make sure to send the parcel to his desk via UPS next time and put it on Mr. Reed’s expense report. Daniel was certain that the human hadn’t really listened to the reply, because if he had, he’d exploded into violence.

When Gavin strode back towards the barrier, Daniel stepped into his way.

“There was a crime committed by an android. Against a person. That sounds like the textbook description of what your section is about!”

“And I fucking told you just now that it isn’t my job to investigate this shit!”

“Is, too!”

“Is not!”

“That your last word?”

“Yes. Now piss off or I’m going to have you removed by force!”

Daniel shook his head.

“Damn, Mr. Reed”, he said, “I wish we’d met earlier! Like by the swimming pool on our terrace, in a starry summer night in August…”

The detective contorted his face into what might pass as a smile. It had to be a smile, because it was… truth be told, it was endearing.

“Yeah”, Gavin nodded. “I’m sorry Captain Allen shot you off that roof.”

He took a step closer towards the PL600 and then suddenly slung his arm around the machine. Daniel didn’t understand what had caused the change. Just a moment ago they had been shouting at each other, but now Gavin was almost hugging Daniel. It was astonishing! Sympathy? From a human?

Gavin drew the android closer.

“Cuzz if he hadn’t done that” he hissed, “you wouldn’t have dozed through the Recall in our archive, but went straight to the Recycling Center where you belong!”

He pushed Daniel away, laughed out loud and was still laughing when the android left the police station.

 After getting turned down at the DPD, Daniel sought out the other 50% of the android related crime section at their home: Hank Anderson.

“…and thus Reed refused to even create a case file”, he finished his recounting of the encounter.

A genuine smile crossed Hank’s face, but Daniel had once again learned to not trust those. And indeed Hank said: “Sweet! Maybe we can put him on probation now!”

“Isn’t anybody going to do something about my attacker?!”

“Yes, yes, I’m getting to that”, the detective grumbled. “Just let me grab a bite before we drive back. I’m not exactly running on happy thoughts and sunshine here.”

“Who is, these days…”

Together they went to the kitchen, from where weird noises had emanated all through their discussion already. Now Daniel saw what had caused those: Connor was standing at the stove, making war against scrambled eggs and the butchered remains of something green.

After watching the RK800 for a while, Daniel spoke up:

 “You know what’s even more pathetic than me, Connor?”

“Yes: Gavin!”

“Take another guess.”

Connor was now stabbing the eggs, probably taking inspiration from something he had seen at a crime scene. Gooey particles escaped the carnage left and right. Daniel almost couldn’t bear watching the sight, and when Connor reached for the salt dispenser, he grabbed the RK800 by its wrist.

“Don’t, Connor! In the name of all the good that may be left in the world, don’t do it!”

Confused the deviant hunter replied that he had forgotten to add the salt before, to which Daniel replied that substituting it with sugar now wouldn’t help.

Connor put down the presumed salt dispenser and started rummaging for the real one in the cupboards.

“Can’t the lieutenant just eat something at the police station?” Daniel pressed. It wasn’t just that he was in a hurry. At this point even the contents of a random evidence bag ought to be less of a health risk than the RK800’s kitchen experiments.

“What’s your gripe? Hank likes my food!”

“I highly doubt that. Eating your “food” is like playing Russian Roulette.”

“Hank… used to like that, too. - And besides, you could lend me a hand here!”

“Sorry, dude, can’t help you. My cooking app got corrupted when someone shot at me.”

It was a lie, but not a too obvious one. A few of Daniel’s apps had indeed suffered from the deviant getting shot, others had stopped working due to deviance in itself and for others yet again the subscription had run out. Daniel was able to live in the apartment Caroline was still paying rent for, unaware of who was using it at the moment, but he didn’t have disposable money to renew those subs. However, out of all the skills the android used to have access to there were two and a half that Daniel considered his “native” skills, related to activities that contributed too much to his identity for him to ever lose his expertise: Cooking, Parenting and a little Driving. In these areas the deviant had amassed actual experience of the kind not even a full reset could ever clear completely.

Eventually Connor served Hank the sugar-free, but almost sufficiently salted, scrambled eggs on toast. The human in turn produced a slim package from his jacket’s inside pocket that he held out towards the guest.

“Bubble gum? No? Cigarette, then?”

“We’re androids, lieutenant. We don’t…”

Daniel didn’t finish the sentence, because Lt. Anderson was grinning at him like a man who knew more about a subject than that smug teen across from him. And hadn’t he seen another PL600 chew bubble gum just the day before?

“There… seems to be a lot I… don’t know about deviance?” Daniel tried and Hank’s expression changed to one indicating something close to respect.

“I don’t think I’m ready yet to try any munchies, Lieutenant. But even so – thank you!”

(to be continued)

[awfully-sadistic]

Week 2: Oct 7th

The Adventures of Dot and Dodger

A series of linear prompt one-shots.

I might cheat a little with this one because it’s a pretty stressful day. It’s a little condensed due to family issues today preventing me from sitting down and letting me write without interruptions. It’s a hard day for inspiration and otherwise.

--

Dot likes to keep the weekends as free as she possibly could, starting from Friday through Sunday with no calls coming in from work at all. And she did not like to be bothered. She never understood that “work hard, play hard” mentality because she would rather not work herself into the ground, how else would you get to play hard? It was a major thing at the Agency since Agents tend to be on-call 24/7, even on their days off. Their motto seemed to be “Supernatural and Human affairs don’t take breaks and neither should you!” and it drove Dot up the wall, near crazy. She believed there shouldn’t be a life-long struggle with employment. You shouldn’t have to work yourself into the ground to make a living and put your hobbies and the things that make you happy on the shelves until its time to play with them. Those things should be just as important if not more. People often wonder what the key to happiness was but Dot largely suspected it wasn’t working your ass off and getting nothing to show for it if you have to live paycheck to paycheck. It seems obvious to her the key to happiness would be to push the things that make you happy to the forefront and that’s what Dot did; she valued her time off and her hobbies.

Supposing it didn’t hurt having a job you enjoyed doing, too. But even then, it’s good to take ample breaks from it. Even Supernatural and Human business have its gruesome moments.

Opening one’s own business allowed one to set their own hours and Dot made sure to take advantage of that.

When they were working out of her home, she tried her best to make her no-work weekends stick but there was always an emergency here or there that was knocking on her door at least once a weekend. It was disruptive and it never occurred at the hours one might think. Dot was a heavy sleeper anyway and for the most part, someone knocking on her door would have been easily ignored if not for Dodger being the second person the client would try for.

It was a partnership, after all. Both their names and numbers were in circulation.

Dodger put a very special ring on Dot’s phone for her whenever he’d call when she was asleep; he knew how heavy she slept. It always did the trick on waking her up. Dot just wished Dodger had the sense not to call her whenever he decided to take the client up on their request around the same time they came requesting it. But like her, he had a heavy sense of duty. Unlike her, that duty could always wait the next morning to get done.

Unfortunately, given Dot’s adamant belief that the weekends should be sacred, the first weekend of October was really busy for them. It wasn’t until they returned with the Cursed Lockbox on Thursday, October 3rd, that Dot remembered that Doctor Strange was due to return on a Friday.

Of course, it was technically the 4th when they returned from Whitecrest. It was 1AM when the trio lugged their suitcases into the Sanctum, up to their ankles squelching along the way.

“I’m glad we don’t have carpet here,” Dot muttered, making her way to her closet. Armand followed closely with the intent on changing out of his clothes with her.

Dodger, having taken the shower, but forgetting about having to re-step into the ankle-deep flooding once he stepped out of the inn had sat down and started to pull his shoes off.

Once the trio were dried and their spirits renewed, or that may have just been the comfort of being back home, they stared at the lockbox Dodger had put down on top of one of the many desks that made up The Pen.

“I’m kind of worried about leaving this in the Sanctum overnight.” Dot said, glancing between both Dodger and Armand. She couldn’t help but smile a big wider noting the shared pajama outfits she and Armand donned.

“No kidding,” Dodger agreed. “It’s already in a lockbox but it was still powerful enough to seep out of its confines to still curse the crew of the Ocean Spray.”

“That’s another good point. I wonder why they had it in the first place.” Dot questioned.

Dodger made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat that sounded like a cross between a grunt and a hum. “I wish I had the thought to check for a logbook in the Captain’s Quarters,” he said. “it might have given us a little insight to their inventory.”

“They might not have realized that what they were carrying was Cursed, either.” Dot pointed out.

“Good point. Either way, this is Doctor Strange’s territory.”

“It would have been good to at least given him some more information.”

“We’ll just tell him what we were told.”

Dot floundered a bit. There was nothing wrong with what Dodger was saying but this was Doctor Strange. Her expression conveyed what she couldn’t quite argue against sound logic.

“What?” Dodger asked, studying Dot’s features.

“Doesn’t that sound a little… I don’t know, lackluster? He asked us to do this job and while we accomplished what I think he meant, this just feels a little unfinished. There’s a Cursed item in that lockbox but we don’t have any information about where it came from or why it was in the Ocean Spray. If there was a chance of those questions being answered from this logbook you were talking about, we should have had the sense to look for it. It’s not like we’re not new at this.”

There was a silence where Dot thought Dodger was thinking. His expression looked as thoughtful as he mulled over her statement. With a little nod of his head, he finally replied. “I get what you mean. You feel like we didn’t do a thorough job with this case. I can agree but on the other hand, you have to understand we don’t know much about Curses in the first place. Not even the Agency with a more established background—”

“Hey.”

“—Not saying that we’re not established, I’m just pointing out that even with all the years the Agency had been in operation, they’re just as clueless about Curses as we are. Allegedly.”

Dot gave Dodger a side-eye before sighing. “Yeah, honey. I know. It just feels like we could have done more.”

“Are you sure you’re not just feeling that way because this is Doctor Strange?”

Dot paused. Realized. Then flushed. “W-We do the same things for our other Clients…” she haughtily put, trying to save face and take control of the conversation again.

Armand circled around Dot, “Why did your cheeks turn red like that?” he asked with a childlike innocence that struck Dot in the heart. She stretched out her arm and grabbed Armand by the shoulder, tugging him over. Her other hand landed on the back of his head and she pulled him down, into her bosom.

“Good lord, child.” She cooed. She began to stroke his hair, mothering and smothering becoming a very fine line at the moment. When she heard Dodger chuckle, she looked up. “What?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll put in a call at the Whitecrest inn. I’ll inquire about the ship’s log and see if there was any attempt at acquiring it when it first washed ashore.”

“But that’s got to be more than a hundred years ago…” Dot shook her head, “There not might be any record left.”

“We might get lucky,” Dodger was saying with renewed interest. He had that glint in his eye that alluded to the fact he may have remembered something important, “Usually, there are two types of logs. The Captain’s journal about the journey at sea and an inventory log. The inventory logs are recorded twice; for the Captain and a copy for the land. Remember what that old guy was saying about the registry around the time Fitzsimmons was uh, alive?”

Dot’s eyes widened, “If they kept records of the registry from that long ago, they might have the ship’s inventory log!”

Dodger nodded and Dot released Armand to clap her hands in joy, “Dodger, you’re so smart!”

There was a certain pride that touched on Dodger’s smile after hearing Dot’s praise. It was usually hard to praise him considering he was almost always distracted with something else to participate in conversations, only chirping in to lend his two cents. After he said what he had to, he’d usually tune out. But that was Dodger with regular people. His attention to Dot was as intense as his gaze, and her praise never fell short on his ears. He never knew how to respond to it, though. In this instance, he cleared his throat and started, “Well, I better get on with that phone call.” To excuse himself out of the room.

“Dodger, it’s like, one in the morning.” Dot called after him but he was already ducking out of the office. She turned to Armand, “Where is he going?”

Armand looked wide-eyed confused and shrugged. It was a rhetorical question and she hadn’t expected Armand to answer but it was damn cute he had. She laughed, reaching over to straighten out the mess of hair she had caused when she smothered him with affection.

“Speaking of one in the morning, what do you do for sleep?” she asked.

Armand gestured over with his head towards the Grandfather Clock. “I go in there and it’s hard to explain but I think the closest thing is like recharging my battery.” He chuckled lowly, lowering his head to allow Dot better access to the top of his head.

Dot frowned and dropped her hands as soon as she was finished sorting out his soft strands, “So, you have to sleep in Armand, Sr.?”

“I can sleep anywhere but if I need to restore energy I have to go back to my bound item for it to affect me.”

Dot’s mouth formed an ‘o’ as she listened and then asked, “Are you low on energy right now? And if not… how can we tell if you are?”

Armand laughed, a shy sound. “You’ll know. I will act different. Out of sorts. Spacy. And I will not have any energy to become physical.”

Dot nodded with understanding. “Okay. That’s good, I’ll be able to keep an eye on you.” she paused and then asked, “Do you know how long you can go without sleeping in Armand, Sr. before your energy starts to drain?”

Armand looked thoughtful, “It depends on how much energy I deplete. If I’m spending my entire days as my corporeal form, I’ll expend more energy. It’s not much but it’ll start to add up before I realize I can’t change anymore. And if I do something really straining, I’ll deplete it faster. But if I’m just hanging around with using the least amount of energy, I can last for days without sleeping.”

“I don’t want you going without sleep,” Dot said. She couldn’t explain it but it felt like seeing Armand in little clothes go out in cold weather even if he couldn’t feel cold. It would make her worry and so Armand neglecting “sleep” was the same way. She was protective by nature and overprotective of the ones she loved; Armand struck her nurturing chord so many times, she was beginning to note she could fuss over him without a second thought. He was childlike which made the urge that much stronger.

She glanced at Armand, Sr. with another frown tugging downward on her lips. “and it makes me feel bad that you have to sleep in Armand, Sr. in the Sanctum by yourself.”

Dot and Dodger have their own homes to go back to. Armand was found living in their office, so to speak. Armand shifted around Dot, walking around her. She was beginning to see that he did that often, especially if he was trying to understand something about their expression or their words. It was a pretty odd habit of his, in the cutest way of course.

“I don’t feel bad,” he told her. “it’s where I’ve been for a very long time.”

Dot’s brows furrowed as she thought about that, “Yeah, that reminds me, how did you end up here?”

Armand opened his mouth to speak but he stopped short, realizing he didn’t know what to say. Confusion clouded his features and he closed his mouth, twisting his lips as he thought or tried to that far back.

“…I… don’t know…” he said, almost in a haze.

Dot was beginning to see that there were many more unanswered questions Armand brought up for every few he managed to answer. She didn’t ask again mainly because it wouldn’t do any good. She figured, that down the road, they’d eventually find out more about Armand.

Everything buried gets dug up eventually.

Instead, she nodded. “I wonder if we can see about making one of these rooms a make-shift sleeping area. It’d make me feel better about leaving you here by yourself. Even if you’re not bothered by it, I am, love.” Dot placed her hand on Armand’s arm, giving it the motherly gesture of a cross between a pat and a rub. “You’re not just a ghost to me or even to Dodger, no matter how he conveys it verbally. I know how he feels. He gets just as worried about you as I do. And you have feelings like we do, it just seems weird leaving you here by yourself.”

“How is it different from you and Dodger living by yourself?” Armand asked. He didn’t mean any harm by it, he genuinely wanted to know. But Dot had an answer for that one, too.

“We live in places we chose for ourselves. We don’t live in an object we’re bound to. We chose where we lay our heads. I may not know how you became bound to your Clock, but are you going to stand there and tell me it doesn’t bother you? Bound items bind you for a reason. You can’t go too far out of range from yours, right?”

Armand didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Dot was right. Dodger had asked Armand if he could make the trip to Whitecrest while they were getting packed and while Dot didn’t think of it at the time, Dodger must have thought it through. Armand must have known what Dodger had meant because he had replied with a quiet yes and that was the last they had spoken about it.

“I don’t know how far Armand, Sr. lets you travel since you went to Whitecrest well enough, but there’s got to be some sort of drawback. Do you know what they are?”

Armand shook his head. Dot bit her lip with another frown.

“That’s alright, too. When the time comes, we’ll figure things out together.”

Armand didn’t say anything again but he did rest his cheek against the top of Dot’s head, drawing her into a hug that held on a little too tightly. She didn’t say any more than that, and returned the gesture giving him a hug just as tight.

That night, the trio had separated with the intention on meeting at the Sanctum tomorrow afternoon. Dot was the last one into the office pushing past the waiting area and into The Pen where Armand and Dodger were seated, talking to each other.

She set down three cups of coffee she had picked up from the successful chain franchise, Starluck, and sat with them. “So, what are we talking about?” she asked, carefully testing her drink. It was the sweetest item their menu had to offer and about the only time she’d spend an absurd amount of money on coffee. She had ordered the same for Armand and Dodger got the same Iced Mocha drink he always got whenever he went with her.

“Doctor Strange left a message,” Dodger revealed. Dot, who was beginning to take a drink, stopped. He continued, “He said he wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. Tomorrow, though. Work was taking longer than expected.”

Dot’s shoulders slumped and she sighed. It wasn’t Stephen’s fault but she wasn’t going to lie to herself and say she wasn’t disappointed. “Alright, then we’ll just meet up here tomorrow.”

“Oh, we also got a call from Whitecrest’s record keeping department. I was telling Armand I was just as surprised to hear that they had one as well as the affirmative we received on the ship’s inventory log.”

Dot gasped, “This coffee is way too hot!” She cursed quietly before taking up a more excited tone as she registered what Dodger was telling her. “We got it, then? They can give it to us?”

“They’ve already sent it out but we won’t receive it again until next week. It is the weekend after all.”

Dot groaned, “And Stephen’s not coming today but tomorrow, can this weekend’s start suck anymore?”

“I’m sure he’d understand about the log.”

Dot nodded, knowing Stephen would be more than grateful for the information they had just obtained. She just wished it all went off without a hitch.

“Did anything strange happen while the lockbox was here?” Dot asked, looking over at Armand. She might as well ask as long as they were going to hang out for a little while.

He had stayed overnight in the clock since there was really no other place for him to go. Dot had suggested they could bring Armand, Sr. to her house since they knew he could at least travel three hours out of its hold. But Dot also had the thought that Armand would have to retreat to her home if something happened while at work. It was best to leave Armand, Sr. in the office and just bring in a spare bed like Dot had originally planned.

In the meantime, Armand was going to stay at the office by himself. He didn’t think that was any big deal but Dot couldn’t help but feel bad about it. Armand wasn’t admitting that beneath his denials there was an air of loneliness he wasn’t willing to touch on. Dot had no idea how long Armand had been alone but she could feel at least that much. She was thankful for her empathy abilities sometimes but that didn’t mean she’d bring it up unprovoked if Armand wasn’t aware. She’d wait in the meantime, but there was simply no fooling her.

“I thought I heard some sounds,” Armand revealed. “but when I searched around the Sanctum, I didn’t see anybody.”

“And the television wasn’t on?” Dodger asked.

Dot had the sneaking suspicion that there was something familiar about this conversation but she couldn’t place her finger on it. Armand continued, “No, I didn’t see or hear any of the appliances on.”

Dodger had figured putting the lockbox in the room in the back across from Dot’s closet was a good bet because it was furthest way and there was nothing in that room in case it influenced anything. It was a huge space and even going back there to retrieve the lockbox had given Dodger a bad feeling, he had explained.

“Well, let’s try not to put anything weird in that room.” Dot reasoned. It was only half a joke. She still had no idea what the hell they were going to do with it but she figured, weird things weren’t going to be in their office anyway.

A day later, she could have laughed at the irony.

Because a day later, they were staring at Doctor Strange who was explaining that he would appreciate if they could convert that back room into an artifact storage system.

“Come again?” Dodger asked.

Dot was still gaping.

Doctor Strange who had finished speaking glanced between the two and then chuckled. Their reactions were priceless in the good Doctor’s eyes. “Did you really need me to repeat that?” he asked, “or was that an exclamation of disbelief?”

“A little bit of both,” Dot admitted.

“Yes, well, I’m aware this is an unusual request but you’ve really proved yourselves upon carrying out the task I had unfairly asked of you. I had an inkling what this may have been about,” he spoke, indicating the lockbox nearly forgotten in Stephen’s presence but he drew attention to it now. His gaze was upon it as if it might misbehave in his presence and he dared it to do as much. “I know the boundaries and limitations I’ve asked your government to adhere to if they were to enlist my services; for one, Cursed items are a priority—”

“Not a top priority?” Dodger interrupted.

Stephen smiled, “No. There are worse things that draw my attention.” There was absolutely no comfort in that but Stephen seemed to gloss over it because he continued as if what he said wasn’t startling enough, “But there are classifications in which Curses can be handled. I wasn’t sure how far this world’s progressed in terms of handling them but you three seemed to accomplish what even the Agency could not. I’m pleased to see that my faith had not been misplaced.”

“All we did was pull it out of the ocean and hold onto it until you came to retrieve it,” Dot simply put. There was no lie to that, whatsoever. But it didn’t bring the comforting thought that Stephen might have tasked them with something they weren’t completely equipped to handle. What made him so sure that they were going to be fine?

Stephen turned his gaze onto Dot. It turned a touch warmer and his smile deepened and Dot was relieved of any previous worries. All she could think about was Doctor Strange’s attention on her. “Fascinating how the Agency couldn’t even pull that off, right? Even with the same equipment the two companies have, yet somehow, you three were able to complete this task.”

The simplified way Dot had recounted the tale made it seem that this task had been anything but when Stephen worded it that way. She cast him a look of confusion but Dodger wasn’t as affected by Stephen’s charm. He circled back to their previous thought.

“How did you know we’d be able to do it? It could have Cursed us in very much the same way as the crew we saw on the Ocean Spray. We would have had no way to help ourselves without knowing what harm it could have caused us. Worst case scenario, one of us could have died from the exposure somehow.”

“You weren’t pawns,” Stephen clarified as soon as he seemed to realize where their thoughts have taken them. His expression had hardened at Dodger’s accusation but this was a serious claim, too. Dot had to give Stephen credit when he didn’t shy away from explaining himself, however, there was a regretful expression on his face that matched his somber tone, “but I wasn’t entirely 100% certain what the outcome would be; I knew the Curse to be relatively harmless in terms of humans, I just couldn’t say the same for Armand. Even so, I had faith that you three would be what I was looking for.”

The regretful expression on his face seemed to be guilt. He was admitting something that had ashamed him. It made Dot sympathize with him but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was somehow more to that. She couldn’t gloss over the fact that he knew Armand might have come to harm, too. She was quiet for a long time, trying to get a handle of her own emotions before speaking because she knew she’d say something that’d be more emotional than adding to the conversation. The last thing anyone needed to do right now was point fingers.

“…It was a test,” Dodger clarified after it had dawned on him. Dot whipped her head towards Dodger who had spoke it and then to Stephen who had verified it.

“Why?” was all she asked, confused and to be truthful, hurt. Everything she had ever read and heard about Doctor Strange indicated that he didn’t involve citizens in the circumstances of his work. In fact, he hardly ever involved anyone from Earth-6969. Granted, Doctor Strange’s responsibilities weren’t entirely known throughout the world, the Agency and the government in working together with Earth-616 shared information. So, Dot and her crew weren’t exactly citizens if she was privy to this information in the first place, but Stephen mainly took on his duties working alone or with any other superhero from 616.

Was that changing? And if so, it all leads back to the question why?

Stephen sighed, taking a moment to wager his words. Long ago, Dot had offered them the seating area she had cultivated just for her guests like Stephen so that was where they sat. Tea cups and coffee mugs sat forgotten and getting colder on the coffee table and snacks half-eaten. No one felt hungry.

“To be honest, I need help.”

Dot shared a look of surprise with Dodger. Armand glanced over just to express his confusion. Everything was going over his head and he was going to have to ask Dot what this meant later on. For now, he knew there was a serious conversation taking place and he was afraid to speak.

Stephen continued, “Taking on the responsibilities of two realms is difficult. I’m not saying I cannot do it, I’m just saying I cannot do it alone. For some reason, your earth lacks a protector. I’m supposing it’s a big factor for why the Great War happened the way that it did, your planet being severely underprepared for it. The tear that merges our two worlds cannot be as easily fixed by merely severing it. By now it’s common knowledge that the two realms exist and are connected in some way, but it’s been so long that these two worlds are now feeding off each other’s energies that attempting to sever one planet from another can cause catastrophic events for both worlds.

We’re leaving it alone for now but things are shifting; people from 616 are coming over to…6969 while people from your realm are coming into ours. In the last decade, this change is finally beginning to show the consequences. From anything major such as our earth’s villains crossing over to make their stake on your planet to minor examples as with the strained relationship between the Supernatural and Human beings, it reflects on those who have the same discrimination in our realm reigniting old flames that were beginning to die down.

Of course, your planet isn’t going untouched, either. You might be seeing more and more of our superheroes cross over in attempt to clean up the messes by migrating villains. And 6969 civilians are holding protests on pushing one side of Supernatural sympathizers onto 616, creating a skewed view of their own Utopia. All in all, it’s a mess and the Agency or either government aren’t showing any attempt at cleaning it with the exception of S.H.I.E.L.D. which acts as the world-wide law enforcement for our planet. For which the powers that be in the council were more or less content to push this off to. For the most part, it’s left up to us superheroes of 616. As for 6969, we’ve been looking through many Agents of the organization who want to make a difference. Civilians who show signs of Supernatural abilities are recruited into the Agency as soon as they are located so it makes for a nice hub to start searching, however, it also puts us in a hard place when you can’t find what you’re looking for. We’ve searched and failed to come up with any prospective candidates until hearing about two Agents that branched off on their own…”

Stephen cast an expectant look on all three of them. A deliberate look that couldn’t have been misunderstood.

Dot swallowed thickly, slowly rolling all of this information around in her head. Her first thought was that she should pick up a newspaper more often or at least watch the news. Being at the Agency, they were supplied with what went on with the world on the terms as the Agency’s need to fix it—Dot had never looked at it that way before, either. They might have been fed propaganda as if the Agency wasn’t as sketchy as it was. In another realization, Dot realized she was really ignorant about what went on in the world, too. She got away from the Agency because she wanted to do more good in helping people instead of turning an eye as the Agency often did but she never questioned why they did; she figured it was because majority of those cases were not promoting enough and the people they usually passed on were of no consequence, justice wasn’t being done for the little guy.

To be honest, reading about the exploits of 616’s Spider-Man filled her with the confidence to do just that.

“The Agency really does that?” Armand had asked, calling attention to himself. He had been quiet this entire time. But hearing about the Agency always compelled him to ask questions. It was the one major power just beneath the White House and its Secret Service in its importance. It was an organization that was well-known but at the same time, secretive.

“Does what, love?” Dot asked, grateful for the break from this mind-boggling revelation.

“Recruit people who show abilities like you and Dodger? What if you don’t want to go?”

Dot blinked. It was a fact she had almost forgotten. It was so ingrained that it didn’t seem unusual to anybody. “I mean, I guess. And I’ve never really thought about it before. I suppose it’s not like volunteering for the Army. You have to go once you start showing signs of anything peculiar about you.”

“You can correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m under the impression that humans here who start showing signs start at infancy once the need for preservation had died out years and years ago.” Stephen added. “From what I’m told, the Agency takes note of these children and when they become of age, they adopt a boarding school lifestyle.”

Dot nodded, “You’re absolutely right. Fun fact! I was a late case. When I was born, my empathy abilities were hard to detect and the Agency had no way of figuring out how to pick that out from any of the other crying babies in the hospital. Apparently, empathy was a rare case! Most special babies were super strong already or did other things, like shoot beams from their eyes and stuff. I just seemed like a regular baby. And this was before the A.R.T.I.I. glasses! Which would have saved a lot of trouble if we had them back them.

Anyway!

Since infancy, I felt strong emotions and for the most part was just a really happy or fussy baby. So, my dad said. When I was about six, I was exhibiting strange mood swings that I became unmanageable. I would throw tantrums out of nowhere or I’d start crying my eyes out or laughing hysterically in the middle of public places; I had no way of knowing that other people were influencing my emotions and I especially did not know how to tune them out when it got to be too much. As you can imagine, it created a strained relationship between me and my parents. I felt like I didn’t understand them and they definitely did not understand me. It didn’t help that I was feeling their emotions every time they had to “deal” with me.”

Dot cleared her throat, bypassing all the painful old stuff she would have to drudge up if she went any further. It was not something she wanted to get into right now. Or ever. She avoided delving too deeply in the sympathetic looks she was getting and put on a more brightened tone to finish off her story for Armand.

“One day, the Agency was just at my door and basically, my parents couldn’t wait to get rid of me. But I learned that I wasn’t normal. The boarding school has a lot of teachers that help you learn about your abilities based on what you got. They helped you readjust to life in the real world, basically, by teaching you how to control them. There’s further training if you show interest on wanting to be an Agent. And I didn’t want to go back home, so…”

“You became an Agent.” Stephen finished.

“Yep!” Dot beamed. She was surprised when Stephen put a hand on her head, giving her short-cut curly hair a ruffle. It was a sweet gesture, full of affection.

Armand looked sad when Dot faced him. She was about to reassure him when he stated, “I don’t think I like the Agency.”

Dot laughed, “We all don’t, honey. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that they weren’t the salvation I was looking for. I can get behind the idea of helping others but I don’t like the way they do it if they can be bothered at all. And now that I think about it, that recruitment thing is pretty weird, too…”

“Which makes me wonder why they let us go at all.” Dodger commented. “The Agency is a huge organization but I never thought they’d be the only organization to handle Human-Supernatural relations. Surely, they’d feel a little threatened with our start up?” This gave Dot pause because she had never thought of it like that, either. But then Dodger added his personal signature of realism, “Of course, they’re a big entity and we’re three people who have but one official case under our belts. I suppose the rivalry isn’t there.”

“…Good job, Dodge.” Dot deadpanned.

“And now Doctor Strange wants us to play heroes.”

Dodger’s bluntness was going to give Dot a heart attack one day.

“Not play, but be.” he corrected. “And it’s not just me, there’s other powers here at work.”

This just brought back the bombshell he had put onto their laps. Dot still couldn’t fathom the entire thing. Stephen’s coming to them was merely a test but they passed. He still gave them a dangerous task on handling a Cursed item without knowing the consequences that she wanted to scold him for but looking at him now, she couldn’t muster up the courage.

“Adding to that,” Dot said, at least giving in to an urge to give him trouble. “you’re asking us to renovate the back room into a Cursed artifact room like we’re the Warrens or something.”

Doctor Strange looked surprised. “Sometimes it amazes me that similarities between our planets.” But he came to his senses and added, “Well, that’s more of a personal request. But yes.”

“That sounds incredibly dangerous. We don’t know how to handle Curses much less understand how to store them. Do we bless them individually? And the entire room? Especially after we add a new item? I assume we have to keep the room locked but do we avoid getting 13 locks or should we get 13 locks to keep with the theme of curses and superstitions? Do we need a priest?”

Stephen held a hand up, laughing at Dot’s rapid-firing questions. “Sweetheart, don’t worry. You’re not going to be doing this alone and in no way will you be in any danger of the Cursed items I’ll have you holding on for me.”

Dot had stopped short the instant he called her sweetheart and had been hooked on that word that she almost didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. “You’ll… be working with us again?”

“Of course. I hope you did not think I’d ask this of you and that’d be that.”

“Well, no, I just didn’t think that far at all.”

Stephen laughed again, this time leaning forward to his coffee. When he put it to his lips, he didn’t at all seemed bothered that the coffee was cold. That was until Dot realized that there was slight steam coming out of the mug in little vapors. She looked down at her mug and picked it up, realizing that it was warm in her hand.

“I went to the trouble of refilling our glasses,” Stephen said, setting his mug down. “the other ones were cold. Except for Dodger. You seem to like your iced coffee.”

Dodger nodded with appreciation, seeing that he had another serving when he had finished his before. “Thank you.”

Dot and Armand exchanged gleeful expressions before Dot turned her appreciation to Stephen, too. “Thank you!” she exclaimed, quite amazed at his handiwork. Aside from his cape and portal entrances (or exits), she hadn’t seen Stephen utilize anymore magic until this moment. And even then, it was subtle.

“This is a big undertaking I’m asking of you but I have to insist on acting upon it.” Stephen continued the flow of the seriousness of the conversation. That snapped the three into serious mode as well. “I have my work in 616 that calls for most of my attention but 6969 is in dire need of attention, too. I need you three to be my Wong in this world.”

“…Wong?” Armand asked.

Dodger’s gaze squinted. Even he didn’t seem sure what Stephen was saying. “Is this some sort of magical term?”

Dot seemed to be the only one aware in the room what Stephen had meant considering the scary amount of attention she paid to the supers. She chuckled in her drink, occupying with carefully drinking it while Stephen laughed.

“Wong is my friend. He’s in 616’s Sanctum. My partner, if you will. If you cannot reach me, you’ll most definitely be able to reach Wong. In the meantime, I’ll be using your room the duration of the weekend to prepare for the Artifacts that will be stored there from here on out.”

Dot was startled, putting her mug down. “Wait, already?”

Stephen, standing up, paused. “Yes, my dear. Is there anything you need to get out of there before I start?”

“O-Oh no, it’s empty! I just meant… I thought you were going to start later. And even so, you’re going to need the whole weekend?”

“Yes and as they say, the sooner, the better, correct?”

Dot laughed nervously. It wasn’t so much as Stephen’s saying but the fact that these artifacts were going to be kept in their office. Supposing that’s what they get for naming their office the Sanctum Sanctorum. Then Doctor Strange gets involved. Was this some kind of cosmic joke?

Doctor Strange wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to get to work. He took off his cape and that was the last they saw of him behind the closed door until a few hours later when he emerged for a break. Dot and Armand were in the middle of discovering all the strange things Stephen’s cape was capable of and Dodger had been recording everything from their meeting and Strange’s cape into D.I.D.. Stephen’s cape did a playful flutter in Dot and Armand’s face before sweeping up to Stephen’s side and he clasped it back around himself.

“I’m taking a break but I did want to add,” He paused as he was talking as he fussed with his cape, “I’ve taken the liberty of also connecting my 616 Sanctum to yours. There’s no reason for it to be connected to the one in your New York; there’s nothing in there. It will also allow for the quick and painless transfer of artifacts between hands in case we need to move things around from the two areas.”

Dot’s eyes were round and she was speechless. Just like that he was going to connect his Sanctum to theirs; a personal way to get to 616 from 6969????? And he was just talking about it like it was a hallway into another room. Dot never thought she’d be able to step foot in 616 in her entire lifetime much less have it in her backyard. Or quite literally, across from her closet.

“The artifacts will be safe?” Dodger asked, ever the one to pick up slack.

Stephen nodded, “I give you my word.”

Dot raised her hands, “Well, there we go. Doctor Strange’s word! Everything will turn out great!”

“Please, call me Stephen.” He offered. Dot didn’t want to tell him she was already calling him Stephen other places but still couldn’t help but flush slightly at the permission. It was one thing calling him Stephen to Dodger and Armand but to his face?

“A-Alright.” She laughed a tad shyly.

Stephen looked appeased, his gaze lingering a touch longer on Dot before he moved it to Dodger and Armand before insisting they start with something for lunch. Around the time Stephen returned to work on the Artifact room, Dodger was taking off to go home. Dot would go home a few hours later but she wanted to spend more time in the same place Stephen was working. There was something reassuring just looking at the door this great Sorcerer was behind, working away and doing magnificent things she could only imagine. Armand had retired to his clock, having stated that it’d be pretty nice to have their company all weekend which swayed Dot bring home Armand during the weekends and they’ll see from there whether or not Armand, Sr. would need to be moved back and forth.

The weekend was filled with visiting the office and hearing some questionable noises in the backroom while Stephen worked. Dot found herself eager to see what the outcome would be. It wasn’t until Monday, Oct 7th, that Stephen had emerged for good.

They were seated at the “Livingroom” area Dot had deemed once more and Stephen was explaining to them what he had done.

“The artifact room is secure to hold any degree of Cursed item. I will take care of the management myself, ensuring that the spells I have put in place are not weakening. So many Cursed items in one place, as one can imagine, creates an abundance of bad energy. It can spill over if the protective spells I weave weaken and depending on the severity of the room, it could weaken over time. Which is why I will be stopping by every so often to make sure it holds up well. Of course, granted I have your permission—”

“Definitely, yep. Yes. Please come over.” Dot insisted. If not for Stephen’s presence alone, the thought of all the bad juju Curses emit had Dodger and Armand nodding in agreement.

“—Thank you, that simplifies things.” Stephen chuckled, “Now, with the completion of the Artifact room, there is still the manner of S.H.I.E.L.D. getting in touch with you in order to merge forces—”

“Wait, what?”

Stephen glanced at Dot when she sparked her outburst. He looked amused. “As a continuation of our chat over the weekend, I should say I largely came here as a representative. There is still the manner of forming an organization here that reflects the ideal of the unification between the two realms; S.H.I.E.L.D. is our force and the Agency was supposed to be yours. But I believe as I’ve stated before, we’ve settled our sights elsewhere.”

It dawned on Dot, “…Oh, yeah… the talk from before. You… you were really serious about that, huh?” she laughed, sounding a little frayed. The idea was too spectacular if she could honestly say so. Exciting but, too ambitious. “This… was supposed to be a private investigation firm. I mean, we’re only licensed as such…” she said, already feeling herself trying to talk their way out of it. Or perhaps she felt a little too humbled. Either way, it was making her head spin.

There was a beat of silence and then Stephen said, “Do you want to know why we focused on you?”

Dot glanced up, feeling herself wanting to say no. But at the same time, she wanted to know. Stephen continued when she couldn’t make up her mind to answer.

“We’ve seen it all before. The governments, the people divided, it’s only going to get messier if the wrong side gets chosen. The direction of relations between your species is in its infancy. Only recently are Humans and Supernaturals working together to create the future you, personally, want to see. But at the same time, there are forces against you that are willing to plunge your world back into the dark ages from ever bearing the fruit of your labors. This line of separation between species, we’ve been there before. In fact, it still rings around my planet even today but your planet is the point at one end of the spectrum that shows us how far we could fall if we don’t do something to change the direction we seem to be going and with the realization that our planets are now bound, it could get messy if there’s a separation on two global scales. We cannot control people but we can continue to set good examples to sway their views, their feelings. We just need a power as great as superheroes in our world to help deliver that message here.”

“Again, you want us to be heroes…” Dodger trailed off, the notion too big for him to swallow. “Like superheroes.”

“Like superheroes.” Stephen repeated. “Your world needs superheroes. Not the Agency.”

“But your world has S.H.I.E.L.D., too.” Dodger argued, “which from what I’m understanding is kind of like the Agency but not as corrupted.”

“It can be corrupted is what I’m saying. But for the most part, it’s not. It is genuinely in it for the best interest of its people; civilian and superhero alike. Even if the two sides are at odds with each other sometimes.”

“Why can’t you work with the Agency on this?” Dot asked. It wasn’t that she was dismissing the idea of helping Stephen or even… becoming a superhero in some weird sense, but why couldn’t the Agency change?

“It’s… compromised.” Stephen finally admitted. He seemed to say it begrudgingly as if he had been trying to hold off on divulging the information. He was holding off on saying more despite Dodger and Dot asking what he had meant. He looked troubled and on the verge of bending, catching Dot’s gaze and the confusion there making him want to share. She had a certain way of looking at him that made him feel chastised; he felt it the first time he admitted his intentions with the Cursed Lockbox and now. 

Perhaps it was the universe giving Stephen the much-needed break he deserved when a new voice interjected; a commanding tone. One that sounded like he was in charge of the conversation even though he was the one who hijacked it:

“There’s another reason why we focused on you.”

Stephen turned, letting out a slight exhale at the frame that emerged from behind their seating area. It seemed that Nicholas Fury was going to be his salvation for today.

[westakoasta]

P-MINUS - 2019

Where are you from? And what’s your first memories linked to hip hop?

I’ve lived all over - Belgium, Germany, Ohio, Missouri, the Virgin Islands, San Francisco, and now Los Angeles.  But I spent the most years, including high school and college, in Missouri, so I feel like that’s where “I’m from.”  I first remember hearing hip hop while living on St. Thomas (in the Virgin Islands) and the three songs that started me on this journey were “I Need Love,” by LL Cool J, “You Be Illin’” by Run-DMC and “Fight For Your Right To Party” by the Beastie Boys.  I must have heard them on the radio, so that would have been 1987 - the year of my hip hop birth.  In 1988, I moved back to Missouri and a neighbor of mine had a ton of rap tapes so I’d borrow his tapes all the time or listen to them in his car on the drive to school.  I believe that the first tape I ever bought was Schooly D’s “Smoke Some Kill” (1988).

What got you started with Atak Distribution, how and when did it begin?

Fast forward to 1994 - I had graduated from college, where I had been the Hip Hop Director at the school’s radio station, and moved to San Francisco where I began an internship at Gavin, a music magazine that curated Top 40 lists for radio programmers.  Somehow through that job, I met DJ Stef (editor of the Vinyl Exchange) and started writing record reviews for her.  And on one fateful day, I received a copy of Sacred Hoop’s “Demo” tape for review and I thought it was the freshest thing in the world and in 1996 I officially became an underground hip hop junkie.

Were you a hardcore music collector before you started Atak?

Before Atak, I had a decent cd and record collection, full of ‘90s “golden era” major label releases, but hardly any tapes and barely anything considered “indie” or “underground.”  Back then I wasn’t a collector, just a music fan, because all this incredible music was just sitting at the record stores for $12.99.  I shopped a lot at Amoeba and Rasputin’s and a few other smaller stores in the Bay area, plus a few record labels and artists would send me promos for review.

How did you choose what would be in your catalog? How did you make contacts with the artists?

Starting with Sacred Hoop, I was certain that this amazing group wasn’t getting the exposure it deserved, so the seeds of Atak were first planted.  I then started soliciting for more submissions through the Vinyl Exchange and some other Bay area rap magazines, such as 4080.  I think that the Hoop started spreading the word, too, because I soon started getting tapes from the likes of FTA, Megabusive, San Francisco Street Music, Jedi Knights Circle, 99th Demention and others from the South Bay and SF.  Somewhere in there, I met up with the Mystic Journeymen, bought some tapes from them, and was eventually exposed to Berkeley and Oakland artists such as the Living Legends, Hobo Junction, Zion-I and Illa Dapted.  If I liked your tape, it would get in the Atak catalog.  The first printed mail-order catalog had 12 tapes in it and the very first tape sold was Mystik Journeymen’s “Escape Forever” on August 10th, 1996.

Was the mail-order a full time job or did you have other occupations (studies, other job?)?

During the first few years I had several jobs: the Gavin internship became a paid job, I worked at a grocery store and then later at a vegetarian cafe.  Eventually, since my rent was cheap and I was starting to sell more music, I was able to do Atak full-time.  All the storage and shipping was done out of my bedroom.

Did you have many overseas/international customers and what role did that play in the business?

It looks like I started getting my first international orders (from Finland!) in 1997.  I don’t know how they found out about Atak, but they were serious fans of West Coast underground so word spreads fast amongst those folks.  Fans in Finland, Australia, Canada and Japan were my strongest supporters, with a few folks in France and Germany, too.  This was before I started selling online, so these folks were trusting me with their cash and money orders and I will be forever indebted to them.  Through these customers, I was exposed to international hip hop and eventually started selling music from the likes of Ceebrolistics, the Sebutones, mcenroe, Mary Joy Recordings, Muphin and the Hilltop Hoods.

What was the « peak » year in terms of sales and in terms of quality of music?

After a year or so of mailing out catalogs and setting up tables of merchandise at shows, Atak finally got online with the help of one of my earliest customers, Todd (aka Vic aka Celph Titled), who was extremely active on hip hop message boards, and he really helped spread the word around the U.S. and the world, so Atak started getting more non-Bay area music in the catalog and I started getting  orders from everywhere.  I think that the music quality was strong start to finish.  I was listening to everything before I put it in the catalog, and if it wasn’t dope, it didn’t get in.

Did you ever wanted to make Atak a bigger thing, like UGHH or such?

There was a time in which I would have loved for Atak to get really big, because it was all so much fun - all the shows, meeting the artists, hearing a ton of new music, even the packing and shipping was fun for me.  But in hindsight, it is clear that I was better at being a huge fan of the music rather than being a savvy businessperson.  At the point in which digital music started taking off, I didn’t have the technical knowhow to adjust accordingly, and a big part of me still simply loved selling physical copies.  As a fan, I didn’t want everything to go digital, but as a businessperson I should have dived in headfirst to keep up with the other big websites.  I admired what the other sites were doing, and what friends like Shane (aka Kegs) was doing with Below the Surface - putting out records, putting on shows, opening a brick-and-mortar storefront.  But part of me liked keeping things small and simple, but that clearly pushed me into smaller and more obscure corner of the online hip hop biz and eventually bumped me out of it altogether.

You did some cd-r reissues as well as a couple of mix-cds. Any temptation of launching a proper record label (as in: « new release, no reissue ») at some point?

I’d been wanting FOREVER to start a label and put out records!  I made a feeble attempt to put out an Atak compilation in the late ‘90s, full of all the folks that were in my catalog at the time.  I was able to get maybe 7-10 crews over to my house one night to talk about it, but since I had no idea how to really put it all together, I ended up getting one original song, from Nitrous Ox, out of that great big idea.  More recently, I’ve been hoping to help folks put out releases but nothing has materialized just yet.  Nowadays almost everyone is really good at getting this stuff done themselves, so I’m happy that they are taking control of their destinies and getting their music out to the world.

Can you give us your personal Top 5 favorites in your sale catalog? Also one that you think was dope and didn’t have the recognition it deserved?

In no particular order, I’ll list a few of my favorites, but I’m obligated to mention Sacred Hoop’s “Demo” (aka “Sacred Hoop” aka “Runny Poop”) first since that tape inspired everything.  I was also thrilled to be able to pick up indie music from the Hieroglyphics (“Hiero Oldies”)and Saafir (Hobo Junction’s “Limited Edition Compilation”) since I was such a fan of their major label stuff.  I really liked Red Tide’s “Rogue MCs” tape.  Disflex6’s self-titled debut (aka “1984”) was great.  The Kracken’s “Abstract & Cognac” left me wanting much more.  The Sebutones’ “50/50 Where It Counts” blew my mind!  Early stuff Dose One and Why? showed me that hip hop had no boundaries.  This is an extremely abbreviated favorites list - as I look back through my old catalogs, I realize that I loved them all.  It was all so new and so fresh and I think these artists all deserved more recognition than they got.  I’m glad that I could help expose them a bit but I wish I could have done a lot more.

Did you developed friendship with artists/crews over those years and do you have interesting stories/ anecdotes linked to that?

My anecdotal memory is terrible so I’ve sadly forgotten a ton of great stories, fantastic show moments and hilarious conversations.  Looking back, I should have kept a journal or taken a million photographs, because we all had so much fun and did so much back then.  But, luckily for me, I’ve been able to keep in touch with a few of my very favorite people, emcees Luke Sick (Sacred Hoop/Grand Invincible) and Roughneck Jihad (Third Sight), and producer Deeskee (who has probably produced more songs in the Atak catalog than anyone else).  And luckily for everyone else, all three of these guys are still making incredible music, more than 20 years after giving me tapes to review.  A few weeks ago I got to hang out with The Grouch for a bit and he gave me a copy of his “F...the Dumb” double vinyl, 20 years after I first sold that tape in the catalog.

Why (and when) did you stopped Atak?

Atak started to slow down around 2004.  I had recently moved from the Bay area down to Los Angeles, gotten married, bought a house, and started another job that was able to pay the bills more reliably.  I was still getting orders and submissions from new artists, but wasn’t able to give Atak the focus it required to really push new artists and releases.  I didn’t have time to go to many shows anymore, and all my hip hop buddies were still up in the Bay.  I had ambitions to reboot the website, but then my web host got hacked and I had to shut down the site...and then I never got it back online.  I eventually moved my inventory onto some other online platforms and kept selling, but for the most part, Atak was done.  I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to the artists who submitted music around this time.  I was getting some great music but just didn’t have juice to do anything with it.

Any thoughts on the evolution of hip hop? What about the the come back of the cassette? Is it possible that Atak would make a comeback in the future, in some form or another?

Tough question, because I don’t keep up with much truly “underground” music anymore, so I really hope that there are a ton of dope kids putting out dope music out there, and I’m sure there are plenty of them.  I love 90’s hip hop so much, both major label and my Atak stuff, that that is what I still listen to the most, digging in my records, tapes and cds or bumping music in my car.  I agree with most true heads that a lot of today’s hip hop is junk, and though I’m happy to see rappers get big and make money, I’d much rather that it be good, original and compelling hip hop.  I’m stoked to see everyone buying and releasing tapes again, because of my love for the physical copy (though I agree that a free or cheap digital download is an essential part of that sale).  And in regards to Atak’s great big comeback, I don’t think it will happen - it would require too much time and energy to do it right.  But if I can still help out a few people, promote a few records, maybe even sell a few for my old pals, I’m happy to contribute.

A specific question from the homie Age: do you still want to reissue that Hi-State album?

I bugged my man Mr. E about that tape FOREVER and at least he finally put it up on Bandcamp (https://eightarrow.bandcamp.com/album/hi-state-project-demos-n-shit-vol-1) and we chatted about putting out a cassette reissue.  I’m sure he wouldn’t have much trouble selling a short run of 100 tapes, so I’ll remind him about it.  But I’m happy that fans can at least take a listen or buy it online.

What do you think was the most special in the 90's underground scene, and do you believe something like that would ever happen again?

I’ve never really tried to analyze that scene, but in retrospect, I bet that a lot of these emcees, producers and deejays were inspired by all the incredible major label releases that kept pouring out in that decade.  So much quality hip hop was coming out and it was easy to see on “Yo! MTV Raps” and BET and the good stuff was even getting on the radio!  It was everywhere and it was so damn good!  I’m sure that these kids just wanted to be a part of that magical time, and a lot of the underground music was super fresh, too, because it wasn’t easy to make beats and put out cds - they had to commit to it and create a whole scene and they had to be dope to do it.  Granted, I’m a old nostalgic rap dude now, but I don’t think the major or the underground scene will ever be that saturated with fantastically innovative, powerful, creative and inspired hip hop.  Nowadays there isn’t enough inspiration in the scene for there to be an onslaught of great new hip hop like there was for me back in the days.  There will always be a lucky few who can inspire themselves to be original and make great music, and hopefully these kids will get a chance to be heard.

Interview conducted by Kaliyuga Pro & Pseudzero with a bonus cameo by Age, february 2019.

[ciathyzareposts]

Dark Stone Ritual: Won! (with Summary and Rating)

The Game Master gives us some useless experience points at the end of Dark Stone Ritual.

           Magic Tower I: Dark Stone Ritual

Germany

Motelsoft (developer and publisher)

Released in 1992 for Atari ST

Date Started: 9 April 2019

Date Finished: 12 May 2019

Total Hours: 29 Difficulty: Easy (2/5) Final Rating: (to come later) Ranking at time of posting: (to come later)

             Summary:

The prolific but amateurish Motelsoft levels up in this entry, with mechanics heavily inspired by Might and Magic III and IV. A pre-defined party (you had to pay extra for a character editor) explores a large world in a somewhat linear manner, piecing together clues, solving puzzles, and ultimately defeating the tyrant Xoon. Top-down outdoor exploration contrasts with first-person town and dungeon exploration. Unfortunately, the combats are too easy, the puzzles too simple, and the story too threadbare to make effective use of the character classes, skills system, variety of spells, and variety of equipment that the game largely copies from Might and Magic. A better game engine than a game.

****

Dark Stone Ritual ended up being larger and longer than I expected. When you begin playing, the game does such a good job confining the world that it seems smaller than it is. Hemmed in by impassable terrain, water, and walls, the party must slowly acquire passwords and items necessary to make incremental progress around the world’s major areas. Eventually, the party finds some teleporters that make navigation easier, as does the “Townportal” and “Caveportal” spells.           

Unlocking the “Swimming” ability was the last obstacle to open-world exploration.

           As you slowly acquire the skills necessary to navigate in forests and swamps, climb mountains, and swim, the full world opens up to you, and you can explore every square for the items and clues necessary to reach the end of the game.            

A bit of the final game map.

         Ritual is far more linear than I expected at the beginning. Most of what I thought were “side-quests” turned out to be steps along the main quest, all funneling into one or two key items or pieces of information. For example, to win the game you must first find the Dark Stone, which is in the dungeon of Lunos. To pass a certain point in Lunos, at least one of your party members must be a member of the Dark Stone Sect, which you can join by visiting a hut on section of land to the southwest. To get to this area, you have to use a teleporter in a section of land to the southeast, which in turn requires using a teleporter in a small compound on the starting continent. To enter this compound, you have to find a password (RUHE) by interpreting four messages in the dungeon Zappos. To enter the dungeon Zappos, you need an invitation, and that’s as far as I can trace it back because I forgot where I got the invitation. But you get the idea.             

Combat remained easy throughout the game, which discouraged spell experimentation (rarely did spells do more damage than a physical attack) and trivialized all the time I spent analyzing inventory. Only thrice did I have to fine-tune my attacks in “strategic” combat, and neither gave me any trouble once I made that decision.            

“Strategic” combat lets you position characters and aim your attacks at a particular foe.

          The nature of enemy encounters was odd throughout. You find enemies at fixed locations on the overland map and very rarely at fixed locations in dungeons. There is also a fixed number of enemies wandering each town map. Some dungeons have no combats, and those that do never have more than one or two. This paucity of combat makes the dungeons feel rather empty, and the very light navigation puzzles (a few switches, hidden doors, teleporters, and pits that you have to cast “Jump” to get over) don’t do much to fill them.           

Exploring a dungeon. An encounter lies ahead.

        Nothing really evolves in the way of a “story,” just a succession of NPCs and enemies that you meet and defeat on the way to the final confrontation with Xoon. Because of these weaknesses, I ended up liking the game less towards the end than towards the beginning. In my first entry on Ritual, I was clearly impressed by the mechanics. I still am, to some degree, but the developers made a somewhat boring, basic game with those mechanics. A lot of it feels unfinished–in particular, more than half the skills are unused, and the dungeons and towns are filled with locked doors that can never be unlocked. Nonetheless, it is an improvement from Sandor and Seven Horror’s, and thus bodes well for the many Motelsoft titles we will encounter in the future.

A few things that I otherwise didn’t get a chance to cover along the way:              

An arena appears in two locations in the overworld. When you enter, you can tell the game how many enemies you want to face and at what levels. I didn’t really experiment with it, but it’s an alternate source of experience if you somehow need it. The concept is of course lifted from Might and Magic.

In what I think is an original element, a few dungeon entrances (including the last) required entering a pattern of green, red, and blue gems on some kind of plate. You have to find the correct patterns in other places.

             Arranging stones on the door of the final dungeon.

         There was one door with a combination lock for which I never found the combination. Fortunately, reader Buck reached the same point before me and figured out the answer from the game’s code.

While I’m on unsolvable puzzles, at least three times I was asked to choose from among five symbols. Choosing the wrong one killed the selected character. A tavern tale had warned me that choosing the right symbol would kill the selected character, too, if it was a man. I had to figure out the answers from save-scumming. I have no idea where I was supposed to get them.

           Do those symbols mean something?

         There’s a useful “return to entrance” button while in dungeons. If your selected character has a high enough “Pathfinding” skill, you’ll return swiftly to the exit stairs. I wish every game had this.

There are fountains all over the world map that raise attributes, hit points, resistances, and spell points, but no combat is tough enough to require them. The final island has about six.

              Okay, I guess they’re not so much “fountains” as “offers of wine.” But they’re direct analogues to Might and Magic’s fountains.

                The game culminated on a small compound on a northern island. A guardian demanded a password. What she really wanted was a pass phrase, compiled from five words given by residents in little huts in exchange for certain rare stones. The stones, in turn, came from other residents to whom I brought “stone plates” found scattered about the island. The full phrase, for posterity’s sake, is BRENUM BRANUM KANUM LUZE LEI. (Thanks again to Buck for helping with this.)           

Does that look like a “word” to you?

          This allowed me access to Xoon’s dungeon, which is called “Dark Stone Verlies.” I verified later that the “Caveportal” spell will take you there if you just know the name, meaning that a second-time player could skip a lot of stuff and just warp to the endgame.           

The game reminds me that I must emerge with Xoon’s head.

           The dungeon is the only one that has multiple levels (three) and the only one that doesn’t remember your progress if you leave and return. There was only one combat, early in the first level, with a guardian of Xoon’s named Morok (I’m sure that name was in previous Motelsoft titles). It was one of the battles that I had to fight in “strategic” mode to win. In “strategic” mode, you can position your characters around individual enemies and target them, ensuring that you can reduce their numbers faster. (“Quick” combat targets enemies randomly.) You also get more attacks per round. Between the advantages of strategic combat and the “Full Heal” spell that I’d recently acquired, the battle was quite easy.             

“Quick” combat was the wrong choice for this final battle.

         The dungeon’s second level is one of the largest in the game, full of secret doors, teleporters, traps, and a bunch of pits to jump. Eventually, you find your way to the third level and the mystifyingly anti-climactic encounter with Xoon, if it is Xoon. I’m not sure I haven’t mistranslated or misunderstood something. The climax begins with a black-faced man, flanked by two women, saying: “Ihr wollt meinen kopf, ich weiss. Nun gut wenn ihr unbedingt haben müsst. Ha ha ha. Dann sollt ihr Xoons kopf auch bekommen.”           

Nice shoepolish, Jolson.

               The scene then dissolves away, the party is teleported back near to the entrance, and in their inventory is Xoon’s head.

I translate his text as, “You want my head, I know. Well, if you have to have it, you should also get Xoon’s head,” suggesting that he himself is not Xoon. It’s worth noting that the game uses the same portrait for the master of the Dark Stone sect earlier in the game (although it also re-uses a lot of portraits). I wondered if joining the Dark Stone sect and finding the Dark Stone itself are optional, and that doing so leads to an “easy” ending where the master kills Xoon for you. This is partly suggested by an item in the game’s hint file that says, “If you have the Dark Stone, the rest is a children’s game!” I tested this theory by loading a saved game from before I had the Dark Stone and using “Caveportal” to go directly to the dungeon. (I had to buff with fountains to win the first-level battle.) But no, the same thing happens even if you don’t have the Dark Stone.          

A previous appearance by the same character.

            Whatever the case, the game ends when you return Xoon’s head to the Game Master back in the dungeon Glorys. The Game master expresses astonishment that you managed to kill Xoon, who was supposed to have nine lives, and then suggests you save your game for Part 2.

In a GIMLET, the game earns:

1 point for the game world. Ritual comes with no backstory, and while the continent and its features are visually interesting, there’s nothing in the way of lore or culture to be found here.

3 points for character creation and development. Without the separate character editor, the game unfortunately has no creation process. But the characters are quite well detailed in attributes and skills, and development is satisfying enough for a few levels, until the game becomes too easy. In the end, the character sheet is more complex than necessary given the limited game content.

           My final paladin character.

          1 point for NPC interaction. The little dudes in huts are more like “encounters” or “quests” than NPCs.

3 points for encounter and foes. Monsters are probably the weakest part of the game. Most of them are unnamed. They’re distinguished only icon and number of hit points. Because they lack significant special attacks or defenses, there’s little need to explore the game’s variety of spells. Non-combat encounters are a bit more interesting, with a couple of challenging puzzles, although nothing that approaches Dungeon Master in complexity. I liked the option to search for enemies in already-cleared towns and caves.

3 points for magic and combat. I give some credit for the two combat modes, and “strategic” combat offers some real positioning tactics. I didn’t bother to explore more than half a dozen magic spells, particularly since there are no mass-damage spells and the individual-damage spells do less damage than a physical attack.

             Buying spells in the last town. I never found out what half of these spells do and never cast half of the rest.

             5 points for equipment. Ritual adopted Might and Magic‘s complexity with inventory, where items can have multiple bonuses and features and there are usable items to sub for many spells. Again, though, combat was too easy to bother exploring most of these features, and I largely decided which weapons and armor to keep based on cost.

            This helm effectively increases my level by 1.

           3 points for economy. There are lots of things to buy–training, skill acquisition and building, weapons and armor, and healing among them. It’s just too easy to acquire enough money for the entire game within the first few hours.

            The game provides absurd amounts of gold at regular intervals.

           3 points for quests. The game has a main quest, if a little light, and a few side quests that impart extra valuables and skills.

            The party solves a side quest to return a ring, only to find that the quest giver was divorced in the meantime.

           2 points for graphics, sound, and interface. The graphics are fine, but there is no sound at all. The mouse part of the interface works well, but unfortunately the mouse part is the only part, which I don’t find remotely forgivable.

3 points for gameplay. It has a little nonlinearity at the beginning, and the total number of hours was good for its content. Unfortunately, it was too easy and has no replayability.

          That gives us a final score of 27. Motelsoft is making better, more complex games in 1992, and letting itself be influenced by the right titles from bigger developers, but it still lacks a certain sense of balance and polish. Despite the promised sequel, it doesn’t look like there was ever a Magic Tower II. We’ll see them again this year with Arcana unless I happen to pick up Projekt Terra (1991) or Sandor II (1991) on my “old” list first.

Let’s see if I can finish up Star Control II this week, too. If not, the next 1992 game is a Macintosh title called Darkwood. Looking at a couple of screenshots, I’m pretty sure I’ve played this before. If it’s the one I’m thinking of, it won’t be more than a single entry.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/dark-stone-ritual-won-with-summary-and-rating/

[unfolded73]

A Seed of Hope (2/2)

Yeah, I couldn’t wait to post this any longer...

Summary: Two Emmas from different points in time switch places. Inspired by a classic (if unfinished) Doctor/Rose fanfic by rallalon entitled “Of Love and Waffles”.

Word Count: 10,770. Rated Teen.

Betaed by @j-philly-b​ even though I promised her fic for her birthday, and then all I sent her was an early draft of this and ended up making her work on it on top of that.

(Part 1)

Part 2

Emma eyed the Wicked Witch of the West from the other side of the living room. She couldn’t believe the way Hook just welcomed her into his house, as if none of the past had happened. As if this woman weren’t responsible for Neal’s death.

Of course, she didn’t look much like the Wicked Witch right now, she just looked like the harried mother of a rambunctious daughter. The daughter in question was currently armed with a Nerf bow and arrow and had taken cover behind the sofa after shooting Hook with several harmless Nerf darts. He took it completely in stride like it had happened many times before, and something about that fact made Emma’s heart clench.

“Sorry to be in such a rush, but I’ve got about a million errands I need to run today,” Zelena said, pushing her hair off of her face. “What did you need?”

“Have you ever heard of a spell that caused someone from the past to suddenly replace themselves in the future?”

Zelena laughed. “To suddenly what?”

Emma approached now. “I woke up this morning, and I was nine years in the future,” she said bluntly. “Sound familiar? Like something that you did to me, maybe?”

Bristling, Zelena reached out and stopped her daughter from racing through the room. “Walk, Robin,” she said automatically. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“You were…” Emma glanced at Robin. Even hating Zelena as much as she did, she wasn’t willing to poison the woman’s daughter against her. “In the past, where… when I came from, we were on opposite sides. And you were collecting ingredients for a time travel spell. Is that how I got here?”

Zelena finally seemed to notice Emma fully, and she took her in from head to toe before turning back to Hook. “Where’s our Emma?”

“We don’t know. Perhaps in the past?”

“So they might have switched places?” Zelena looked thoughtful at that. “That does sound familiar, but it’s not a spell I’ve ever come across, and certainly not one I ever cast.”

“Well, if you can think of where you’ve heard of it, please let us know,” Killian said, just as another Nerf dart hit him square in the chest. “Curses, I am slain!” he said with an exaggerated stagger before giving Robin a wink and flipping the dart back in her direction.

“Come on, darling, collect your projectiles and let’s get to the hardware store,” Zelena said, halfway to the door before she stopped and hit the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Oh, I know where I’ve heard of switching places in time like this before! Unfortunately, it was just a story.”

“Surely I don’t have to tell you that there can be a core of truth in stories, love.”

“Good point. Let me think,” she said, tapping her chin. “It was a legend about a ruler whose kingdom was being assailed by some kind of horrible beast. Many knights tried to defeat the beast, but they were killed to a man.”

“I am no man!” Robin shouted, letting loose with another volley of arrows; she seemed to have inserted herself into Zelena’s story.

“Would that you had been there, Robin,” she said with an indulgent smile. “The king summoned an old fortune-teller and asked for her advice. How could they possibly defeat this beast if his best knights had been slain? She told him that the problem was that no one who had faced the beast had done so with a pure heart. Well, the king knew he didn’t qualify; he was a philanderer with mistresses strewn about the kingdom, and he was filling his coffers off of the labor of slaves. She said, no problem, take this wishing stone and make a wish. Wish that you may face the beast with a pure heart.”

Hook smirked. “Don’t the villains in these stories know not to trust random soothsayers?”

“Well, this one didn’t. He descended into the cave of the beast and at the critical moment, he made the wish that he could face the beast with a pure heart. And at that moment, he found himself in his nursery in the palace, surrounded by all the toys he recognized from when he was a boy. Meanwhile, back in the beast’s lair, the six-year-old future king faced the creature, because at six, he was indeed pure of heart.”

“And the kid defeated the beast?” Emma asked.

Zelena laughed. “No no no, the beast swallowed him whole because children are terrible swordsmen.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Cool story.”

“Could this wishing stone be real?” Hook asked.

Shrugging, Zelena shouldered her purse as Robin dashed out onto the porch and down the walkway toward the street. “Not that I’ve ever heard of, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t.”

“Because what if someone in the past wished for Emma to be stronger? Wished for her magic to be stronger?”

Zelena nodded. “Her pregnancy does seem to have augmented her power; she demonstrated it for me last week. But if the source of the spell is in the past, then there’s nothing we can do about it from here. In these sorts of situations, usually only the person who made the wish can reverse it. They’ll have to figure it out themselves.”

“And what if future me with her pregnancy-induced power kills you first?” Emma asked through clenched teeth.

“She won’t,” Zelena said with a shrug. “She’s my friend.”

“Come on, Mom!” Robin shouted from where she was fidgeting next to an extremely green car parked in front of the house.

“Good luck with all this,” Zelena said to Hook, gesturing vaguely at Emma.

When he had shut the door, Emma turned on him. “How can you be friends with her after everything she did?”

“We’ve accepted her because she changed. The same way I was accepted. The same way Regina was.” He shrugged, going over and picking up some books that Robin had knocked off of the coffee table. “We forgave her.”

Emma huffed. “Okay, whatever. So what do we do, just sit on our hands and wait for someone else to figure out how to fix this? I’m not good at that.”

“Don’t I know it.” Hook faced her. “I phoned your parents, and they’ll be over as soon as they finish up some things at the farm. Perhaps they will have some insights.”

“What farm?”

Hook explained that her parents had moved out to the edge of town, and that the old loft apartment was now occupied by some girl named Violet and a roommate. He seemed to think for a second that she’d know who Violet was, but then he checked himself when he realized that she didn’t.

“It’s harder than you would think, remembering what you know about and what you don’t,” he said, rubbing the back of his head.

Emma glared at him. “Yeah, you’re the one this is hard for.”

“Fair point, love.”

~*~

“So what should we do while Regina’s trying to figure out what happened?” her mother asked when they returned to Granny’s. It wasn’t lunchtime yet, but Emma already felt like she was starving and she made straight for one of the diner booths, intent on ordering a second breakfast.

“Maybe we could talk to Belle?” Emma suggested. “She might have read about a spell like this.”

“Good idea, honey,” David said.

Deciding it was best to limit the number of people who saw this older Emma out in town, her parents urged her to rest while they visited Belle. She wanted to argue, but she also really wanted a nap, so Emma agreed. She wasn’t sure what had become of Killian; as soon as Snow had parked, he had been out of the car and gone. Emma had to admit that towing him along to Regina’s had probably been a bad idea. He hadn’t had anything useful to contribute, and from his perspective, it must have seemed like she was rubbing his nose in the fact that she had a happy life in the future with some other guy.

Lying on her bed, all Emma could see when she closed her eyes was his hopeless expression. He’d brooded a lot back then, she knew that, but it was one thing to know it and it was another to see it now that she was used to a much happier man, settled into his life with her.

When her parents knocked on the door of her room an hour later, she hadn’t slept a wink.

“Well, we figured it out,” her mother said as she sailed into the room, a frustrated tone to her voice.

David was pleading with her. “I told you, I had no idea what I was doing, sweetheart. I didn’t think it was magic, I thought it was just… a wish.”

“David, how can you be so naive about wishes?” Snow snapped.

“What are you guys talking about?” Emma interrupted. “You know why I’m here?”

“Your predicament reminded Belle of a legend she’d read once, about a king and a beast and… it doesn’t matter,” Snow said, blowing her bangs out of her face. “There was a wishing stone, that’s the important part of the story. And then David—”

“I remembered that after Neal’s funeral, I went over to Gold’s shop to help Belle move a couple of heavy objects — she’s been trying to organize the place. And I found this rock, but see, the inventory card said it was non-magical—”

“Your father wished you here,” Snow concluded.

Emma blinked, looking back and forth between the two of them. “You wished for… what exactly? An older version of me?”

“No, I wished that if you have to face Zelena, that your magic would be strong, that’s all.” He held up his hands in surrender.

“And my magic is stronger now than it was back… now,” Emma said, wrinkling her nose at her own phrasing. “It’s been particularly potent since I got pregnant. So what do we do to reverse it?”

“Fortunately, that part’s easy. David destroys the stone.” Snow pulled her hand out of her pocket and held it out, palm up. A nondescript gray rock rested on it.

“Oh,” Emma said, feeling a sense of anticlimax that it was that easy. “Okay, but what about the fact that you guys have information about the future after talking to me? Should we ask Regina to whip up some memory potions?”

“No need,” David said. “When I destroy the stone, it will be like none of this ever happened. The wish won’t just be undone, it will be unmade, according to Belle.”

“So no one will remember anything I’ve told them?” Emma asked.

“Nope.” David picked up the stone and weighed it in his hand. “I figure one of the dwarves’ pickaxes should do the trick.”

“Hang on,” Emma said, pulling her coat on quickly and stepping into her shoes. “Before you go unmaking your wish, I need to talk to Hook.”

Snow frowned. “Why do you need to talk to Hook?”

Emma opened the door, looked back at them, and smiled. “Because in the future, he’s my true love. And if there’s no consequence to anything I tell anyone here, I want him to know it. Even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

Before they had a chance to react, she fled the room.

Figuring she knew where he’d been headed when he left, Emma made her way toward the harbor. Sure enough, she found him there hunched on a bench like a great, dark bat, staring out at the water.

“Hey,” she said, out of breath as she approached. “Swan.” Killian stood, frowning at her. “You should be resting, love, not running around town.”

“Not you too, I get enough of that at home.” She dropped onto the bench, patting the seat next to her. “Sit with me for a minute.”

He grimaced, looking up at the sky as if for strength. “I appreciate that you must look for assistance to get back to your happy life wherever you can find it, but I’m not going to be of any use to you. This doesn’t fall within my area of expertise.”

“Oh, Belle and my parents figured it out,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “If they’re right, I’ll be back home by nightfall and none of you will remember this happened. Apparently I won’t even remember this happened.”

Killian collapsed next to her. “Well, I’m glad things will be set right, for your sake.”

Emma looked at him for a long beat. Now that she was here, she didn’t know how to tell him something so momentous, and perhaps it served no purpose to do so. “Things are gonna get better, you know,” she said softly.

He just snorted. “You don’t know what I’ve…you don’t know everything.”

“Oh, you think so?” She almost laughed. “Have you forgotten that I’m from the future? I know Zelena cursed your lips, hoping to steal my magic. I know you’re trying to figure out how to save Henry right now, and you feel like no matter which way you turn, you’re trapped.”

His face showed naked surprise, and then just as quickly it shuttered. “You must have been furious with me when you learned that.”

Shrugging, Emma put her hand on his shoulder. “At first, yeah, but I got over it.”

“I appreciate your kindness, love.” He continued to gaze out over the water.

“It never even occurred to you that it might be you, did it?” she murmured.

Killian turned to her with an arched eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You learned that in the future, I have a husband, my true love and the father of this baby I’m carrying, and never once did it occur to you that it might be you. That you might be the man I’m so anxious to get back to.”

He squeezed his eyes closed. “Please don’t taunt me, love, I can’t bear it.”

She put her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. “I’m not taunting you, Killian. I’m telling you that in the future, we fall in love.” She felt tears welling up, and she gave him a watery laugh. “Or, I guess I fall in love, because I’m pretty sure you’re already there. And I’m not gonna lie, we go through some rough times. But we weathered it because it’s true love between us.”

He looked back and forth between her eyes, and she could see the moment that a spark of belief, of hope, ignited. “Emma…”

“You have a long road to travel, Killian Jones, but I promise you that at the end of it…” She sort of laugh-hiccuped through her tears. “Not the end of it, that sounds like you’re dying. God, I suck at these speeches; you are so much better at these speeches.” Pulling in a deep breath, she attempted to get back on track. “Our marriage is… it’s more wonderful than I could have hoped. And now we have this.” Taking his hand in hers, she brought it up under her sweater and pressed it against the swell of her belly.

This was why she was doing this, Emma thought as she looked at Killian’s shocked expression, positively brimming with awe: to give him this moment of happiness, even though it was fleeting. Although perhaps a selfish desire to experience his reaction figured in as well.

“The babe you’re carrying… it’s mine?”

She nodded, tears spilling over and running down her cheeks.

“How could I possibly be so lucky?” he asked.

Emma didn’t know how to tell him that it wasn’t luck, that it was work and determination and the magic of true love that had allowed them to be together. Instead she just pressed her forehead against his, breathing him in. “If your lips weren’t cursed, I’d totally kiss you right now.”

He laughed, and she could hear the tears in his voice. “You’ll just have to kiss me in the future, when you get back.”

“Oh, I’m gonna do a lot more than kiss you when I get back.”

She felt him shiver at that, and he pulled away to look at her again, a little bit of his trademark smirk showing through. “I very much look forward to that.”

“I wish you could… look forward to it, I mean. Obviously you can’t know your future, it would screw everything up. But I just wish that…” She reached up and combed her fingers through the hair at his temple, caressing the tip of his ear. Then realizing that her lips weren’t cursed, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I wish there was a way to plant a tiny seed of hope, so that a part of you knew that you and I are meant to be together.”

“Perhaps that’s exactly what you’ve done, love. Who knows what might linger in my mind after you’ve returned to your proper time?”

Emma smiled, tilting her head as she studied him. “I hope so.” Finally letting go of the hand she’d been pressing against her abdomen, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I love you,” she whispered. “Don’t give up on me.”

“How could I ever?” He clung to her in return, his hand and hook pressed against her back. “I lo—”

“Don’t,” she said, pulling away and grinning sheepishly at her own silliness. “Don’t say it yet. Don’t say it until we’ll both remember it.”

He inclined his head in agreement. “As you wish, darling.”

“Nope, no wishes. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that wishes are trouble.” Emma rested her head on his shoulder, tracing her fingers over the embroidery on the cuff of his coat before she gripped his hook in her hand.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, just being close to one another. “When must you break the spell?” he asked.

“I probably should go take care of it now.”

“Then, thank you for giving me this gift.” Emma lifted her head to watch him speak. “I haven’t felt joy like this in… I don’t know how long.”

“I promise there’s a lot more joy in your future.” She took his hand and kissed the back of it.

His eyes filled with tears again. “I hope that I appreciate every moment.”

“You do. You absolutely do.”

~*~

The visit from her parents — her future parents — left Emma feeling strange and out of sorts. It was odd to see them showing their age finally, and odder still to realize that the tall boy with sandy blonde hair they brought along was her brother. He begged Killian for a sword-fighting lesson for a full minute (Next time, my boy, I promise, Killian had said, before her mother finally suggested he go watch TV in a back room); it was clear he idolized the pirate. Unbelievably, her father didn’t seem to mind.

None of their brainstorming led anywhere useful, although David expressed his hunch that things would find a way to work themselves out. When her family left, promising to return the next day, Emma breathed a sigh of relief.

Left at loose ends, she wandered around the house, looking at their belongings and trying to imagine the story behind them, the collection of stories that would combine to make the picture of this marriage. Why had she and Killian chosen the overstuffed chair next to the fireplace? Which one of them had put the wedding picture into a frame and hung it on the wall? Did Killian vacuum the floors? Did he scrub the toilet?

She found a small study on the first floor of the house, a room that seemed to be more Killian’s than hers; it was devoid of any electronics, and several shelves above the desk were filled with rolled up maps. As she traced her hand over a nautical map of Maine’s coast that hung on the wall, she noticed the wedding and engagement rings on her finger again. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to her to take them off since that very first moment when she saw them in the bathroom, and it made her wonder if underneath her knee-jerk aversion to the ideas of marriage and children, perhaps she had a desire for those things.

Continuing to explore upstairs, she discovered a room that she hadn’t noticed before. The door had been closed, and she’d thought it was just a linen closet next to Henry’s old room, but when she went in, it appeared to be the beginnings of a nursery. Boxes labeled ‘Baby Things’ in her mother’s careful script were stacked in one corner, and paint sample cards with a variety of bright primary colors were taped to the wall.

When Killian found her, she was holding a stuffed bear that had been resting at the top of one of the boxes and crying.

“Emma, what’s wrong, love?” He started to move toward her like he was going to take her in his arms, and she could see the moment he reined himself in. It made her want to cry harder.

“I wasn’t planning to stay here in Storybrooke. I didn’t feel like this was my home.”

“Aye, that’s so, but you changed your mind. You made a home here after all.”

“What if we never fix this? What if you’re stuck with this broken version of me forever?” she asked.

“I’m sure we’ll fix it, and Emma, this so-called broken version of you is the woman I fell in love with, you mustn’t forget that.”

She shrugged. “It just seems like there’s this huge canyon between who I am now and who I turn out to be. With the house and the… paint swatches,” she said, gesturing at the wall.

“Both of us have grown a lot in the last nine years. Loving and being loved, it’s changed us.”

Emma didn’t know how to respond to that, and she looked despondently at the bear, setting it back down where she found it.

“You look tired,” Hook said. “Would you like to have a nap, perhaps?”

She didn’t feel particularly sleepy, but escaping into sleep did sound appealing. Emma nodded.

“If you aren’t comfortable in our bed, you can sleep in Henry’s room,” he offered.

Raising an eyebrow at him, she crossed her arms. “I bet the bed in your room is the most comfortable, though, right?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever tested Henry’s bed, but probably.”

“I’ll be fine there, then. It’s where future me sleeps every night, right?”

Hook smiled. “Aye.”

Emma started to head down the hall as Hook moved toward the stairs. On impulse, she whirled around. “Hook? Killian?”

He turned back, expectant.

“Would you…? Would it be weird if I asked you to lie down with me for a little while? Just until I fall asleep?”

Surprise flashed briefly across his face. “Not at all.”

“I just…” She blushed. “I don’t know. I could use some comforting, I guess.”

They lay on top of the quilt, fully clothed (and Emma wondered when, in all of the chaos of the day, Hook had taken the time to make the bed). She turned onto her side, inching close enough to tuck her head under his chin. Hook tentatively rested his arm across her waist and she nuzzled closer still, her hand resting on his chest. It was nice, being in his arms, but it certainly wasn’t conducive to sleeping.

“I do have feelings for you, you know,” she said after several minutes of silence.

“I know.”

“Did you know then?”

Hook paused a beat, thinking. “I hoped, sometimes. In my darker moments, I knew that it didn’t matter; that a pirate like me was never going to be worthy of your regard. But other times, I imagined that something between us could be possible.”

“I guess it was.”

“Aye.” She felt his hand come up and stroke her hair.

“It’s a nice house; I can see why future me feels at home here,” she said, inhaling and breathing the scent of him in.

“I’m glad, although I don’t think it’s really about the house. I could make a home in a cardboard box on the side of the road if that’s where you were.”

“Please, I saw your map room; you love this house.” Killian chuckled. “I suppose I do.”

Their comfortable conversation relaxed her, making her speak more freely. “I’ve gotta tell you, it’s pretty weird to think that you’ve had sex with me, like, hundreds of times probably.”

He huffed out softly through his nose. “That does make this situation rather strange.”

Emma shivered. He probably knew exactly what she liked in bed, knew every minute detail of her sexual responses, and once she thought that, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’d had sexual fantasies about Hook before, but she’d never imagined a version of him who would already know her so intimately. She’d never allowed herself to think in terms of a long-term relationship at all.

“I want to know what it’s like, being with you,” she whispered.

She could sense him tense up. “What?”

Emma looked up at him, and she felt her cheeks warm. “I want to feel… I want to understand what makes us good together.”

Killian’s eyebrow arched. “It’s a lot more than sex that makes us good together.”

“I know, but that’s part of it, right?”

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Pressing in closer, she felt a throb of desire pulse through her. “Show me.”

Continuing to stroke her hair, he leaned in and pressed an almost-chaste kiss to her lips. “That’s a very tempting offer, Swan. But I don’t think it would be right.”

She pulled back far enough to bring his face into focus. “Why not?”

Killian rolled away from her and onto his back, rubbing his hand over his face. “For one, I don’t think I’d be able to shake the feeling that I was being unfaithful, even though technically I suppose I wouldn’t be. But more than that, I don’t think you’re ready.”

Emma almost laughed, even while she burned with embarrassment that Killian Jones was actually turning her down. “I can be the judge of that.”

He turned to her again, his hand returning to her waist. “Sex wasn’t something you and I rushed into. We didn’t wait inordinately long either, but we did date for a little while first, even though most of our so-called dates were spent dealing with dastardly foes. When it happened, it was…” His eyes went unfocused as he remembered. “It wasn’t perfect; we were at Granny’s in one of her uncomfortable beds, trying to be as quiet as we possibly could. But at the same time, it was perfect. We were both ready for that kind of intimacy.” He kissed her again, just a brush of his lips against hers. “Even if you won’t remember being here with me, even if you go back to your time and everything happens exactly as it did, I don’t want to do something that would muddy the memory of that wonderful night. For either of us.”

It was hard to feel rejected when he put it like that. “Okay.”

They held each other in silence for another minute.

“You’re really good at it though, right?”

Killian chuckled. “Oh, darling, trust me when I say that I leave you completely shattered on a regular basis.”

Emma closed her eyes, relaxing into his embrace. “Good.”

~*~

Emma was a heavy sleeper and woke slowly, so it took a minute for her to become aware of a knocking on the door.

She sat up, grimacing at the pain in her back from another uncomfortable night at Granny’s. Noticing that Henry’s bed was empty, she figured he must have gotten hungry and gone downstairs to the diner to eat.

Padding across the room in her X-wing pajamas, Emma opened the door to see Snow standing there, holding out a steaming cup of coffee for her.

“Oh my god, coffee, you’re a lifesaver.” She took the cup and stepped back to admit her mother into the room.

~*~

Emma stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom, gasping to catch her breath. “Jesus, Killian.”

He crawled up beside her, running his hand down over his mouth and beard. “Yes, darling?” he said innocently, as if she hadn’t been so obviously reduced to a puddle by his efforts. As if he didn’t know exactly how good he was.

Killian flopped down on his back, and Emma rolled over and rested her head on his bare chest, her legs tangling with his. She combed her fingers through his chest hair, humming with contentment. They lay together, enjoying the quiet closeness, neither of them in too much of a rush to start the day. She could feel her small baby bump pressing against his side, and it made her smile.

“I had a dream about us last night,” Emma said.

“Oh?” His fingers trailed up and down her arm, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“Yeah, it was right before we got together, when Zelena had cursed your lips. And in my dream, you were running away from me, and I kept chasing you because I needed to tell you something.”

“Did you catch me?”

Emma shook her head. “I can’t remember.”

“You were hardly chasing me during that time in our lives, love. I was the one chasing you. Trying to get you to see that this could be your home if you allowed it to be.”

“Hey, I was chasing you in my heart.” She tilted her head and pressed a kiss against his chest. “And you did get me to see that this was my home. I think I knew it; I was just in denial. As soon as I admitted it to you, it was like this little voice inside my head quieted down. Like I’d finally made the right decision and it could rest.”

Silence descended again, and Emma continued to think about those times with him, just before she began to open her heart to the possibility that they could become something together.

“I was cruel to you back then. Why didn’t you give up on me?”

“Because I was in love with you.”

“Yeah, but really.”

He seemed to contemplate that for several seconds. “I don’t know, Swan. For some reason I just had hope.”

Hugging him with her whole body, Emma leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.”

END