#Some of these things were (At least nearly) irreplaceable

[merkerlerspeaks]

Noticing that Im starting to desperately cling to things from my childhood and trying to remember what it was like to be a child.

Part of it is wanting to be a better person- I was so much more selfless and ambitious as a child.

But I wonder how much of it is me actually processing grief over childhood issues and trying to get a sense of control over things that I didn't have control on back then

[kingghoost]

Quickly analyzing a one-off line from The Optiratch Argument™ because I'm bored

We all know that The Argument™ was mainly about Ratchet's frustrations with Optimus' "cowardice" (BIG quotation marks) but one of Ratchet's lines really stuck with me:

"Oh- and let me guess, I'm just the medic." (TFP S1E22)

Typically when people are angry, they don't vent about just one thing. Though he was talking back to what Optimus said about the Vehicon being a miner and not a warrior, that comment seemed completely irrelevant to the argument's main topic (at least in my point of view)

One big (yet hidden) flaw in Ratchet is his lack of self confidence. His job is to cure the sick and injured, yet he never really seems to realize the value he has on his team. He truly is great at what he does - and he goes above and beyond to be of service (medic, scientist, sort of engineer... that's impressive!) Despite all this, the fact that he is the only non-fighter really seems to eat at him. His main whereabouts most of the time being in the base makes it worse paired with the fact that he seems to be the most eager to jump and "get things done." Their numbers are already small, so he feels that anything he could do isn't enough to overthrow an entire military.

By saying "Just the medic," it implies that he determines his self worth by his rank. In his eyes, he is "just" the medic. Not a great warrior that overpowers the enemy and saves his comrades, but a doctor forced to sit by and wait for his teammates to return with fresh new injuries, dead or alive.

"-Help us, we know. But you nearly caused the loss of something.. Irreplaceable. Our medic, and our most trusted friend." (TFP S1E22)

Now Optimus, on the other hand, does acknowledge what Ratchet has to give to the team, most importantly Ratchet's worth as an individual. He knows what lengths Ratchet goes to save his comrades (and, most of the time, himself) from the brink of death, he knows what a genius his old friend is for being able to conduct such intricate research with limited supplies - Hell, he knows that Ratchet built some of those supplies himself.

Learning about how Ratchet thinks so lowly of himself must've been shocking, to witness the one closest to you feel the need to experiment on himself with untested material in the hopes of being "useful" ... I think it broke Optimus' heart a little, not to mention how he was already hurt by Ratchet's rant.

Though the episode ended with things working out in the end, I really like the idea of The Argument™ making a huge mess out of both of them. At that moment they were fine and made up, but what they said/learned about each other that day will never quite leave them.

[lillotte17]

*throws more Veilguard Banter into the gaping maw of Tumblr and then flees*

~~

Solas: “I have another question, Varric. If I may?”

Varric: “Just the one?”

S: “For now. I must admit, I was surprised to see that you were the one they asked to make an attempt at dissuading me from completing my mission. Not to belittle our prior bonds of friendship, but if the intent was to send an agent who might presumably hold some power of persuasion over me, I…would have thought another candidate might have seemed like the more obvious choice.”

V: “Would it really have changed anything if she had been the one telling you to stop?”

 S: “I…do not know. I should think not.”

V: “But at least you would have gotten to see her again, right?”

S: “Perhaps.”

V: “Heh, don’t you worry, Chuckles, I’m sure you’ll get your chance. The fact that I was here instead of her is more of a fluke than anything else. She was more than eager to follow up on the tip that led us to you, but then the kid insisted on tagging along, and you know how it is.”

S: “…kid?”

V: “Right, the kid. You probably haven’t seen him either.”

S: “…No. I have not. Although, I would have thought that there would have been news if the Herald of Andraste had… Well. I suppose there is wisdom in striving to keep such affairs private. I certainly have no right to voice an objection.”

V: “Why would you object to seeing the kid again?”

S: “Again? I… You are referring to Cole.”

V: *snorts* “Well, yeah. Who’d you think I was talking about?”

S: “Never mind.”

~

Rook: “So, Varric, do you really think the Inquisitor is going to show up?”

Varric: “Oh, don’t worry, she’ll be here. She’s been searching high and low for Chuckles for nearly a decade.”

R: *whistles* “And she never caught up to him in all that time?”

V: “Once. It…didn’t end well. After that, a few of our agents came close over the years, but it turns out that the world is a pretty big place, and tracking a lone elf with a network of magical transportation mirrors on his side is about as tricky as you’d expect. It’s even harder when you’ve got a notorious reputation and half of Thedas has seen portraits of your face. One whisper of the Herald of Andraste entering a city, and all our leads would vanish overnight.”

R: “But…I thought the two of them liked each other?”

V: “I think that made it worse, actually.”

Solas: “You do realize that I am standing right here?”

~

Solas: “For what it is worth, I am sorry about your Bianca, Varric.”

Varric: “Oh, you know, what’s an irreplaceable keepsake from the woman I can never be with in the grand scheme of things, anyway? At least you didn’t turn me to stone.”

S: “Your anger is justified. I do not expect your forgiveness, but I would apologize for my actions, none the less.”

V: “Look, if I were you, my forgiveness isn’t what I’d be worried about right now. Someone else has a much bigger bone to pick with you than I do.”

S: “I am not expecting her forgiveness, either.”

V: “So, you’re not even going to try?”

S: “And what, precisely, should I be trying, Master Tethras? This is hardly the sort of situation to be solved by a bouquet of flowers and a well-constructed poem.”

Rook: “Maybe you could send chocolates?”

V: “I was going to suggest groveling, actually.”

[imtrashraccoon]

And here we are. The end. In March. Yeah, I'm very glad to be done these prompts. Now I only have like five more things to finish! Yay!

This chapter is a rewrite of one of @naturaldreamer 's Don't Imagine Requests. I really liked it, and since I'm a sucker for putting Horror Sans in survival scenarios, it was only natural to write this. Also, this was supposed to be a birthday present, but that's long past by now. Thanks for being awesome, friend!

Badsansuary II: Bonus - Alternate Beginning/Ending

First & Previous

Featuring Maul!

Word Count: 3,321

The first thing you noticed when you returned to the world of the living was the amount of pain you were in. Your head was pounding from where one of the bandits had knocked you out, and your limbs ached from when you fell out of the cart in your haste to flee. The second thing was how rapidly the sunlight was disappearing, making the boreal forest seem rather dark and cold.

Summer had come and gone, bringing with it the warm weather, and now Winter was just peeking around the corner. It would be a cold one tonight, and these roads saw less traffic this time of year, when there was any at all that is. The point was that you had no hope of rescue anytime soon.

You had been traveling with a small caravan because ever since you were a little girl, you had longed to see the world. However, you didn't possess any martial training, magical talent, or any other particular skills for adventuring. You were just you - a commoner with large ambitions. This was why you had bought passage with a trader, since there was at least some safety in numbers.

Unfortunately, the local bandits weren't intimidated by the two lightly armoured guards and they set upon the wagons at a natural choke point in the road. There was never any chance of fleeing once the beasts of burden were blocked in, although you had still tried.

Dragging yourself up into a sitting position, you were finally able to get a proper read on the situation. From the looks of things, the raiders had stripped everything of value and run off back to wherever they had come from. You spotted the two guard's bodies still laying where they had fallen during the attack, and tragically, the kind man that had let you tag along. There was no sign of the mules, or the two porters that had come along as well, so you hoped they were still alive and well somewhere.

You supposed you should count yourself lucky to be alive. Sure, you had been injured, but the bandits hadn't done anything else. You hadn't had much in the way of worldly goods to begin with, so you hadn't even lost that much in the grand scheme of things. The most important thing was that your glasses hadn't shattered in the tumble from the cart, because those would have been irreplaceable.

When you tried to stand up, you were hit with such an intense dizzy spell, that you nearly fell face first into the road. So rather than risk making your head injury worse, you decided to sit back down to take stock of the situation. There was a patch of dried blood on the back of your head, but other than some tenderness from when your body had hit the hard ground, you seemed alright.

Just as you were trying to figure out what to do next, you noticed movement in your peripheral vision. It was like a shadow was moving between the tree trunks and, while you thought it might have been an animal at first, your assumption was quickly proven incorrect as a distinctly person-shaped figure stepped out of the brush. They were massive, having more semblance to a bear than a person, although you soon realized they weren't human at all. Not anymore at least.

While you hadn't personally seen a human skeleton before, you were pretty sure they didn't just get up and start tramping through the forest on their own. So the logical assumption was that you were looking at a monster of some sort. Unfortunately, you knew even less about skeleton monsters than you did about regular skeletons.

The armour they were wearing looked to have seen better days, and like they had patched it together from multiple sources. The bulk of the armour was made from iron and covered the figure's torso, while their boots and bracers were made from rough hide. They didn't wear a helmet, which was how you had figured out their species, and they had a massive greataxe strapped to their back.

Their rough gearset reminded you of something a commoner might scrape together for their first foray into adventuring, or a sorry excuse of a bandit during a dry spell. The latter was enough to put you on edge since you were in no position to defend yourself, or even flee when you were spotted. With this in mind, you decided against drawing attention to yourself, for fear of what he might do if he realized you were the only one still alive, choosing instead to lay down once more and play possum.

The seconds seemed to stretch on infinitely as you waited to see if the skeleton would move on or not. You did your best to keep your breathing steady, but it was difficult since your heart was practically racing a mile a minute. Then, you heard slow footsteps approaching, and you held your breath, desperately hoping they would keep moving.

Unfortunately, they didn't, stopping right next to you. A pair of rough phalanges were pressed against the side of your throat, feeling around until they found your pulse. You heard a soft exhale, and their hand moved higher, carefully moving a few loose strands of your brown hair away from your face.

" 'm not gonna hurt ya..." the skeleton rumbled. He shifted, as if kneeling down next to you. At the same time, his hand smoothed out your hair, pausing at the back of your head. "you're hurt..."

It seemed like he had seen through your ruse, despite your best efforts. Still, his mannerisms struck you as gentle, as if he was afraid of breaking something if he touched you wrong. Even his tone of voice had been reserved, like he didn't want to make you fear him anymore than you already did. Had you misjudged him? You decided to chance it and open your eyes, almost immediately making eye contact with the skeleton.

He was somehow even larger than you had previously estimated, seeming at least twice your body mass, which made no sense because where was all that bulk coming from? His shape seemed to be all hard angles and sharp edges, yet he gave off a soft vibe. It was like he was a living contradiction.

His most striking feature was the large crack on the left side of his skull. Well, it was more of a crater than a crack, and you couldn't help wondering how he was still alive. The edges were jagged, hinting that whatever had caused this injury had been rather violent.

He had a large eyelight the colour of blood in his left socket, although his right was completely empty. There were multiple knicks in his skull, and you could only imagine how many scars littered the rest of his bones as well. His teeth seemed flat, yet the edges were no less sharp. Even the tips of his phalanges were tipped with sharp claws, as if every part of him was used to serving as a weapon.

The skeleton held up a phalanx, moving it slowly back and forth a few inches from your face. When your green eyes were able to track it without much issue, his concerned expression changed to one of relief. He took a good long look at you, as if looking for any further injuries, but besides some small scrapes, there were none to be found.

"should do somethin' about that wound," he murmured. "wouldn't want it to get worse..."

Without warning, he suddenly picked you up, hooking one arm through the bend of your knees, while the other formed a solid brace around your back. The sudden movement caused you to freak out, your hands scrambling to hold onto him for fear of falling, but his grip remained firm.

"Hey! Where are you taking me? I can walk on my own!" you protested.

He paid no mind to your struggling, and in fact his arms actually tightened around your body to keep you from escaping as he strode off into the trees. It didn't seem like he was expending much effort to carry you, which was crazy because he didn't even have any muscles!

"my camp isn't far... 'm not leavin' ya to the elements, not like this..." His tone was quiet but firm, making it very clear that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

There didn't seem to be much point in fighting him, so you settled down in his arms. Surely he would have hurt you already if he was planning to do so, right? Despite what you had said, you were pretty sure you wouldn't last long on your own anyways. At least with another person you would stand a chance of surviving and potentially making your way back to civilization.

The skeleton's camp was set up under a natural outcropping next to a hill. There wasn't much in the area other than a fire pit and large rucksack, so you figured he hadn't been here too long. You did notice a few rabbits hanging from a small tree near the overhang and a pile of freshly split logs, so he had probably been planning to stay for a day or two at the very least.

He set you down near the fire pit and quickly set about coaxing the smoldering coals back to life. Once done, he retrieved a small pot from his pack, and after filling it with water from the nearby stream, set it on one of the stones to boil. You carefully watched him work, deciding it would be better to stay out of his way for the time being rather than interrupt. Once the water was heated up, he took strips of clean cloths and dipped them into the pot to sterilize them.

Turning to you, he motioned for you to come sit next to the fire. " 'm gonna have to ask ya to do somethin' tough," he murmured once you had done so. "can ya trust me?"

You nodded slowly, "I think I can do that."

He studied you for a moment before giving a firm nod and moving to sit behind you. " 's gonna be okay. just don't want this to get infected..."

To your surprise, his touch was gentle, carefully separating the dried blood from your hair and cleaning the wound once the cloths cooled. It was a bit of a tedious process, and if the area wasn't still rather tender, you might have found it relaxing. You could feel how sharp his claws were, yet he was careful not to poke you with them. However, you did notice that his hands had a slight tremor, and he ended up accidentally pulling on a few strands as he worked.

"sorry... delicate things are...difficult for me..." he murmured after you couldn't help wincing from a particularly harsh tug.

"It's alright. I should thank you for even trying to help in the first place."

He let out a soft huff of air, displacing the baby hairs on the back of your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. "don't thank me yet, i'm just doin' what needs to be done."

Despite brushing off your gratitude, there was a hint of tenderness in his quiet tone. The idea that this giant of a skeleton could be so moved by a few words was oddly sweet and made you feel all fuzzy inside. Despite his frightening outward appearance, he seemed to possess a gentle soul deep down and just wanted to help where he could.

Once your head wound had been cleaned and bandaged, he brought out what you thought was a deer pelt and draped it around your shoulders. The fur felt soft and warm against your skin, and you wrapped it around yourself a bit tighter.

You must have looked content because the skeleton chuckled quietly and gave your head a bit of an affectionate pat. The gesture took you by surprise, and you ducked your head out of embarrassment. It didn't help when his hand lingered in your hair, his phalanges running through the dark strands, clearly marvelling at their silky texture.

You cleared your throat uncomfortably, hoping he would get the hint that this was a bit much at the moment. Thankfully, it worked, and he quickly withdrew his hand, busying himself with cleaning up the campsite. You noticed his cheekbones had taken on a red glow, although it was a softer hue than his lone eyelight. His embarrassment was oddly endearing, especially the way he tried to avoid looking at you as he worked.

A few minutes of slightly awkward silence passed before you decided to try making conversation. After introducing yourself, you asked for his name in return since it seemed like you would be spending a bit of time together.

He looked a bit taken aback by your question and rubbed the back of his skull awkwardly, a hint of his earlier blush still present. "name's maul... guess with a name like that ya can guess what i do, huh?"

You weren't sure what exactly he was implying by that. Well, you had an idea, but you didn't want to voice it out loud in case you were wrong. "I actually thought you were some sort of bandit at first, but now I'm not so sure."

He snorted and rolled his eyelight. "guess i can see why ya might think that. i'm not really anythin' at the moment though..."

"Well you look pretty tough, I bet you could make some good coin as a bodyguard or something similar."

He hummed in a noncommittal way and went to retrieve a scary looking cleaver from his pack, holding it up to his eyelight to check the sharpness. "dunno about that...still pretty sick of bein' someone else's lap dog..."

From his bitter tone, you had a feeling he wasn't willing to elaborate further, so you decided not to press him for answers. Maybe some other time? Although you didn't know how long you would be staying with him anyways.

A loud thwack! caused you to jump, and when you looked up, you realized he had decapitated one of the dead rabbits that had been hanging up outside. He stared down at the small corpse for a moment before retrieving another from next to him and repeating the action. You had to look away as he severed each of their heads in turn. Something about the hollow look on his face combined with the, in your opinion, excessive force was rather disturbing.

Thankfully, he seemed to shake himself out of whatever had been affecting him and began skinning the rabbits. Compared to his earlier aggression, it was almost polarizing how carefully he parted the pelts from the flesh, almost as if he feared the thought of damaging the delicate hides. After those were set aside, he began the process of separating the flesh from the bones.

You watched in silence as he worked, noting the ease with which he butchered the small mammals. Once that was done, he began cutting up some wild vegetables he must have gathered earlier, and you soon realized he was making some sort of stew. Before you knew it, a delicious aroma was wafting throughout the surrounding area, making you realize how hungry you were.

By the time the rabbit stew was done, the moon had long since risen, and you were starting to feel sleepy. The promise of delicious food helped to keep you awake though. Just as Maul was ladling the stew into a wooden bowl, your stomach decided to let out a loud growl, betraying how ravenous you were. The skeleton's permanent grin widened with amusement, while you wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow you whole.

He sat down next to you, bowl of stew in hand, although made no attempt to offer it to you. "do ya mind if... if i fed ya?" His cheekbones flushed that adorable shade of red as the question left his proverbial lips, and you were certain your own face was in a similar state.

How could you say no to that? Sure, you were a full grown woman capable of feeding herself, head injury be damned, but the air had grown cooler with the setting of the sun. It would certainly be a shame to remove the warm fur just to eat, wouldn't it?

"Sure..." you croaked, unconsciously licking your lips to moisten them.

He nodded slowly, offering you a spoonful of the hearty stew. You accepted it, although you were too embarrassed to look directly at him while chewing. The flavours all but exploded on your tongue, somehow gamey, yet savoury with a note of herbs at the same time. Also, the broth was thick and the tender rabbit meat seemed to fall apart in your mouth. Despite the simplicity of the stew, it was easily the best thing you had eaten in years, if not ever.

Your head shot up, eyes widening in amazement. "That's seriously good!"

Maul chuckled softly, " 's nothin' much, i just used what i had." Despite his modest admission, he offered you another spoonful of the stew, which you accepted.

You let out a quiet hum of pleasure at the taste, green eyes briefly flickering shut. "You're like a wizard or something...a cooking wizard."

That got him to laugh. It wasn't more than a low chuff, but you were immediately hit with the realization that you liked it. He seemed like the kind of person who didn't laugh enough, and you wanted to hear him do it more.

Before you knew it, the bowl was empty, and your hunger quenched. Maul finished off the remainder of the stew, and while he cleaned up the dishes, you settled down by the fire pit. The combination of a full belly and the warmth from the flames made you feel quite content. With a yawn, you snuggled further in the deer pelt, already feeling yourself drifting off.

As your new friend returned to the fire, an icy breeze whistled through the overhang, causing you to shiver as it hit your back. Even though the flames were keeping your front warm, it apparently wasn't quite enough. Maybe if you had more furs it would help, but you weren't sure if you should ask since Maul had already done so much for you.

The skeleton in question glanced at you as he added more wood to the blaze, his bonebrows furrowing slightly as he noticed your discomfort. Without saying anything, he retrieved another pelt from his pack, this one with coarse black fur, and returned to the fire. At first you thought he was going to offer it to you, but to your surprise, he silently laid down behind you, pressing his ribcage against your back as he draped the large fur over the both of you.

One of his arms wrapped around your waist, somehow pulling you even closer, and nestling his skull against the top of your head. Despite being a skeleton, he was surprisingly warm, and you could feel his mana flowing just beneath his ribs. It made him feel alive, but not in the usual sense, more like there was a wildness to him just under the surface that you had yet to see.

"is this too much?" he rumbled against your scalp, his thumb rubbing mindless circles over the fur covering your abdomen.

"Not at all," you murmured in response. "This is perfect..."

He pressed his nasal ridge against your hair, letting out what sounded like a low purr. It took you an embarrassingly long moment to realize he was nuzzling you, and your heart nearly melted all over again. Maybe getting attacked by those bandits had secretly been a blessing in disguise...

[guillotinesandroses]

Hello! If it's possible can I request a one shot of a male reader x Saber Lancelot from Fate/Grand Order? The knights of the round table are known to be infatuated with women so male-reader tends to feel bad for having a crush on Lancelot and believing that he could never like the reader. But little does reader know that Lancelot had been having growing affection for them seeing how they work hard to save humanity and tries to work up the nerve to ask them out. Hopefully this is a good enough description. Thank you for your time and good luck with your blog! Also if you need help with researching Lancelot and his story feel free to message me since the Fate franchise can be a bit convoluted.

Thank you so much for being the first person to send a request <3 Sorry this took so long to complete, some stuff happened and I got overwhelmed :') I hope this fits what you wanted, I had to take some creative liberties due to being on a time crunch. If there are any personality or lore inaccuracies, please let me know!

Lancelot x Male!Reader

Contents: Mutual pining, insecurities, confessions, reader is the game's main character but older than Mash and a parental figure of sorts to her and Galahad.

Concealing, Reflective Surfaces

Once again, you find your hopeless self watching him from afar. Pristine armor glowing beneath the golden sun, his sword strikes with the strength of a thousand oceans, power drawn not from wrath, but rather from an insatiable thirst for justice. Your head rests against the back of your fingers, elbow shaky against the table as you try to keep your cool. 

Heart skipping at least three beats, you flash him what you pray is an unassuming smile. You raise a thumb up as he looks to you for approval, a faint, relieved smile gracing his sculpted face at the gesture. The second he turns back to look for another training dummy, the previous one destroyed, you swallow hard. Shame nearly boils over within your chest just as much as adoration. A hand moves from your cheek to cover your mouth, someone must have cursed you to have you reduced into this. 

Even so, you cannot help your eyes from trailing up, back to the Saber your heart remains so fixated on. Everything about Lancelot screams perfection. King Arthur himself admitted it long ago; Lancelot is the perfect knight. Fate itself must hate you, you have convinced yourself, for making you desire someone so unattainable. When placed next to him, his strength, charm and looks, what are you in comparison? 

The one and only thing you have going for yourself is your status as a Master. In spite of your rank making you into a valuable- irreplaceable even- member of the group, that is all you are. There is no weapon you are even average with, your servants need to keep rescuing you like some sort of helpless damsel in distress. Hell, even the damsels you have come across, the ones powerless in their myths, fight better than you. Although you usually would not mind not being the strongest, your feelings reprimand you for not meeting the standards he must have. 

Lancelot adores nothing more than his own swordsmanship skills. Although his fixation on the arts of combat is charming, listening to him talk a delight, it leaves you hollowed. He truly seems to admire skill with the blade, which you have none of. You have made various attempts at learning to use a sword, requested aid from your other Sabers, but that never led anywhere. There is no way he would be impressed by your pathetic fumbling. 

Besides, Knights of the Roundtable are famously infatuated with women. Lancelot himself is known for having fallen head over heels for Guinevere. There is no telling what he would say if you were to confess. What if he still grieves for his deceased lover? What if he is not interested in men at all? 

Your heart clenches, that is the most painful thought of all. Swordsmanship you can practise, flirting you can improve and even your fashion you can work on, but there is nothing you can do if he simply does not find your gender attractive. Fingers absently tracing your arm, a pained frown threatens to crash over your features. You shut your eyes, wishing you could force yourself to accept reality. There is no way he could ever return your feelings. 

You sigh, and decide once again that even if your face burns up or your heart bursts, you will bite your tongue. It is better this way. All of that heartache and humiliation, so easily evaded. One day you will move on. The glitters of light reflecting from his armor will cease to haunt you, and his voice will no longer send a swarm of butterflies to choke your lungs. 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the field, Lancelot finishes his training session. He wipes the smallest droplet of sweat from his brow, for someone of his level, it is difficult to get sweaty. However, the ever-present eyes- which he at least hopes linger on his form- gave his heart a much harder workout, even as he performed trickier moves. They were both to hone his own skills and to hopefully impress you. It may be rather childish of him to think that way, but he cannot seem to keep himself from entertaining the thought. 

As he walks over to you, he repeats in his head what he planned he would say throughout his whole training session. He will approach you casually and ask you to meet with him later, at dusk. The setting sun and peacefulness of the evening will create a beautiful artpiece. That canvas will be where he paints his confession. Regardless of whether his feelings are to be accepted or not, although not an artist, he will take it as his duty to represent the moments leading up to it as they should be, pure and tender. 

Having made up his mind, Lancelot steps in front of you. He begins with confidence and patience, not jumping right into what he intends on saying. "Master, I have completed my training for the day." 

"That's great!" You smile, brighter than the sun, and his heart jumps into his throat. "Y'know, it's always a pleasure to see you so hard at work. Putting on a good show for me... almost makes me jealous how much attention you pay to those dolls." 

His breath stutters. The ocean of love in his heart rises to a raging storm. Lancelot clears his throat, steadying his breathing as he learned to do when he first learned to fight. It has been a while since he has needed to resort to the Lady of the Lake's simplest techniques. Although he seldom needs to utilize it in battle, in your presence, he has found use for it after all, more times than he cares to admit. 

"I... do apologize, Master. It has not been my intention to make you feel neglected." 

"Eh, it's fine! I'm just joking. Anyway, making sure everyone's skills stay sharp is important. You haven't done anything wrong. If anything, I'm really happy you're taking this all seriously." 

"Of course, it is my duty. Humanity's future is on the line, so we must succeed. I will do anything in my power to make a brighter tomorrow into a reality." 

"Right, but still, even if something must be done, it doesn't hurt to praise those who work the hardest towards it. And, well, since I can't do much of anything, who would be better for the job than yours truly?" You grin, though he can't help but notice the expression is the slightest bit strained on your lips. 

"I must respectfully disagree, Master. We would not have made it this far without your guidance. The plans you have constructed have been vital to our success." 

"Hm... I don't know about that... but I do know my tomorrow's brighter as long as you're there!" 

Lancelot's chest clenches up in a pleasant ache, which he hopes his armor hides the reaction sufficiently. His original intentions for the conversation are long forgotten. Steadying his voice, he musters up a response, "your kindness knows no bounds, Master. I am thoroughly undeserving of such a sentiment, but know your words are appreciated." 

Before you can interject, he straightens his back and looks away. "Although I truly enjoy your company, I fear our time is up now. Word has traveled that suspicious, cloaked individuals have gathered in the forest near our current safe haven. I shall patrol the area and ensure we will not fall victim to ambush." 

He barely grasps the approving goodbye you grant him. He reprimands himself for his inability to get any words out. A fragile breath falls from his lips. There is no chance you could be interested in him.

As much as he wishes your subtle flirting truly meant something, that cannot be the case. You would not act so confident if you returned his feelings. There are very few things that leave his muscles clenching with anxiety. 

That blazing determination in your eyes, it gets even a swordsman like him weak in the knees. Lancelot has to work fast to regain his composure more than once each time he gets to bask in your glowing presence. Nothing but pure intentions burn in your soul- sheer desire to help others, to save humanity's future- those are the motivations that drive you. You are far more of an ideal knight than he is, rejecting injustice at every turn, working tirelessly for your selfless ambitions. The guidance you give during combat is the sole reason your servants have made it this far. 

With each direction granted, his aching affection grows. Many times he has been forced to urge you rest as you burn the midnight oil. There is nothing to question about your unwavering convictions. Your leadership undoubtedly the sole reason your side keeps winning. He is more than proud to follow such a talented strategist, yet he struggles to say it to you, for once unable to tell the truth. 

It is ironic, for someone who is claimed to be so honest by others, he sure has made a point to remain dishonest to the last person he wishes to lie to. He tries, ponders over his confession more and more with each passing day. However, each attempt he makes at working up the nerve to ask you out leaves him feeling like a young boy at the playground. Words die on his tongue the moment you look at him. 

It matters not that he is a legend, the Knight of the Lake who has won armed enemies barehanded, fought a foe for hours until nightfall and slayed a dragon. His luck in love has always been horrendous. He has been called many names- charmer, womanizer, seducer- though rarely has he truly had the intention of enchanting someone. Too many times to count, disturbingly often have strangers ended their lives upon his rejections of their love. Perhaps he is cursed, perhaps fate has something against him, his naivete. 

Regardless, he was the one to always pay for their unrequited affections. Whenever this happened to a princess or noblewoman, his King forced him to serve some king of penance to appease her family to avoid political conflicts. Their grief was no fault of his, that is what he told himself back then in his bitterness. However, after his affair with Guinevere, he began to question everything. Perhaps he had seduced them; if his loyalty to the King could be compromised so easily, perhaps his judgement of himself had always been flawed. 

Since then, there have been many things he blames himself for. His King's guilt, the civil war and the eventual downfall of his country. He never deserved the Queen's love, let alone the King's forgiveness. All he exists for is eternal atonement. How could he ever hope to be deserving of the affections of someone as wonderful as you? 

Hah, he does not even deserve his class as a Saber. A heroic spirit, a noble knight, titles that make him want to laugh. Such praise should be preserved for worthy ears. At best he suits the class of Berseker, having escaped through madness when his King died. There is not much he considers himself to be worthy of, so he devotes himself to battle, leaving himself otherwise dull as a person. 

All he seems to be able to speak of is his talent with the blade. An urge to impress courses through him in your presence. However, there is very little a man like him can impress someone like you with. So, each time he returns to the one quality he appreciates about himself: his swordsman skills. He hopes with all his might you have yet to grow exhausted by it, as being a fighter is the only use you can have for him. 

You are so hopelessly weak. He means no harm by thinking this way, your vast power clearly rests in your brilliant mind. However, it is undeniable that as marvelous as you are, your blinding light had to be balanced with physical fragility. Each time you part from him, his restless thoughts wander to your wellbeing. You have your servants, yes, quite the number of them, but none as powerful as him. 

Although at times separation is required for certain missions, his soul longs to stand by your side. In the same relentless fashion he once protected his king with, he wishes he could rest in your palm as your blade. With the role of shield already taken by your dear friend, he hopes there is still room in your hands for a sword. After all, it is the perfect, most ideal combination, is it not- the wielder, his sword and his shield- Lancelot cares not for Mash's place, and even if he did, he would not dare take it from her, such treachery would be unforgivable. His desired spot is within the grasp of your dominant arm, as the one you live your life through. 

Every tiny detail he notices about you drives him insane. The way you bite your nails when nervous, your quiet, annoyed groans when ink finds its way onto your hands as you write, and how you slouch in chairs when you think no one is looking, fully relaxed for once. Your flexible stretches in the morning, the glow of your smile as it reaches your eyes, and the melody of your voice, the delighted, unrestricted laughs and praises you give when the tides of battle turn in your favor.

Lancelot is certain, absolutely positive that you are the morning sun. You ignite it all, the world and people surrounding you. The passion of your soul torches these lands in a purifying, healing light. This disaster, apocalypse, is the freezing night, the unforgiving winter. You are the blaze, you are spring, melting the cold snow and scorching the old world, only to cauterize the wound so it heals, life growing back stronger with time. 

Want surges through his veins like a rising storm, to cradle and feed your flame. You are redemption, mending, repairment- everything he is not. Taking a deep breath, he shakes his head, fantasies of this sort should be purged from his unworthy mind. There is enough he has ruined by following his greedy, self-indulgent desires. So, he continues on his trek through the forest, heart heavy, searching for bandits he knows he made up on spot, for the purpose of swallowing his feelings again. 

While he wanders the woods, you rock back and forth in a chair. You bite your nails with your heart up your throat. Anxiety claws up your chest. What if you made him uncomfortable, what if he never wants to talk to you again? Maybe the flirting and jokes were too much. You really should just let the earth swallow you, he left so abruptly, there's so many other things you could have- 

The door of your room swings open. Abruptly shifting to a more natural position, your nervous internal monologue is cut off. "Knocking was invented for a reason, you know." 

"I did knock, Master, but even after my third attempt, you did not respond." Mash closes the door behind her. "I figured you must either not be here at the moment, or you were caught in one of your many daydreams again." 

"Well, it's neither, actually! You see, I was absorbed into my work, plans for the-" 

"Master, if you are going to claim those notes contain your newest battle formation idea, there is a question I must ask you." 

"Hm, what is it?" 

"How will '(Name) heart Lancelot' be incorporated into our strategy? Please don't tell me you plan on involving yourself in battle." 

"I- didn't turn the paper-" you cut yourself off and scramble to crush the drawing and toss it away. Leaning onto your hand, you try to act nonchalant. "No idea where that came from. No, not at all." 

"Master, your crush on him is becoming painfully obvious." 

"No..." you trail off, leaning back in your chair and avoiding eye-contact. 

"Yes, it is. You have informed me of your preference for men, which combined with your excessive attention towards him makes connecting the dots quite easy." 

You exhale, fiddling with the pen in your hand. "Well, what of it?" 

"Forgive me for my bluntness but at this point, I find watching you longingly gaze at him from afar unbearable." 

You frown in the same manner she does, speaking at the same time. 

"I get it, you don't like him-" 

"I want you to be happy." 

You pause in shock. "You... don't hold it against me?" 

Mash sighs. "The spirit, he... whatever is left of his essence within me, is almost screaming that you deserve someone better. I don't know if I should agree with him or not, but against our better judgement, I at least will support you. Though I do wish you'd chosen a better man... I will help you with what I can." 

A faint smile falls on your lips. "Thank you. I... really do love him." 

"When are you going to confess?" 

"I- confess? No, there's... there's no way I could. No chance he feels the same way." 

"There's no time for insecurities right now." Mash pauses as you turn to her. "This unresolved tension may not have caused any major issues yet, but if given time to bubble up and inevitably burst, it will. During a mission as important as we are on, any and all unpredictable variables should be dealt with as soon as possible." 

"What if... what if he rejects me?" You ask, voice a whisper. 

"Then you've ripped the bandage off, and you can move on. Besides, if he really is worth your attention, he will be nice about it. If he isn't... well, Master, I am always more than willing to battle him again." 

A small laugh falls from your lips. Both of the beings making up who she is- a kind-hearted girl and the somewhat vengeful spirit of a knight- show their colors in her words as well as their loyalty. You promise you will sort out the situation, feeling a bit silly for having taken romance advice from someone so much younger. Well, either way, you arrange for a message to be delivered to him, to meet you in a field after nightfall. The place is beautiful but also familiar, and you hope the novelty of the sights has yet to have worn off for him. 

Fireflies and stars glimmer against peaceful surface of a lake. Gentle waves wash into the shore, a sound he finds comfort in. The rejuvinating scent of the cool nighttime air lingers with divinity. Like whispered dreams, a fresh breeze melts around you. Breathing out a heavy sigh, you know there is no turning back; all there is left to do is wait and rip the bandage off, just like Mash said. 

"You requested my presence, Master?" 

You nearly jump at his sudden approach. In spite of his heavy armor, he moves in silence. "Ah... yes. I... wanted to ask you a few things about sword fighting." 

"I am honored to be the one whose assistance you've chosen to request. Though may I inquire, why?" 

"Uh, I just thought... it would be fun to learn some techniques. Also, if I get separated from the rest of you like that one time last week, I think it's good for me to have at least some way of defending myself." 

"That is a reasonable concern, though I hope there'll be no need to worry about it a second time. Where would you like to begin?" 

As Lancelot explains the basics of sword fighting, you can barely keep your focus on what he is saying rather than how he is speaking of the subject. Although he maintains his stoic exterior, his words exude an addictive passion, dedication to the art. Even so, you do your best to follow his instructions, aching to impress him. Your heart skips several beats when he steps behind you to correct your stance, and you bite your lip to concentrate. After many attempts at technique and a few simple spars, glancing around a bit too much across his form causes you to trip and fall mid-swing, shame burning in your guts. 

He does not laugh, he does not make you feel bad about yourself in spite of your horrendous form and lack of significant progress. Instead he lowers himself to your level, offering his hand. "You are not wounded, are you?" 

Your lip trembles before you speak. Accepting his hand, you evade his gaze, faces far too close. "Uh... no, I'm fine, thanks." 

Lancelot pulls you up to your feet effortlessly while remaining mindful of his strength. The movement is precise and careful, yet your clumsy self still finds a way to stumble. You fall forward with a surprised, cut off breath, arms landing squished against his chest. Unsure whether you should want to jump into the nearest river or consider this a strike of luck, you pause, then step back with a mumbled apology. 

"You need not be sorry. The fault was mine; I shall be more considerate of my strength if this situation is to repeat." 

His hand still holds onto yours, as if ready to pull you into him again. Your heart skips another beat at the thought and you breathe in, knowing you cannot handle this anymore. "There was... actually another reason why I wanted to meet you here. Training... was just an excuse, really." 

"An excuse..? You need not deceive me, Master. Regardless of whatever is concerning you may be, I will by your side to aid you. Are these concerns related to your wish to learn to defend yourself? Do you feel..." Lancelot trails off, eyes drifting away in what seems like thinly hidden shame, "...your Servants are inadequate of providing you necessary protection?" 

"No, I trust my... Servants." The word still tastes foreign on your tongue. "They can protect me. I know trying to learn to fight would be pointless for me in this state. There's only so much a human can do against the kinds of enemies we fight." 

"Though it is true that you may remain ineffective against the majority of our foes, there is no way mastering new skills and knowing some level of self-defense could ever be pointless... but that isn't the reason you came here tonight?" 

"No, I invited you here for a much more selfish reason." Your mouth dries, throat as hoarse as sandpaper when you force out the words. "I... I am in love with you, Lancelot." 

With your averted gaze, you almost miss how his eyes widen, how his lips part. You look away fully with a heavy chest, not wanting to see his face twist in disgust. Heart thudding against your ribcage, you ready yourself for the worst. However, the tone in his words is much different from what you expected. 

"You... are in love with me?" His voice comes out in a shocked whisper. It echoes with want, admiration and disbelief. 

Swallowing, you raise your eyes to meet with his. Your breath catches in your throat at how he looks at you- vulnerable, almost hopeful- with his guard down. It is as if he has left himself open for attack; his armor shattered and sword fallen from his grasp. For once, his serious and professional front breaks. In spite of lacking talent with a blade, you have done the unthinkable; struck Lancelot straight through the heart. 

"I... there is no way I could accept the feelings of someone as wonderful as you." 

Several emotions crash through your head at his words; grief, confusion and relief. His conflicted frown trembles as you speak. "What do you mean by that?" 

"Master, you... have thoroughly devoted yourself to saving this world's future. It is a beautiful ambition," he breathes, "you inspire and support the others, spend every waking moment ensuring we succeed. You are bright and radiant, a glowing star even amongst humanity's greatest, and standing next to such greatness... what am I?" 

Your eyes widen as he continues. "I betrayed all of those whom I knew to feed my own selfish desires. I caused the demise of my King, the fall of his kingdom. A traitor such as I, surely I have nothing of value to offer you. Therefore, I apologize... but I must reject your confession, it is not something I am deserving of." 

Shoulders relaxing, your heart eases as he averts his gaze. You take a careful step forward, voice gentle as you speak. "Do you... return my feelings?" 

"Master, I am deeply regretful of this, but I must deny your feelings for me. For the betterness of your health and future-" 

"That's not what I asked, Lancelot," you cut him off, "do you feel the same way towards me?" 

The knight remains quiet for a moment longer, then searches your eyes. His own reflect a deep regret, years worth of stored guilt. "I... am in love with you as well." 

Your expression eases up, a faint smile spreading to your lips. Lancelot's face shines with devotion and self-restraint as you approach him. Hand brushing up to trace his cheek, the corner of his eye twitches. He holds himself back from leaning into your touch, from smiling, from enjoying himself too much. You meet him halfway, closing the distance properly, and he cannot bring himself to pull away. Smoothing your thumb over his skin, his lashes tickle the fingertip. 

"Then that's all that matters to me," you whisper. 

His eyelids droop against his will, control slipping from his firm grasp. "...You mustn't." 

"But I want to." 

His breath hitches, and he tries to ground himself by gripping the familiar hilt of his sword. He stands still as a statue as you trace patterns over the sculpted marble of his skin. 

"I can't make you forgive yourself. But I can love you as you are, and I want to love you as you are." 

"I've... restrained myself for so long. This is... everything I have been longing for, but..." 

"So accept it. Please, let me be by your side." 

A quiet chuckle falls from his lips as he shakes his head. "Those words were meant to be mine. I am the Knight of the Lake, your knight, beloved." 

His soft voice breaks as he catches himself, realizing what he just said. He rushes to apologize but you press a finger against his lips. "I would love for you to be my knight. I'd love for us to be together, no matter what you think of yourself. All you need to do is accept me." 

He sighs. His hand rises to press your own against his face closer, giving in. "...How could I ever deny you?" 

You smile in soft delight, pressing yourself against him. Leaning into him as he exhales into the closeness, you bring your lips up to his. He freezes again, absentmindedly drifting away. 

Noticing his hesitation, you ask, "You are... okay with this, right?" 

"Oh... I am far more than content with our current situation. Perhaps I am enjoying it a bit too much, more than I should but I..." he trails off, sighing wistfully, "If I'd known this would turn into a confession... I would have brought those flowers I find your gaze always resting on." 

"Such a romantic." A soft chuckle falls from your mouth. You step forward, this time noticing how his body tenses, not in discomfort, but rather anticipation. Far too much of a gentleman, far too self-critical, he will not make the first move. So you do, and only for a moment allow your breaths to linger together, faces to brush against one another, before you close the distance. 

Relief washes over you the moment your lips touch. Months of pining, pent up emotions spill over from your body. Like a floodgate opened, you pour all of your gentle devotion into the kiss. There is no need to rush, now that you finally have him. All of the time in the world belongs to you. 

Your heart hammers even faster against your ribs as a soft breath brushes against your face. He sighs into the kiss, and a warmth flows through you. He has waited for this just as long as you have. His powerful hands cradle your face, tender, tracing down as if your skin is porcelain. No longer does the implication of weakness bother you. 

Lancelot loves you. He adores everything you are. Qualities you never saw in yourself, they convinced him he could never be good enough for you. Although you were aware of his insecurities before, you could not have assumed they could make him think so low of himself, of such an amazing person. You have every intention of helping him wash himself clean of those doubts, the phantoms that still haunt him. 

The past is dead and gone, his sins long forgiven. Together, you are the future. Yet in this moment, it is as if neither exists. The present drowns you as does his presence. Not a shred of doubt lurks in your minds anymore; this is what you'll build a future for. 

[skarletta-arts]

I finished the art for my AU for the Hazbin Hotel. And maybe I'll start working on it properly. But who knows, as they say.

Brief explanation - this AU was written back in April-May 2024. So some details and things may not match the reality of the Hazbin Hotel canon and leaks. Please keep this in mind.

Anna Cliff is a character who was supposed to be Alastor's childhood friend and outlive him by 7 years.

So far, I don't know if it's worth covering this AU in a wide format, since there are moments in it that are at least quite cruel. Also, a small part needs to be rewritten, since I missed some details, if we talk about the actual state of affairs in New Orleans in the 20-30s. That's how things are.

Excerpt from the art (Many thanks to my friend for helping with the translation from Russian to English.)

Beneath the torrent of freezing rain, her eyes no longer held any expression. That one moment kept returning — the instant where life could be cleanly divided into before and after. That damn phone call from the police, and the hollow, skeletal conversation that followed. Yes… it all started there. It was nearly ten. The smell of a dinner gone cold lingered in the air. Anna glanced up at the wall clock, her irritation rising with each passing minute. Where was he? He had promised to come hours ago. Had it all been for nothing? Jumbled thoughts, tinged with unrest, were interrupted only by the maddening ticking of the clock — sharp, repetitive, strangely in sync with a growing sense of dread. It was getting harder to breathe. The tips of her fingers were going cold. Stop. She stood up so suddenly — as if to physically shake off the pressure — that the rickety chair toppled over, crashing to the floor, its fall drowned in the staccato rhythm of rain against the glass. “Shit…” The word left her lips too fast to even register. She exhaled sharply, crouched down with a faint pop in her knees, and fumbled to lift the fallen chair back into place. Her fingers trembled uncontrollably — numb, as if she'd just plunged her hands into a bucket of ice water. A bad sign. Still, she tried to push the thought aside, forcing herself to sit back down by the decaying frame of the window. The windowsill needed repainting — the paint had cracked, peeling in ugly splits… and somewhere in the corner, there was clearly mold. The smell always grew stronger when it rained. The shrill ring of the telephone made her flinch. Something inside screamed. Not just anxiety — a howling premonition, thick and brutal, turned her limbs to stone. For a split second her body refused to respond. But then Anna lunged forward, her shoes clicking sharply against the floor as she rushed toward the receiver. She lifted it — the metal frame rattled faintly in her hand — brought it to her ear, and said in a low voice: “…I’m listening.” “Is this Anna Cliff?” The voice was rough, male, laced with static and something colder. “Yes. And you are…?” “Commissioner Ernest Müller. May we speak with you?” And then… everything dissolved into fog. The conversation was brief. There wasn’t much to say. They simply told her that the dearest, most irreplaceable person in her life… was dead. Accidentally shot. Killed outright — like a wild animal — a bullet straight to the forehead somewhere deep in the woods. But Anna already knew. She knew the spot. Because for years now, she’d known his terrible secret. The one where the charming radio host became a nocturnal avenger — killing, hiding bodies, and carrying out silent justice. In those rare, quiet moments when they spoke about it, she had always voiced her concern. He would only laugh, half-joking, saying he didn’t believe in judgment — not in Hell, and certainly not in Heaven. How fitting. Just last week he’d turned 33. The age of Christ. And now — dead. Just like that. Tears blurred her vision. Her heart was pounding wildly, the rhythm spiraling out of control as the call ended. It had to be a mistake. A horrible joke. He’d walk through that door any moment now, grin sheepishly, and say it was all a lie. That he was fine. That it meant nothing. She looked at the door. Sniffled quietly. Nothing moved. Silence. Thick and suffocating, broken only by the rain. The truth sank in only when Anna saw his body. That pale, lifeless skin. That calm expression. That perfect, circular hole in his forehead. It hurt. God, it hurt. And then something else crept in. Slowly. Not the night — but the dark. Not sleep — but shadow. The kind that doesn’t cover the eyes, but devours the soul. As though inside you, there is a path of lit candles — and the darkness comes, and blows them out, one by one. Until there’s nothing left. It took nine days. From the moment of the call — to the moment it swallowed her whole. She whispered apologies to him in the night, hoping he could hear. Asked for forgiveness — for not stopping what

had bloomed within her, unnoticed. For letting that poisonous flower — a dark red lily — grow in the last corner of her soul where light still dared to flicker. And now it, too, had gone dark.

[prince-of-elsinore]

ponypop wip preview

I'm working on a multi-chapter (!) ponypop fic set years after canon, when Ponyboy is in college at the University of Tulsa. It's been really fun imagining what has changed since the events of The Outsiders, and what hasn't. Here's a snippet concerning one of those headcanons:

****

I guess I ought to explain a few things, including why Soda and I were still sharing a bed nearly seven years after Mom and Dad died. When we’d started, there was an unspoken assumption that it was a temporary arrangement. After Johnny and Dally my nightmares got worse again, but eventually they tapered off. It got to the point that I was almost relieved to wake up in a sweat to Sodapop gently shaking my shoulder and saying, “It’s okay, honey, it’s just a dream,” because it meant we still had an excuse.

Then maybe around 18 months since the accident (it’d be impossible to pinpoint more exactly) some sort of shift happened. Soda and I never discussed it, but I’m sure he felt it too. Sleeping together stopped being because of the nightmares, and started being because stopping would mean admitting that I was fine without him, and probably had been for a while. Stopping at all would mean that we could’ve stopped months or even a year ago.

I was never ashamed of sharing a bed with Soda, but I became chary of mentioning it in public. When I was sixteen or seventeen I’d said something offhanded about it at school, and a pig-nosed girl named Suzie Owens asked in shock if we were so poor we couldn’t afford enough beds. I went red as a lobster and informed her we had a four bedroom house with plenty of furniture; Soda and I just liked to share. Then she got a funny look on her face and asked what sort of baby still slept with his brother in high school. Luckily the bell rang and saved me from answering.

If there was a time to have gone back to sleeping separate with minimal embarrassment, that would’ve been it. But the incident didn’t make me want to stop. It just made me determined to keep it to myself better, and with that determination it became more impossible than ever to imagine stopping. Darry never questioned it, and Soda never mentioned missing his old room, and I never mentioned wanting mine to myself. It wasn’t my room anymore, anyway; it was Soda’s and mine. Our room, our bed, and what it came down to was that neither of us wanted to change that. We’d lost something irreplaceable when our parents died, and while sleeping together didn’t make up for it, at least we’d found something, a new sort of comfort and closeness, that we wouldn’t have otherwise. We saw no reason to give it up.

[tainted-by-skeletons]

Bully Reader X Sans (Part 2)

(Still SFW. This part gets to the Sans X Reader stuff.)

Y/N’s Pov

I dreaded the day Sans would run into me next. But that day wouldn't be nearly as bad as the next time I ran into Papyrus.

“Hey! Paps! Uhhh is-”

“Y/N! Ooooh do I have some words for you!”

Usually I'd laugh at his silly, oddly motherly language… but he looked pissed. He lived with his brother. Obviously he saw what happened. And obviously Sans told him in a way that would make it look worse for me.

“Oh my god. I'm so sorry! Okay!? The whole canine unit was daring me to do it!”

“I insist you go apologize to my big brother right now!”

“Uhhhh…” I started quietly.

“Why are you hesitating?! Do you think I want to be friends with someone who bullies my brother! I didn't even realize how badly you were treating him until he came home with permanent marker all over his face!”

“I'm really sorry…”

“Tell him that!”

I really didn't get why Papyrus was fuming the way he was until he said,

“He's in our house all day now because he can't get it off!”

“What!?” I screeched.

“Is that a surprise to you? It's called a permanent marker.”

“It's not permanent for human’s skin! Oh my god. I'm soooo so sorry! I didn't know!” I insisted.

“Well.” Papyrus huffed. “I suppose your intentions weren't as evil as I thought, but you still have to apologize!”

“Yeah! Of course! Uh!- Well. I don't know if I should go to his house though.”

I already knew that Sans was extremely protective of his territory. Much like the dog guards. That wasn't a monster thing, but it did seem somewhat common in Snowden.

“This is an emergency!” Papyrus urged.

“Okay! Okay. I'll apologize. Is there something I can bring him? Like food? Orrr… I dunno.”

Usually when I had a fight with one of my friends I'd do something to make it up to them. But letting him draw on my face was my only idea and I'd assume he wouldn't like it.

“I would ask you to bring him Grillby's, but I heard you were rightfully banned from the restaurant.”

“Yeaaaah. What about MTT’s?”

“It… will have to do. Hurry!” Papyrus demanded.

“Eeep! Okay!”

I would never describe Papyrus as scary, but I'd die if he didn't talk to me. He was my only friend in the underground that I could really rely on for anything. He was irreplaceable and I did feel really bad about what I did to his brother. So I walked halfway across the underground kingdom and then all the way back to the skeleton brother's house. No doubt the food was cold, but it was the thought that counted.

*Knock knock*

The door didn't open, but not long after I knocked, I heard shuffling behind the door.

“Who is it?” A grumpy deep voice asked.

It was definitely Sans. It was actually pretty easy to recognize anyone's voice in the underground.

“Ummm. Your least favorite person... With a peace offering!”

“Fuck off!”

Something slammed against the door and scared a yelp out of me. I didn't want to stay there for any longer than I had to, but everyone said Sans couldn't hurt a fly. So I took a deep breath and started over.

“Please let me in. I know how to get permanent marker off of stuff. Okay?”

“You don't have to come in to tell me.”

“You at least have to open the door if you want food.”

Sans opened the door and stuck a boney hand out. I easily enough pushed the door open all the way. And I let myself in.

“Hey! What the hell?!”

“I don't apologize to closed doors. Now. Do you have nail polish remover?”

“The fuck does it look like?” Sans said rudely.

Sans looked as grumpy as he sounded. He was wearing his usual blue and gray jacket, but this time he had his hood up. There were two race car bandaids on his cheeks.

“You probably don't own soap.” I joked.

Sans shoved me and I nearly got locked outside again. I put myself between the door and the frame. Sans was thankfully not very strong.

“Aaah! Okay! Okay! I'm sorry!” I shouted.

Sans crossed his arms and huffed at me without saying anything.

“I'll come back with a few things that might work. Okay? You can take this for now. Or else it'll get even colder. But… please let me back in okay?”

Sans' already big eyes seemed to somehow get wider. But he quickly turned his head down and to the side as he muttered,

“Fine.”

“I'll be back later then.”

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Why are you doin’ all this?”

“I… I didn't realize that it was permanent. And I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't drunk. So I want to sorta make up for it.”

“You're not trying to get back into Grillby's?”

“No. It's your place. I won't go again.”

“Uh… I don't…I don't believe ya.”

And he slammed the door on my face.

“Uggghhh! Rude!” I shouted.

I turned away and headed towards the only convenience store I knew of.

It really is a shame. He looks so cute with those little bandaids on his cheeks! He seems more approachable now. I ought to convince him to take those off and let me highlight the cute marks I gave him with blush. Maybe he'll make some friends and leave me alone.

So I bought a few more things at the store than I originally intended. Nail polish remover, rubbing alcohol, blush, and a snack too. Checking the time, I realized it was starting to get somewhat late.

“Oh! I have to head back! Thanks!”

I rushed back to Sans' house. Running into Papyrus on the way.

“Human! How did it go?”

“I know how to get the marker off Sans’ face. He's going along with me for now. Are you on your way back?”

“Yes! I just came back from training with Undyne!”

“That's great. It'll be nice to have someone on my side. It won't be as awkward that way.”

“I am always happy to help a friend!”

“Thanks Paps. Er. Papyrus.”

Papyrus raised a metaphorical brow at my retraction of his nickname.

“Why don't you and Sans get along again?”

“I dunno… he's just… He's a real mood killer. And I don't like that he's always trying to get on my case about stuff!”

“What stuff?”

“Well… like… Being mean to people. But hey! Even if he's right, lecturing me isn't gonna make me wanna be any nicer! Besides! That's just how people get along sometimes. You don't care. Right?”

“When you make fun of me? I… I didn't want to bother you about it but… Yes. I do care about that.”

“Oh… Papyrus I'm so sorry. I'm not trying to hurt your feelings or anything. It's just-... Just… I don't know. I say to you the kinda things my friends up on the surface always said to me. The guard dogs do it too! We push each other around and stuff and call each other chickens but… I do it a little differently? Don't I?”

“Sometimes. It does feel the same as a guard calling me names but I don't like that much either. You, Sans and Undyne are really the only people I consider friends.”

“Really? But you're so fun to hang out with!”

“Thank you Human! You know, Sans is a lot of fun too! I didn't understand why he's always so tense around you, but I hope one day you'll give each other a chance! I think you would be really great friends.”

“Ahhh. I don't know. Right now I'm just hoping to make up for this. I'm glad you'll be there though. Maybe you can butter him up.”

“Aaahhh Weelll! I actually have something I have to do! I'm so sorry human! I'm sure you'll do just fine without me! I have to go now actually!”

“What?! But we're almost there! Come on!”

As suspicious as it was, I wanted to get inside a house quickly. Smart ladies don't stay outside at night. I knocked on the skeleton brother's door once again. Wondering what Papyrus suddenly ran off for. Especially so late at night.

“... What? Why!” I heard through the door.

Sans was talking to someone. I couldn't tell who and I couldn't hear much, so I put my ear to the door and listened in.

“Yeah. She just got here. I'm about to let her in… Yeah? Well I wish I didn't have to! Why can't you help me out instead?... I don't need to be friends with her. I don't want to... I mean nooo. Not as bad as before… Ya know. I love that you like everybody but she's a jerk… She did?... Well. That doesn't change anything. I gotta go. I think she's right outside.”

Sans opened the door. He had taken off his cute bandaids and I could see my artwork in its full glory.

“Eeee!~” I squealed and held my hands up to my cheeks to hide my smiling face from him.

“Uh! Hey! Shut up!”

I let myself in and closed the door behind me. Hopefully making his decision to let me stay a little easier.

“I've got two ideas that should both work. If somehow they don't, I'm sure I could find you some concealer until it eventually… well. Like… heals over or scratches off or whatever.”

“I'm not sure it would.”

“What?! But like. Your bone or whatever it is. It heals right!?”

“Yeah. But nobody's been stupid enough to draw on it. Most people think it's pretty obvious that I might not be able to get it off.”

“Well if that's how it is, then if this doesn't work then you can find concealer without my help!”

“What the fuck is that anyway?”

“Concealer? It's like a foundation specifically made to cover up redness or any blemishes.”

“Oh God. I'm not gonna use fucking makeup!”

“Are you kidding me? Don't be a pussy! Even guys use-.”

“What did you call me?!”

I saw a flash of blue light somewhere in the corner of my vision as suddenly my body slammed into the side of Sans' wall. The force of the hit knocked the air out of me. I talk big but I'm no good in a fight. I learned that the hard way a couple times. I raised a hand up to my throat. As if I could somehow catch my breath physically with it.

“Answer me.”

I looked up and saw Sans' cute vandalized face didn't look so cute anymore. One of his eye sockets was completely dark. Reminding me he was still an undead monster I knew nothing about. The other was glowing with a blue and yellow ring. He stepped up to me and put a hand against the wall I was thrown against. I yelped and tried to cover my trembling lips. But it didn't hide my horrified tears. The bright ring from Sans' eye faded away. Soon it was replaced with his usual cartoonish white dots.

“Wow. Just like the canine unit. All bark and no bite.”

No one told me that Sans could fight. In fact, I heard exactly the opposite from everyone. That's why I wasn't afraid to pick on him. Sans backed off me. I took a second to wipe away my tears before I shakily stood. I realized the irony of me calling him a pussy. Out of everyone in the room that moment, it definitely wasn't him.

“Just… Let me give you the stuff so I can get out of here.” I said awkwardly and quietly.

“Good idea.”

I gave Sans a pouty glare as I reached for the bag of stuff I dropped. I was too late to hide the blush I bought on a whim. I tried to hide it back inside the clear bag as sneakily as I could. Obviously with Sans watching me do it, I couldn't hide much.

“The hell’s that pink stuff?”

“Uh! It's nothing! I was just- um. Er- It's actually mine.”

“I can tell you're lying. Is that something weird?”

Sans had a disgusted expression on his face. I could tell what he meant by weird and I didn't like what he might have been insinuating. Even then, I found myself asking to make sure.

“What do you mean weird?!”

“Oh God. Grillby told me you might have a crush on me but I didn't think he was actually right.”

“Whhat?!” I shrieked.

Sans' Pov

“What the hell is wrong with people like you? Are you that immature that you can't treat people you like with respect?”

“I don't have a crush on you! You're insane!”

“Kay. Then why'd you draw hearts on my face?”

“Because I didn't want anyone to see how bad I am at drawing!”

“Bullshit.”

“I'll prove it to you!”

“No you won't. Anyone can draw badly on purpose. Besides that's not an excuse because drawing on curved surfaces is hard anyway. So nobody's good at it in the first place.”

“What? No it's not! Why would that be hard?”

Oh wow. She is bad at drawing.

“Well why didn't you just write something then?”

“I have really bad handwriting.”

I guess that makes sense. Those go hand in hand.

“I got the idea because Brandy said something about it!”

That makes a lot of sense too…

“I don't really believe you.”

But I wasn't going to admit I was wrong about something like that.

“Ugh! You're just full of yourself! You probably think everyone has a crush on you!”

“I wouldn't have thought it if Grillby hadn't said anything.”

“Well he's crazy too! He probably just wanted to make you feel better or something! He probably likes you!”

“Oh. So you think everyone has a crush on me.”

“That's not what I said! That's not what I said at all!”

Her screeching didn't do her any favors. Still being seated on the ground under me was suspicious too. But what really convinced me was what I noticed when she stood up.

“You're blushing.”

“Uh! No! I-Ugh! Of course I'm blushing! You just nearly knocked me out and now you think I like you! It's all the blood in my- ugh! You wouldn't get it.”

“Haha. How much makeup do you wear? It's a mess.”

“Aaah! Don't look!”

She covered her face and turned away from me.

“Oh yeah? Why do you care if I see you like that?’

“Ugggh! Shut up!”

Y/N grabbed her bag and everything that fell out of it and marched upstairs.

[youwouldntlietopapa]

The Words That Were Never Spoken - OC Re-Edit: Chapter Three

The showers in the clergy quarters are definitely nicer than the ones in the Siblings wing. Isobel turns the hot water up, trying to get rid of the chill from the cold water and the remaining damp. It burns like hellfire for a moment, but gives way to comfort and she lets the steam envelope her. Surrounding her with him. All the smells she associates with him. And, for a little while, it feels like home. A place where she could belong. In the most mundane, comfortable ways. Though her reflection in the glass doesn’t seem quite so convinced.

She sighs, still sure it’s pure selfish stupidity, but silently begs again anyway. Please, Dark Father, I need your guidance. Show me the way forward. Let me have some kind of sign.

Her thoughts are cut off by a knock at the door as Copia opens it just a crack. He keeps the door held nearly shut, speaking up over the shower. “Forgive me, Tesoro, I don’t like to interrupt. But Seestor is calling to make sure you are all right. She hears about your quarters and wants to know if there is anything you need replaced right now?”

It’s a hard question. Especially before going through all her things and seeing what’s salvageable and what isn’t. “It’s okay, Cope. Would you ask her if it’s all right if I make up a list to give her? If she needs it quickly, I’ll call her when I’m out of the shower.”

“Of course. I will ask.” He calls and the door clicks shut.

Stepping out of the shower takes longer than it normally would. Izzy knows she’s spent enough time lost in her thoughts while the water beats against her back but, still, returning to reality proves to be an effort. Daydreams are so much easier.

Towelling off, she remembers the one thing that makes leaving the warmth and privacy of the shower more than worthwhile. Copia’s clothes sit, neatly folded, on the vanity. The red sweats are big enough to slip past her hips until she cinches the cord a bit, and the shirt is one she hasn't seen him wear in a while, though it still smells like him. There isn’t too much to be done about her hair. Copia has a comb but no real brush. Something else to add to the list of things to go back to her room to get. In the meantime, she pulls it up into a rough pile of hair and holds it in place with a hair tie not quite up to the task.

Opening the door lets in the smell of breakfast and Izzy’s stomach rumbles as if to remind her of how late in the morning it’s gotten, and not even a coffee yet. Worries and wondering set aside in the need for sustenance and caffeine. Her mouth practically watering when she sees Copia setting out some fresh pastries, not from the dining hall by the look of them, and pouring coffees.

“I don’t know what those are or where you got them, but they smell amazing.” Izzy crosses the room to his small table, just big enough for two. “You are amazing.”

“Me?” his cheeks redden and he tries to wave away the compliment. “No, no, tesoro. It is only breakfast. I did practically nothing.”

“No, I mean it. I should have been more clear earlier, and I can only apologise. I owe you a proper thank you at least for helping me this morning, and offering me a place to stay, and… all of this. Really. Thank you. I’d be lost without you, Cope. You know that.” She stretches up to quickly kiss his cheek. As much as she dares.

He blushes deeper and smiles a little sheepishly. “I am the one who is lost without you, Isobel. And I am only happy to help. How many times is it the other way around? You helping me out of my own messes? Now I can repay the favour, even a little.”

The day passes, much like any other day. In the most frustrating way. That nearly everything she has will need replacing, the irreplaceable things are simply gone, and the day has the audacity to go on without any noticeable difference. Short of being sat in Copia’s quarters, working on the books he dragged up from the archive at her insistence, and wearing his clothes. It feels wrong, like there should be something more. But this, like so many things, is a private loss.

Copia is, however, remarkably good at keeping her distracted. Diligently keeping her occupied with other things and avoiding bringing up the rest, rather than letting her sink into thoughts and spirals. It’s not just comforting being there with him, it’s comfortable. Something, she thinks, she doesn't spend enough time appreciating. How uncomplicated it is with him. The one place she never feels like she needs to hide or perform. The one place she feels… like herself.

“That is the dinner bell, dolcezza.”

His voice shakes Izzy out of her thoughts. “Oh, Cope… I don’t really think I wan-”

He holds up his hands. “No, no. I will order food. But everyone will be there for dinner. It… if you want, it would be a good time to collect anything you need from your room.”

“Oh. Right, yes. Of course.” Izzy’s face falls and her stomach churns uncomfortably. “You’re right.”

“We don’t have to.”

“No, no. I need to do it some time.” She sighs and pushes herself up off the couch, offering him a hand. “Just tell me you’re coming with me.”

Copia takes her hand and stands, kissing her forehead. “I am with you, Isobel. Anywhere you need.”

What is it about those words? They shouldn’t hit that hard but, Satanas, they knock the air out of her. So much for being strong and brave. Eyes stinging from the tears as they slip down her cheeks. It’s only things. Only. Reminders and keepsakes and… everything.

He pulls back, still ready to go, but the look vanishes as soon as he sees her. “Ah, I think maybe anywhere starts here.” Copia’s thumb wipes away a tear and he gives her an apologetic look. “We stay here.”

It’s not a question and she’s in no mood to argue. Giving into the tug of his embrace. When he moves back, taking her with him, it’s back down into the seat he only just gave up. Setting Isobel in his lap and wrapping his arms around her. Letting her bury herself against his chest for the second time in one day. No talking. No questions. No empty words just to fill the quiet. Just holding her close, hand on her back, letting her have the time to feel how she feels.

Only things. Only all of the pictures of the two of them together. Only the box of letters from him she’d saved when the Ministry sent him on a three month tour of the other Abbeys. Only the books he’d gotten her over the years, birthdays and holidays and just because he saw it and thought she’d enjoy it. The rest might be only things. But those… nothing would bring those back. Even as she tries to convince herself that the memories are the important parts. That he’s not gone. That it will be okay. Her favourite picture of them both is all she can really picture. Sitting on the nightstand. Lost in the debris now.

“I’m sorry I suggested it, Izzy.” Copia says softly, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

She reaches for his hand, clutching it tightly to her chest. His thumb rubbing softly over her knuckles. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were being helpful. You’re always helpful. It shouldn’t be upsetting me so much.”

“Ah, no. None of that.” He says firmly. “Who says shouldn’t, eh? It is a hard thing, you are upset. What is shouldn’t about that? I say to you I am with you, anywhere, si? So I am here with you. Because this is what you need. Because you need to be upset here, now. Anyone who says shouldn’t, I feed to the Ghouls.”

Despite everything, Izzy has to chuckle. This sweet, beautiful man has given an entire day just trying to keep her smiling and making things as all right as they can be. She’s sure you doesn’t deserve it. Or him.

"Do you think Doctor Mario would make you feel better?” A hint of mischief creeps into his voice. “I even let you win this time."

She pulls away to look at him, sorrow immediately replaced with deep insult. "What do you mean, let me win?"

Copia smirks the way he always does when he’s being a shit. "Well, you know, because you have such a bad day. I will be nice."

The throw pillow catches the side of his head and he topples over laughing, dragging her down with him. 

“You are the worst!”

………………..

Pizza and wine, alone in his quarters, with Isobel. Copia wasn’t sure he could think of a better way to spend an evening. Having her lounging comfortably in his clothes, however, wasn’t something he’d even hoped for and it made a good night into one that would live in his memory forever. A few games turned into dinner, turned into watching old B movies in the semi-dark on the couch. Sharing the single throw blanket he owned. Certainly more could have been found if he’d wanted more that badly. But sharing seemed to be working out just fine as far as he was concerned.

One empty wine bottle sat on the counter of what was generously referred to as a kitchenette. The second was half gone, still on the coffee table within reach. He’d gotten to the point of being comfortably tipsy, warm and relaxed. Letting his worries slip down the stream of his thoughts. Copia stole a quick glance over at Izzy, in a similar state, watching the tv with a slightly glazed look and the hint of a smile on her lips. Catching her eye when she moves closer, tucking one arm through his and resting her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t even have it in him to tense up nervously. It’s too easy to sink into the familiar comfort of her. To rest his cheek on the top of her head and not question every single tiny thing.

“Cope?” Izzy’s voice is soft in the dark and the dim glow of the tv.

“Mmm?”

“Thank you… for today.” The words sound syrupy. Wine taking off any hard edges. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You don’t ha-”

“No.” Izzy is the only one who has ever cut him off without it annoying him. Always to stop him from refusing a thank you or waving away gratitude and apologies. She’s the only one who cuts him off and makes him appreciate the times she does. “I do. Because it’s true. Not just today. I don’t know what I’d do without you ever.”

It’s the wine, he tells himself. The wine and nothing more. But it still makes his heart ache and he swallows hard to try and shift the lump in his throat. “I’m not going anywhere, tesoro. I am a mess without you, you know this.”

It was true and he knew it, thinking back to before she had arrived. For so long he’d felt like he wasn’t really there at all. At least not in any way that made a difference. For a building that housed so many people, it had always felt like a very lonely place. He had been a spectre haunting its halls. Working in the archives alone and missing half his meals simply because he hadn’t bothered to check the time. It didn’t matter if he’d eaten in the hall with everyone or grabbed something cold out of the fridge on the way back to his room, the company would have been the same. Working himself to death was easier when he was barely living.

And then Isobel arrived. She’d seen him when others wouldn’t bother looking. Not just seen him but stayed. Took an interest. Listened and talked and insisted he join her at meals and for events. Saved seats just for him, anticipating his arrival. So much had changed that people noticed enough to comment on it. To ask. Even Terzo had pulled him aside with some rather personal questions. But there really wasn’t any answer apart from Isobel.

“My favourite mess,” she mumbles sleepily.

Copia reaches for the remote and turns the tv down a little. Not quite ready to give up the warmth of having her beside him. Dozing on the couch isn’t so bad, is it? Not like this. Not after a long, stressful day and not when tomorrow seems like it will be more of the same. Not when he’s still distracted by the smell of his own soaps on her skin mingled with the familiar scent of her, mind racing to thoughts of her in his shower, climbing in with her…

He clears his throat and says a silent prayer of thanks for the blanket covering his lap and his shame.

If he’d been paying attention, not lost in fantasies, he would have noticed. Instead, he stares at the tv without really seeing it, as startled as her when she jumps up cursing.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Izzy rushes to set her wine glass on the coffee table, standing to try and escape the worst of it. But it’s too late. The last of her wine had tipped directly into her lap as she’d been dozing and Copia’s sweats were soaked through. The couch had a sizable damp spot as well. “I’m so sorry, Cope. At least it’s white… no big stain.”

He snorts and waves at his old couch. “I don’t think one more stain will be the end of the world, dol-”

His voice dies in his throat and he stares wide eyed, frozen in place. Wine or not, it’s hard not to drink in every detail as she tugs the damp sweats off, leaving just his own shirt to cover midway down her thighs. Watching her walk past to leave the soiled pants in the laundry, the back of his shirt just enough to cover her ass. His fists balling in the throw blanket and a whimper threatening to break free.

“I think that’s probably a sign I should get some sleep.” Izzy sighs.

“Of-of course, of course. It is late. You sh-should take the bed. I will sleep out here.” He struggles not to sound flustered.

“Cope. No. Absolutely not. It’s your bed. I’m not stealing it from you.”

“And I don’t make you sleep on the couch! It is damp!”

Izzy huffs and walks over, offering her hand and he takes it, not quite sure what she’s planning. “So you’re going to sleep on the damp couch instead? Don’t be ridiculous. There is a bed that surely can fit two people.”

His eyes get wide again. “I snore!”

But she only snorts a laugh. “I know. I’ve seen you sleep before. Unless you’d rather sleep in a wine puddle than share a mattress with me?”

“What? No! No, no, no! Izzy, you misunderstand…”

“Cope, it’s late. You need sleep and so do I. Come to bed.”

How is he supposed to argue with that? How can he say no to words he’s only ever heard her say in his dreams? Even if it’s only for sleep. Even if it’s only to share the bed. His shoulders drop and he stops fighting saying yes when he knows, deep down, he doesn’t want to say no.

Copia turns off the movie and follows after her toward his own bed, somewhere between screaming until his lungs burst and falling to his knees in thanks for even this much. Watching her climb under the covers and settle next to the wall. The reality of his small bed dawning all at once. But it’s settled. They’ll share.

He walks over to join her, climbing in and trying to leave as much space as he can. Catching her smile. “What?”

“I just didn’t think you were a sweats in bed man.” Izzy chuckles softly.

Thankful for the dark concealing his blush, he smiles and shakes his head. Trying to ignore the way his head screams. “You don’t mind?”

“I’ll manage.”

Copia hesitates a moment and finally, more awkwardly than he’d like, kicks off his sweats. The shirt, he decides, stays on. Relaxing back onto the bed, trying to focus on something else. Anything else. Anything that isn’t the aching need he desperately tries to keep from making itself obvious. His boxers doing very little to contain the problem.

He freezes when your lips brush his cheek. “Goodnight, Cope.”

“Buonanotte, Izzy.”

In the dark and the quiet of the night, it’s only the soft sounds of her breathing and the occasional muffled squeak from the bed with the shifting of her weight or his. Copia listens, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm himself down enough to sleep. Running over budget numbers in his head and trying to recall the name of some 15th century monk who wrote a number of very, very boring scrolls that somehow still managed to be significant enough that they needed him to translate them all. None of it seems to help.

At least, he thinks, she’s not having the same trouble.

Beside him, Izzy’s breathing is slow and rhythmic. Sleeping peacefully after a long, tiring day. He can’t even find it in himself to be jealous. She needs the rest, tomorrow will be another long one. Likely a trip to her water damaged quarters. A trip he’s already bracing for himself. Trying to think of some way to soften the blow. With her there or after she’s got it settled.

Please, Dark Father, hear my prayer. I am, as always, your humble servant, and I would beg your guidance. The path before me is uncertain. Please, my lord, give me some sign. Show me the way...

The mattress squeaks again, interrupting his thoughts. Izzy shifts, still fast asleep, rolling toward him. Without really thinking, he moves his arm, watching her curl herself against his side and settling her head on his chest. For a moment, just one moment, he tenses. Not sure what to do. Not wanting to wake her any more than he wants her to let go. And he doesn’t want to. Copia lets out the breath he was holding and finally admits it, even just to himself.

He doesn’t want her to let go or to wake her or to pull away. He wants to let himself sink back into the bed and to relax into her touch. To feel her warmth, the beating of her heart, the rise and fall of her chest. It’s comfortable in a way he’s not sure he’s ever felt. It’s safe there in her arms. Carefully, so very delicately, Copia sweeps Izzy’s hair from her forehead with a finger. Kissing her forehead with equal care.

“Non preoccuparti. Ti terrò al sicuro.” He barely breathes the words, letting the tension go. His mind quiets, letting sleep drag him down. The last of his prayers drifting off with him.

Show me the way, my Lord. Please….

______________________________________________________

Buonanotte - Goodnight

Non preoccuparti. Ti terrò al sicuro. - Don't worry. I'll keep you safe.

[hoeforhao]

Most Ardently // Wonwoo Fic //

✧. pairing: professor!wonwoo × student fem!reader (featuring mingyu and dino)

✧. genre: fluff, mild angst? very short smut(as i wanted to keep this as a pure emotional fic) minors dni, lots of pining and comfort at the end.

✧. warnings: nothing heavy, just a very slow burning romance based around my favorite novel, slight mentions of a yandere ex boyfriend,use of swear words, joking use of the word k!ll.

✧. synopsis: what happens when your one night stand becomes your new literature professor, taking both of you down a blissful lane of old school love.

✧. word count: 3.2k (approx)

✧.banner credits: to the sweetest @classicscreations

✧. author's note: as wonwoo fluff+smut won in the 50 followers poll, here it is finally. although it became more of an angsty fluff(i absolutely suck at writing puppy romance). hope y'all will enjoy it and if this gets some love, i'll bring out its prequel. last but not the least, if you enjoyed my writing then...

Likes, comments and reblogs will be heartily appreciated ♡

and on page 157 she fell in love...

"Love"~ a word meaningful only between the withered folds of literature, luring one into the Georgian haze.Realistically tho, finding a love that will entwine both soul and mind, seep through your cracks and reconcile the cores, is as strange as a diffident person like you getting raveled into a one night stand.

Quite literally clawing out your scalp, ensuring the inevitable headache later on, you kept on asking yourself, what made you so wild to sleep with a random ass stranger, that too on the night before fall semester started??!!!! The guilt clouded your mind so much so that the trance had to be broken by mingyu's hard slap on your shoulder.

"Are you dead or what idiot? The new professor's been here for over a minute now and called out your name almost seventeen times" the tall idiot sitting beside you, nearly howled into your ears.

Before the count could hit eighteen, you quickly pried up from your seat, taking a glance at the man standing in the teacher's place.

Why does his face look so familiar? That same hairstyle with heart shaped strands sticking to the forehead, those harry pottery glasses overshadowing the cat eyes, his exact little stubby nose and most importantly the bewitching plump dahlia lips.

No way it's who I think it is!!! It's definitely the hangover towering. How can he be -

"Ms y/n?"a soft hushed voice called out, pulling your train of thoughts to a sudden halt,"Mr Bennett handed over your thesis to me before he left." Only a single nod left your body as you took over the file and made your way back to the place beside the giant sized puppy,body completely washed off by an unknown tingling sensation.

"Morning students!! I'm your new literature professor from now,Jeon Wonwoo. Mr Bennett's knowledge and aura are indeed irreplaceable but still I'll try my best to bring out the beauty of literature to you guys." the man spoke, eyes a bit tensed up yet briming with a certain sort of joy.

Throughout the entire lesson, your beads were fixated onto your teacher ; as a person who would never let their focus sway, specially in literature classes, you now didn't even know what chapter the class was going through.

"Looks like someone is enchanted huh" your annoying ass bestfriend pushes you a little from the back as the entire class gets ready to head out for lunch.

"Y/n?" you hear the same raspy voice seek out your name. "Go go! Your prince is calling you!!" mingyu teases you again with a mocking smile on his face.

"Utter a single word after this, and I'll make sure you walk reverse footed the entire week" you stomp on his feet before turning around to listen to what your teacher had to ask.

"Yes sir?" you coo out softly, trying to make your racing heart less obvious.

"Meet me at my office after lunch. We need to discuss on your thesis."

"But I already submitted it to Mr Bennett once,then why again?"

"He ran short of time,while packing things up and couldn't scrutinize the papers properly, so now I'm in charge." jeon said as politely as possible.

"Okay sir. I'll be there in an hour"

"You can call me wonwoo" a light smile painted the older's face as he made your cheeks flush bright red with the comment.

Swirling around on your heels, you swiftly made your way out the room, not wanting to flash him with your blushing profile.

Stomping your feet in impatience and somewhat a little bit of anxiety, you wait for your beanstalk of a best friend to choose his drink from the vending machine.

"You're not choosing a wife Kim Mingyu. Hurry the fuxk up pls"

"Getting that worked up for a four eyed nerd! What a loser!!" mingyu spat out, while he bended down to collect his can.

"Says the one who has been bitchless since the cracking dawn of civilization. Oh wait you need to have human traits to get a partner, not that of chimpanzees" you spank his butt from absolute annoyance.

With a loud 'ouch' and his characteristic puppy eyes, mingyu rises up from his position and hurriedly drops you off at wonwoo's office door, otherwise who knows what more parts of him you'll break.

Cold sweats dripping down your face, you stand still at his door, an unfamiliar feeling shivering down your spine as you slowly bring up your hands to knock on the knob.

"M-may I come in sir?" why is it that you're shaking so much, is strange to you too. You haven't ever felt like this,not even when you met your bitchass ex for the first time.

"What are you doing to me jeon wonwoo" you whisper under your breath before stepping into the gloomy wooden space,following the green light from him.

Sitting yourself comfortably on the swiveling chair infront of his desk, you wait for wonwoo to speak up, legs shaking uncontrollably beneath the stilted plank.

"Welcome y/n. As far as I'm knowledged, your thesis is on Georgian Era pieces, and you've chosen Pride and Prejudice as your muse right?"

You just hmm in response, words refusing to leave your body, as you feel drugged by his honey voice.

"Let's get you started then" his eyes sparkling like fireworks.

Completely engrossed into your work, you almost became unaware of wonwoo's presence in the same room as you, posture quite stable now; oblivious of how quickly that composure is gonna get washed off of your body.

"Si-" picking up your head from the paper, you tried to call out his name as you needed some help with the summary, only to feel a hot breath fanning on your neck, his soft nose brushing againt your skin, as he stretches out his hand to the book infront of you.

"How many times have i told you to call me wonwoo, huh berrybub" the older's voice wooed into your system,his other hand gently tucking in the lose strands behind your ears.

"W-wonwoo can you r-read out this verse to me pls? I can't make out few parts of it" you were yourself astonished at how stable you sounded, completely ignorant of the shiver running down your spine.

"Anything for you y/n" wonwoo spoke out again,his wet lips lightly grazing against your cheeks, as he pulled the book into his hands and took his place back on the chair.

The rest of the session was as quite as a viva room, with him occasionally stealing glances at you, while you kept your eyes fixed onto the table.

An entire week went by like this, where wonwoo would read out the piece to you as you wrote your papers, with a regular comment of "if you keep staring at me like that y/n, then I fear we would be able to submit your work in time" from him. But that one suspicion refused to leave your mind no matter how much you tried.

Strolling down the hallway like a happy puppy, forgetful of all the worries with this newfound feeling of warmth and butterflies, you made your way towards the restroom, when suddenly a hand pulled you back into a dark corner.

"C-chan! What are you doing!" looking up at who this man was, you started feeling heavy in the head almost instantly, chest heaving up and down at the rate of a storm . It was no other than your yandere ex boyfriend, who cheated on you with your cousin sister!!!!

"Missed me princess?" his hands roaming all over your body as he pinned you down to the wall, a dirty feeling gushing over your entire body.

"It's over between us Chan. You knew that I would forgive anything but cheating. And you did the exact same thing. That too with Angie? Pathetic!!!" tears building up in your eyes as you try to sound as confident as possible. "And moreover, I don't think I have feelings for you anymore. Maybe it was never even love"

"Oh such a naive girl you are! You really think i give a shit about your feelings and all?" a devilish grin flashing on his face as Chan brings his lips closer to yours, hands gripping onto your waist tightly.

Your body was starting to give up, tears continously streaming down your face as you kept on praying for him to stop. But this is the 21st century, and God only helps those who help themselves. Coring up all the strength left in your body, you brought up your legs and karate kicked him on his groin.

A painful whimper left Chan's lips as he held onto his throbbing manhood, while you took this chance to run away from his grasp.

Running down the corridors, that now seemed to be endless, with his voice echoing through the walls "I'll not let you go off that easily bitch. Come back here", you tightly shut your eyes closed, desperately waiting for someone to save you from this nightmare.

And looks like the heavens finally listened to your helpless pleas as you felt a pair of bulky arms wrapping around your body like a warm blanket, pulling you into a bleak rim. Both9f your frames sandwiched against each other, hearts beating in unison, as your trembling body was now being warmed with the heat radiating off of you two.

You slowly look up at the man who saved you from that lunatic ex of yours; not like you already didn't recognize him from the strong scent of his cologne. Yes, you were unconsciously so in love with this boy, that you even remembered his smell.

As soon as your eyes met with wonwoo's, the first thing you noticed was some sort of burning rage in him, a fire powerful enough to burn down an entire forest in just a matter of few seconds.

"Wonw-" he didn't even let you finish your sentence before pulling you into the tightest hug, resting his head on the crook of your neck as he mouthed "I'll make sure to destroy anyone who dares to stain this blissful face of yours with teardrops, to lay even a single finger on your body", with an unreadable tone of anger yet sadness.

You hugged him back as tight not knowing what to say, completely taken aback by this sudden comment. Losing consciousness of what just happened with you just few moments back, you two kept on bear hugging each other as if it was the last day the Earth's gonna revolve 'round the sun, with wonwoo being the first to let go.

"I-i am sorry" that's the last thing you heard from him before he left you standing so empty in the dark, mind clouded with a bunch of unanswered questions.

"How can he leave like nothing happened, after what he did that day?" is the only thing that kept eating you out for the next few days, as you kept attending your college, both of you never crossing paths since the incident. Wonwoo didn't even show up to the classes, which surely was of no help to your intense craving. But you were highly stubborn yourself ; if he could ignore those close moments between you both so easily, you could too.

Another strange thing that bugged you was that Chan was never seen in the college campus after that day, ever again. Even his classmates failed to contact him anymore!!!

Throwing away these negative thoughts outta your head, you were strolling down the gallery, all ready to go back home as you suddenly took a halt before wonwoo's office. It was open and left unattended. You don't know what took over you and you entered the same place that gave you so many warm memories. With a silent sigh and sullen face, you carefully inspected the interiors, running your fingers along the places that were stained with his scent.

"Y/n?" the voice your ears have been longing for all these days, disrupted your probe midway. Turning around, your eyes immediately landed onto the figure standing at the door, the one your heart now beats for; at that moment all you wanted was to run to him, pull him into the warmest embrace and never let go.

But your self respect and self doubt was chaining you down, as you lifted up your feet slowly to leave the room, head hanging down low. "Sorry won- I mean sir. Sorry for intervening into your space. I'll be taking my leave"

"Don't! pls!" a muffled voice echoed around the room"W-we need to finish your project. I don't want you to fail because of me."

"It's okay sir. I can do it by myself. Thanks for all you've done for me till now" you blurt out quite sternly, with a hint of underlying taunt.

"P-pls" a sudden change of tone was evident in wonwoo's voice, as if he was on the verge of crying, which was enough to melt your composure. I mean who would want to see their loved ones cry because of them right?!

He guided you to your seat as he swiveled his own towards yours and sat right in front of you,with just a few inches gap between the two.

With a drooped down head, wonwoo pulled out the book from his drawer and took out a kitten shaped bookmark from the last done page. You lightly chuckled at the older's choice of stationary, while bringing out your thesis file.

"Let's start. Only some part is left" eyes still not daring to look at you , he started reading out the last few chapters of the piece, while keeping his gaze fixed between the folds.

Turning the pages to the one marked 157, wonwoo's voice came to a stall, slowly picking up his head from the book,his feline beads finally landed onto yours, hazed by a soft yet painful daze. Wonwoo soon started to read out again, but this time instead of looking at the book, he was looking at you, with a mixed expression of agony blended with intense pining.

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Even though your mind wanted to go by the reason that it was just a line from the novel, your heart exactly knew what he meant. You wanted to let him know how much you loved him too, how much your soul craved for his, how long you've waited for this one moment....but you couldn't! A strange feeling of unjust kept you from running to his arms at that instant; so instead you got up from your chair and twirled around to leave the room as quickly as possible.

"Pls y/n pls don't leave me. Again!" two pair of arms wrapped around your waist tightly, immediately stopping you on your track. "You don't know how happy I was when I got to see you again that morning. I couldn't sleep for nights as i kept on squealing thinking about your smile lit face.You came into my life as the brightest ray when I lost all hope. Pls don't push me into the dark again."

Your heart clenched at the sound of soft sobs coming from your back, as you swiftly turned on your heels, only to be a met with a teary eyed wonwoo.

"I-it was you that night wonwoo?"drops now threatening to slide down your eyes. "They say the heart knows it all. No wonder why it always kept telling me that it was you" you said while wiping off the tears of his pale face.

"I've wanted to have you by my side since the moment you held my hand and pulled me into that hotel" closing the gap between you two as he softly placed his lips on yours ; pulling both being into a soft yet passionate kiss as you reverted back to him with equal thirst.

Grip never leaving your waist, he finally lets go of your lips, as you two gasped for some air, face all stained with fresh hot tears. Not long after, he attacks your face again, but this time painting it with affectionate sloppy kisses all over, as if a lost kitten found their home after days. He couldn't get enough of your body, as his wet lips gradually started going down your jaw and landing onto your shoulder, imprinting his teeth onto them.

Wonwoo gave a small tap on your legs and getting his intentions straight away, you quickly wrapped your legs around his torso, as he carried you towards the couch, unbuttoning your shirt in the mean time.

After he placed you onto the couch gently, sliding a cushion under your head, he carefully positioned himself on top of you.

"Can I?" soon afterward you gave him an assuring nod, wonwoo dived into your body, ripping off the white satin shirt of you, as he started placing wet sloppy kisses onto your chest. Fingers roaming around your clothed nipple, he swiftly freed your breasts off your bra and devoured them into his mouth ; earning soft alluring moans from you that were ringing like music to his ears.

Following a good thirty minutes of ravishing and worshiping your body, wonwoo finally plopped down on the couch, embracing you from behind as he pulled the covers over your bodies [do not ask me how a couch had covers pls]

"If you want you can leave me later, but please let's stay like this for some time" a whimper left his lips as he tightened the grasp around your belly.

Turning around to face him, you cupped his face onto your hands, rubbing your fingers onto his squishy cheeks as you softly assured, "Woo, I was smitten by you the exact day you came into our class. Maybe I couldn't properly recognize your face because of the alcohol, but my heart started longing for you since then. You have no idea on how hard I've tried not to fall, but look at me, I'm now head over heels for you. So don't even think about me leaving you, you dumbo. Neither are you allowed to leave, understood Mr!!" you flooff up your nostrils trying to imitate an angry puppy, earning the biggest flash of sunshine smile from bigger flooff beside you.

my darling,

you would never be unloved by me

you're too well tangled in my soul

finishing off your night with such a beautiful verse, you both drift off to deep slumber, entangled into each other's spirits.

[writeforfandoms]

Warrior Song 3

Find the series masterlist

We're slowly working our way towards a plot and more interaction, I promise. This is all building up to the fun stuff.

Warnings: Swearing, a bit of manhandling. More swearing.

You didn’t see Fernando and the Chief again for a couple weeks after that, as Chief resumed his one man mission to rid the ring of Banished. At least, that’s what you assumed his mission was, based on the tales told by the soldiers. 

Really, all you cared about was that there were fewer attacks, and fewer injuries, and healthier, happier people. 

Still no UNSC rescue mission, but. One thing at a time, you supposed.

Beck stopped by one morning to inform you, rather stiffly, that one of the other bases was sending wounded your way, as they were out of supplies. You didn’t ask for more details, and he didn’t offer. You just nodded and got both exam rooms ready for whatever might end up coming through the doors.

But you still didn’t expect three Spartans to walk in. 

You didn’t falter. You merely looked them over, assessing, before addressing them. “Who’s injured?”

“We’ve been assigned to help you relocate.” The voice sounded like a woman, and she dipped her helmet just a little to you. 

“What?” You blanked for a moment, caught completely off guard. 

The three exchanged a glance, subtle but there. This time, a different one spoke, a man. “The decision was made to consolidate all local forces, but you’re needed sooner. There are patients too high-risk to move.”

You swore softly, grabbing your tablet. “Any idea what they need?” It took only a moment to find a serviceable basket, and you started dumping some herbs in to start. 

“Everything.” The response was dry but you had a feeling also accurate. 

You grumbled a little to yourself but started grabbing more things. “Three Spartans for little ol’ me seems like overkill,” you joked, grabbing a second basket to start piling bandages into. 

“Blue Three will escort you,” the man told you. “Blue Four and I will assist with the rest.”

You paused for a moment, looking at the three of them, and then nodded once. “Excuse me one moment.” Stepping past them without waiting for permission, you went into the hallway. “Lindsay, Carter, I need you both for a minute!” 

“Yeah boss?” Lindsay poked her head around the corner of the other exam room. 

“C’mere.” You beckoned her closer, waiting until Carter trotted over as well. “Apparently,” you drawled in a tone just shy of frigid, making Carter wince, “we are moving camp. I need to go ahead, and if either of you worries about me I will assign you to cleaning for the next month. You two will need to pack up and bring what you can. You know what’s irreplaceable, you know what we can live without. I trust your judgment. Okay?” 

“But–” Carter started, already looking stressed.

Lindsay elbowed him. “Okay,” she agreed, holding your gaze steadily.

“Good. Okay. Behave, we have guests. Pretend we have manners.” You shot them both a grin, counting it as a win when Lindsay laughed while Carter only groaned. 

And then you went back to packing, making sure you had the supplies you’d need. Hopefully. Since you had no baseline to go off of, this would have to do. 

“Ready when you are,” you said to Blue Three, the woman who’d spoken before. Your tablet was the last thing to be added right to the top of the basket. 

She nodded and motioned for you to follow, leading the way outside and over to a Warthog. Ensuring that your baskets were settled and not going anywhere, you sat in the passenger seat. 

Honestly, it felt… odd. To be leaving. This had been, more or less, home base for the past months. To be going somewhere else, even somewhere safe, was… weird. Unsettling. It left you feeling a little adrift. 

“I heard you had contact with the Master Chief.”

You very nearly jumped. Blue Three had been driving silently for the past couple hours, and you hadn’t expected the question. So it took you a moment to get past the thundering of your heart to actually realize there had been a question. 

“Yes, I’ve seen him twice. Last time was a couple weeks ago.” You glanced at her. No further question seemed forthcoming, but she did tip her helmet your way. Just enough. “He seemed okay. No major injuries or anything like that.” You paused a moment. “Although he seems determined to take the weight of everyone stuck on this ring.” 

She nodded once, slowly. But her shoulders had lowered a bit, relaxed a little. Apparently she’d gotten what she wanted. 

Well. If you could provide that comfort, you were happy to. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he shows up again shortly,” you mused, twisting your fingers together in your lap. “He’d better, anyway. Considering the way I’ve heard he throws himself at problems.”

That elicited a snort, and you sat back in your seat, smug. 

At least until you saw where you were heading. Then you leaned forward, eyes wide, as if that would help your view at all. 

“Is that…?” 

“The Mortal Reverie.” 

“Huh.” You tipped your head to the side. “Wasn’t she lost to the Banished?”

“Until recently.” 

“Chief’s doing or yours?” You looked at her this time, one eyebrow raised. 

She didn’t answer, just glancing your way before driving a little faster. You took that as your cue to shut up. 

Fortunately, nobody tried to give you the full rundown right when you arrived. Instead, Blue Three escorted you straight to medical, along with your supplies. You barely remembered to thank her before diving into your work. 

The head medical officer here was brusque, not that you could blame her, but she seemed polite enough and competent. She at least had no problem updating you on everything going on while the two of you worked on the most precarious patients. 

The retaking of the Reverie did mean more supplies, whatever could be retrieved from the wreckage. Some things, like clothes and soap, were easy enough to find. Medical supplies, though… not so much. 

Carter and Lindsay arrived a few days later, along with the rest of that base, and you started them teaching the other techs how to make and use the plant-based remedies. 

Despite having more room to spread out, Reverie Base felt more cramped. There were more people around, more noise. More soldiers. It made your skin itch, made you twitchy and miserable for reasons that you didn’t want to investigate. 

Worst of all, though, was that your new boss imposed limits. She didn’t let you work all day until you dropped, she didn’t let you sleep in the medical bay. She set a strict eight hour work day, barring emergencies, and actually threw you out a few times. 

Leaving you with empty hours to fill and an ache in your chest. 

It was purely by chance that you heard about the volunteer program to go into the wreckage and scavenge what was available. But you signed up as soon as you could, eager to be doing something. Anything other than have free time. 

You were surprised to get paired up with a Spartan to go digging, though. Actually, it was the same Spartan who had escorted you here. 

“Blue Three, right?” You smiled a little at her as the two of you made your way inside the wreck. “Or do you prefer I call you something else?” 

“Blue Three is fine. Or Kelly.” Lights on either side of her helmet flipped on as you got further in, while you were stuck with a handheld light. 

For a while, the two of you worked in silence. Parts of the ship were untraversable, too unstable or just plain wrecked. And what you could get to was grim work, prying open compartments to get at anything useable. 

Kelly at least seemed pleased to have found some ammo. 

“Crew quarters are this way,” she said, looking ahead. At a minor gap. It wasn’t too bad, really. You had no doubt she could jump it easily. 

You, on the other hand. You stared at the gap as if it were a thousand feet deep. “I’ll find an alternate way around,” you offered, a little faint.

She turned to look at you, making you yet again very aware of the unbelievable height of the Spartans. Then she stepped closer to you. “Try not to scream in my ear.”

Before you could protest, she scooped you into her chest (ow, armor) and made the jump. As if you weighed nothing. 

Well. Shit. 

“Next time, give a gal some warning?” you asked as your feet touched the floor again. 

Kelly made no promises, but you could feel the armor moving as she… stifled laughter? Was she laughing at you?

Damn. And you couldn’t even really complain. 

“Are we looking for anything in particular?” you asked, turning away and starting forward. This was going to suck. 

“Anything useful.”

“So, an extra sense of humor.” You couldn’t help the quip, you really couldn’t. 

“Depends on your definition of useful.” She didn’t even hesitate, and you wheezed for a few moments with delighted startled laughter.

It didn’t take long to get to crew quarters, and you split up, each taking a room to start looking. Clothing, tablets not completely broken, anything of use all went into the bag you carried. But you carefully set aside anything personal. 

That wasn’t your burden to carry. 

Once your bag was bulging, you went to find Kelly, and paused outside the door. She was knelt on the floor, bag open next to her. 

Unsure what had her hesitating, you deliberately knocked your foot against the floor, letting it ring hollow in the otherwise still air. She didn’t jerk, but she did lift her head and then stand, scooping up the bag. 

“Suppose we have to jump across to get back,” you mused, looking back the way you’d come. 

“Negative. There’s an alternate route down.” 

You turned to stare at her, incredulous. “Then why did you grab me and jump across?”

She shrugged, massive shoulders twitching, voice bland. Almost too bland. “It was faster.” 

You squinted at her. “One of these days…” you muttered in a vaguely threatening tone. “Fine. Which way?”

“Follow me.” She strode ahead, and you scrambled for a moment to keep up. 

The two of you were nearly out when she paused, glancing back at you. “Why did you volunteer for this?” 

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

“You work full shifts at medical. Why volunteer for this too?” 

You huffed, putting your hands on your hips as you debated the best way to answer. Uneasiness stirred in your gut, reminders of everything gone wrong, and you swallowed. “Best to stay busy,” you settled on. “It’s easier.” Taking a deep breath, you shrugged. “What about you? I would have figured someone like you would have more important things to do.” 

She shrugged again. “Making sure you don’t get killed,” was all she said before striding off again. 

And that? That was… both flattering and humbling. In the extreme. You weren’t sure how to respond to something like that. So you didn’t, just following her back out into the sunshine.

[theaveragepsychoticbitch]

Luke is such a cute character- and now there's five of him?!

Credit to @aphfemamericahero for the inspiration

Including the brothers! Might make a dateables version if I feel like ignoring not seeing my asks some more!

Just a normal day in the devildom, you and the brothers doing normal Devildom things (read: being unreasonably destructive and chaotic) when Luke bounds in absolutely ecstatic!

"My siblings are coming to visit!"

The fuck?

You didn't know he had a sibling. Let alone several.

The day approaches, anticipation building, mounting to a peak-

The celestial realm portal opens, and out comes- another Luke?!

LUCIFER

Surprised, but surprise immediately turns to glee at all the evil teasing he can do

Luke's siblings aren't all exactly like him though- especially the two girls

They dont hesitate join together in bullying Lucifer back, in a very much so "you go low, I go to hell(ironically)" fashion

"Oh look, a litter of Chihuahuas!"

"At least god still loves us."

Despite the increasing urge to punt the lil shits, he adores them the same way he adores Luke- quietly and indirectly, by being there when they need it and using other means (cough Barbatos) to give gifts things he came across and decided he couldn't use

Mammon

Don't tell anybody, but he loves them

They're just soooooo cute! Seeing the Chihuahua's face make so many different expressions, his mouth saying thing's he probably doesn't even think!

He's babying the ever loving shit outta them, and they bask in his generosity.

Especially one brother in particular! Though it's not nearly to Mammon's extent, he's a bit of a tricky one as well

Keen interest in bro's money making schemes, and being a child, no one suspects him when he sends him in to do some "casual borrowing"

The minute Lucifer and Simeon find out, you cringe as you and the brothers attempt to cover five sets of ears

They don't need to hear his screaming

Leviathan

Woah! This is just like that anime [bullshit long title]

He's shy about dealing with them at first, seeing how strong their personalities are.

But oh, the cosplay ideas! He could have FIVE Ruri-chans! Then, he could dress himself and his brothers up and have TWELVE Ruri-chans! It could be Ruri-chan mania!

Goal in mind, he sets out of his cave to face his first obstacle: interaction.

What the hell?! What do you mean you like Ruri-chan too?!

He never expected that a Luke-lookalike would be so.... Cultured!

Together, the two drag their siblings to various cosplay photoshoots that gain them more popularity on Devilgram than Asmo!

Hurry and console the guy before he tries to rip Levi's throat out, please.

Satan

He's keenly interested in how we know for sure Luke is Luke.

For all we know, they were switched at birth and-

He's got a whole essay's worth of shit to say, tune him out and play with quins for your own peace

Once he's finished analyzing their differences down to the bone, he gets very friendly with the girls.

I mean, two pint sized crotch goblins with the gull to talk shit to Lucifer's FACE? Where have they been all this time?! Why weren't they introduced sooner?!?

Similar to Mammon's situation, the girls join the Anti-Lucifer League and get up to all types of crazy, out-of-the-way bullshit

They offer new, fresh ideas to the League, making them irreplaceable and solidifying their lifetime of crime

Lucifer finds out quick what's going on, but Simeon's faster. While Satan and friends can handle Lucifer, an angry Simeon....

I'd say pray for them, but even God doesn't wanna get between that

Asmo

At first, he was simply ecstatic at the two girls!

Luke never lets him do his makeup, despite how cute it would be:(((

But upon finding out what a pension one of Luke's third brother has for makeup, he locks in immediately!

This is way better than Luke! They can have actual conversations, he understands the brands, the blending, beauty!

He appreciates Asmo's collection the way no one else did, could! Why the hell were they only just meeting?!

These two also get into lots of photoshoots, going out to dine together for the simple purpose of Devilgramming the experience, raiding Majolish. The usual.

After the fiasco with Levi, they challenge Levi to an unspoken contest of social media popularity. May the best Devilgrammer win!

Beel

Five Lukes? They must eat a lot. Especially to all be that energetic all the time.

He's extremely protective of them, and enjoys when they use him like a playground, climbing his legs and swinging from his biceps.

LOVES taking them all out to eat, the kind of parent to actually go to McDonald's when the cheering starts

Takes them out on walks Watches them while they play at the park! Lotta nasty demons looking for angel souls, and he's more than willing to devour a low level while their backs are turned.

First time they saw him eat, they were kinda scared. No, really, really scared. Where does it all go??? No way the toilet can handle that!

Still, they love him the most out of all the brothers. Being the only one Luke had mostly good things to say about, their good impression only furthered when hanging out with him.

They even offer to share a cake Luke made with him! Talk about never again.

They'll never need to learn THAT lesson again. Sorry Beel, no more snacks for you.

Belphegor

Ugh. Kids. Loud, noisy, rambunctious kids.

He doesn't hate them, but.... Keep them away from while he's napping, please...

Anyways, after a long day of fucking around with the other Avatars of Sin, the adults are exhausted.

The kids, however....

Are bouncing around, wrecking the place and generally being disastrous

Then you, smart as you are, remember Belphegor is literally the Avatar of Sloth. Can't he help with this???

Unfortunately, his brothers made it so that lying would not work. Yeah, he can help, not that he wants to.

Until he agrees, you really the kids into a screaming competition.

He folded quickly after that.

Sleepy powers on, the kids were knocked out like a pile of puppies in minutes.

Simeon learned how to work a camera for the pictures you got!

They were so cute, even Belphie couldn't deny it.

When Luke woke up and saw the framed photos, he was indignant, unbelievably embarrassed, and made the fact crystal clear to everyone.

All his barking even woke up his siblings, who joined in! Where the hell did Belphegor go?!

He's asleep, somewhere well hidden, enjoying his peace and quiet, naturally.

Not so funny when you're the one stuck with the screaming, huh?

------

A/N: I just wanted to write this real quick while I had the inspiration. I really like this concept, might expand on it more some day. hehe.

Remember, comments are appreciated and encouraged! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed. This work is not spellchecked, sorry.

[electricea]

Thinking back once again to Futaba, he couldn't help but smiles - while Fuuka's words did ring true, the same could also be said for all of them - he knew that he was grateful for Futaba, not only because of what an asset she was to their group but also because of the fun energy that she brought to group outings and hanging out - in such a short span of time, she'd truly become an irreplaceable presence in their group and it was difficult to imagine a time without her.

Nodding with a gentle smile, he affirms. "I think we're the ones lucky to have her to be honest, she's helped us out more times than I can count, I'm grateful for all of my friends, really." That much was said without an ounce of sarcasm or snark. "You must have some pretty amazing friends as well, from the sounds of it,"

He had to admit, responding flirtatiously wasn't exactly as smooth as it might have come off. He was ever conscious and observant of her reaction, trying to look for any signs that she might be uncomfortable - even if he did like to flirt, it was all in good fun and the last thing he would want to do was make anyone uncomfortable, especially a girl as nice as this one.

His breath nearly catches as she opens her mouth to respond and for a second, he braces himself for the scolding that is sure to come - the type of reaction he's typically used to receiving from girls he flirts with, though to his surprise, her reaction was still one of nervousness from the looks of it, yet she also seemed to be surprisingly receptive, as well...? Or at least, receptive enough to not shut things down then and there.

"...'C-Course," He stammers his out respond, a hand running through his hair as he manages the best confident smile that he could muster in that moment. "I always take my promises seriously - especially if they're promises to cute girls," A playful wink accompanied this statement, indicating it was not wholly serious, though he wouldn't mind if it were. Blinking rapidly at her admission, he stays dumbly quiet for several seconds, mentally wracking his brain for a response, before he manages one - albeit not a great one, but still one.

"T-That so...? Maybe I'll get to find out and see,"

electricea​:

The line to get the smoothies had been mercifully short with there being only a few couples standing just ahead of them - although the smoothies themselves had taken a few moments to prepare, this gave him some time to think.

So, who was this girl? Was she from the area or another part of Japan? Was she sick or something…?

Shaking his head, he took each of the smoothies from the employee, making his way back over to Fuuka as her order was handed off to her. Grinning at her assurance that he deserved a treat, he gave her a quick thumbs up before taking a sip of his own drink. “Man, lemonade or anything lemon-flavoured just takes so refreshing, don’t you think?! What’d you get for yourself?”

He spent several moments quietly just savouring the cool and refreshing taste of the drink, only looking over her curiously when he heard her chuckling. Though he initially flushed red and worried that she was laughing at him - his posture slowly relaxing as he reminded himself that she had been a nice enough person, so far - so, why should he jump to the conclusion she was just making fun of him? “I hope I remind you of someone cool,” He chuckles, tilting his head to the side.

“Fuuka, huh? Well, it’s nice to meet you, Fuuka,” He holds out a hand for a handshake. “My name’s Ryuji - and you don’t have to worry about falling - I wouldn’t let you hit the ground, especially not in a cold place like this,” He gives another chuckle, cheeks flushing just a bit as he realized how that could have come off. “…But still, is that smoothie helping you feel any better?”

A small chuckle escaped her lips. “You do, actually. He was always honest and…always watched out for me.” Fuuka admitted softly. She closed her eyes and sipped the smoothie while thinking about her friends, especially Junpei. Still smooth and silly around girls, able to be who he was and always true to himself. Fuuka wondered how it was possible to find the loveable dork of each new Persona users group. Opening her eyes, she looked up at Ryuji and smiled.

“The smoothie is so good! And yeah, it actually is helping.” She could feel her cheeks and her whole body cool off in general. Fuuka never realized that while Iwatodai was a city, it was never this crowded and threw her for a whirl. The crowded area did make her feel sick, on top of the shadows lingering around somewhere. It made her feel uneasy. Fuuka wondered in the back of her mind if she was really ready to help Mitsuru and the Shadow Operatives. “Ryuji-kun,” Fuuka felt a devilish smile tug at the corner of her lips as her finger played with the condensation ring her smoothie left on the table, “if I do ever fall, I hope you will be able to catch me and sweep me off my feet.”

Her eyes were low, eyeing her finger still playing with the water dripping off the smoothie cup, and shifted her eyes to the left and right slowly. Fuuka thought the shadows were underneath her, but with them being as low as they could be, there HAD to be another place to go. She could hear Ryuji being bashful and speaking to her while she zoned out for a moment. She blinked and looked up at Ryuji with soft, warm eyes. “I didn’t mean to be so bold with my word choice. I can not even recall the last time someone was worried about me. So, I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable.” Fuuka put her hands on the edge of the table and slightly lowered her head. “I’ve always been worried about others. Having someone else worried about me made me feel like I could let my guard down a little. And I think it went down a little too quickly.”

[rhysiana]

The weather finally got cold here, so an autumnal modern Suitang thread:

Tang Fan realizes he left his scarf behind just as the train pulls away from the platform, thus losing it forever. He knows better than to entertain even the tiniest hope it will end up in lost & found.

Who would turn it in, after all? It is the best scarf. A wide ribbed knit, nearly three meters long, he can wrap it around his neck multiple times for maximum coziness and still have ends to fiddle with. And so soft! Just acrylic, because Tang Yu knows him and his laundry abilities, but apparently a magical kind that feels like a squishy cloud? It gradually changed color 10 times down the length. He loved everything about it.

He never should have taken it off, he knew that, but the train had once again been at exactly the wrong temperature for how he'd been dressed to be outside. They manage this so often he's sure it must be on purpose. He keeps meaning to write to complain about it.

He won't remember to look up the contact info to do so today either, because he is both in mourning and on a mission! He'll never see that particular scarf again, so he must get a new one!

The first step is to ask his sister where she got it. (He knows better than to think she knitted it herself. She's had no time since she went back to work after the divorce, and he's happy for her.) She’s given up trying to convince him he can afford to turn the heat up a little in the winters now. Yes, he is an adult with a job, but as long as he can still move his fingers to type in the evenings, it's warm enough. He needs that money for books and snacks! Hence her gift of the scarf and some fingerless gloves. The scarf that is now lost.

But if he has to get a new scarf anyway, the endless spinning of his mind says, why not see if he can get specific colors? He doesn't want an exact replica of the previous (perfect, irreplaceable) scarf, that seems disrespectful, but maybe...

That settles it. He has to find the exact maker of his scarf and talk to them. Commission them! He will become a brief patron of the knitting arts! (It's 2am by now and he's gone down a rabbit hole on 3 different crafting/yarn websites.)

When Tang Yu replies to his texts at a very sane hour the next day, she says she got it at a co-op stall in the street market near her apartment. She's not sure which of their knitters made it, but he could ask the woman who does the actual sales at the stall.

*

The knitter, of course, is Sui Zhou, who was assigned it as a therapeutic hobby to try during bouts of insomnia. He'd prefer to cook, but he lives alone and his neighbors were only so willing to accept excess food. (And cooking for random strangers just isn't quite...)

Anyway, the knitting is cheaper and soothing and certainly quiet enough not to travel through walls in the middle of the night, and he's developing the ability to just zone out in a semi-restful way. Unfortunately, he has a lot of sleepless nights and not a lot of need for multiple scarves. After attempting to gift Xue Ling with a third one, the poor man hooks Sui Zhou up with his aunt who runs a handmade goods stall, so at least they all have somewhere to go now.

He's dropping off a new bunch after work, expecting to just hand them over with a quick silent nod as usual, when he hears, "Oh, here he is!" and a firm matronly hand on the shoulder turns him toward an unexpectedly intense (and attractive) young man.

"You!" the young man exclaims, grabbing Sui Zhou's elbow. "You made my scarf!" He is not wearing a scarf.

Sui Zhou furrows his brow. This is not how he was expecting his trip home to go. (The young man's grip on his arm is surprising pleasant. His fingers are very long.)

"I need to commission you!"

No one has ever asked such a thing of Sui Zhou before. His scarves are very basic. Xue Ling's aunt is smiling at them indulgently. "Okay," he finally ventures.

"Great!" The man begins towing him down the alley. "We can talk about it over dinner."

"Who are you?" Sui Zhou finally pulls together the wit to say.

The young man laughs and shoots him a smile over his shoulder, still pulling him along. "Oh, sorry, I'm Tang Fan. I've been looking for you for days."

"For a scarf?"

"For the most perfect scarf," Tang Fan insists.

They have dinner. Sui Zhou somehow ends up paying, but he doesn't mind, because the food he ate while listening to Tang Fan (and watching him gesture expansively as he talked) was the best food had tasted in years.

Tang Fan of course has too many ideas for things to be settled over one dinner. They need to meet again to look at yarn choices. When looking at options online (Sui Zhou's usual method) isn't sufficient, they have to meet at a yarn store instead so Tang Fan can touch things.

Can Sui Zhou do other patterns? Tang Fan really liked his ribbed scarf, but maybe there's something even more perfect. Sui Zhou learns some new stitches and does some test swatches. They have to meet for coffee or tea or lunch or dinner to discuss them.

Sui Zhou knits another insomnia scarf in the meantime and gifts it to Tang Fan as a placeholder. Tang Fan pets it and puts it on immediately. (He's been cold since the ballooning of this project, a problem he knows he caused himself.)

Sui Zhou is starting to realize the Perfect Scarf may never be decided on if Tang Fan is allowed to keep thinking of new possibilities. (Sui Zhou also may be chasing the deep sense of satisfaction he got when Tang Fan put on the placeholder. His work is keeping Tang Fan warm. He can do better.)

He takes matters into his own hands. He invites Tang Fan over for dinner and presents him with a wide, long angora scarf, impractically white in the center, transitioning to black at the ends, truly soft as a cloud. Tang Fan goes wide-eyed and briefly silent when he touches it.

Sui Zhou smiles at the reaction, quietly proud, and that's apparently the breaking point for Tang Fan, who throws himself at Sui Zhou in an overwhelming embrace.

"It's too much, Sui Zhou. Why are you so nice to me?" he says into the side of Sui Zhou's neck.

"You deserve it."

Tang Fan draws back to look at him. "I really don't."

How can Sui Zhou explain that Tang Fan brought light and warmth and color back into his world? He can't. He tightens his arms around Tang Fan to try to convey his sincerity somehow. "You do."

Tang Fan blinks at him. Swallows. Licks his lips. And then leans in and kisses him. Sui Zhou melts into it in relief at being understood and kisses back with all his heart.

Some time later, in a pause for breath, Tang Fan asks, "Can you make one with pockets?" Sui Zhou huffs a laugh into his shoulder and vows to make him all the scarves he could ever want.

[teawaffles]

The Fugitives from the Fire: Chapter 1

T/N: Takes place before Chapter 39 of the manga (“The Dark Night of London”). Also, in order to appreciate a certain plot point to the fullest, I would recommend reading Book 2 Story 4 (“It Happened One Night”) before starting this one.

TW for this story // All the elements you would expect from a murder mystery: injury, blood, mention of suicide, violence, death

——The moment Miss Hudson opened the door to his room, Sherlock let out a long, long sigh.

It sounded as if he was squeezing every inch of air out of his lungs.

“What is it, Miss Hudson.”

Sherlock was sunk deep into his armchair, newspaper in hand. As if she could feel a headache coming on, Miss Hudson pressed a hand to her forehead.

“Every single time — what’s going on in this room, Sherlock?”

Frowning, she looked around the flat this great detective shared with his assistant. As always, it was thoroughly in a mess. But as always, Sherlock gave his typical response.

“There isn’t anything to get that upset about, is there? Besides, I’m not doing any scientific experiments right now.”

“I can never understand your concept of hygiene: how do you manage to live among all this without batting an eye……? Anyway, at the very least, make sure it’s clean enough that you’re not embarrassed to let people in. In a sense, we are in the service industry, you know.”

Standing tall and firm in the doorway, she began to lecture Sherlock, when an enigmatic grin broke across his face.

“If a client turns away just upon seeing this, then doesn’t it reflect the triviality of their request? In other words, I’m trying to screen my clients as soon as they enter this room.”

“If you quibble on like that, you’re the one who’s going to get screened out by your clients and lose your income. I certainly detest the idea of allowing someone with no earnings to live here.”

She launched into a scathing rebuke of those lazy words, and Sherlock raised both hands in a gesture of temporary surrender.

“Alright. When John comes back, we’ll tidy up together,” he said, looking out the window.

At that perfunctory remark, Miss Hudson placed both hands on her hips.

“John-kun, John-kun — you never stop talking about him. At least, when it comes to cleaning, I’d like you to do it yourself even without anyone else telling you to. My heart truly goes out to your future wife.”

“No need to worry: I consider myself married to my work.” [1]

“……So that means, I’m going to have a bachelor living here for the rest of my life?”

She thought of herself in her old age, briskly caring for an elderly detective; at that unpleasantly vivid image, a chill ran down her spine. [2]

And so they went on and on like this, as they normally did — when all of a sudden, a knock came from the ground floor entrance. From Sherlock’s experience, a visit at this time was usually linked to a “riddle”.

“Yes yes, please hold on just a moment.”

Breaking off their conversation, Miss Hudson pattered down to the ground floor. Sherlock put his newspaper on the table, and listened as she answered the door.

Then, as he’d intuited, after they exchanged a few words at the entrance, someone promptly came up the stairs — he could hear it creaking — and a familiar face appeared at the open door.

Sherlock flashed him a bold grin.

“——Hey, Lestrade. Tough case?”

It was Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard. Sherlock had brought up a “tough” case as a matter of course, and to that, Lestrade gave a solemn nod.

“Exactly, Holmes. It’s a bit of a tricky one — I need your help.”

“Details?”

Skipping the pleasantries, Sherlock lit a cigarette, as he was wont to do. But Lestrade’s expression turned grave.

“Sorry, but it’s urgent: I don’t have time to fill you in right now. Can we talk in the carriage?”

“Wha? Hmm……”

Looking out the window at the street below, Sherlock began to sway restlessly.

“What’s wrong? Is there a problem?”

The detective didn’t have an immediate response, and as Lestrade questioned him, Sherlock began mumbling to no one in particular.

“Look, can’t you see John’s not here? ……Goddammit, seriously — where did he go?”

“…………”

Lestrade kept his expression sombre, but for a split second, even he nearly broke into laughter at that line. This eccentric man, who lacked scruples about troubling the people around him, had just admitted to feeling an ordinary emotion like loneliness — and it did feel a little odd.

Standing to the side, Miss Hudson also broke into a smile. For the man known as Sherlock Holmes, it seemed John H Watson had already become an inseparable part of his life.

Seeing their reactions, Sherlock narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Oi, why’re you two smiling away? Did I say something weird?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Lestrade replied. “It’s just, that was an unexpected line coming from you, so I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t making fun of you. It’s good that you have such an irreplaceable friend.”

“That’s none of your concern…… Though, is there really no time to wait for John?”

In a flash, Lestrade’s expression reverted to its grim state.

“Sorry, but yes: I want to get going as soon as we can. However, if you need Dr Watson, we could wait a while longer……”

But Sherlock quickly waved his hand, interrupting Lestrade’s compromise.

“No, it’s fine. Anyway, I don’t know when he’s coming back. There’re times like this too.”

Saying that, he stubbed his barely-smoked cigarette in an ashtray, dressed himself and got ready to leave. Uttering a quick word of apology, together with the detective, Lestrade headed to the Brougham four-wheeled carriage waiting outside.

Placing one foot into the vehicle, Sherlock waved to Miss Hudson as she stood at the entrance.

“So, Miss Hudson: I’ll attend your marriage counselling session when I get back.”

“I don’t recall having ever mentioned such a thing?”

She smiled at Sherlock’s joke, concealing within it a quiet rage. As if fleeing from her terrifying presence, the two men set off in haste.

Footnotes:

[1] Oh yes I saw my chance and took it — this is a BBC Sherlock reference |ω･)ﾉ But to be super-precise, I’ve dug into the exact translation in the notes below.

Aside: There was another small reference back in Book 2 Story 1, when Sherlock told William that he was “flattered” :3

[2] This is actually hinted at in the original stories: when Sherlock retired in Sussex, he said he was living with his old housekeeper (Wikipedia)

Translator’s notes

That line about marriage

I took some liberty with that translation, so here’s a more pedantic version of it. The reference comes from Season 1 Episode 1 of BBC Sherlock (“A Study in Pink”), when Sherlock and John were having dinner in an Italian restaurant while on a case.

The line as written in the book: “俺にとっては仕事が嫁さんみたいなもんだからな”

(Because) to me, my work is like my wife.

The line from BBC Sherlock’s Japanese dub: “ジョン、僕は仕事と結婚したつもりだ。” (source)

(It’s a literal translation of the original line below)

The original line from BBC Sherlock: “John, I consider myself married to my work.”

Aside: The “flattered” reference comes from the line immediately after this one — “…and while I am flattered by your interest…”

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Beneath the Surface: A Retelling of “The Frog Prince”

If I’d had any choice, I never would have taken the underground train. I had accompanied Roger to a political summit in the city of Roshen, but spouses leave after the opening speeches, and since I couldn’t leave Roger without the hovercar, I had to use public transportation. The train--built by the natives decades before humanity absorbed Arateph into the Interplanetary Coalition--was a horrible excuse for technology. It rattled me to my destination, jolted me into an underground station, and left me so shaken that I could feel my bones clattering as I climbed up the stairs to the street.

The crowd surged around me as I emerged onto the sidewalk. There were far too many tephans. You know what Arateph’s natives look like—almost like humans, but it’s an unsettling almost. Their eyes just slightly too high on their heads, their ears just slightly too far back, and hands (ugh) split into only three fingers and a thumb. Like a person shaped by a sculptor with a hazy memory of how humans look. I can take them in small doses, but in groups? My skin was crawling. I powered through the crowd as quickly as possible and tried not to let any of them touch me.

I sped several blocks away from the train station before I realized I was nowhere near my hotel. The buildings in this neighborhood were old, made of crumbling stone bricks that had been stacked by physical labor rather than printed by machine. Half the windows were made of colored glass, and half of those were broken. Garbage rustled in the gutters, holes marred the concrete sidewalks, and all the signs were written in an unfamiliar alphabet. I was, somehow, lost in a tephan neighborhood. And not a nice one.  

I turned in circles, trying to figure out which way I’d come. Tephans watched me from storefronts and doorsteps and alleyways, and I kept walking to prevent them from figuring out just how lost I was. I was Priscilla Overton, wife of a Coalition finance minister, pillar of this planet’s elite—and human. Some groups violently opposed human rule, and tephan attacks against humans were on the rise. Who knew what these savages would do if they knew how helpless I was?

I rushed through narrow, dark streets until I reached a wider thoroughfare--a residential area with slightly less grimy apartment buildings. Still not a nice neighborhood, but not a place where I suspected otherworldly rats would tear the flesh from my bones or criminals would murder me for my technology.

I pulled my datapad out of my purse to look for directions. Dead.

I unfolded my wristcomm and tried to call for help. No signal.

I put my fist to my mouth to stifle a frustrated scream. Why did these things happen to me?

I stormed further down the street, cursing Roger for ever bringing us to this planet. We’d been happy on Earth. Comfortable. Respected. With no chance of wandering into streets where aliens stared at you with their off-kilter eyes. The rewards we got for helping to civilize this backward planet weren’t nearly enough to make up for this torture.

I turned a corner and found myself in front of a long, low yellow-brick building with dozens of small windows. The window boxes had flowers in them—fist-sized bundles of tiny red and gold petals. Not something you’d find on Earth, but...nice. Nice enough to pull me down from my fury and make me think I could give my wristcomm another try.

I powered down the wristcomm and stood next to a pink metal lamp post (Arateph has strange color trends) while I waited for it to restart. A metal grate was below my feet. These primitives still used storm drains! I shouldn’t have been surprised, since the road clearly wasn’t made of Draincrete, but it was still jarring. Living on Arateph was a strange combination of living on another world and living in the backward past.

My wristcomm buzzed, still powering up. I was ready to explode with anxiety. There were tephans straggling by—not many of them, but too many and too poorly dressed for my taste. To calm myself, I played with my wedding ring—a gold band with a spray of amethysts and pearls. The ring had been in Roger’s family for centuries. Some days, it felt like my last tie to a familiar world.

I kept my life on Arateph as Earth-like as possible, but it could never be the same as living on Earth. Alien things always lingered at the edges. Trees that turned purple in autumn instead of familiar orange. Toothy red-and-purple-feathered birds that rooted through the trash and woke me with their awful screeching. And around every corner, people who looked like grotesque parodies of my own kind. An entire world conspiring to make me constantly aware of how far I was from home.

My sisters were going about their own lives on Earth, and the few times we could afford appointments at synced comms stations, we found little to talk about--we literally came from different worlds. If Roger and I ever had children--doubtful but possible at our age--our families would only know them as data-images.

This was why I hated being alone on this wretched planet. Gave me far too much time to think about these things.

My wristcomm chimed—finally awake. I unfolded the screen and attempted to bring up my list of contact codes. I found Roger’s; he’d be in the middle of a meeting, but I couldn’t help that. I pressed the code and waited.

A discordant note sounded. No signal. I threw down my hand in frustration. My ring flew down with it. The golden band slipped off my finger, tumbled toward the ground, bounced off the edges of the grate, and fell into the drain.

I gasped in horror and fell to my knees. It couldn’t be, not now.

The ring sparkled in the sunlight, caught on a lip where the structure of the drain met the tube of the deeper pipe. I put my purse on the ground and slid my arm through the grate, but my arm got stuck just above the elbow. The ring was still a foot beyond my reach.

I burst into tears. I couldn’t help it. After the day I’d had—lost among tephans, fighting faulty technology, no hope of help from people who looked like me—this was the last straw. This planet had taken me from my home, my family, my friends, everything familiar, and now it was taking my one reminder of it all. Anybody would have cried.

Long before I felt any relief, a harsh voice broke through my sobs. “Are you finished yet?”

I looked up, furious at whoever was rude enough to interrupt my misery.

A tephan girl sat in the stairwell of the long yellow-brick building next to the gutter. I yelped and reeled back, tears still flowing. Have you ever seen a tephan child? They’re ten times worse than the adults; all their slightly-wrong features stretched even further out of shape, their eyes big and bulging in their heads. This girl was gangly. Her skinny limbs dangled out of baggy green clothes, and a wild brown bush of curls frizzed around her face and over her eyes. By human standards, I’d have judged her to be about twelve years old (though I have no idea if these creatures age like humans). By any race’s standards, she looked positively feral.

I couldn’t believe the creature had spoken to me. “Did you say something?” I asked.

She held up a thick book, bound human-style but with blocky tephan letters on the cover. “Can you cry somewhere else? I’m trying to read.”

She spoke Anglese with only a lightly slurring tephan accent. Somehow, this child spoke the Coalition’s language better than most of the tephan diplomats at Roger’s interminable meetings.

In my shock, I blurted, “How do you know Anglese?”

The creature rolled her eyes. “I go to school. With humans and everything.”

Roger hadn’t been in favor of the integration policy, but it apparently had some benefits. Or would have, had I any interest in talking to the child. Before I could decide if I wanted to reply, I glimpsed the ring again and burst into another involuntary round of tears.

The girl closed her book with a sigh. “What are you crying about anyway?”

I couldn’t tell her that I was crying because of her terrible, technologically backward planet and all its inhabitants, but I had to talk to someone and it was so good to hear human words, even from an alien’s throat. I pointed to the drain. “My ring,” I gasped. “It fell...”

She picked up her book, scrambled down the stairs, and peered in the drain. She huffed and rolled her eyes. “You’re making that much noise over that?”

I drew back my shoulders and snapped, “It’s an irreplaceable heirloom! Centuries of human history! You can’t get those stones anywhere but Earth!”

“Then you should have been more careful with it.”

That made me want to scream, but before I could gather enough breath, the child gathered the book to her chest and turned away. “Can you at least try to keep it down?”

As the girl sat on the building’s stone stairs, the wind tore a scrap of paper out of her book and sent it fluttering. She reached up and snatched it out of the air. My gaze fell on the girl’s arms—long, lanky things that were thinner than human arms. With four-fingered hands that could easily slip between the bars of the grate.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Little tephan girl! What’s your name?”

The girl cast me a dark, distrustful expression, but she finally intoned, “Tanza.”

Not bad, as far as tephan names went. I could pronounce this one. “Tanza,” I said, “Do you think you could reach it?”

The girl shifted her hand behind her back, her face becoming a hard mask. “What do you mean?”

I pointed to her, rambling in my excitement. “Your arms are thinner than mine. Just as long. You could probably reach...”

Her brow furrowed.  “You want me to dig in a sewer?”

“Not a sewer,” I said. “A storm drain.”

“Still dirty.” She looked at the storm drain with narrowed eyes.“If I get it for you, will you go away?”

I wanted nothing more. “Immediately.”

"What'll you pay me for it?"

I felt like I'd been hit by a train. "What? Who said I'd pay you?"

The child pointed one long finger at the storm drain. “If I get dirty digging in there, it’ll be my tenth laundry demerit and I don’t get supper. I’m not doing it for nothing!”

The building behind her held one of the few signs I’d seen with Anglese translations beneath the tephan words: Alogath Charity Home for Unwanted Children. I could see why this child was unwanted.

“I don’t carry cash,” I told her.

“Do you have a credit stick?”

I put a protective arm over my purse. “It’ll be deactivated the moment you touch it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need the whole stick. Just buy me something with it.”

A truck—a noisy, clanking tephan thing that actually rolled on the ground—roared past us. The glimmer on the ring shifted closer to the drain pipe. If I didn’t act fast…

“What do you want?” I asked her.

“A lot of things.” Her eyes went blank as she stared at imaginings only she could see. Finally, she declared, “A meal at the High Palace.”

She really said that! As if it were a reasonable request! I don’t know how this urchin even knew about human restaurants, much less the finest of fine dining establishments.

“That’s ridiculous!”

She shrugged one shoulder. “I lose a meal, you buy me a replacement. That’s fair.”

“Do you know how much a High Palace meal costs?”

“A lot less than it’ll cost you to replace that ring.”

I growled in frustration. The child had me backed into a corner and she knew it. I shuddered at the thought of taking this…thing into the sparkling society of a High Palace dining room.

I pointed a fierce finger at the child. “Only if you give me the ring immediately. Understand? There’s not a place on the planet a creature like you could sell it without suspicion.”

“I don’t want your ring. I’ll live up to my end of the bargain. And you’ll live up to yours, or that ring’s staying where it is.”

Of course I couldn’t really take her to the High Palace, but one more street-rattling truck could take the ring forever out of anyone’s reach. I’d have agreed if she’d asked for a hovercar.

“Fine!” I shouted. “I’ll buy you the meal. Just save my ring!”

The child placed her book on a clean patch of sidewalk and returned to the edge of the street. I snatched up my purse and stepped aside while the girl laid face down in the gutter. She slid her arm through the grate, all the way up to the shoulder. I held my breath for an eternal moment and didn’t release it until the girl emerged with a ring of gold and amethyst in her hands.

The ring sparkled merrily at me, grimy but whole. I snatched it from Tanza's hands and tucked it into an inner pocket of my gray blazer. I wouldn’t wear it again without resizing it—and not until I was in a neighborhood where I didn’t have to worry about it being stolen from my finger.

The child picked up her book and looked at me expectantly. Demandingly.

I couldn’t give her what she wanted. She was a complete stranger. I’d made the promise under duress. Not a court in the universe would hold me to it. What right did a tephan child have to make such ridiculous demands of a woman of my stature?

“Thank you,” I said. “You did a very good thing.” Then I sped down the street.

The creature was right at my heels. “The High Palace is the other way.”

I didn’t know if she was telling the truth. It didn’t matter. I walked faster.

She yanked at my arm. “You promised me a meal!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t get you into the High Palace.”

“A human lady dressed like you? You could get me in if you wanted to.”

I yanked my arm away from her. “What a pity I don’t want to.”

She gave a feral yowl. I started sprinting—or as near as I could manage in the heels I was wearing. The girl kept pace with me. I was a foot taller than her; why couldn’t I outrun her? Could I lose her in her own streets when I was lost myself?

Just when I thought I’d never be able to escape, I rounded a corner and saw the green-and-silver uniform of a Coalition policeman. My heart soared as I raced toward him. Help, protection, guidance, all only a few steps away. Something wonderfully human in this alien world.

“Officer!” I shouted to his retreating back. “Please, I need help!”

The officer stopped and raised a hand. A four-fingered hand. When he turned around, his face had the skewed proportions of a tephan face.

I nearly screamed. I’d stumbled into a nightmare.

The officer said, with the crisp diction of a tephan overcompensating for an accent, “Have you a problem, morik—madam?”

I’d heard that a few tephans had been admitted into the police forces, but I’d never thought I’d meet one. This tephan was young. Wiry and blond. Almost insignificant-looking if it weren’t for the uniform and the stolen sense of authority. Would he help a human?

Tephan or not, he had an obligation to assist the public. “Officer,” I gasped. “I need directions to the nearest train station. I’m trying to get home and this child is harassing me.”

The girl stormed up to him and shrieked, “She’s a liar!”

She shouted a stream of gibberish, and it wasn’t until the officer responded with similar sounds that I realized they were speaking the tephan language. Flowing, musical vowels were interrupted by harsh consonants, like rocks in a river. The sounds sent chills down my spine that only grew fiercer as the officer’s expression grew darker.

When the girl finished, the officer looked at me, not like an innocent victim needing help, but like a criminal who needed hauling to one of their barbaric tephan jails. “You have wronged this girl.”

I lifted my chin. “She’s lying! I’ve done nothing to her!”

“She claims she rescued your ring in exchange for a meal at the High Palace, and you are attempting to break your word.”

“I owe her nothing!”

“Did you promise her a meal?”

I threw out my hands in frustration. “It’s not like we had a contract or anything!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your promise means nothing without a legal document?”

“She had no right to hold me to a promise. I was desperate!”

He put a brotherly hand on the girl’s shoulder. “And she was kind enough to help you.”

I scoffed. “For a heavy price.”

The child shouted, “It’s one meal!”

The officer examined my face carefully. “You are Priscilla Overton, are you not? The wife of the finance minister?”

My jaw dropped. I’m prominent enough in human circles, but I’d never dared to consider that my face was known among tephans. It terrified me, but I knew it could be my ticket out of this. “I am, and when my husband finds out about how I’ve been treated—”

“Your husband is not a popular man. Not among tephans.”

I had never cared about Roger's reputation among the tephans. These primitives didn’t know what was best for their planet. But that wasn’t something I could say when I was alone in a strange neighborhood with two of them.

The officer continued, “It will not help his reputation if his wife is known as a promise-breaker.”

I couldn’t believe it. “Are you threatening me?”

He leaned toward me and said in low tones, “I am helping you.” He gestured to the street around us. “Do you think I’m the only one who heard the girl’s story?”

I shuddered to see a handful of tephans staring at us from among the crumbling buildings.

The officer said, “The Coalition doesn’t care much for tephan opinion, but if there is enough outcry against one man, even a human representative can be released from his job.”

At first, the thought lifted my spirits. Sent home! To Earth! It was what I’d wanted from the moment we’d stepped foot on this planet. But sent home in disgrace? Roger would have no future in government after such a public failure. It would mean everything we suffered here would be for nothing.

I asked the officer, “You really think they’d protest? Just because I didn’t bow to a child’s ridiculous demands?”

“If a person can’t keep a promise made to a child, how can anything they say be trusted?” His tephan gaze raked over me, like he was dissecting my inner thoughts. “Your people may have different ideas, but tephans still value virtue.”

How dare he—this puffed-up primitive in a human position of power—accuse humanity of being inferior?

My opinion didn’t matter. These creatures thought it a matter of morality that I feed this ragged brat finer cuisine than their planet had ever produced, and nothing I could say would change their minds. Now it seems ridiculous to think that those tephans could ruin us, but in that moment, alone in those unfamiliar streets, seeing how these two strange aliens teamed up against me, I could believe their kind capable of anything.

I looked down at the child. Her big eyes. Her frizzy curls. Her long limbs clutching the book to her chest. The grimy, bog-green clothes that fell short of the wrists and ankles. The smug smirk of a spoiled child who knew she was about to get her way. I had never loathed anyone more in my life.

“Do you have a name?” I asked her. “I’ll need a full name for the restaurant register.”

“I told you,” she said, as though she’d expected me to remember. “It’s Tanza.”

“What’s the rest of your name?” Most tephans I’d met had at least three or four names and were obnoxiously eager to explain them.

The girl's face darkened like I’d offended her. “Just Tanza.”

The officer looked at her with new pity, and even I understood why. You know how important names are to tephans. One name was a badge of dishonor--forever marking her as a child who’d never been claimed by any family, who’d never been given anything beyond the minimum necessary label. Tanza would have felt the shame of that, and I wasn’t quite so surprised that she’d turned into such an irritating little brat.

But I had no room for pity. “Do you have anything better to wear?”

She tugged at the cuffs, trying to stretch them over her arms. “Just more green. And all in the wash. Laundry demerits."

The officer said, "It'll do." He knelt in front of the girl, then looked at me and held out a hand. "I'll bet a fine lady like you carries all kinds of cleaning tools."

I sighed and handed him the nanocleanser from my purse. I showed him the power button, then he waved the metal wand over the stains on Tanza’s clothes. After a few seconds, the stains evaporated and the dirt from the gutter fell away as dry sand.

“Good as new,” the officer said, while Tanza gaped at her freshly-cleaned clothes. These primitives were astounded by the simplest things.

The child brushed through her wild curls with her fingers, swept them back over her shoulders, then stood with her hands at her side and feet apart, as if presenting herself for inspection.

I sighed. “I guess it’s as good as we’ll get. Let’s get this over with.”

Tanza tucked her book beneath her arm and her eyes sparkled with victory.

I looked balefully at the tome. “The book’s coming with?”

“Well, I can’t leave it here.”

I considered insisting that she take it back to the home, but I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Bring the book.”

I was seriously planning on entering the dining room of the High Palace with an alien who thought the proper attire included a set of green work clothes and a giant book. I had gone insane.

The officer stepped aside and gestured for both of us to walk past him. “I’ll escort you there.”

And there went my last hope of escape.

#

The officer escorted us through winding streets, side alleys and dried up canals until we finally crossed a bridge into a civilized portion of the city with human-designed buildings. One sprawling building of white stone-print bore a black sign with elegant script that proclaimed it The High Palace.

As we approached the building, Tanza suddenly skittered across my path. I almost tripped over her feet.

I glared at her as she fell into step on my right side. “What are you doing?”

She glanced warily to the street corner. “Kids from school.”

I glanced back and saw a pre-teen human boy with short black hair and immaculate clothing. He leaned against the corner of a building while he spoke with a handful of human friends. Well-groomed, friendly, human—why couldn’t that child have rescued my ring? I’d have been glad to take him as a guest to the High Palace.

As I engaged in fruitless wishes, the human children disappeared, and I arrived with my tephan escorts at the entrance doors of the High Palace. Wide glass windows showed a sparkling three-dimensional display of Old Paris in springtime. Tanza studied the images of bakeries and floral shops and fluttering Earth songbirds, as if attempting to dissect the technology. The few people passing by looked askance at the tephan pair with me.

Tanza asked, “Are we going in?”

I looked back at the officer. He just smiled at me and waved us toward the door.

I took a deep breath, put a hand behind the girl’s shoulders and pushed her inside.

The interior was a vision of white and cream: pale artwork on the walls, a glass fountain trickling crystal-clear water, rugs in intricate shades of vanilla, beige and ivory upon white marble floors.

The street sounds disappeared when the door closed behind us. No foot traffic, no rumbling vehicles, no screeching of alien animals. Just the hush of quiet voices, the gentle strings of a European symphony and the trickle of the fountain. It was like we'd stepped into a different world. My world. Except for the alien next to me.

The host standing guard at the dining room entrance stared at Tanza, then looked at me with the horrified compassion of someone trying to tell you there’s a wasp on your shoulder. “Madam, are you aware…?”

The only way to get through this with any dignity was to brazen my way through it. “I’d like a table, please. Two seats. For Priscilla Overton and guest.”

I thought his eyes would pop out of his head. “Your guest? You mean she—?”

“Is my guest. Is that a problem?”

He stared as if incredulous that I didn’t know the problem. I didn’t even blink.

Finally, he put a stylus to his datapad. “Does this guest have a name?”

The girl stood as straight and dignified as I did. “Tanza.”

He poised his stylus over the datapad. “Anythin—”

“Just Tanza.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he set his stylus aside. “Two seats for Priscilla Overton and…Tanza.”

The host led us into a blindingly beautiful dining room. A full wall of windows overlooked a river that glittered in the afternoon sun. The other walls were meshed with holonet that made the room look like a small nook in a formal European garden, with the tables and chairs surrounded by roses, tulips, lilies, and a thousand other flowers whose names I’d forgotten in my years away from Earth. Real potted plants scattered among the tables added to the reality of the image and the string quartet played some of the finest music from Earth's history. The room was a bastion of civilization in this barbaric world. A taste of home. It was more filling than any food could be.

The host led us to windowside tables with an excellent view of the river. My heart lifted. Prime seating—a sign of my place on this planet, which not even a tephan could take away. And it was flanked by two potted gardenia plants that would screen my guest from the handful of other diners.

I took the right-hand seat and motioned for Tanza to take the chair that sat closest to the shrub. Its branches brushed her as she sat down.

The host left us as a waiter handed us our menus. As Tanza sat down, she reached toward the branch above her head, plucked a single white gardenia blossom, shoved it in her mouth, and began to chew.

I froze in terror, then glanced at the waiter. Had he noticed?

If he had, he’d been well trained. He didn’t even stumble in his recitation of the day’s lunch specials.

“Would you like a few minutes to make a selection?” the waiter asked.

“Yes, yes,” I said, waving him away before my guest could decide to take another nibble of the greenery.

He bowed and vanished toward the kitchen.

When he was gone, Tanza spit the flower into a gold-embroidered napkin and wiped her tongue on the far corner. While her mouth contorted in the most disturbing shape, those tephan eyes glared at me. “That’s not a spiceblossom bush.”

“No,” I said, my tone stretched with scorn. “It’s a gardenia. And the blossoms aren’t for eating.”

She wiped her tongue on another corner of the napkin. “Why do they put flowers by the table if you’re not supposed to eat them?”

“For decoration,” I hissed. “And if you can’t behave in a civilized manner, we’ll leave this restaurant, promise or no promise.”

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t know all the fancy human rules of eating.”

Her sarcasm made my blood boil—until I saw her blush. She was prickly, yes, but unless I was very much mistaken, she was embarrassed. Now she was lost in an alien world, and I’d experienced that sensation too recently not to feel a little sorry for her.

But only a little. She had demanded this, after all, at great expense to me. Let her suffer the consequences.

“Rule one,” I said. “Don’t put anything in your mouth unless I tell you to.” I tugged her napkin out of her four-fingered hands before she could run it across her tongue again. “That includes napkins.”

With the napkin gone, Tanza's tongue was on full display in front of her chin as she kept the taste as far out of her mouth as possible. I don’t know if you know this, but tephan tongues can stretch further and thinner than human tongues, and this child made hers come almost to a point. I couldn’t look at that for the entire meal, but I couldn’t have the child destroying all the table linens either.

I waved over a waiter carrying a carafe of water, and I pointed him to our empty glasses. He leaned over our table and filled my glass almost to the brim. Then he turned and saw my guest—her pale skin, green clothes, those big eyes and that long, thin tephan tongue. He yelped, recoiled, dropped the carafe, and knocked over my glass. Water flooded the table and spilled onto my lap.

The child yelped, shouted something in her alien language and scrambled to pull her book out of the path of the water. An old man at the next table dropped his fork and stared at her. Fortunately, the few other diners in the room were too far away to see.

I hushed the child and found myself in the strange position of apologizing to the waiter while I was the one standing drenched. I didn’t know what reznat meant, but I was sure it wasn’t a nice thing for a tephan to say to her waiter.

“Could we...” I asked as I ran the nanocleanser over my clothes, “have another table?”

“C...certainly, madam,” he said, looking at Tanza as if waiting for her to pounce. I half-expected it myself, from the fierce way she curled around that book.

Once my clothes were dry, the waiter brought us to an empty table nearer the center of the room. No window view. No shielding plants. But it was further from the kitchen—where I was certain all the servers would be gossiping about us as soon as this klutz left us.

Once we were settled with new water glasses and dry menus, the server scurried away as if the girl were a poison frog. Tanza muttered alien words while she brushed water from the edges of her book, and gulped water until she got the taste of the flower out of her mouth. Then she glared at me and reverted back to Anglese. “He almost wrecked my book.”

After watching her lug that book around for an hour, my curiosity—and frustration—were mounting. “What’s that book about, anyway? And why are you willing to curse out waiters over it?”

“It’s a biography of Queen Marastel.” She set the book deliberately on the table, and looked around the room as if daring waiters to spill more water on it. “And it’s mine. I finally have a book of my own, and I don’t want it wrecked by an idiot with a water pitcher.”

The book was thick. What I’d seen of the print was small. It was not a children’s history book. I hadn’t expected this grimy alien child to be the biography type. Was there a developmental disorder that gave children irrational attachments to academic texts?

“Who is Queen Marastel?” I asked.

Tanza showed me the book’s cover. It had a picture of a young tephan woman—in her mid-twenties, to my human eyes—with a pale, narrow face, and deep eyes. The woman's dark hair was covered with an elaborate system of veils, and she wore a dress covered in so many white jewels and so much gray and white beadwork that I almost couldn’t see the ivory fabric underneath.

“Her,” Tanza said. “The last queen of Arateph.”

“Arateph had queens?” I asked in surprise. They hadn’t had queens when humanity had found them. It must have been part of their history.

I’d never thought of this planet as having a history. If I’d considered it at all, I suppose I’d assumed that they’d been muddling along the way we’d found them for the last few centuries, waiting for us to show up and drag them into modern civilization.

Tanza said, “The planet was ruled by a monarchy until about forty years before the Coalition showed up.”

“The whole planet?”

Tanza sat straighter and her diction became crisper—she looked like a little lecturer at one of those cultural symposiums that Roger and I always had to make appearances at. “After Kepha joined the other eleven kingdoms, the entire planet was united under the monarchy for three hundred and fifty-eight years.”

Not just a monarchy, but a planet-spanning monarchy. Such a thing hadn’t happened in all of human civilization, and these people had accomplished it when they were still on their home planet, believing themselves alone in the universe. I hadn’t thought such an archaic form of government could rule an entire continent without overextending itself, yet it had ruled their world for centuries. For the first time, I found myself wanting to learn something from the tephan people. How had such a government come about? How had they managed it?

Why did the woman on the cover look so sad?

I didn’t ask any of these questions because just then, a waiter appeared—not the water-spilling one, thank goodness. (I didn’t trust my guest to look at that one without throwing something at him.) This one was older, with crisp lines in his clothes and face. He looked like he could have won a staring contest with a statue—perfect unshakable professionalism.

“Are you ready to order, Madam Overton?” He didn’t even look at my guest.

Tanza’s eyes brightened as she picked up the menu, flipping through the pages to examine the options.

I asked her, “What you want to eat?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve never had human food.”

My jaw fell. “You wanted to come here and you didn’t even know what you wanted to eat?”

She gave me a withering stare, as though I was the stupid one. “I wanted to try it.” She closed the menu. “Besides, you said I can only eat what you tell me to eat. So what am I allowed to eat, Priscilla?”

I picked up the menu and realized with horror that I didn’t know the answer. What could tephans eat? Were there foods that were delicacies to us and poison to them?

I asked the waiter, “Do you have any suggestions?” I doubted these people served many tephans, but food was their area of expertise, and we were on Arateph.

The waiter looked at Tanza for the first time. “I’ve heard that people of her...race...are rather fond of the amphibian.” He pointed to an entry on my appetizer list. “The frog legs are popular. And a specialty of the chef.”

I hadn’t eaten frog in years. But if I could choke it down for Roger’s political dinners, I could manage it to satisfy a petulant tephan child. “We’ll have that.”

“Excellent. Is there anything else?”

I didn’t want to give Tanza any more chances to upset the wait staff. “No. Just get us our food as soon as possible.”

As the waiter walked away with our menus, an afternoon crowd filled the dining room; within a few minutes, we went from being nearly alone to being surrounded by other diners. I could tell by the sideways glances that most of them noticed my tephan guest. And I could tell that Tanza noticed them. She sat silently at first, growing more and more tense as we all tried to ignore each other, but when a bald man at the next table stared at her for several long moments, she finally snapped.

“Can you stop it?” she barked at him. “You’re giving me the shivers.” The man, red-faced, studied his menu as if his life depended on it.

Tanza turned back to the table, muttering, “You humans look so creepy when you stare.”

I was too stunned to scold her. I’d never considered that the distaste for the other race’s looks went both ways. If she’d lived her life in a mostly-tephan neighborhood, a human face would look just as slightly wrong to her as a tephan face did to me. It sounds strange, but the idea that she found us ugly made me like her more. It certainly made her more relatable.

But I couldn’t have her making a spectacle. “Please, don’t bother the other diners.”

She seemed ready to protest, but I spoke before she could argue. “That woman in your book. You said she was the last queen of Arateph. What happened?”

Her eyes lit up, rude diners forgotten, as she flipped open the book. “Revolution. The People’s House took over and had her and the king executed.”

I shivered. “So violent. And so young to die.”

Tanza gave me a confused look, then glanced at the cover and understood. “Oh, that’s from her first years as queen. She was almost seventy when she died.”

I pictured the woman on the cover with hair turned gray, but the same dark, sad eyes, facing an angry mob as they led her to the scaffold or the firing squad or however these people killed their leaders. It was brutal, but humanity had often been equally brutal, so I couldn’t dismiss it as their backward alien culture.

Tanza flipped through the pages. “They say she was weak and self-absorbed, but this book gives her more depth.” She looked at a page near the cover. “Verai’s a good scholar. Uses lots of primary sources. Very readable.”

Now that her interest was unleashed, Tanza talked on and on, taking me through an alien history, the tale of a queen beset by tragedy upon tragedy as she helped her husband rule a crumbling planet and struggled to produce an heir. All the scholars at those Coalition events were nowhere near as enthralling as this alien child sharing her favorite book.

As fascinating as the story was, I was even more entranced by the pictures—dozens were embedded through the text. Tanza condescended to turn the book around so I could see. It was grandeur like I’d never seen, buildings in alien colors and shapes and patterns, but bringing to mind the grandest palaces in human history, from Versailles to the Forbidden City to the red spires of the North Martian Emperor's summer home. The people in the pictures wore elaborate, brightly-colored clothes, and feasted upon vast tables full of unfamiliar food—including blossoms from the potted trees next to the tables. No primitive civilization could have created such a culture. No wonder this alien urchin was enthralled, and no wonder she’d seized the chance to attend the closest modern equivalent to such feasts that she knew of.

The return of the stone-faced waiter snapped me back to reality. He planted himself next to the table, passing blank-faced judgement by how thoroughly he didn’t look at the book or the way we bent over it. Face burning, I sat back in my chair and felt ashamed to be caught hanging upon an alien’s story like a dim-witted child.

Tanza swept the book under the table and sat primly as the waiters placed the food in front of us. First a gold charger, then the crystal plates bearing the food—ten frog legs, crisply fried in butter and lemon, dotted with parsley and surrounded by a handful of greens.

Half a dozen nearby heads surreptitiously craned in our direction.

The waiters set a similar platter in front of me, and after I’d arranged my napkin on my lap, I thanked the waiter, picked up the silverware, and began to cut the meat.

Tanza watched me carefully as the waiters left. She picked up her silverware, examined it closely—did tephans even have silverware?—and tried to imitate me, but when she touched the food, the prim little professor became the feral street child again. She still used the silverware, but that was her only concession to decency as she gobbled her foot, downing the frog legs almost whole. The butter sauce ringed her mouth and splattered on her clothing. She made the most inhuman snorting noises as she swallowed.

Now everyone was staring—the red-faced man at the next table, his three dining companions, the ten people sitting at the other nearby tables, the waiters who'd halted on their way to the kitchen. People murmured to their companions. Diners flagged down waiters and asked discreetly if there was something that could be done.

My face burned in embarrassment, but I couldn’t stop the girl. With all these eyes watching me—watching me, Priscilla Overton, entertaining an animal at the finest restaurant in Roshen—I couldn’t even speak. I wanted to sink into the carpet. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to run from the restaurant, flee from this planet, and return to comfortable, civilized Earth. But mortification left me paralyzed. I just sat and did nothing as Tanza devoured her food and licked every last drop of sauce from the plate.

Finally, she dropped her plate back on the charger and leaned back with satisfaction. Her big tephan eyes were bright. “That was amazing.” She licked all eight of her fingers, so lost in the euphoria of her food that she was unaware of the horrified crowd surrounding us. She looked at my plate with confusion. “You’ve barely touched yours.”

I let my fork drop to the tablecloth. “I’m not very hungry.”

Her eyes brightened. “Can I have it?”

“No.”

She gave me a disapproving look. “You can’t waste food. At least try to eat it.”

After that display, I’d never be able to stomach another frog leg. “It doesn’t appeal to me.”

“Then I’ll eat it.” Before I could react, she leaned across the table, speared a frog leg with her fork, and was chewing it before she settled back in her chair.

I wanted to scream. I could have tried to correct her, but I had no idea where to begin, and by now, it was far too late.

The stone-faced waiter leaned over my shoulder. He was pale and his eyes were wide—apparently there were some things that could rattle him. “Madam, if you cannot eat your food here, we can send it home with you.”

He was offering me a doggy bag. The finest restaurant in the city, which usually recoiled in horror from such vulgar practices, was so desperate for me to leave that the staff were sending me home with leftovers. I was, in effect, being kicked out.

I didn’t even care. “Yes, thank you.”

In seconds, another waiter appeared, carrying a green box that had probably held some kind of produce in the kitchen, repurposed into this restaurant’s first take-home container. I sat in silence as they poured the frog legs into the container, then I handed them my credit stick, and when I examined the payment screen of their datapad, I added on a gratuity that cost twice as much as the food did. Perhaps with a tip like that, they’d let me show my face here again. At the moment, I doubted I’d ever want to.

I gathered my purse and stood. That creature gathered her ridiculous book and followed me, smiling, out of the dining room.  

When we reached the lobby, I thrust the box into the child's hands. “Take it. I don’t want it.”

The girl's eyebrows rose. “You don’t? Are you sure? It’s really good.”

“I think it appeals more to tephan tastes.”

She thanked me as though I’d given her all the jewels that the queen on her book was wearing, then tucked the box under one arm and the book under the other.

I put a hand behind her shoulders and pushed her out the door. When we emerged onto the sunlit sidewalk, all my frustration exploded.

“There!” I snapped, giving her one last push beyond the awning of the restaurant. “You’ve had your meal. Take your food and go!”

She stumbled forward, then stared at me in bewilderment. “What set you off?”

My laugh was tinged with hysteria. “What set me off? Maybe I’m just a little peeved at being disgraced in front of some of the richest people in the city by a tephan who gobbles her food like an animal.”

She stood with her mouth open, struck speechless. Those big green eyes showed surprisingly human-looking hurt. “Was it that bad? I know I’m not fancy, but...”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t notice all those people staring.”

The creature turned red. She stammered, “I thought it was because I’m tephan. You told me not to bother them.”

I couldn’t bear to have that creature looking up at me with those big, sad eyes. I didn’t want to feel sorry for her. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Maybe in a few years they’ll let me dine there again.” I pushed her steadily but firmly away from the restaurant. “I have more than paid you in full. Thank you for saving my ring. Goodbye.”

Still looking baffled, the girl trudged away from the restaurant. I walked in the other direction.

My anger started fading the moment the child was out of my line of sight. Each step away from the restaurant felt like a step back into a normal world. There were humans around me. I could read the signs. I even knew how to find my way to the train station. I’d be back at the hotel within the hour and I could pretend that this whole horrible afternoon had been a bad dream.

Light footsteps skittered behind me. A green-clad tephan child with a book and a box appeared to my left.

I yelped and reeled back. “What are you—?”

Tanza fell into step beside me. “I’m really very sorry for embarrassing you. I need to make it up to you. Let me show you the way to the train station—”

My previous anger felt like a candle flame compared to the volcano that those words set off within me. “Leave me alone!” I towered over her in my fury. “I gave you your meal! I fulfilled the promise! Now leave!” I stormed away, but at the first sound of footsteps behind me, I whirled around. “I swear, if you take another step toward me, I will see you arrested!”

The child’s face hardened into the petulant mask that I recognized from my first sight of her from the gutter. “Sorry for helping.”

“Helping,” I mocked. “Your help comes at too high a price.” I gave a short, cynical laugh. “I see through your plan. You think you can trail after me demanding handouts all day. Well, I have had enough.” I secured my purse over my shoulder like I was holstering a weapon. “Get out of here!”

Face white and lips tight with anger, Tanza bowed her head and turned away. I strode away in triumph.

An old man looked at me sideways, shaking his head. I made it to the end of the block before the guilt hit me. The old man had reason to disapprove. Tanza had made an offer of help, and I’d responded by screaming at her in a public street. Perhaps she had felt remorse. As embarrassing as it had been to be seen with a girl who ate like an animal, how much worse would it feel to be the one who’d done it? I thought of those pictures in that book of hers. Would I have fared any better at a tephan feast?

I turned around. “Tanza, wait—“

“Hey, Tanza!”

The voice, coming from the other end of the block, was louder, harsher, and younger than mine. A crowd of boys stampeded down the sidewalk—all humans, about twelve years old, and led by a boy with slick black hair and gray and white clothes in the latest crisply-cut fashions. The children Tanza had noticed when we’d first arrived at the restaurant.

Tanza—standing near where I’d left her—tried to move away from them, but hesitated when she saw me standing at the other end of the block. In seconds, the boys had her surrounded.

The ringleader prodded her shoulder. “Escaped from your cage, Tanza? What are you doing among civilized people?”

His yellow-haired friend poked at the box of frog legs. “Looks like she’s looting houses.”

Tanza yanked the box away. “I’m not a thief!”

The ringleader tugged at the book under her other arm. “That’s a big book. Still playing at being smart, small-brain?”

Tanza pulled it back. “Don’t touch that!”

One boy pried up her arm while two others slid the book away from her. “Ooh, it’s a small-brain book!” the ringleader said in mock delight. He flipped through the pages with dirt-stained fingers. “It’s even written in their pretend letters.”

Tanza snarled, “Give that back!”

He slammed it shut and pulled it toward his chest. “Why? Scared it’s too complicated for me?”

“It’s mine!”

He looked at it thoughtfully. “Is it, though? I don’t think a charity case like you can afford a big book like this.”

“It’s mine!” she repeated, nearly shrieking now. “Teacher gave it to me!”

“Bet she stole it,” said a voice from the crowd. “She’s just a grubby little nameless charity house thief.”

Tanza, driven past the breaking point as the ringleader held the book just beyond her reach, shrieked in outrage and pounced. She tore at the book while the boys yanked it away from her. The individuals disappeared into a storm of arms and legs and paper. Five against one. I watched in terror for a few moments before thinking to call for help. I had my wristcomm. I could hit the emergency button….

It was over before I could lift my wrist. Tanza was sprawled across the sidewalk, surrounded by the shredded, dirty pages of her book. Her box had been torn open. Fleshy frog legs were scattered on the ground as though the animals had been thrown against the wall.

The boys, barely scuffed, loomed over her, mocking. They lifted the empty binding of the book like a trophy, cheering over it and slapping each other on the back. Then, satisfied with their destruction, they ran off the way they came, leaving their victim on the ground.

Numbly, I shuffled toward her, feeling lost in a different sort of nightmare--one where I was one of the monsters. Those boys had been waiting for her. If she’d had an ulterior motive for coming after me to apologize, she had been hoping for protection, not handouts. And I’d thrown her to the wolves.

Tanza pushed herself onto her knees and pulled the pages toward her, like a mother hen gathering up chicks. She looked more vulnerable than I’d ever seen her, eyes wide and glistening, her face slack with horror. Her emotionless mask was gone. She pressed an armload of shredded pages to her chest, curled into a fetal position, and cried.

Curled up like that, face and hands hidden, she didn’t look like a tephan. Not like the rude negotiator at the gutter. Not like the little professor or even the animal at the table. She was just a friendless little girl, surrounded by the wreckage of her most prized possession.

I thought of the last time I’d seen her lying in the street, arm threaded through a storm drain while she reached for my ring. The ring was in my pocket, safe and whole. How had I thanked her for her service? Tried to duck out of the promise, treated her like a savage, screamed at her in the streets, and left her at the mercy of bullies.

The ring I loved so much was one of dozens that I’d brought from Earth, and my day had been destroyed at the thought of losing it. This book was the only one she owned, and it was gone forever. I couldn’t imagine her distress.

How had I thought her the savage?  

My stomach twisted with loathing, and for the first time all day, it was directed toward myself. I could fool myself no longer; I’d done nothing to be proud of today.

But that could change.

Approaching Tanza with soft, careful steps, I crouched next to her. “Tanza?” I brushed a finger across her shoulder.

The girl recoiled from my touch and turned away. She came up on her feet, but stayed scrunched into a ball, protecting her pages and hiding her red eyes.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

Her voice was thick with tears. “Go away.”

I grabbed one of the pages. “I can help—“

She whirled her head toward me and snapped, “I said go away!”

I stumbled back, and for a moment I was ready to do as she wanted. This was not my problem and she didn’t want my help.

Then my good sense returned, and I barked, “Don’t be stupid. I’m not going to leave a child in the street.” I started gathering pages. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

I looked around for help. The crowd had merely started taking a wider berth around us, but after a moment, I saw the green and silver flash of a Coalition policeman’s uniform—on a policeman with tephan hands.

I’d never thought I’d be glad to see that officer again. I waved toward him, shouting, “Officer! Please, can you help?”

My voice startled the officer, and his surprise turned to concern as he neared and saw the devastation. He crouched next to us and asked me, “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” I said. The twist in my stomach reminded me that those words weren’t the complete truth, so I amended, “I didn’t destroy the book. There was a group of boys...”

The officer had already turned his attention to Tanza, speaking low-toned words in their tephan language. When they finished, his demeanor toward me was less hostile but more disappointed.

“Now you want to help her?” he asked.

That now was an accusation that cut like a knife. I deserved it, but I met his gaze boldly. “Yes,” I said, daring him to deny me.

He spoke a few more words to Tanza, then told me, “Gather pages.”

He helped Tanza to her feet while I gathered what I could of the paper. Torn edges, smeared alien words, and pictures of long-dead royals who stared at me with accusing eyes. The queen providing food to the poor, shelter to the homeless, clothes to shivering orphans. She’d done all that and wound up executed; looking at Tanza and the tephan officer, I couldn’t help wondering how much worse they thought I deserved.

#

When I’d gathered all the pages I could into a crinkling, crunching mess, I followed in silence as the officer led us along the route we’d taken, every block seeming as long as a mile. When we reached the familiar yellow building where everything had started, I gave the pages to the officer, and he motioned for Tanza to go toward the stair of the building.

“Is there anything else I can do?” I asked Tanza, almost desperate.

Tanza just turned her head away.

“I think you’ve done enough,” the officer said. The words were soft, but I heard the condemnation in them.

I shouldered my purse more firmly, avoided Tanza’s eyes, then asked the officer, “Can you tell me where to find a train station?”

The officer pointed down the street in the opposite direction from where I’d originally approached the building. “The nearest one is just beyond the Killing Square.”

The words shocked me out of the numbness I’d been feeling. “The what?”

But the officer was already rattling off directions, and I was too busy memorizing the steps—left, then right, past the purple tower, turn two blocks after the bridge—to ask what exactly a Killing Square was. I didn’t think a uniformed police officer would purposely send me to my death, so I assumed something had been lost in the translation.

“Thank you, officer,” I said when he finished. Then I looked at the girl and added, “Thank you, Tanza.”

Tanza's green clothes—now scuffed from battle—hung loosely off her slumped shoulders. After a long moment, she raised her head and looked at me from beneath lowered lids. “Goodbye,” she said.

Her tone meant, “Good riddance.”

My pride flared at that. I thought I'd been rather compassionate--helping her gather the pages, hailing the officer, even trailing her all the way to her home to make sure that she arrived safely. Surely she could show a little gratitude.

But as I walked through the narrow, battered streets, it was my own rudeness that haunted me. Snatching the ring from her fingers as though afraid she'd contaminate it. Fleeing from her rather than fulfilling the promise. Leaving her to fight five against one when a moment's action on my part could have saved her. All day, I'd thought myself better than her because I was human, but my actions had been inhumane.

I tried to put it behind me. There was nothing else I could do. The book was gone, beyond repair. Tanza probably never wanted to see me again. It was best to move on and forget all about the tephan girl and the dark-eyed queen that so fascinated her.

Then I turned the corner and came face to face with Queen Marastel. A picture on the gray stone wall, larger than life, showed the woman whose face I’d seen a hundred times in Tanza’s book. I stopped in my tracks, mesmerized. The image was a photo, more or less, but not like any photo or holo-image I’d ever seen from human technology. The colors were more muted than reality, while a strange vibrant shimmer added depth to the image, so it looked as though I could walk inside the pictured scene with a little effort.

The queen’s hair had gone completely gray, her jewels were gone, and her vividly colored gowns had been replaced by a white fabric sheath. What I noticed most were her eyes—they were striking in most of the book photos, but here, her gaze knocked the breath from me. Surely no human gaze could show that much sorrow.

How was she here? Would this queen haunt me wherever I went on this planet, reminding me of my sins against the child?

I noticed a small plaque next to the picture, with a tiny Anglese translation at the bottom, which explained that the image showed Queen Marastel in front of this very building, moments before she was led to death in the center of the square. “Oh,” I said aloud, turning slowly to examine the streets and buildings around me as understanding struck. “The Killing Square.”

This was the center of the revolution that had ended this planet’s monarchy. It was a hauntingly bland neighborhood; no sign of the violent destruction that Tanza had told me of, not after more than eighty years’ worth of repairs.  But pictures and plaques decorated almost every building I saw, telling the story that time had erased. Seven brothers from Kepha stood scarred but proud before a jeering band of executioners. A red-haired older woman tried to cheer up three children as armed rebels escorted them all to prison. The king himself stood tall and white-haired, every line of his face showing his fierce love for his planet even as his people tried to kill him.

I could list examples all day, but I could never make you understand the feeling of being there, gazing at these people in the moments before their deaths. They were young and old, tall and short, had hair and skin in every imaginable shade. They came from regions I hadn’t known existed--desert wastes and mountain ranges and snow-covered tundras. These people had families they’d hated to lose, homes that were as familiar to them as the cottage by the Atlantic had once been to me. They’d made mistakes and suffered for it. They, too, had regrets.

Fear, anger, hatred, love, bravery, cowardice--every possible human emotion filled those alien faces, and it didn’t take long for me to stop seeing them as alien at all. They were people, who’d lived on this planet just as I did, who had loved it the way I’d loved Earth.

I’d never even wanted to know about this world before, but now I was desperate to understand every story these pictures presented. Without Tanza’s book providing context, would I even have paused to look at these pictures? Would I have cared about these people? I doubted I would have. Tanza's childish enthusiasm for a book had upended my world--as I’d upended hers.

With that thought, I found myself back before the picture of the queen. Her sorrowful eyes pinned me in place. It seemed, to my overworked imagination, that she was disappointed in me.

I glared at her. “What else do you want me to do?” I demanded. “What’s done is done. I can’t fix it. I don’t even know what book it was.”

In that hall of death, it seemed a pitiful excuse.

I tore my eyes away from the picture, and my gaze landed upon a door I’d wandered past in my history-induced daze. It was brown and wide, with a sign above proclaiming it the entrance to the Museum of the Alogath Execution Center. I wandered toward it, then froze in my tracks only a few steps away. Next to the entrance was a window—and through the window, I saw books.

This was a museum! Museums—even tephan ones—had gift shops! If there was one place in this world that sold books about Queen Marastel, it was likely the museum that displayed her face on a public street.

I raced into the building, almost giddy, and found the shop just beyond the main entrance. The tiny nook held pamphlets and trinkets, and at the front of the room, a big, silver BookVend machine printed and bound volumes with lightning speed.

I raced through the door. The tephan woman behind the counter dropped her book in surprise as I leaned, panting, against her counter.

The woman asked in smooth Anglese, “Can I help you?”

I stood up and tried to look less like a maniac. “Yes,” I said, in my best politician’s-wife voice. “I need you to help me find a book.”  

#

The door to the charity home loomed large in front of me. I hesitated with my hand before the door. Was I doing something stupid? The freshly-printed book under my arm might not change the fact that the child would want nothing to do with me.

This wasn't about me. I had to try.

My knock was answered by a pale, knobby tephan woman with wisps of blond hair hanging around her face. She stared when she saw my face and clothes. “Madam?”

“Excuse me," I asked, "but does a girl named Tanza live here?”

The woman's eyes glazed over as she struggled to translate my Anglese.

I tried again, speaking more slowly. “Is Tanza here?”

“Tanza…” She trailed off in confusion before her eyes lit with understanding. “Oh!” Gently, she corrected, “It’s pronounced Tanza.”

It sounded exactly the same to me. I was starting to believe those people who said tephans could speak and hear sounds that humans couldn't.

The woman called into the building, and after a storm of voices and footsteps, a slight tephan girl in green clothes came to the door, her curls making a curtain over her still-puffy eyes.

Tanza scowled when she saw me. “What do you want?”

I took a deep breath and stepped forward. “I wanted to apologize,” I said. “For what happened. How I treated you. You saved my ring and I treated you like an animal. That was wrong.”

Tanza crossed her arms. “Glad you noticed.”

This child kept finding ways to irritate me, but I swallowed my words before I snapped back in response.

I pulled a book from under my arm. “I know this doesn’t erase what you went through, but I wanted to undo some of the harm that I’ve done today.” I handed her the book, which had the same cover as the book she’d brought to the restaurant. “This is for you.”

Warily, Tanza examined the queen on the cover. “It looks the same.” She flipped through the pages, and her eyes brightened. “It is the same!”

“I printed a new copy. There’s a BookVend down the street. You rescued my ring; it was only fair that I replace your book.”

"Yes, but I didn't think..." She examined the book in amazement before turning that astonished gaze upon me. "This is really mine? To keep?"

“Yes, of course,” I said.

Tanza clutched the book to her chest and smiled at me, positively radiant. That smile transformed her from a feral orphan into a polite little princess.

I couldn’t keep from smiling back.

“Thank you,” Tanza said. Then she saw the other book under my arm. “What’s that one?” she asked, as though hoping it was for her and not daring to ask.

I pulled it out and showed her the cover. It showed the same image of the queen, but this time above an Anglese title—The Queen of Sorrow. “The Anglese edition,” I explained. “This one’s for me.”

If I’d thought she was happy before, it was nothing compared to her radiance now. “You’re going to read it?”

I shrugged. "I couldn't resist. You made it sound so interesting."

She bounced on the balls of her feet. “Wait until you get to Chapter Five. That’s when she first meets the king, and you would not believe the uproar it causes."

She set down her book, grabbed mine, and started flipping through the pages, desperate to show me the start of the story.

From down the hall, an adult voice barked, “Tanza! Don’t bother the woman. I’m sure she’s busy.”

Embarrassed, Tanza closed the book. She pushed it back into my hands. “Sorry. I don’t get to talk about it much.”

“I don’t mind. You’re an excellent instructor.”

Her eyes brightened with hesitant hope. “I could show you more. If you want.”

“I’d be grateful.”

Tanza called over her shoulder. “Garsa! Can I have a visitor in the study room?”

The tephan woman appeared in the entryway. She blinked, taken aback. “As long as she leaves before supper."

Tanza looked up at me. “Do you want to stay?”

No tephan had ever asked me that question before. In all my time here, I’d been an outsider. An invader. I’d never had the desire to be anything more. But those words, coming from Tanza, felt like a welcome.  

I was glad to receive it.

I put a hand on Tanza’s shoulder and smiled. “I’d love to.”