#Without just like- simply agreeing with you - an amusing concept to imagine to be sure!

[jeeaark]

could make for one very strange and very odd tasting triple-date night (feat. Squid buddy, and the poor bachelor squad in camp)...good luck greygold XD

Sorry for the late reply regarding the silly Piña Colada Plan, anon!

Also don't. Don't take this one seriously like at all- I just. really wanted to make that pun. Can't resist a silly knight pun.

[saetoru]

[ LOGIC ] ALHAITHAM.

“haitham,” your voice sings, “are you jealous?” you elbow alhaitham’s side, poking his cheek and quirking your brows as an amused grin tugs at your lips. he only grunts, flipping a page of his book without sparing you a glance and pretending that he doesn’t hear you. “i know you heard me,” you pester, “you are jealous, huh?”

“i have nothing to be jealous of,” he says matter of factly, and though you can’t bring yourself to believe him, you have to admire his persistence even if a little.

alhaitham is not jealous—it’s what he tells himself, at least.

jealousy is an irrational concept, especially when two people have mutually agreed they’re exclusive—which you both have done so already. it’s an ugly emotion, it’s unbecoming of the loyalty you’ve pledged and the trust that exists between you both.

therefore, alhaitham is not jealous.

he simply thinks that logically speaking, the general mahamatra has no business standing that close to you when it’s a well known fact you’re in a relationship. based on his observations (which are seldom wrong) making you laugh so easily should be near impossible—cyno’s jokes are about as dry as the desert sand itself. alhaitham thinks it must be a pity laugh. it has to be a pity laugh—cyno is not funny, not in the slightest. and the way your eyes twinkle as you talk to him is not fondness, it’s kindness—because you’re a genuine person, that’s all.

he watches you both talk for one second, then two, and then he realizes he’s frowning. why is he frowning? there’s nothing to be jealous of when cyno is involved, the rational part of alhaitham’s mind knows this.

alhaitham is taller, a lot more muscular, he’s the (acting) grand sage—and though he hates the position, it’s evidently popular amongst the ladies. he’s smarter, and though neither him nor cyno are very social, he likes to think he’s better at analyzing people’s emotional responses and understanding human behavior. and besides that, alhaitham knows your favorite coffee order and where your favorite spot for lunch is. he knows the crinkle of your nose means you have more to say but you’re biting your tongue. he knows you laugh behind your hand because sometimes you get shy about your smile.

he knows more about you than cyno could ever imagine exists. logically speaking, alhaitham understands you far better than cyno, and he should be the optimal choice. there’s not anything to worry about, nothing that should concern him in regards to his (very stable) relationship with you. but then he remembers the way you laughed at something cyno said, the way the general mahamtra looked at you in surprise before letting his gaze soften with a tiny smile.

he grits his jaw and closes his book.

“cyno doesn’t know you as well as i do,” he starts, making you blink before you nod slowly.

“yes, that’s true,” you ponder, “i suppose he doesn’t. you’ve known me for quite some time now—”

“cyno wouldn’t have as much time for you with all his duties. i, on the other hand, leave work as soon as the clock hits five pm.”

“that’s true, you do have a tendency to leave even if they need you to stay—”

“cyno’s position as general mahamatra makes him the target of a lot of angry and dangerous people, which could prove unsafe for you too,” alhaitham continues, cutting you off.

you frown, crinkling your brows in confusion, and you have to wonder—where is he going with all of this?

“well, yeah, sure. but just so you know, i’m not weak. i can take care of myself—”

“i never said you weren’t capable,” he says instantly, “but the optimal choice for who to date would be me—which you made the right choice, of course. congratulations.”

you snort, giving him a side eye that makes him raise a brow.

“you’re hopeless, haitham,” you giggle.

“and why is that? i’ve supplied more than enough evidence why—”

and then you cut him off with a kiss. it’s a gentle kiss, a slow one where you cup his cheeks, rub the soft skin in delicate circles with your thumb, cradle the back of his head and hold him close as you linger and let him steal a taste of you while you steal one of him too.

alhaitham pulls away in a daze, the book in his hand falling to his lap without the page marked before he can even realize it, long forgotten as you press your forehead to his.

“only you would give me evidence why i should choose you,” you say, clearly amused.

“technically, it’s not evidence why you should choose me if you already did,” he retorts.

and he’s right—you have already chosen him, and you can’t say you regret it. sure, alhaitham is hard to read and nearly impossible to predict. just when you think you have him figured out, he surprises you in more ways than one. he’s too smart for his own good, and his impressive (and sometimes irritating) ability to come up with a rebuttal to everything has moments that make you want to peel your own skin off. he’s blunt and sometimes dry and it drives you up a wall that he answers you with that know-it-all attitude of his.

he never lets a single emotion sway his decisions, and you often whine over every minor inconvenience. he reads books in his free time while you look for something to watch on tv. he rarely wants to leave the house, yet you always have somewhere you want to explore or a new place you want to try. logically speaking, it shouldn’t work, but it does—and cyno will not disrupt the routine that is you, the routine that has so naturally knit itself into his life, for even one moment.

especially not with those bland jokes of his that don’t even have a proper punchline.

“just because you have an answer for everything doesn’t mean you need to give it,” you huff, “and i’m right this time. you are jealous.”

“like i said,” he shrugs, “i’m not jealous.”

“oh yeah? so if the general mahamatra requested my help for another investigation, then you wouldn’t—”

“the general mahamatra has made it this far without your help,” alhaitham says dryly, and if you look close enough, you might just make out the beginnings of a pout at the edges of his lips.

you laugh, scratching gently at his scalp as your fingers thread into his hair. “why else are you better for me?” you hum, cupping his cheek and kissing the corner of his mouth.

now that—that’s a question alhaitham will always have endless answers too. he relaxes, closes his eyes and lets you kiss along his jaw slowly as his hands find purchase of your waist.

“we’d be here all day,” he mumbles, “it’s a lengthy answer.”

“i got time,” you wriggle your brows. he chuckles—and when you laugh too, the sound of your voice in perfect harmony with the sound of his, he thinks he’s found yet another reason why.

“cyno doesn’t know you sing in the shower when you think you’re home alone,” he smirks, rubbing your hips up and down as you gape at him.

“what do you mean—”

“and he doesn’t know your favorite orders or the way you like your coffee. overall, the best option for you is me,” he nods, fighting back a chuckle when you roll your eyes.

“you sure put a lot of thought into this,” you mutter.

“of course,” he shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. and perhaps it is—there’s a sense of rationality he loses when you’re around. instead, a sense of rawness, a sense of something dangerously close to hope. “i spend a lot of time thinking about you,” he adds softly.

your face softens, and your eyes twinkle in a way that they certainly did not when cyno was around—and he suspects it’s from a lot more than just a bit of kindness.

“you sure you’re not jealous?”

“no,” he grins, “i’m very sure i’m right.”

“for once,” you kiss the corner of his mouth, watching it twitch as he stares at your lips and fights the urge to chase after them, “i’ll have to admit you’re right.”

[mmogurl]

In The Shadow of Dragons Chapter 3: Rude Awakening

18+ | 4.5k | Daemon Targaryen X Female OC | possessive, protective, objectifying, simping, raunchy Daemon | Uncle / niece incest, Smut, Dragons, Political Intrigue, Plotting, Murder, lots of old timey concepts that don't make a lot of sense today, but are still kind of hot/fun.

Now just how is Daemon going to pull this one off? Continuing the story from Daemon's POV.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 Also on AO3

The guards outside the King’s chamber regarded him with a suspicious glare, but Daemon just gave a smile and pushed his way inside despite their presence.

“Good morrow, Your Grace!” Daemon shouted loudly as he walked into the room, already fully dressed for the day and as chipper as any man could be so early in the morning.

Viserys startled awake and just as Daemon expected, he looked like he had been dragged through some maester’s leech pit. His face was pale with red-rimmed eyes, tired and blood-shot.

“What is the meaning of this, Brother!? Has someone perished?” Viserys sat up, pulling the sheets around his waist as he looked at his brother with disoriented concern.

“No, no. No one has died, Brother. There’s no need to worry,” Daemon was already opening the curtains to let streams of bright morning light into the room, knowing it would add to the king’s discomfort. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

He turned back to Viserys with a smirk plastered deviously across his face, looking like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. “I do have a solution to all of your troubles, dear brother! Where our precious little Ryna is concerned.”

The king rubbed his head gingerly, letting out a low groan as he turned away from the sudden brightness. “By the Mother’s mercy! I hope whatever you have to say is quick. My head feels like it’s about to split in two.”

Ah yes, exactly as I had hoped.

“Oh, it most assuredly will be brief,” Daemon chuckled, but not without a small pang of sympathy. He’d been in Viserys’ shoes quite a few times, so he knew the feeling all too well.

He stood at the edge of his brother’s bed, resting his hand against the corner post as he continued, “But, first, I want to make sure we are on the same page. I know you wish to see Princess Ryna married, but to a suitable match, yes?”

“Yes, of course!” Viserys shouted clearly irritated by Daemon’s stating of the obvious. “But the girl will not give a man a second glance, let alone a chance to court her!”

Daemon tried to temper the smirk that pulled at his lips as he answered. “Quite simply, Brother… I’ve found a match for our darling girl that she will agree to. No, better than that, a match she will desire.”

The king looked up at Daemon, confusion wrinkling his brow. “And just who in the Seven Hells is the fellow then!?” he grumbled, cogs slowly turning in his groggy head as he tried to figure it out.

The look of bewilderment on his brother’s face was priceless. Oh, this is just too good. He let the anticipation build a little longer before giving the answer he had longed to say.

“Myself, of course,” Daemon finally replied with smug nonchalance.

“You and Ryna!?” Viserys was instantly wide awake and alert, the shock of his words jerking him to the edge of the bed as though he meant to stand. His eyes grew wide as saucers and his mouth fell open slackly. “You want to wed my girl?”

Oh, this is even better than I imagined.

“Yes, Ryna and I, but there is no need to look so startled, Brother,” he retorted, making an effort to keep his voice level so as not to give away his true amusement. “I’m sure once she hears of my proposal, she will gladly accept. Why, it was practically her idea.”

“And what makes you so sure she’ll agree? Have you been conspiring behind my back to ruin another of my daughters?” his voice was growing angry, making his distrust of Daemon’s ‘plan’ known.

Daemon rolled his eyes at Viserys’ question. He knew his brother had a tendency to always think the worse of him, but the accusation still stung.

“Conspiring behind your back? Hardly. I prefer to think of it as finding an effective solution to a problem we both agree needs to be addressed,” he said allowing a touch of frustration to color his words.

“And for your information, it was your lovely daughter who approached me at the banquet last night laden with worries,” he continued, keen to cement his intentions before the king. “She feared you might force her into a marriage that she does not wish.”

Daemon smiled again at the thought of his conversation with Ryna, feeling a surge of excitement at the memory of her in the dark. “I inquired why she’d had such difficulty in choosing a suitor and she admitted that she prizes her Valyrian heritage above all, but does not care for her brothers. And then after speaking to you, it seemed the answer just fell into place.”

Viserys stared at him for a long moment before letting out a groan, rubbing his temples again.

Come on, Brother, you ’re so close. You know it’s the only way.

Finally, the king spoke with a thoughtful, yet slightly melancholy tone. “My lady-wife held onto the hope that Ryna might embrace Aegon as a husband, either by choice or compulsion. The match was a strong one to preserve our bloodline, so I had no objection to it. Yet, I desired for my daughter to have agency in her own contentedness, for we both know that my first born son…. Well, he is not particularly suited for the role of husband to a gentle and spirited young maiden such as my second daughter.”

“That boy is an utter twat! He is even more scandalous than I,” Daemon hissed back with incredulity at the Hightower cunt’s aspirations. How dare she even plant the seed of marrying that rapacious little shit to his darling niece.

The king gave a small resigned sigh, accompanied by a defeated nod. “So, it would seem,” his brother replied, sounding less than happy that his solution would be coming from Daemon. “I should have you sent to the Wall for even suggesting such a thing, Brother. I must say I am not entirely fond of the situation, but I cannot argue with its potential merits. If Ryna consents to this union, then I will permit it.” Viserys paused for a moment and then his eyes sprung open as he added, “With condition.”

Inwardly, Daemon felt his heart leap wildly, but he did his best to remain composed and kept an expression of mild disinterest on his face.

Ah! I ’ve won. Victory is mine!

Daemon raised an eyebrow and held up his hands in a gesture of mock submission. “Name your terms, dear brother,” he urged, remaining mostly stoic. He didn’t want to appear nervous or overeager, in fear it would drive the king’s price higher. But the truth was, he would do anything, sacrifice anything, to possess that beautiful nymph that was his niece. It was a burning need that he must quench.

“The first condition is that you will not lay with her until the wedding night,” Viserys declared, his demeanor stern and unwavering. “There has already been enough talk of Rhaenyra’s exploits and I won’t have Ryna’s reputation tarnished as well. I assure you, should a single whisper from a servant reach my ears, I shall swiftly send you to the Wall to take your vows as a brother of the Night’s Watch.”

The King knows me all too well! Daemon thought to himself, feeling his enthusiasm ebbing slightly at the thought of not having his sweetling before the wedding. Then again, he liked the idea of using creativity to circumvent the rule.

“Agreed,” Daemon conceded with a nod. “What else?” he inquired, silently hoping the next demand wouldn’t as torturous.

“Secondly, you will court her in a proper and honorable manner. You will perform all the duties expected of a suitor. You will spend time with her, in appropriate settings. You will stroll with her in the garden, dance with her at gatherings, and present her with gifts. You will demonstrate to me that you are truly serious about her, that she is not merely a temporary amusement or a means to further your own ambitions.”

Viserys spoke slowly and deliberately, each word imbued with a sense of authority, his directives explicit and firm.

Daemon had to suppress a scoff. I don’t need some courtship game to make her fall for me. She’s all but ripe for the taking…

He kept his expression neutral, determined not to betray any hint of irritation while simultaneously appeasing his brother, and nodded in affirmation once more. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall be the epitome of courtly refinement, a suitor unlike any that King’s Landing has ever witnessed,” he promised as convincingly as possible.

Viserys laughed boisterously, his expression gladdening substantially. “I should like to see that, Brother.”

Don ’t sound so unconvinced, you prick!

Daemon fought hard to repress his grin, but a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth nonetheless. “Be careful, Brother,” he cautioned. “I just might surprise you in this.”

He paused a moment and then tried to conclude the conversation. “I suppose I should begin my courtship then, barring any further objections or stipulations from you, Your Grace,” he said, stepping back from the bed, unable to keep a hint of eagerness from his voice.

“Do not look so pleased, Brother. I am not finished yet,” Viserys said with a glaring smirk. It was clear he was beginning to enjoy holding this over Daemon’s head. “Should I be satisfied and give you my daughter’s hand, I expect you to behave as a proper husband would.” The king was sitting up at the edge of the bed now, arms crossed and sheets still covering the lower half of his body.

His next words made Daemon’s heart beat faster. “You will not see other women, you will comport yourself with decency, and I will expect to hear news of a child on the way within a year of the wedding.”

By the Gods …

Everything the king was demanding was to be expected, but the thought of having to be a proper husband with all the obligations that came along with it was a struggle to bear. Surely his brother’s strong hand would grow lax after the wedding, for there was only so much a man like him could endure.

However, the final condition of Viserys’ terms made him stiffen with arousal. He could already imagine his beautiful girl full and round with his babe… Gods give me strength. The mere idea made him dizzy, but he knew he had to focus on the task at hand, so he pushed all thoughts of that glorious image as far back into his mind as possible.

Daemon finally spoke again with a hint of hesitation in his voice, knowing he needed to be on his best behavior so he wouldn’t lose this opportunity. “Of course, I will behave as an upstanding husband should. I have no heirs, save my twin daughters, and have wont of a male to carry on our name.”

“That pleases me to hear, Brother.” He gave Daemon a thin lipped smile, before letting out a conclusive sigh. “I have my doubts that you will be able to uphold your end of this bargain, but if you make good on your word… If the courtship goes well and it is what Ryna truly wishes, than I shall give my blessing and my second daughter’s hand in marriage.” The king took a moment to collect himself, and a more relaxed expression settled over his face, a hint of satisfaction in his features. “Perhaps it shall go a long way towards mending old wounds, Brother.”

Viserys opened his arms, welcoming his brother into an embrace. With a slight hesitation, Daemon accepted his brother’s gesture of goodwill and leaned in to encircle his arms around his back. It wasn’t often that the two shared such a moment of peace, and he found it refreshing that such a potentially hostile topic might end well. He clapped Viserys on the back before standing upright again, given neither man was taken to such displays of affection.

Daemon looked down at his brother with as much honesty as he could convey. “Old wounds and old grudges, Brother. Let us hope that I shall do us both proud.”

“Join the family for the morning meal and I will announce the courtship,” Viserys said with surprising fondness. “I do not look forward to the irate glances my lady-wife will surely give me from across the table, but The King has cause to make his own choices once in awhile.” He chuckled and laid back in bed, likely ready to slumber for another hour before rousing.

He chuckled, imagining the look on Alicent’s face when she found out. No doubt she will do her best to sabotage this courtship.

“I am quite eager to witness her reaction. I am almost certain steam will shoot from her nostrils.” Daemon replied with a hint of amusement in his tone, barely suppressing a grin. “But I will see you at breakfast, dear brother. Now, I must take leave. I have a princess to court.”

Viserys waved his hand in the air to shoo his brother away, his head already nestling into the plush pillows. With a satisfied nod, Daemon turned and left his brother’s chamber with a grin, already planning his next move.

He could feel the blood coursing through his veins, a burning passion igniting his every step as he moved closer to his prize. The thought of his sweet niece, soon to be his bride, fueled his desire and set him ablaze with a fierce intensity.

His hands curled into tight fights at his sides as visions of Ryna danced through his mind. Soon he would have her all to himself, and he would make her squirm and whine, begging and pleading for him. She many never fully grasp the extent of what he had endured, just to earn the chance to call her his own.

Daemon found himself walking down the hall towards his niece’s chamber, the desire to tell her of his victory, to hear her response and see her smile with delight, now almost irresistible. He knew that such thoughts were driven by his own impulsive nature, and that he must remain rational and patient for the time being, but he could not help himself.

He stood quietly at her door and listened, wondering if she was even awake yet. He heard the sound of shuffling inside the room and then the soft padding of bare feet across the floor.

He could only imagine what she would be wearing. A nightgown, so thin and flimsy it might as well be see-through, and her skin glowing in the morning light. He tried his best to push those lurid thoughts aside, but the mental picture of her was too enticing and it lingered persistently as he finally knocked on the door.

There was an abrupt silence from within the room, followed by hushed whispers as footsteps approached the door. A crack of light shined through and the outline of a young handmaid filled the doorway.

She spoke nervously with her head hung low, avoiding eye contact, “Greetings, My Prince. How may I serve you?”

He was annoyed for a moment that it wasn’t Ryna who had opened the door, but he kept his composure and nodded his head to the girl.

“I’ve come to speak with your mistress,” he replied in a tone of authority. “It’s a matter of great importance.”

“Pardon me. M’lady is not yet ready to receive you,” she said apologetically. “Would you be kind enough to wait a moment while I make her presentable?”

Daemon suppressed the growl that threatened to rise up, knowing he had little choice but to wait, especially if he was going to play by Viserys’ ‘proper’ game.

“Very well, but be quick about it,” he grumbled. “I haven’t got all day.” The last thing he wanted was to sit there while the maid brushed Ryna’s hair and tidied her gown. He wanted her now.

The handmaid nodded adamantly and replied with urgency, “I will make haste, My Prince.”

“See that you do,” he answered with finality as the maid disappeared behind the closed door.

He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms restlessly. The wait was a slow and excruciating one. He found himself tapping his foot impatiently as the sound of whispers drifted from within the room. The young women no doubt discussing the impropriety of receiving a male in her chambers at such an early hour.

His thoughts began to run wild as time passed, envisioning the scene inside the princess’ chamber. Ryna half dressed with ivory skin spilling out in all the right places, standing before her maid, looking beautiful and sweet. She was likely surprised and a bit flustered to have him at her door, and he could almost envision the rosy blush on her cheeks. The urge to open the door and push his way past the servant became so strong it was practically unbearable.

How will I ever survive this courtship?

The door suddenly opened, causing Daemon to look over with anticipation, only to be greeted by the sight of the same maid that had come to the door moments ago. He tried not to let his displeasure show at not seeing Ryna herself standing there in wait, but it only served to make his irritation grow.

“Well?” he inquired. “Is the Princess ready to receive me?”

“She is, My Prince,” the young woman said shyly and backed up, opening the door and standing behind it to let him enter the room unobstructed.

He strode into her chambers with measured steps, his gaze fixed intently on her petite frame. She was so deliciously small, hardly reaching his chin in height, and he savoured the thought of how soft and supple she would feel against his own body. His eyes devoured her from head to toe as a sly smirk crossed his face.

She wore a simple dress of crimson, the bodice lined in yellow gold with a black insignia of the three-headed dragon embroidered in the center of the bust. Her hair hung loosely against her shoulders, golden silver curls brushed out, but not yet braided. She was a sight for sore eyes, his in particular.

“You look lovely this morning, sweetling,” he said with a low rumble as he closed the distance between them. He reached out for her hand and brushed a light kiss against her knuckle.

His delightful, little niece blushed just as he thought she would, a charming look of innocent embarrassment upon her face. Daemon held onto her hand as she began to speak.

“Thank you, Uncle,” she replied nervously. “What brings you here? I was not expecting you.”

My sweet girl.

She was truly adorable with her shy demeanor and her struggle to look him in the eye. He was surprised how easily he had been able to cast aside years of torment with just the simple notion of her returning his affections. The very purity that had once kept him at bay now only served to heighten his desire to corrupt her further, to make her whimper and plead for more of his touch.

“A matter of great importance, my dear girl,” he continued, keeping the caress of his fingers light as he stroked the back of her hand. “I’m here with a proposition, and I should very much like to have your answer. Now.” He winked at her, keeping up the pretense for the handmaid that was still present.

“Oh?” she asked with a curious gleam in her eyes. “What could be so urgent that it could not wait for the morning meal?”

Daemon tried his utmost to resist the urge to seize her and draw her into his arms. The way she looked at him was almost more than he could stand. If only that blasted handmaid were not lingering, watching them like a hawk, he would have her bent over the bed in less than a second.

He took a deep breath, trying to focus on his words, rather than his cock. His voice was softer now when he spoke, but just as insistent, “I spoke to your father this morning… He has given me permission to court you, Niece. I would hear your decision immediately, for he wishes to announce it at breakfast.”

“What?” she looked remarkably surprised. “How!?”

He had to admit, her shock was a refreshing sight to behold. Daemon half expected the girl to throw herself into his arms at the news.

“I have my ways, sweetling,” he answered cryptically with a smirk. “But, first I need your answer. Will you allow me to court you?” There was a soft gasp from the maid and Daemon realized her presence wasn’t quite as aggravating as he’d originally thought. Who better to spread rumors like wildfire than the servant caste. Soon, everyone in the Red Keep would know that he was courting the princess.

And they will all know that she is mine. Just as it should be.

“I cannot believe you managed to convince him. Even for your velvet tongue, that is quite a feat, Uncle,” she looked thoughtful for a moment, as though considering everything that might have been said or promised to make it so. “And it was Father’s wish that we court? A test of devotion, I take it?”

“A test of devotion, indeed,” he said, nodding as he continued to hold and dote on the soft skin of her hand. “Though, I’m sure your father is still not entirely convinced of my sincerity.”

Suddenly, his free hand snaked around her slender waist, drawing her closer until their bodies were nearly touching. A startled gasp escaped the maid at the sight, and Daemon relished the knowledge that their little performance was received so well. He allowed his face to shift closer to her ear, so he could whisper.

“But I have every intention of winning your favor, my sweet, little princess. What say you, hmm?”

Ryna placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back to a comfortable distance once more. Her eyes brimming with eagerness, “Yes, positively yes!” She took both of his hands in hers with a beaming smile that made his chest ache.

She said yes. He had expected the answer, of course, but to actually hear it confirmed was a feeling he could have never truly anticipated. Years of pent up desire and frustration were starting to release and it took all of his restraint to not just kiss her there in front of the damned handmaid.

Daemon pulled her hands up to his lips so he could place a kiss on her skin once more.

“Very good, my sweet girl,” he said with a smug look of satisfaction. “Very good indeed.” Daemon allowed his voice to drop once more so only she could hear. “And I promise to court you properly, so long as you do your part and be a good girl for me. I will not abide any misconduct from my wife to be.”

His voice was practically dripping with mockery for he knew how to play this game. This was all a part of the dance, to lure his niece into giving herself up entirely to him. To make her his, once and for all.

“You know I will not go easy on you just because you are my favorite niece?” His gaze darkened and he allowed a small smirk to play about his lips.

“I w-would never!” she stuttered out anxiously as though he were actually serious. The poor girl was so flustered by what he’d said in front of her maid, that she didn’t even realize he’d been jesting.

He chuckled, amused by the uncertainty in her flickering gaze, and he couldn’t help but smile. He knew he would thoroughly enjoy himself during the coming moon, playing with her and indulging in his desires. However, it was also becoming obvious that the challenge of their courtship would test him like no other had before, as his lustful temptations gew harder and harder to resist.

Daemon smiled wolfishly. “Your decision pleases me greatly, sweetling,” he said in a low voice as he continued to place kisses against her knuckles. “Now we must get you ready. Quickly. We wouldn’t want to keep the king waiting, hmm?”

He let go of her hands regretfully and stepped back to allow the maid to take over. Daemon watched as the handmaid scurried back to the foreground and immediately began busying herself with finishing up Ryna’s morning routine.

With her touch gone, he longed to reach out and grab her once more. His hands burned with the irresistible urge to feel her body beneath his touch. It would be exquisite torture, having her close at hand and yet unable to take her in the way that he wished.

He could feel something primal and possessive stirring inside him at the thought. She was his and she always had been. Since she first came into this world, he had treasured her more than any other. And, once she came of age, he had fought against his desires, finding them wrong and ruinous, yet all of these years later she had chosen him of her own accord. Now, nothing would keep him from her again.

“Uncle,” she interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up in a daze. “I shall need some privacy. I’ll look forward to seeing you at the morning meal shortly.” She smiled, a hint of knowing in her eyes.

“Of course, sweetling,” he managed to get out.

His mind and body were suddenly at odds with each other. One part of him wanting to linger in the room just a moment longer, to catch another glimpse of her sweet smile, while the other part was more than eager to be out of there so that he could have a quiet moment to himself and gather his fraying control.

“I’ll be waiting…” It came out as more a growl than words and he mentally berated himself. You sound like an impatient little boy, you fool.

“Until we meet again, Uncle,” she spoke softly, before turning her head so that the maid could continue working on braiding her hair.

Daemon nodded to her with a grin, his eyes fastened on her for just a moment longer than appropriate, before turning on his heel and exiting the chamber. The door closed behind him and he leaned back against the cold stone wall. His eyes closed as he lout out a long, shaky breath.

Gods give me strength… Read Chapter 4

[wendimydarling]

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112​ gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj​ and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira​ for betaing! 

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death. 

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.” 

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already. 

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet. 

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me. 

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls. 

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I��ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

[bands-we-love-imagines]

Brian Moko imagine (requested)

It seems like yesterday but a year has already passed since you were commissioned to help with the design of the "Without You I'm Nothing" booklet. At the beginning it seemed like an one time opportunity to work with Placebo but with time you rose in their estimation so by now it was impossible to imagine things without you. Tour posters, single covers, merchandise,...it was all in your hands now, together with a small team to assist you with any creative task.

Not only did Placebo and you team up, you became like a family of individualists with the passage of time. You'd hang out regularly, eating together, sharing your daily lives, and you'd always come along when they had interviews or photoshoots. Those events served as an inspiration for your creative work. Being involved with the band on such a personal level was an indispensable way for you to fully tap your potential.

Speaking of which, an interview was planned for today which served to dive into the creative process of creating a new album. Like usual, you came along to simply sit and listen.

"I don't know exactly what we gon talk about, but I'm sure this interview will give me the opportunity to turn the spotlight on you and your amazing work", Brian said while you made your way to the desired destination, a radio station. You rolled your eyes at him with a smile. "You won't. People wanna hear about your music." Stefan shrugged. "They have to listen to whatever we have to say anyways." "You deserve some attention as well, (Y/N)", Steve agreed. "You guys are the sweetest", you said, bashfully smiling.

Radio interviews were one of your favorite events. The people who listened only got to hear their voices, you were able to watch them gesture, make faces and such. Sometimes you would catch yourself staring at Brian a bit longer than a friend and fellow creative head probably should and felt relieved they were focused on answering questions so there was no chance they would ever notice. You hardly dared admitting to yourself that there was a part of you who enjoyed being around this band so much because you loved being in Brian's presence all the time. You lightly shook your head, as if you were trying to shake off those thoughts (never worked though).

"So, besides writing songs and composing, what else is there to do for a band when they're making a new album?", the interviewer asked. Brian's eyes lit up immediately and he wouldn't hesitate for a second to answer this question as if he had specifically prepared for it: "Well, you know, there's another creative process going on which is almost as important: The album cover and the design of our booklet along with merchandise and such. We're actually working with an incredibly talented, young woman who's the creative head in our team, she's, uh, responsible for the whole concept. We met like a year ago and I was fascinated with her work as a visual artist." While talking about you and your work, Brian gestured enthusiastically and couldn't help but smile. Only when he glanced at Stefan for a second who gave him a knowing look with an amused smile on his face he stopped talking, pursed his lips as if he had to hold back from raving and nodded. "So, yeah...that's another part of the album making process", he finished awkwardly. Either the interviewer did not realize what was going on or they simply knew how to act professionally; they continued asking questions without reacting to Brian's answer, which definitely provided a revealing glimpse into his feelings.

You, however, sat there baffled as blush suffused your cheeks. Did you imagine things because you wished so bad for Brian to see more in you than just a close friend? It was so obvious though! Or was it? Preoccupied in thought you did not even catch what they were talking about in the remaining fifteen minutes.

Only when someone put their hand on your shoulder you were torn from your thoughts. You looked up, Stefan gave you a quizzical look. "Everything alright, (Y/N)?", he questioned. You nodded. "Yeah, absolutely! How was the interview?", you asked. Stefan laughed. "Didn't you just watch us give the interview?" All you could do was counter his justified question with an awkward laugh and a nod. Your friend raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're doing okay?" "Sorry, I was just...I zoned out." "I see. And you still haven't fully returned from the place of deep thoughts", he acknowledged. You got up, Stefan put his arm around your shoulder. "Come on (Y/N), let's go."

As you left the place, you wondered: "Where's Brian?" Stefan and Steve both shrugged as if by command. "Who knows. He left real quick, probably had to be somewhere else", Steve mentioned casually. You frowned. "Where'd he go?" "I think he, uh, wanted to go get some cigarettes", Stefan suddenly recalled. Somehow you doubted that. Part of you was convinced it had to do with what Brian had said about you in the interview. You did not have the courage to ask his band mates about it though. Maybe that was for the better anyways. There was still a chance you imagined things after all.

It has been a long day, yet Stefan and Steve were motivated to work on some instrumentals for the album. Talking about their music probably inspired them to get into the creative process again. Usually you'd stick with them and listen to whatever new sounds came to their minds, today you craved some alone time though. You excused yourself with a "gotta clear my mind so I can work on the album layout" and stepped outside, looking up. An eerily white sky announced winter, the air was brisk and clear. As you walked down the street it started snowing gently. You still had no clue where Brian was. Stefan and Steve did not even seem concerned about his disappearance so you figured there was nothing to worry about. Why'd he leave without telling you though?

"Weird", you mumbled to yourself, trying not to think about the smile on his face while he had talked about you for minutes on the radio show. Once again were absent in mind...

"Hey, hey, slow down!"

The sudden interruption got you startled, you were surprised to see Brian next to you. "Brian!" "Sorry...didn't mean to scare you", he said with a chuckle. "I'm not scared", you protested. "You definitely zoned out though, I called your name. Twice." You pouted. "Leave me alone." The two of you walked next to each other. "Where have you been, by the way?" Brian stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Sorry about that. I went to get some cigarettes and had to, uh, sort out my thoughts...and feelings." You gulped. "Oh. What kind of feelings?" While asking you fixated the cobbles underneath your feet. Brian stopped walking, you followed suit. "That's why I was eager to find you", he revealed. "What do you mean?" Brian looked up to the sky as if he suddenly couldn't be bothered with the conversation anymore. "It's snowing. So beautiful."

"Brian."

"Look at those tiny snowflakes", he continued, still staring at the clouds. You shook your head. "What's going on?" "Man, don't you just love winter?" His face lit up with a coy smile. Although you loved his playful side, you couldn't wait any longer to find out wether you were right or wrong. "Stop kidding around, please. Why'd you run away after the interview? Was it because of the things you said about me in there?", you asked before thinking. Now that those words had left your mouth, you were convinced you just made a fool of yourself. You wished the ground would open and swallow you up.

Brian locked eyes with you now, a surprised and mildly embarrassed smile on his face. He himself seemed a bit overwhelmed with your upfront question. "Yeah, about that..." He went silent again. "You're driving me nuts." His features softened as soon as he noticed the distressed look on your face. When he took a step closer to you, you realized how fast your heart was beating and how you were flustered by his presence. "I...I guess I poured my heart out on accident during that interview." "You did?" He bit his bottom lip as he nervously tucked his hair behind his ears, a typical gesture for him when he was feeling abashed. You gave him a sweet smile. "It made me happy to hear you talk about me like that", you admitted, beaming with joy. Every second seemed like an eternity now, meanwhile both of you got covered in snow.

"Being around you just feels so...good. It feels right. You know? I was scared to tell you how I feel because I didn't want to ruin our friendship and everything we have", he confessed, self-consciousness flashing in his eyes. "Oh thank god, I thought I was the only one", you breathed, although you still couldn't believe your ears. "I feel exactly the same, Brian. I...I have felt the same way all the time." Brian was choked with emotion. He gave you a heart-warming smile which eventually turned into a relieved, happy laugh. You felt the urge to be close to him and put his arms around him, giving him a squeeze. Brian stroke your hair softly and whispered: "Since the day we met I felt drawn to you and the feelings never left. It's always been you, (Y/N)." There were so many things you wanted to say, so many thoughts you wanted to share, but at this very moment everything felt...perfect. Brian decided differently though.

"Let's go somewhere more private, should we? Telling you how I feel is nice but I'd rather show you", he said, a cheeky grin on his face. "You're so..." "Irresistible?" You both shared a laugh before you made your way back to escape the falling snow, with cold feet but warm hearts.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Footsteps

Before you start:

This work is unbeta'd and English is not my first language. I apologize in advance for any mistakes you may find.

Victor sighed in relief as he placed his keys on the plate in the hallway, finally finding himself at home after a terrible day at work. It had been meeting after meeting, barely having time for lunch, his phone ringing off the hook, numerous emails waiting for him when he dared to look at his inbox.

To add insult to injury, his day wasn't exactly over. Victor couldn't wait to lie on his sofa and simply enjoy the evening nursing a glass of brandy with his wife in his arms, but he would have to spend it on his study instead, all alone, to attend a conference call with the team in Paris, who was in a different timezone.

His bad mood was somewhat eased with the aroma of delicious food being cooked, his heart taking solace in the sound of his wife and son's voices bantering in the kitchen. At least he was finally home, he comforted himself. For the time being, he would indulge in a hot relaxing shower and a nice dinner with his family.

Owen was always the first to notice when Victor or Andrea arrived, and as usual, he was the first to greet him, running to his arms. Although Victor had been feeling back pain pretty much all day, a customary symptom when he was overly stressed, such was immediately forgotten the moment he had his son in his arms. With heartfelt laughter, Victor threw the boy in the air, having him land safely in his arms with a very tight hug. And just like magic, Victor immediately felt better. His family was all he needed to recover from that awful day and get back on his feet to face another battle.

"What is your mother up to?" Victor asked, playfully disheveling the boy's red curls.

"She's in the kitchen, making dinner. I helped." He beamed at his father. "It's Mom's special fish and shrimp stew."

Bouillabaise, one of his favorites. Comfort food was exactly what he needed. Putting the boy down, Victor moved to the kitchen to find his wife minding the large pot on the stove. He hugged her from behind, his chin leaning on the top of her head.

"Hello, handsome." She turned her head to look at him.

"Hmm." He groaned, burying his face in the nape of her neck, taking comfort in her scent and the softness of her skin.

"Long day?" She reached back to run her fingers through his hair, slightly scratching his scalp, making Victor almost purr in delight.

"Hmmmm." He moaned, too entertained with how she was making him feel to form a proper answer.

"You’re tense." She declared as she reached back to feel his shoulders.

"Just a little tired." His arms circled her waist, as she turned to him.

"Dinner will be ready in 10." She spoke while she continued to work on the knots of his shoulders. "Get yourself out of that suit and have a shower. We got it covered here."

She playfully hit him in the chest, pushing him away from her. As revenge, Victor stole a kiss, a soft sweet kiss that made her sigh when he broke it. Feeling smug with her reaction, he left Andrea to her own devices, heading for the bedroom. A steamy shower definitely sounded very good. Despite Andy's massage, his shoulders still felt sore.

"Owen has some news for us today." His wife declared at the dinner table, winking at their son.

"Let's hear it." Victor lifted his eyes to his son, giving him his undivided attention.

"Next week it will be Career Day at my school." Owen said, excited. "They want us to bring one of our parents to class for Show and Tell, to explain to our classmates what they do for a job."

"What an excellent initiative." Victor nodded in approval, reaching for his glass of wine. "You could ask your mother, she will have a lot to talk about, between her study and LCG."

Owen didn't reply, looking down instead.

"I'm not the only option on the table here." His wife intervened. "You could go."

"Nonsense, you are clearly the best option." Victor retorted. "You could bring the GESA award to show the kids, talk about the study, your work at LCG, how your ideas may change the economy as we know it. Besides, you are practically their size. I bet they will find that both amusing and inspiring." He teased.

His wife was glaring at him, probably not happy with his witty remark.

"I think your mother should go, Owen." Victor concluded, trying to diffuse the tension his joke caused. "I'm sure she will do an excellent job."

"Would you mind coming, Mom?" Owen mumbled, looking down.

"Of course I wouldn't, Bug. It will be my pleasure." She caressed the boy's hair lovingly, a hint of sadness in her smile.

Victor watched both of them, somewhat intrigued. Why were both so morose? Weren't they happy with his suggestion?

"May I be excused?" Owen placed his napkin on the table. "I need to feed my ants."

"You may." Victor smiled. "By the way, how is the colony going?"

"Well." Owen left the kitchen without any other word.

Victor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. When it came to his ant colony, Owen was usually a lot more talkative.

"What's the matter with him?" He almost whispered to his wife. "Did something else happen at school?"

"You are a clueless idiot." Andrea threw at him, irritated.

"What!? Why? What did I do?"

"Don't you think that if he wanted me to go, he would have asked me already?" She scolded him. "He wanted to invite you, and you shot him down before he had a chance."

"Me? You are obviously the best choice, why would he want me?"

"Because you are his father, you big moron!" She almost yelled, carefully adjusting her tone after. "Look, you are his father figure, his male example, the one that he looks up to. He never really had anything like that before. This is important for him, he finally has a father he can be proud of. Basically, he wants to show you off to his friends. God only knows why, you’re an idiot in a suit."

For a brief moment, Victor recalled the moment he sought out for his father's attention and approval, only to be met with closed doors and reprimands on how children shouldn’t waste an adult's time with trivialities. He remembered how much it hurt him to be ignored, to not be important, to be treated like a nuisance. Victor refused to let his son go through the same thing, but most importantly, he refused to be the one making Owen feel like that.

"I see."

"Finally. Now go fix it." She urged.

He found the boy sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, staring absentmindedly at his ant farm. He could see himself at that very same age, and almost guess what was going through his son's mind. Owen was probably blaming himself for not being interesting enough, trying to find a way to make his father notice him.

Victor sat silently on the bed, waiting for Owen to acknowledge his presence. The boy looked at him with sad brown eyes, deep and dark, making the freckles on his nose stand out.

"Is it bedtime yet?" Owen asked, getting up from the floor.

"No, I just wanted to have a word with you."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Do we only talk when you're in trouble?" Victor couldn't help but feel slightly offended. "Sit beside me."

Owen obeyed, sitting next to his father, an expectant look on his face. Victor took a moment to think about how he would approach the subject. He couldn't tell the boy about the conversation he just had with his mother.

"Maybe we made a hasty decision regarding who is coming to Career Day."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I did say your mother was the best choice. However, after careful consideration, I think I may be a very interesting choice as well. I mean, I know most of your friends from playing soccer in the park, I'm fairly popular already. One could even say I'm... cool."

"You want to go?"

"That is for you to decide. But I would be honored if you’d take me."

"I was going to ask you." Owen confessed. "I even asked Mom if that would hurt her feelings, and she said she would be happy if I chose you."

"Why didn't you say so, then?"

"Because I know you are very busy, especially now that you are opening that new business in France. I overheard Mom scolding you the other day for not getting enough sleep. I thought you were saying Mom could go because you were too tired. And if you are too tired, it's selfish of me to ask."

Victor smiled at the little boy as he pulled him into his lap. He was barely five, and he could be so considerate. He playfully poked his little freckled nose.

"Even if that was the case, even if I was too tired, I would still go. You know why?"

The boy shook his head.

"Because I love you." Victor replied in a soft voice. "You are my son, and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Small arms wrapped around Victor's neck in a tight hug. And the sweetest voice spoke the sweetest words.

"I love you too, Dad. Thank you for doing this, it will be so cool!” He jumped excitedly. “I can already imagine what my classmates will say about the cool things you do at work! Do you know what you will bring to your presentation? Megan's father is a trainer at the zoo, she says he may bring a parrot!"

Victor's stomach turned cold. Only at that moment did he realize what he truly agreed on.

The task sounded fairly simple: to explain his job to a room full of five-year-olds. It turned out, it was a lot harder than he expected.

His job entailed many complicated concepts, like risk assessment and profit analysis, and had big words like enterprise value, equity, and horizontal integration. Those things were already hard enough to explain to a child, but worse than that, they were boring. He had to make his job look interesting, and although it would be fairly easy to seduce an adult by showing profit, children didn't respond to money. He had to make it entertaining, and simple. Yet, he had no idea how. Nothing about his job would seem entertaining to a child.

But then one day, while running, he recalled his Economics teacher’s words from one of his lectures: Economy has existed since primitive times, where things were much simpler, and an economic transaction meant trading meat for animal skin or a cutting tool. The act of trading baseball cards during recess could be considered an economic transaction. To explain it, he would just have to trade the fancy terms for things children could relate to.

Finally, he had a plan. A good one. That didn't mean he wasn't nervous.

“Do you want to call Mom and tell her to come instead?” The boy asked from the backseat as they were driving to school.

“What? No, I’m fine.” Victor gripped the wheel tighter, trying to steady himself.

“Are you sure?” Victor saw his boy frown from the rearview mirror. “You look like you have a tummy ache.”

Did he? He immediately relaxed his face, trying to remain expressionless.

“Mom told me you would be like this.” Owen smiled with a knowing look. “She told me to tell you that you just need to use the charm you used on her.”

Yes, Victor could do that, he had some good moments with Andrea. Well, apart from the interview, and when her car broke down, with the heavy rain and... nipples. And being so embarrassed he could barely speak. The memory only made him more nervous.

He marched bravely into school with a box full of containers with cherries and a bag full of lollipops. Owen was exhilarated to have his father with him, jumping happily in the halls, showing him every piece of art he had made that was on display. Victor, on the other hand, was sweating from nervousness, hoping the AC in Owen's classroom was freezing cold. The teacher jumped on the spot when she saw him.

“Mr. Lee?” She came to him hurriedly, looking puzzled when she saw Victor place the containers in one of the empty desks. “The Principal didn’t tell me you were visiting. By the way, where is he? Are you here unattended? Is this about a fund or something? How can I help you?”

“I’m here for Career Day. We still haven’t had the pleasure to meet.” Victor extended his hand to the teacher. “I’m Victor Lee, Owen’s father.”

“Owen, you didn’t tell me your father was Victor Lee!” She looked down on the boy, flushed.

“I told you my father was a CEO.” Owen quipped, frowning slightly.

“Well, still, how would I know it was Victor Lee?”

“My name is Owen Lee.”

The teacher fanned herself, eyeing Victor with a weird smile.

“Mr. Lee, I know that our installations aren’t quite what you are used to, but I hope you do feel welcome.”

“I’m sure they will do perfectly, thank you.”

Victor was wrong. The chairs were too small for an adult, especially one of his stature. However, standing up was also not an option, as he would be beside Owen and he would block the view, so he had no choice but to sit on the tiny chair, with his legs awkwardly crossed, looking like an idiot.

Megan's father was the first, and he did bring the parrot, making him do all kinds of tricks. The children and the teacher laughed at the animal's shenanigans, and Victor couldn't help but feel disheartened, knowing this presentation would be very hard to top.

Then came Caleb's mother, who was a physician. She taught the kids the many functions of the main organs in the human body, bringing with her a kidney in a jar. The class was rowdy as they passed the jar around, amazed to be able to see a real kidney, like the ones they had in their very small bodies.

"Next we have Owen's father, Mr. Lee, a very successful entrepreneur in Loveland. He will talk about his job as a CEO of an investment company." The teacher announced.

Victor faced the twenty children in front of him, who were looking at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to start. In almost 15 years of being a CEO, he had attended important meetings with notorious businessmen, oil tycoons, rulers and politicians. He had dinner meetings with the mafia and other shady characters, people that held incredible power and precious information, but could also kill him without a second thought.

He could conclude, without a shadow of a doubt, that children were scarier.

For a second he wished he could be like Andrea. She would know what to do. She would probably greet the children with a goofy gesture, making them all laugh. She was fun and witty, she knew what children liked. Victor paused, remembering his wife’s words through his son’s mouth. He could be funny too, he always made her laugh, it had become one of his favorite hobbies. Maybe she was right. Maybe he could do this. With a new sense of confidence, and with a side note to thank his wife for her encouraging words, Victor approached his audience.

“Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen.” He started, ceremoniously. “First of all, I would like to thank you for your time and attention, and the honor of your invitation. My name is Victor Lee, and I’m the CEO of Loveland Financial Group.”

Encouraged by their teacher, all the children applauded.

“Before I begin to explain exactly what I do, let me start with a question. Who knows what an investor does?”

All the children were quiet until a little girl spoke.

“Is it someone who goes to the market and screams ‘Buy! Buy!’ and ‘Sell! Sell!’?

“You mean the stock market?” Victor chuckled. “Yes, it can be, although there are many kinds of investments. At LFG, what we do is help companies grow by lending them money, which they pay us, but with interest. Does anyone know what interest is?”

Many kids raised their hands.

“Is it when things aren’t boring? Like, they are interesting?”

“Ha. No.” Victor forgot that the words would have a different meaning to five-year-olds. “For example, someone asks LFG for ten dollars. The company lends it but asks in return for eleven dollars. That extra dollar is the interest.”

“That’s not very nice.” A freckled boy raised his hand. “Sharing is caring.”

Victor felt himself blush slightly. The boy had made a perfectly logical remark that unfortunately didn’t fit in the financial world. And he didn’t have the faintest clue on how he could explain it better.

“It is nice, because my dad doesn’t just give the money. My mom and dad work with the companies to help them grow, and they get to keep the tools she gives them forever. My dad gives them the money and asks for more because he also helps them get better.” Owen chimed in, basically saving him. Although it wasn’t exactly accurate, it wasn’t wrong either. Victor couldn’t be more proud.

“That is correct and beautifully worded, Owen, thank you.” He smiled at his boy. “Now, to fully understand the kind of work that a CEO of an investment company does, I would like to invite you all to be, for ten minutes, CEOs.” He ceremoniously declared. “Owen, could you help distribute the boxes and the candy to your friends?”

Owen quickly obliged, and in a moment, all the kids had with them a box of cherries and a lollipop.

“Ok, imagine you are the CEO of an investment company-”

“What is the company called?” The freckled boy asked again. Victor suppressed a sigh of exasperation.

“Whatever you want to call it. It’s your company.”

“Can I call it Unicorn?” A little girl raised her hand.

“Yes, you can. Now…”

“Can I call it Wayne Enterprises? Do you think I could be Batman?”

Victor’s memory took another trip down memory lane, to the day his wife blackmailed him into making that ridiculous Batman recording. He felt his cheeks getting slightly warmer. Luckily, the teacher intervened.

“Alright class, it’s nice to see you this excited but we need to let Mr. Lee speak, alright?”

“Thank you. So, as I was saying, imagine you are in a meeting, as CEOs, and two different companies are asking for investment: a lollipop factory and an orchard that grows cherries. You can pick only one. Which one would you pick? Place your hand on your choice.”

Every single child, except for one, held their lollipops. He turned to the girl that picked the cherries.

“Interesting choice. Why would you invest in the cherry producer?”

“Because I want to invest in a company that makes a lot of money. Cherries are more expensive than lollipops.”

Victor smiled at her insightfulness. She was probably a CEO in the making.

“True, but cherries only grow in the spring, that’s why they are more expensive. The candy factory can make lollipops all year.” He retorted. “You still think the orchard makes more money than the candy factory?”

“Yes, because my mom will let me have cherries but won’t buy me candy.” A boy chimed in, and other children agreed.

“Demand, very good, we need to see what sells best. What else would you use to make a decision?” Victor was excited, watching the proverbial wheels turn in their little heads. “What does it take to produce each of the products?”

“You need a factory to make lollipops. In an orchard, you just need to water the trees.”

“Very well, and you need sugar, and flavors and other ingredients, while in the cherries’ case, is given for free by nature. So, have we decided on the orchard?”

“Yes!” They screamed in unison.

“Seems like we have a unanimous decision. And for the record, what we just did here is a very simplistic version of a risk assessment, a study every investor needs to make to know if the investment is worthwhile. Of course, there are other things I do as a CEO, but I can’t possibly describe them in such a short time.” He paused for a moment, all the children’s eyes on him. “Does anyone have any questions before we finish?”

“Are all CEOs men?” A girl asked from the back.

“Of course not. Women can be CEOs too, my wife is a CEO from a different company. And if you ask me, she’s more successful than I am.” He made a silly face, and all the children laughed.

He couldn’t believe it was going so well.

“Anything else?”

“My father says businessmen are dicks in a suit.” A boy declared, while his father looked like he was close to infarction.

“Timothy!” The teacher chastised.

“Well, I can tell you that can definitely be true in some cases.” Victor spoke wholeheartedly. “In any area, you can find good and bad professionals. But let me tell you all about the three qualities I feel a good CEO should have.” Victor raised his hand, lifting his fingers as he spoke. “Intelligence, resilience, and responsibility. Intelligence because we need to know where we stand at all times and make quick decisions, and they better be the right ones, or else we can lose our business. Resilience because the financial world is a fluctuating one, and everything may change in a blink of an eye. We must be resilient enough to embrace the change, and make it work in our favor. And lastly, responsibility, because as we invest, we are not only dealing with our money or a faceless company. We can change the world with our choices, allowing technology, health, and education to evolve so there is improvement in everyone’s lives. I personally invest only in companies where employees are treated with fairness, and environmental rules are respected. We need to put the power we hold to good use and make this world a better place. If we all understand the smallest of our actions can impact the world tremendously, I’m sure miracles will happen.”

“Well, that was brilliantly said.” The teacher cleared her throat, starting to clap. “A big applause to Mr. Lee, thank you for being with us today.”

Victor returned to the car with a smug smile on his face, and a sense of accomplishment he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He had done well, he had honored his son and made him happy. However, as he started the car to leave, he saw his son through the rearview mirror, lost in thought.

“Everything ok back there?” He frowned at the mirror. “Is there something upsetting you?”

“No, I’m ok.” The boy looked up.

“You’re happy?”

“Yes.” The boy smiled.

“I think the presentation went well.” Victor started the car. “Your friends seemed to like it.”

“Yes, it was fun! And we had candy and cherries as a snack, none of the other parents brought snacks.”

Victor smirked, adding that point to his mental scoreboard.

“So why the long face?”

Owen seemed to momentaneously return to his thoughts before he answered Victor’s question.

“I don’t think I want to be an entomologist anymore.”

Victor gave his son a knowing smile.

“I knew the parrot would interest you.”

“No, parrots are dumb!” Owen seemed slightly offended. “I want to be a CEO, just like you.”

Victor could remember himself, at the same age, saying the same thing to his father, to get his approval.

“Owen, you can be whatever you want to be. I will still support you, no matter what you decide.”

“Then you’ll teach me?”

Victor smiled widely, his heart filled with pride.

“I will teach you everything I know.” He was about to offer the keys to his kingdom, but then remembered how he refused the same from his father, wanting to make his own path.

The epiphany came suddenly, clearing his vision and the fear he couldn’t shake from his heart: he had traveled a different road from his father in so many ways. He was a present and loving husband, with a healthy relationship with Andrea. And he was a present and loving partner, caring and supporting his son in every step of his life.

And that meant so much more than being a powerful CEO. Those were the footsteps he wanted his son to follow. The ones that led to happiness.

Author's Note: This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[alfredosauce50]

You’re gonna go far, kid [Punk! England x reader]

Synopsis: Ever since coming to England to study, you haven’t had the time to do what made you come in the first place--tourism! The only friend you have is an exchange student from Russia, Ivan, so why not kill two birds with one stone? He schedules a little playdate with Arthur, a local, so he can show you around the hottest spots in London. You two immediately hit it off. Ivan is quick to notice his interest in you, so he starts teasing the poor man and making things hard for him. Camden is the last destination, and there’s no saying when he’ll ever see you again. Will he be able to get over himself and ask you out before the night ends?  Note: Attractions are italicized and have a link to a picture. Wordcount: 4,641 The reader is referred to as she/her.

This was the day you had been dreading, and yet, looking forward to. The first part was easy to explain. Picking up your hot latte, you set it down after a quick sip. You didn’t even have time to enjoy it. Not when you were typing away at your keyboard like a speed demon. You promised your friend you would finish your assignment before today’s meet-up, but your procrastination habits were a bitch. Nevertheless, you were eager to uphold your side of the deal, even if it meant stressing your hair out to get it done. 

So long as he didn’t show up before you were done, right? 

After burning your tongue for the second time that morning, you let out a small groan at the sting you felt but gasped at what you saw outside the window. It was a sound made from genuine terror--rather than the quiet streets of London at seven AM, you spotted a man pressing his face right up to the glass. And he was staring at you, menacingly. 

Anybody would’ve been creeped out by the sight, but you knew the guy. “Aha--Ivan! Hey! Morning?” You began rather awkwardly. 

He waved in response, and his glower melted away in exchange for a childlike smile. “Dobroye utro, (F/N)! I hope that’s not your assignment you’re doing.” He hummed, placing two hands on the glass to peer at your screen from outside. Oh shit. Glancing briefly at said screen, you turned it away before clicking the upload button. 

“Of course not.” You grinned, shutting your laptop immediately after. “I was just... Surfing the net. Checking Instagram. You know?”

“Is that so? I’m gonna check.” He made his way inside. And in no time, he was looming over your shoulder to start browsing through your internet history. You, on the other hand, were sweating balls. 

“You’re so funny, (F/N). Who checks Instagram on their computer?”

It seemed like only yesterday he was the oblivious exchange student from Russia who had no concept of social media. He had been a country bumpkin through and through, but a few semesters after befriending you, your influence rubbed off on him. Even you had no idea what went through your head when decided to talk to him, the intimidating new kid who spoke broken English, but there was no turning back now. He was attached to you by the hip and picked up on your habits faster than you could deal. 

He only became more of a menace when he discovered Twitter.

A displeased expression contorted at his expression when he saw that there was no evidence of you ‘surfing the net’. Google Docs couldn’t possibly count, after all.  “... Hm... Apparently, not you. Why didn’t you finish this yesterday, sunflower? Remember our promise?” 

You sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I passed out last night. But hey, I technically finished it before you came, didn’t I?” 

He craned his head from side to side in thought. “Maybe. But if you hadn’t, you know what that means.” Ivan coiled his arms around your neck and a sickeningly sweet smile curled up at his lips. 

“You will come with me to Moscow for Christmas!” 

A chill ran down your spine at the thought. Going to Russia was bad enough. But during Winter? You were never good with the cold. If you could barely handle London, Moscow was out of the question. “Oh God, please no.” He nodded giddily. “I’m never going to Russia. Maybe I’d consider it during Summer, but--anyway, that’s not the point here! I didn’t break any promises so I won’t be turning into a popsicle this year. Got that?” 

He pouted. “Aw...” 

“You damn sadist.” 

“Hehe.” 

“I wonder how you even became friends with him. Arthur, was it? Poor dude.” You mumbled, but he didn’t look all too offended. 

He tapped his chin and hummed. “Now that you mention it.” Then, he let out a short laugh. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say it was a happy little accident.”

“Unfortunate.” 

“But don’t worry! I don’t plan on bothering you as much as him today.” Ivan clarified, earning a slow nod from you. Phew. The clock was inching closer to eight and you weren’t much of a morning person, so hearing that was like music to your ears. “That’s why I wanted you to finish your work yesterday. I want him to be the only one making mistakes! It’s interesting to see him mess up and get embarrassed.” 

You had to wonder if he was using ‘interesting’ as a synonym for fun because he was clapping. “... Ivan, you really are a sadist.” 

The two of you stayed in that café for another hour or so, ordering some breakfast during your stay. Once the table was cleared and the bill was paid, you and he caught a bus to the London eye. You could marvel at the iconic ferris wheel for a few minutes as you walked up to the London aquarium next to it, your first stop. The building was huge to start with, and it didn’t look like they’d be storing fish in there considering how fancy it was. But wasn’t everything in England fancy? 

“He should be waiting in the front. Look for a short grouchy man with a bad taste in fashion.” You shot him a weird look, beckoning him to elaborate. 

“... And blonde hair.”

“Alright. I guess I’ll try my best.” Glancing around the sea of people filled with tourists, couples, and families, you skimmed the crowd for someone who fitted the description--but to no avail. It was only when they walked up to you both did you find the guy. He had short and choppy blonde hair that framed a heart-shaped face, and under his fringe was a pair of lime green eyes staring on with a neutral expression. And did Ivan say he had bad taste?

You couldn’t agree. Yes, his charcoal pants were ripped and he had a bandana tied around his neck with a Union Jack on it. But he still had a kind of style you liked. Under his black leather jacket was a gray shirt, and combined with the piercings in his right ear, you couldn’t help admiring him for a second. 

“Arthur! I was wondering if you were trampled because we couldn’t find you.” Ivan began, causing the said man to furrow his brows. And boy, were they thick. 

“You just arrived, so don’t start now you twat.” He grumbled. Ivan never teased you for your height, even when you were a little shorter than the Brit. He always found it cute, but you figured it was only because you didn’t care. The Russian always found amusement in poking fun at others, after all. “Anywho, I’m glad I won’t be spending the whole day alone with you.” 

Turning to you with a soft smile this time, he held out a hand for you to shake. “Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland.” 

You shook it, but not without a laugh. It hadn’t even been a minute since meeting him, and his personality seemed to clash violently with his appearance. He sounded so prim and proper, but his outfit screamed punk rock. 

“(L/N). (F/N) (L/N).” 

He released you from his grip. Placing his hands on his hips with an accusing stare, he felt a grin upturn his lips. “Are you copying me, (F/N)?” 

“I don’t know. Do all British people introduce themselves like James Bond?” 

Arthur clicked his tongue. “... Not all of them. Just a force of habit.” 

“Mhm. Right, right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Arthur. I’m a student here too and I could only imagine how busy it gets for you--so thanks for coming out today!” He didn’t respond to those comments and simply nodded. 

Ivan stayed quiet in the back, but he was probably reading the atmosphere like he always did when he didn’t speak. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” The blonde turned on his heel and closed his eyes. “As much as I’d like to stay out here and chat, we can do that in the aquarium. Wouldn’t wanna waste our tickets, do we?” 

While the group of three wandered slowly through the establishment, Ivan lingered in the background while you walked in the front with the Brit. For the first ten minutes, you’d look at him expectantly, gesturing for him to join in the conversation. As the mutual, wasn’t he supposed to be the icebreaker? He’d shake his head every time, offering you a smile as if to say, go and make some friends. But soon, this brief spell of irritation morphed into gratitude.

“I’ve been here probably a hundred times, so don’t take it personally when I don’t seem as excited as you.” Turning to him to watch his face as he spoke--which was filtered through a bluish tinge from the Antarctic setting-- you only caught a brief glimpse of it before he turned away. Huh. Maybe it was just you not paying enough attention. 

Either way, what came out of your mouth next would surely grab his. 

“Don’t worry about it. But hey, this is the first time you’ve been here with me, so look alive, won’t you?” It happened to be a slip of the tongue, something bold and improvised, but luckily, he reacted fairly quickly before the regret set in.

“Oi, you better not be flirting with me already,” Arthur grumbled, feeling another smile come as he heard you chuckle. Since when was he this expressive? He pinned it on the fact that he was starting to have a little fun himself. 

“Couldn’t imagine it.” Before he could add anything else, you hopped in front of the penguins and started waving your friend over with great gusto. “Ivan, c’mere. Arthur, mind taking a photo of us?” Once he joined your side, the two of you held up peace signs for the Brit to snap a photo. 

“Ivan, change your pose. We can’t have both of you doing the same thing.” 

The said man moved his peace sign to the back of your head so he could stick two fingers over it. “Is that better?”

“... Better.” Trailing his emerald eyes to you, he felt his cheeks heat up a touch at the sight of you grinning ear to ear. What the fuck, Arthur. Just take the damn photo. And that was exactly what he did, showing you both right after. Whatever just happened, he boiled it down to him idealizing a stranger. That was right. He had yet to get to know you, so his perception of you couldn’t be any better at this stage. 

But there was one thing he couldn’t deny.

“Damn, I look really ugly in this. You two better not post this anywhere.” You settled a hand over the screen to lower it with a nervous laugh. Then, you looked away, and what was that? You looked a little flustered. 

You were cute.

Hanging his head to look at the photo, he knitted his brows together. You? Ugly? He couldn’t imagine it. 

“... I bet I could take an even uglier one of you.”

Spinning back to him, you folded your arms. “What did you say?” 

“Nothing.” He shook his head slowly, and the amusement in his voice made it blatantly obvious he was lying. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Walking off at that, Ivan followed. Because he was behind him, he could brush his shoulders against his. Arthur looked up at that, but almost wished he didn’t. Ivan was smiling down at him so shrewdly, it was threatening. Then, he raised a hand to his mouth so he could laugh softly. “Huhu. You like (F/N)~” 

His eyes flew open and blood rushed up to his face. “What the hell gave you that impression? I literally just met them!” As adamant as he sounded, he knew deep inside he liked you, but only platonically. Your personality was refreshing, and talking to you was as easy as breathing. Even if it wasn’t platonic attraction, he was endlessly frustrated the other figured it out earlier than he could. 

Whatever it was, he was certainly more sociable than usual, even to the point of being a tease. And not to mention the rosy cheeks. Maybe he should’ve just kept his trap shut--otherwise, his huge outburst let Ivan milk the obvious. Fuck. He even started to giggle like a schoolchild. 

Giving him a rough shove, he muttered a string of curses under his breath.  “I bloody hate your arse, you know that?” He hissed, his face now redder than a tomato. God, why he did have to be born so pale? Every slight change to his complexion was jarring, and it was embarrassing. 

“Don’t hate me because I’m right,” Ivan hummed, joining his side as your back came into view. “Once you realize, it’ll be too late. I’m not letting you have (F/N). I will always be (F/N)’s number one.” Lighting up at that, he skipped off to you in the front. “Wait for me, sunflower! Don’t leave me alone with Arthur!”

Arthur stopped in his tracks and clenched his fists. How annoying. If he was going to continue being a little tyke, then he figured he’d up his game as well. He didn’t know what that exactly entailed yet, but he’d do it. Ivan didn’t even sound like he wanted anything more than friendship, so what was with that? Pointing a finger at him as he walked off with you, his face scrunched up. 

“What did you even call me out for then, you idiot? I’m supposed to be guiding you both!” Picking up his pace at that, he slotted himself between you and him. Flashing you a brief smile, he gave Ivan another push without breaking eye contact. “It’s a tight fit for three, so he’ll stay in the back.” 

“Hey, no fair!” 

By the time the whole aquarium was toured, you and Arthur were laughing to yourselves while leaving through the exit. 

But the joyful atmosphere was short-lived. 

The Ferris wheel just outside was the next stop, and the Brit offered to splurge a little to have a carriage without strangers. That way, you could run around as much as you wanted, even if that meant leaving the two men to sit in their lonesome. While Ivan was sitting on the bench in the centre out of his own volition, the same couldn’t be said for him. 

Sitting back to back to the other, he pressed his legs firmly together and leaned over in a hunch. Then, he dug his hands through his hair, all while keeping his round eyes fixated on the ground. His heart couldn’t stop pounding, and his head was spinning like a carousel. What was he thinking, taking you here? That was right. This was an iconic destination you couldn’t miss, that was why. He was initially planning on staying back there on the ground, but you were so excited, he couldn’t help but hop on with you. 

Fuck. Maybe Ivan was right about him. But he wouldn’t let him know it. Speaking of the guy, he didn’t know if he was sitting there by choice, or just rubbing it in. While he was incapacitated by fear so he couldn’t even stand, he was sitting there because he wanted to. 

“You should’ve stayed on the ground if this was going to happen.” 

Arthur screwed his eyes shut and tightened his arms around his stomach. “... Shut up.” 

“I was just saying.” Ivan murmured, looking at him over his shoulder. Poor guy. He really was down bad, wasn’t he? Down bad for you, that was. Too bad Arthur was hoping he wasn’t convinced--but it was too obvious. So all Ivan wanted was to prove his point, and later on, keep you away from him. But maybe he’d save it until after the ride was over. “... This ride is thirty minutes long. You’ll live.” 

He heard the other groan. “Thirty minutes? How long has it been?” 

“Mm... Ten.” 

“Fuck me.” 

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be long before you would pull away from the railing and return to the company of the two. Arthur had been praying that somehow, you’d leave him alone sitting there, pathetically, but he couldn’t expect something so cold from you. So while he hung his head, he wasn’t surprised to feel your hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, you okay?” He heard you ask, but he never looked up. 

“... Yeah. Just give me a minute.” 

“I have. Ten, actually.” Taking a seat beside him, you leaned down to peer at his face, which was a few shades paler than normal. He didn’t even have the energy to respond, and kept his eyes fixed to the ground. Concern immediately contorted at your features, especially when he looked so shaken. “Arthur, you look a little sick. What’s wrong? Can you talk?” 

He shook his head slowly before managing a weak smile at you. “Sorry, love.” It didn’t even faze him he just called you that. He was far too uncomfortable to feel the embarrassment from a nickname he should’ve saved until a little later. 

“I’m not... Too good with heights. Never have been... I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.” His voice was slow and faint, and you were beginning to suspect he was having a panic attack. “... Sorry if I seem a little lame.” 

“No, of course not.” You frowned. “Things like this happen. Just breathe with me, okay? You can do it. Just count to ten.” 

Arthur took a deep inhale. “... Okay.” 

Around ten minutes later of these exchanges, he calmed down some, especially when you kept on reminding him that the carriage was finally descending. Once the ride was over, you had to help him up and walk him out. Now that he had his two feet planted firmly on the ground, it didn’t take long for him to recover. Even then, you remained rather cautious and stuck with him on your journey to Soho. By the time everyone took their seats in Circolo Popolare, a beautiful Italian restaurant Arthur so kindly booked, you were still looking out for him.

Leaning over to rest your head on the table, you glanced up at his face with a soft smile. “... You okay now?” 

A light blush dusted his cheeks and he nodded. You didn’t need to be this observant with him considering he was well now, but he loved your attentiveness. It wasn’t something he was used to. “Yeah, I’m fine now. Thank you. Now quit worrying about me, alright?” Rubbing the nape of his neck at that, you couldn’t help lingering on his body language for a moment.

It didn’t matter what he dressed like, or what his personality was. He could be endearing when it came to it, and a total softie too. And the thought made you smile even wider. If he thought you were cute, then you thought he was adorable. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone.” You slowly turned to Ivan, the action making Arthur tense up a little. 

Reaching out to your hand, he took it. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

The feeling of his warm fingers around yours made your heart skip a beat. Did he just? Your thoughts manifested into your look of shock, and you darted your eyes over his neutral expression to try and decipher it. Before you could come up with anything, there was a phone in your face, followed by a flash. 

“Wha--?” 

He turned the screen to you to reveal a photo of you, and in your opinion, it was the least flattering picture anybody had ever taken of you. “I said I’d take an uglier photo of you, didn’t I?” Arthur grinned, the words acting like a cold splash of water to bring you back to reality. 

“... You sneaky little shit.” You growled. “Delete that right now!” 

“How about no?” 

“I’ll never forgive you for this, Arthur.” 

“I think you already have, love. You’re smiling right now.” 

You stared at him wordlessly for a few seconds. Then, out of nowhere, you reached out to snatch his phone right out of his hands. Tapping furiously on the screen to get rid of it, you heard his chair scrape back violently as he tried to retrieve it. “Why, you--” 

But it was too late. Gone forever. Lost in the abyss of cyberspace. And so, he immediately channelled his frustration by jabbing his fingers into your sides. “If I can’t have that photo of you, at least let me do this!” You burst into a fit of laughter so loud, nearby patrons turned their heads. Only then did he pull away, leaving you to recover through breathless wheezing. 

“Fuck you, Arthur.” You whispered, but it was on an affectionate note more than anything. As you glowered at him from your seat, you never noticed Ivan doing the same thing, but he was glaring at the Brit for an entirely different reason. Arthur had to be the most self-aware person out there, and to make a scene in a restaurant like this? He really fell for you, didn’t he? 

When he realized Ivan’s scorching gaze burning into him, he froze. 

Not just out of how intimidated he was, but the epiphany that he was right all along. Why else was he acting so out of character? The only explanation was this--in the short time of being with you, he may or may not have developed a little crush. But that was no problem, right? 

All he needed to do was to ask you out. 

But that would prove a task easier said than done, especially when Ivan decided to attach himself to you by the hip after that stunt. That cunning bastard knew what he was doing. After a little window shopping around Bond street and Mayfair, he stuck to you like a tattoo, and kept it up until night fell. While the group walked around Camden, Ivan kept you by his side with a firm grip on your hand. 

When you asked why he was suddenly so clingy, he simply justified it with, “It’s dangerous for small people like you to wander around at night!” 

But Arthur called bullshit. Especially when the other went ahead and smirked at him right after saying it. Maybe he liked you too, but was refusing to admit it. How hypocritical. If not, then he probably didn’t want you making friends when you were the only friend he had. Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to back down so easily. Camden may be the last destination for the night, and perhaps, the last time he’d see you again for God knows how long, but it was his trump card.

If this didn’t sweep you off your feet enough to get you to pull away from Ivan, nothing would. 

As a town famous for its thriving nightlife and punk culture, it encompassed everything he was passionate about, and he’d give anything to show it to you. So he included a visit to the bar here on the agenda today, one that hosted live music. While you and Ivan got comfortable in your seats, Arthur never made a move to sit down. 

It was already dim inside, so you never noticed him leave. The next time you saw him, it was a few minutes later when he was on stage with a few other musicians. Leaning forward with surprise, you watched him strap on a bright red electric guitar. Walking up to the microphone, he adjusted that. No way. 

You were still trying to process him being a professional performer, but a lead singer as well? 

The second he strummed the strings to start a guitar riff, he opened his mouth to start singing.

Play this while you read

undefined

Show me how to lie, you're getting better all the time

And turning all against the one is an art that's hard to teach

His fingers never stopped moving as he belted out note after note. His voice was so different to how he talked, you had to do a double take. He sounded a little more rasp, a little more punk. To say you were impressed was an understatement. 

Now dance, fucker, dance, man, he never had a chance

And no one even knew it was really only you

While he jammed out on stage, he was electric. The energy in the bar exploded, and he had everyone singing along. You could almost see the confidence in him shoot up from the excitable crowd, because he was smirking. 

Nice work, you did. 

You’re gonna go far, kid! 

Turning his head to you as he sung that line, you raised a hand to your mouth. Whether he did that on purpose or not was a mystery. But no words could describe how attractive it was. Hell, it even made you mind blank for a few moments. This was Arthur? He was like an entirely different person! Needless to say, you were completely star struck. 

You couldn’t even make out what Ivan was telling you when the music was blaring in your ears. But you didn’t care. Arthur had you caught in a trance with his voice and guitar all until the end. When the song finally ended, the band bowed graciously and threw up hand signs as the audience erupted in applause and cheers. 

When he stepped off the stage, you didn’t hesitate to run up to him. There, you practically pounced on him for a tight embrace. “Oh my god, you were amazing! I didn’t know you could play so well! And sing, too! Why didn’t you tell me!?” You exasperated, pulling away to be met with his dazzling smile. It was the first time you’ve seen him so energetic, as if performing sparked a fire inside him that burned with youthful intensity. 

“I was dying to show you all day. I wanted it to be a surprise, and I had to save the best til’ last, didn’t I?” He grinned, feeling his heart swell up with warmth as he watched you light up. 

“Well, good on you! I loved it!” Squeezing him again, you felt his chest shake under his laughs. When you pulled away, you reached up to cup his face. But it felt so natural in the spur of the moment, even he didn’t seem to care. 

“Thanks again for today, Arthur. I really appreciate you taking us out today. You completely blew me away.”

The way how you phrased it reminded him of why he was here in the first place. That was right. He still had to ask you out. And with Ivan watching on from afar, this was his chance. The thought reddened his cheeks, but while you had his face in your hands, he couldn’t feel more comfortable. “Is that so? If that’s the case, how about I take you out again?” His expression grew serious. “A proper date, I mean.” 

It was your turn to blush, but you managed a quick answer. 

“No need to look so serious, love. Of course I’ll go on a date with you.” 

He chuckled and leaned in to peck your lips. “Stealing my vocabulary now, are we?” 

“Stealing kisses now, are we?” 

“Touché.” 

Now a third wheel of the group, he breathed out a soft sigh and rested his cheek on his hand. “I guess my job here is done.” It didn’t really look like it, but he had been trying to play the wingman all along. Arthur was always one to go a little crazy when he wanted something, and only more so when he was desperate. So all he gave him was a little push in the right direction. 

Maybe he would thank him later, but for now, he’d leave you two be. 

This is a request. Thank you for requesting.

[cordeliaflyte]

Would love to know your thoughts on the rutger bregman book when you finish it!!!

dearest merle! it took me months to answer this ask - something i'm ashamed of - but i finally got around to finishing the book today.

the below is a condensed version of the ten pages of notes i took while reading it, which are rather chaotic and repetitive at points - but in my defence, bregman repeated his own arguments too.

one of the main arguments that bregman makes is that "evil" or "immorality" - which we'll define as causing unnecessary harm - are rarely caused by the individual, but rather the society they live in. i agree - nothing exists in a vacuum. however, society, as a nebulous concept, isn't imposed on us by some imperceptible power - it is crafted by people. people in society have different levels of power, and the harm they can cause to others is directly proportional to said power - but be it on a micro or macro scale, our actions have an impact on others and while they are influenced by the society we live in, we must nonetheless strive to minimise the harm we cause - and few of us do.

bregman illustrates many of his arguments with heartwarming stories about people coming together in times of crisis - take, for example, natural disasters - and overcoming adversity, selflessly looking out for their neighbours. but crisis very often leads to the creation of divisions, an us vs them mentality, and a complete disregard for the safety of others. the current pandemic is a prime example - see the widening of class differences, the rise in racist hate crimes, and people refusing to take safety precautions because they are inconvenient to them.

another argument repeated quite often throughout the book is the fact that media cherry-picks the most sensationalistic and senseless acts of death and despair, because human suffering is simply more interesting that the mundane - people talking to friends, creating art, laughing and learning. again, i agree with him - many of the more tabloid-adjacent news outlets would have you believe that the everyday norm is dismembered heiresses being found on riverbeds and charming, precocious children being held for ransom in tiny basements. the news doesn't often focus on the mundane - but the mundane isn't just love and work and friendship and boredom and chores, it is also, for billions of people around the world, sexual violence, familial abuse, workplace and housing discrimination, etc. these things aren't sensationalistic either - they're frightfully common, frightfully boring, and thus, they're rarely reported on.

throughout his book, bregman mentions that when he told people what he was working on, they approached the idea that humans are good with a large dose of cynicism, simply because we are raised to believe humans are selfish (which isn't the case worldwide, not all cultures are individualistic). they pick the easier choice - accepting the image of the world and their fellow humans that they are presented with at face value. i'd argue that it is the tendency of humans to pick the easier choice, to obey, to avoid challenging their worldview that leads to - for a lack of better term - immorality (see definition in point 1).

often, when bregman presents his feel good stories about people cooperating in adversity, he also mentions troubling details that, again, show undue harm being done. one of the examples he used were six boys from tonga, aged 13 to 16, who were shipwrecked on an island, and instead of descending into a "lord of the flies" style madness, they built their small community on the basis of communication and cooperation, never resorting to violence, and acting mature beyond their years. after a year spent on the island, they were rescued - and promptly arrested, an event which was probably racially motivated. and the reason they were shipwrecked in the first place was attempting to flee their school, where, according to their reports, they were neglected.

bregman contrasted the example of the boys forming a peaceful society on a small island with the chaos that always ensues when adults in reality shows are put in similar situations. the contestants are pitted against each other by the show runners, who seek to frustrate them and make them lose control for the amusement of the audience. whenever contestants try to cooperate, form a mutually beneficial society for a short while - a radical idea - they are punished. "goodness" - i.e. harm reduction - and radical thought being punished just don't seem like particularly helpful examples for the "humans are inherently good" thesis

bregman seems to be a big fan of primitivism, constantly citing civilisation as a source of harm - a position i'm always sceptical about, because personally i love vaccines and dental care, but i know this is a knee-jerk reaction and bregman isn't plotting a return to a land without dentists. but what i do take ire at is the idea that humans are somehow "corrupt" versions of their natural selves and that our lives have grown too complicated, and only a return to "primitive" society can return us to the aforementioned natural selves.

tied to the previous point - his arguments remind me of the "noble savage"'... archetype? he seems to paint a picture of "primitive" indigenous people as role models for those "corrupted" by civilisation, who in turn must be saved by a return to their "purer" selves, instead of individuals with flaws and agency.

speaking on indigenous populations - bregman also invokes the inhabitants of the easter islands. for a long time, the world at large believed that a hundred years or so before colonization, the islanders effectively perpetrated a genocide, killing off a large proportion of their population - a claim which was later disproven. yay! humans can live in peaceful societies without committing genocide, and thus, are not inherently evil! disregarding the fact that european colonists later massacred a large part of the islands population, and sold most of the survivors into slavery?

i was very excited for one of the chapters, entitled "after auchschwitz". i was interested how bregman would reconcile his argument with the tragedies of the twentieth century - the holocaust, but also genocide, and to a lesser extent war in general.

(this chapter, i might add, was preceded by a quote by anne frank - you know the one, about the inherent goodness of people. i was hoping that bregman would comment on the fact that anne wrote the quote before she and her family were sent to a concentration camp)

so you can imagine my surprise when the chapter was not, in fact, about concentration camps or genocide. but rather about. unethical 70s sociological experiments.

no really! a chapter titled "after auchschwitz" was, in fact, primarily about the stanford prison experiment. an experiment that was, granted, inspired by concentration camps, but still. it's misleading to invoke "real", large scale violence, and focus instead on "simulated", small scale violence.

we all know that the stanford prison experiment was, as far as experiments go, rubbish to legendary degrees. it doesn't prove anything - but it does, perhaps, show that people under large psychological duress are capable of evil, even when they themselves are not "evil".

it is, i'd argue, the human tendency to obey authority and especially to conform to societies standards that poses the largest danger. disobedience is man's original virtue and whatnot.

and when he does briefly refer to concentration camps, bregman treats them like a very 1940s phenomenon, disregarding the fact that they have been around for much longer and still exist today.

in cases like that one experiment with electric shocks. you know the one. do not, perhaps, show an innate tendency to violence, but rather people succumbing to pressure. but history is full of unprovoked instances of violence, of pogroms and lynchings. there is usually an instigator, yes, but judging from reports, people in the right mindset don't need much persuading to butcher other people.

also re: electric shock experiment - those who thought they gave the assistant lethal shocks showed extreme guilt and some even cried but like... so what? what use is a conscience if it doesn't stop you from, to your knowledge, killing someone? are your feelings really more important than your actions?

he doesn't say this, but a lot of the arguments he presents do seem to boil down to "people aren't evil, they're just stupid!" which doesn't sound more encouraging, i'm afraid.

an alternative takeaway would be "people are good, unless they have power" - which isn't exactly a radical, revolutionary idea. most people have heard the maxim "power corrupts". but the thing is that almost everyone holds some amount power over others - the oppressed factory worker in a poor nation who works 12 hours a day for pittance might still execute power over his wife, who relies on him for money, and she in turn might hold power over her children, and so forth. and that power is often used to cause undue harm and exercise control.

he criticises machiavellianism, saying it doesn't reflect how society works, and one of his proofs is that his philosophies were espoused by bismarck, churchill, and stalin - hardly admirable figures in terms of (you guessed it!) causing harm. but i don't see how that discredits machiavelli? like all of the above were very succesful

and he keeps repeating the primitivism argument throughout the book which gets tiring. like i'm truly sorry you were born in the last 5% of human existence thus far when, in your opinion, humanity started going to the shits, but it's getting a bit tiring

he cites money and nations as concepts as harbingers of the current (negative) state of humanity, saying they're very recent concepts and have no basis in reality. they're artificial concepts, sure, but their effect is very much real, and while achieving a nation-less, money-less society is possible on a small scale, i think that at this point they are such large aspects of life that reigning them in seems impossible.

and invokes the noble savage again and again, showing himself in favour of tribal societies, depicting them as egalitarian - i'm sure many of them are, but many also have a strict hierarchy or like. practice fgm. once more he seems to treat tribal people as a monolith of goodness as opposed to... people.

he also cites prehistoric people, their egalitarianism and low rates of violence but. forgive me for my ignorance because i did not research this. how do people know. doesn't the definition of prehistory include a lack of records??

he also mentions that in small, tribal societies, conformism can be a good thing, as it makes people act for the communal good. this is another knee-jerk reaction of mine but i think of conformism as society's most significant vice, so this strikes very much against my beliefs

later on, he also says reproduction is another proof of humanities goodness. perhaps it's a controversial opinion, but i disagree. i find it hard to find reasons for reproduction that aren't egoistic. it's survival instinct, sure, but it's not an "inherently noble pursuit".

later yet, he brings up schools which grant large degrees of freedom to students and shows how they're good for developing their minds. this might be a me thing but i know from experience that when i'm granted freedom without structure, i do nothing - though perhaps that speaks ill of me, and not humanity.

there have, in fact, been many studies on schools like this being helpful to student development and i certainly won't argue with them - but let me nit-pick. bregman says that fewer students have adhd in these schools, as it is a condition caused by being locked inside a room all day which is not only offensive, but also just plain wrong

and also while showing how granting children freedom lets them develop (which i naturally agree with) he brings up that "dangerous playground" study. you know the one. this isn't a coherent argument, this is just my bias speaking , but as a child, i promise i had no desire to play with rusty nails in abandoned warehouses. i liked my boring playgrounds with wooden swings.

then there is a chapter on communism and how it could be a remedy to societies ailments. but bregman and i seem to operate on very different definitions of communism. he naturally starts with saying maoist china and stalinist russia and cambodia under pol pot weren't really communist which... sure, if you want to argue semantics, i'm all for it, but it's an old and essentially useless argument. if "real communism" has never been tried (as the author claims) - why?

and then we pass to perhaps the most bizarre fragment of the book. paraphrasing only slightly: "but why are we now so opposed to the word communism? when we pass each other salt at the dinner table, is that not communism? when we selflessly hold a door open for someone, is that not communism?" i.... no?? no it's not. that's not what communism is girl stop

he then also says facebook is actually communist in many ways since a lot of its value comes from photos people willingly share for free. i could not make this up if i tried.

i think that in most terms i agree with bregman on policy - direct democracy, school and prison systems, changes to the criminal justice system - and our reasoning is partially similar, but i don't think the information we both have access to proves that humans are inherently good.

and then come perhaps my least favourite arguments because i for one am a spiteful bitch but yes. it is time for christian ethics 101 and turning the other cheek.

he cites ghandi and mlk as examples of turning the other cheek working. i think ghandi went too far with his policy, what with saying "jews ought to have marched silently to their deaths or committed mass suicide to make nazis feel ashamed" and like. we do remember they killed mlk, right?

as an example of turning the other cheek, he cites humane prisons in norway, where prisoners are granted much larger freedoms than usual and are on equal footing with the guards, who aren't armed and act more as councillors. i don't really see how this is an example of turning the other cheek, though - the guards are not the victims of the inmates (it was a prison for violent offenders - many of them murderers). i agree with him that prisons, if they must exist, should treat inmates humanely and with respect, but i don't see how this relates to the turning of the cheek. statistically, many of these men probably murdered their mates in a drunken dispute, or killed their wives - and i don't think turning the other cheek would have helped their victims.

he also cites south africa in the sixties as an example of turning the other cheek, when anti-apartheid activists would meet up with pro-apartheid activists and talk - this included nelson mandela who had frequent talks with the leader of a white supremacist paramilitary organisation of afrikaners staunchly opposed to black south africans getting the vote. and it worked - the man, whose aim was starting a civil war, relented. but racism isn't a simple matter that can simply be solved by talking. and it is often a pragmatic policy which i don't disparage, but turning the other cheek and having to treat someone who refuses to acknowledge your humanity with an exorbitantly disproportionate amount of respect is inherently degrading.

skipping ahead, in the epilogue bregman lists ten rules he tries to live by, and one of them is, i shit you not, "don't punch nazis". and punching nazis doesn't stop them from being nazis, but turning the other cheek gets people killed

the rise of fascism is perhaps one the largest threats we are dealing with and fascists are not just isolated and misinformed (and in this day and age, ignorance is a choice). they are dangerous.

this is by no means an essay or an exhaustive list, just a slightly chaotic and much overdue collection of opinions which i don't know how to put under a read more. take care <3

[collectionofcherries]

👀couldnt help but notice you talking about hannibal in your billy loomis imagine 👀 also couldnt help but to notice thats in your fandom list 👀 maybe you should shoot your shot with an imagine with hanni 👀

So over on my Naruto blog I did a little fluff piece called Morning Coffee that everyone seemed to enjoy so I thought I'd bring it here. It’s a simple concept, it follows your morning to the start of your cup to the end of it. Hope you enjoy! --- ☕ Morning Coffee ☕

---

written in the mind-frame of a Female!Reader but there are no pronouns mentioned nor gender specific anatomical body parts.  Warnings: None, flirting with the idea of smut but no actual smut. Sexual longing maybe? Word Count: 1,155

--- Hannibal Lecter

   Having coffee with a friend shouldn't have been this stressful, being this stressed in the morning couldn't be good for you but it wasn't like you could help it. How are you supposed to dress for morning coffee with a man who practically lives in three piece suits? Formal? Business casual? Casual casual? Your clothing covered floor seemed to bare no answers as you stared at what you swore was everything you owned...had everything always been this ugly? God! Why did you even propose a breakfast together? Hannibal does dinner but no you had to pitch breakfast to be different and try to impress him, yeah you're sure he'd be impressed by the amount of clothing on the floor. If you'd been like everyone else and just gone for dinner you'd have more time to try on clothes but a look at the clock told you that you had to leave now or you'd be late and that'd be terrible, that'd be rude and Hannibal can't stand people who're rude. However messy your floor was it was worth it for the compliment you got when Hannibal opened his door to greet you. “I don't see you in colour often, red looks lovely on you.”     Well, guess you're wearing red for the rest of your life.     "Oh thank you.” Finds it's way out of your throat as your face is painted the colour that apparently looks lovely on you.     “Please, come in.” He welcomes stepping to the side to allow room.    You never gave much thought to what a foyer could be, yours is technically where you just kick off your shoes and put your keys but this, this was proper foyer. Just the entrance to his house was nice. God it was big too, he could probably rent it out to a poor college kid for like 500 bucks if he wanted not that he looked like he needed the extra money. Did you even know how to say Foyer properly? You bet Hannibal did, without a doubt he knew all those fancy French words--was that word even French? Oh no, what if you were stupid and it wasn't French? What if this wasn't even a foyer? How dumb were you? H-- hands came up to your shoulders jolting you out of your spiral. Hannibal gently pulls the edges of your jacket and you immediately understand. “Thank you.” You repeat once again.    He smiles with a nod as he slides your jacket off of you with your help and hangs it up on a beautiful wood stand you're sure costs more than half your rent. Thinking about how much money was within these walls could make your head spin but that spinning is halted by the soothing tones of his voice. “Lost in thought?” He inquired.    “Uh, just early morning brain fog you know?” You try to bluff.    It's not convincing but he nods anyway. “Perhaps some coffee would help.”     “Sounds good.” You agree.    Following him through his house only furthers your awe, you could spent a lifetime in here just looking at stuff. “I thought it'd be pleasant to make breakfast together instead of having it ready, eating together is one experience but preparing a meal is another entirely.” He explained    The idea of sharing an experience with Hannibal was one that filled you with butterflies, the more you thought about it you didn't think you'd heard of Hannibal cooking with anyone else, maybe the stress of this morning would pay off after all. “I'm not a chef but I'll do my best, what're we making?”     “Uova al purgatorio.” Which leads to a bit of a blank stare on your end, as pretty as it sounds you've got no idea what that means. “It's an Italian dish, eggs in Purgatory.” He explained.    “Sounds interesting.” You quip.    “It is, the name comes from the eggs sitting in a tomato base, the white of the eggs floating within the red sauce giving the illusion of souls trapped within the unknown of Purgatory.” He explains as he prepares the boiling water for your coffee. “Even at breakfast it seems we wonder where our souls go to lay.”     “Well makes sense for Italy home of the Pope, I'm sure there's religious overtones at most meals.”    He smiles a little and nods. “During my time in Italy it truly does surround you, it's an interesting feeling, almost euphoric to be encapsulated by it at every

turn.” He remarked.    “Wow, you spent time in Italy? It looks beautiful there.” You say, trying to stray a little further from the religious aspect, you don't exactly know where Hannibal falls on that spectrum and the last thing you want to do is come across rude or disrespectful to him. “Coffee smells great.” You add as he pours the boiling water into his very fancy looking French Press.    Your attempt to change subjects doesn't go unnoticed at all but he once again nods as he looks at you. “Yes, I traveled quite a bit in my youth, I called Italy my home for some time.” He explains.     “Do you ever miss it?” You ask    “I take with me what I relish in the places I've been, while I may no longer be surrounded by the Primavera or the walls of Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini they are ever present in my mind, reproduced with the utmost detail.” You could listen to Hannibal talk all day, it wouldn't matter what he said you just like the way he said things, the timbre of his voice. “Have you ever given thought to travelling?” He prodded.    “Course, who doesn't think about travelling? See far off places, experience new people, new things, different cultures.” You reminisce.    “What stops you?”     You shrug a little. “Funds mainly but I'd want to take the time to learn the language of where I'm going, understand the culture so I don't offend anyone. I don't want to be one of those tourists that makes an ass out of themselves.” You said cringing at the end.    “It's considerate to take the time to understand a culture you will not live in, many go on whims like they're visiting amusement parks.” He agreed. “Would Italy be a place you'd like to visit or would you find their taste for religion leaving a sour taste in your mouth?” He asked.    Did you really think you'd get out of a question Hannibal wanted answered? You shrugged a little once again trying to make sure you phrase things that wouldn't step on toes that were in shoes that likely cost more than your rent. “I'm unsure...I don't know if my broader and more open views would be welcome in the narrower scope of such a religious place and I wouldn't want to impose myself or my views upon anyone.” You slowly clamber out as he pours two cups of what smells like incredibly coffee. “Thank you.” You quickly add as you take it from his hands.    “While I do know you enough to welcome you into my home, I'm not sure if I know you well enough to know of the open views you believe would be scrutinized under the gaze of the Church. Do you speak a broader view of all religions? Racial rights? Sexual appetite?”     You stomach almost leaps into your throat at the last question, talking sexual appetites with someone who could feed that said appetite for the rest of your life? How were you supposed to talk about that? You didn't want to impose but you certainly didn't want to miss any chance of feeding that appetite. “All of the above, you know?” You pitch at first. “I'm a big believer in religious freedoms for everyone, from anywhere--just freedom for everyone in general.” You tackle first, that's the more important one and the one that won't get you into any trouble. “And um--yeah I suppose my sexual appetite wouldn't please the Church.” You say with a small laugh breaking your gaze from Hannibal and down at your coffee cup. “Not exactly a born again virgin.” Smooth. Great job. Wow. Fuck. Maybe you could drown yourself in this coffee? You take a sip and to spite being too shy to ask for sugar or milk this coffee is great, actually smooth. Unlike you. “This is great, what is this?” You try.    Why do you try? He always notices, you're luckier than you know that it endlessly amuses him rather than annoys him. “It's Peaberry Coffee from Tanzania, it's a rounder sweeter bean, almost tea like.” He explains, allowing for a moment for you to believe you've somehow fooled him into letting his prior question go thoroughly unanswered. “It can take a more refined palette to taste all the notes.” He remarks.    “I don't know how refined mine is, I just know it's nice.”

You admit with a small laugh.    “Usually our tongues know more than we think, close your eyes and allow the flavours to dance over your tongue.” He instructed.    Hannibal could tell you to jump off a cliff and if he said it nice enough you probably would. You take a small breath and take another sip and try your damnest to impress Hannibal if only even a little but as you swallow you know your guesses are little more than shots in the dark. “It's sweet...kind of like a berry...?” You weakly pitch.    You're not wrong but Hannibal can tell your guess isn't confident. “Do you know you have a habit of coming in on yourself when you're unsure of what you're saying?” He asks letting you know he's been on to you for much longer than you would have hoped. He comes around from his large kitchen island to stand in front of you and you fight the urge to step back and away which only adds to how hard your heart beats in your chest. “Coming in on ones self allows negative neurons to fire, by simply lifting your head you'll allude more confidence and though red looks lovely on you so does that.” That compliment alone made your head spin so his next action of bringing his warm hand up to gently lift your head? Your entire body felt weak. It was laughable that the simple touch of his thumb resting on your chin and his forefinger below it could have such an effect on you, looking up at him him with unsure eyes as to where this went next was laughable to him. You were putty in his hands, vulnerable in every meaning of the word. "Try again, close your eyes and when you take a sip allow it to work around your mouth, to explore every inch of your tongue.”    Was this porn? This could be porn, this might as well be porn as far as your body was concerned apparently. It took you a moment to actually get your limbs to move and grab your coffee again and it felt good to close your eyes, you liked Hannibal but being so close and having him stare back at you was overwhelming. And he knew it, there was something very satisfying about your kind of vulnerability, it was raw and open for him to touch and mold with his hands. You brought the cup to your lips and took another sip and once again tried to find a defined note in this coffee and maybe it was having your head tilted up, maybe it was having him so close but an answer did come from your mouth. “Cedar?”    Opening your eyes you knew you'd gotten it right by the contented look you were rewarded with. "I had a hunch your tongue knew more than you were letting on.” He teased.    He let his thumb trail back and forth on your chin before moving it away and your head felt like it was floating. “What does your tongue taste? I'm sure it's much more experienced than mine.”     You're sure if you didn't feel so floaty such a blatantly flirty question wouldn't have come out of you but it seemed to fly just fine as a small amused breath made it's way out of him. “Your assumption would be correct.” He let you know. “The notes in this coffee I've become very acquainted with over the years so it wouldn't be much of an exercise in taste for me to tell you them all. Perhaps another breakfast we could expand upon both our tongues.” Your entire body clenched and you had to practically drown out your whine of want by taking a sip of your coffee. “For now we'll be expanding on yours, come, wash up I'll show you how to make uova al purgatorio, a taste from my past.” He said walking back around the kitchen island.    You follow him around the island and with one last sip put your empty coffee cup into the sink. --- ~Admin Coral 🍒 Buy Me A Coffee?

[ghost-in-between]

More Than Enough - Christmas Truce 2020

Merry Late Christmas @dailudannos! I’m sorry again that this is extremely late. Kinda funny thought that we had each other :D Hope you enjoy this sall piece. (I don’t think I’ve written Technus or Skulker ever for more than 2 lines, so I hope it’s still fun to read.)

Headaches were different for ghosts. Or maybe it was a weird personal thing for Technus. He hadn't asked. All he did know is that headaches sucked and being a ghost sucked and Christmas sucked.

Almost on autopilot, he was decorating the tree in the living room, putting ornaments too close together or too far apart. It wasn't his living room, or his tree, or his ornaments. The only reason he cared enough to put up with this was because Skulker had so nicely asked him to. Why he'd want to spend his time with Technus, he had no idea.

There wasn't much about him, really. He was the kind of person that was so lame that they try too hard to be cool. Skulker was the kind of person that was just cool without trying at all. Technus didn't know when they had started hanging out or how, but he still wasn't sure how much longer Skulker would want this. Neither was he sure how many more ornaments fit on this tree. Was this an appropriate amount yet? Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

"Are you sure that's enough yet?"

Turning around, he was greeted by a smug grin, framed in metal. Unsure, he glanced at the tree, counting the ornaments silently, until he was interrupted by a chuckle.

"I was teasing you. It's more than enough.

Letting the air escape his lungs and coughing to hide his embarrassment, he closed the box of tree decorations. "I know that," he grumbled. A sudden increase in pain made his grip on the box loosen, but he managed not to drop it. Headaches always left a lingering wave of pressure rolling through his entire body. It was as though the pain didn't know to stay in one area.

Skulker grabbed the box from his hands and set it down by the table. "You good?" he asked, lightly masking his concern behind a grin.

Technus nodded, forcing a grin onto his face as well, dropping it the second the other turned away. Pretending to be cheerful for one holiday should really not be this hard. Music started playing from an old-timey record player, the tunes crackling gently as a Christmas song filled the air. "Oh, really? Is this necessary?" Technus wondered, less irritated about the song choice than the technology.

"Yes," Skulker confirmed, winking at him. Technus didn't have a response. "Be glad I didn't sign us up for the choir."

Oh god, the choir. Technus remembered hearing other ghosts talk about it. It might have also been in the weird newspaper that Ghost Writer has been sending out. He didn't care much for it. All it did was give him more headaches. "Yeah," he agreed, sinking into the couch. "I wouldn't have joined if you'd signed us up though."

Picking up some green and red lights, Skulker chuckled. "You think I would have given you a choice?"

"I would have simply not done it." Technus shrugged, watching the other finish up the decorations, by hand, no ghost powers.

"That's what you think." Skulker fiddled with the lights, getting them tangled up. "But-" He tugged on them. "In reality-" They got even more tangled. "You would have- ugh." He threw the lights on the ground in frustration. "Stupid lights."

"Here let me." Technus got up and swiftly pulled them apart, handing one end over to Skulker so they could hang it up together. He didn't get a thank you, but the fact that Skulker quietly accepted his help told him enough. The hunter was tough but he never failed to remind Technus of his soft side. It made him feel special. But it also scared him.

"I think that's all the lights I had left. I put some outside. Remind me to take them down again as soon as Christmas passed."

Technus nodded as he returned to his position on the couch. Couldn't have anyone see Skulker being a sucker for Christmas decorations of course. Another spike of pain made him screw his eyes shut, pushing himself into the cushions. Why did he have to be plagued by headaches, all the time? Part of him felt like he knew what caused them, but it was buried somewhere in his mind and he didn't have the energy to dig it out.

"What's wrong?"

Opening his eyes, he was met with the sight of Skulker, looking at him suspiciously.

"Nothing." He forced himself to loosen his shoulders and shake off the pain. "The record player is just painful to look at." Skulker rolled his eyes at the comment. "Shouldn't you like all technology?"

Technus crossed his arms. "I have standards."

"So do I, that's why you're here."

Taken aback by the compliment – flirt? – Technus blinked and shook his head. Skulker did love to tease him. "Because I have standards and won't spend Christmas Eve without anyone to admire by epic power and wit?"

Skulker pushed him lightly, or at least lightly for him. "Me? Admire your power and wit? Dream on."

He know it was a joke, a tease. But then why did it feel like a jab between his ribs? "Ah, of course," he said, intending to make it sounds confident and like he was playing along to the joke. Instead it came out sounding bland and disappointing.

Skulker looked the tiniest bit horrified, uncomfortable, like he didn't expect this response and now had to think really hard on how to react. "I mean, you-" He cut himself off. Had he realized it was the truth?

The headache was a constant pounding by now, shaking his limbs. This was beyond stupid. He was letting his own thoughts get him down, on Christmas Eve, a day that was supposed to be cozy and nice, apparently. He didn't get the hype, really. A knock on the door interrupted the awkward situation and Technus quickly got up to check the door. Only on Christmas would he ever witness anyone actually knocking before entering. Swinging the door open, he was met by the sight of Ember and a bunch of other ghosts, wearing Christmas hats. Before he could say anything they took a deep inhale and started singing.

"Oh, please no."

Skulker came up behind him, looking torn between being amused and irritated. "Guess you couldn't escape them fully, after all."

Technus felt him look at him from the side, hoping his expression wasn't betraying how tired he felt and how much he regretted not saying no to today. It was silly, maybe. One day wasn't so bad, one song from a choir of people that wouldn't have stopped by his lair anyway. Not that he would have wanted that. Of course not.

Suddenly he was being pushed back inside, before Skulker said "Thanks, Merry Christmas!" and shut the door on the other ghosts.

"What-" Technus looked at Skulker, at the door, then back at Skulker. "Why did you do that? I thought you enjoyed it?"

"But you weren't."

Taken aback, Technus focused his gaze on the wall behind to Skulker, unsure what to say. The pain in his head felt loud. As a ghost, he didn't need to sleep, yet he felt so, so tired.

"Why did you come?"

"What?"

Skulker was mustering him, like he was trying to analyze his thoughts. He was glad that telepathy was an uncommon ghost power. "You don't like Christmas, so why did you come here today."

He thought about it, thought about his feelings for the holiday, about his feelings for Skulker, about the constant ache in his body that reminded him that he was different from the technology he controlled. "I don't know," he admitted.

Nodding, Skulker sat back down on the couch, patting the space next to him. Afraid of what was going through the other's head, Technus hesitantly complied. He opened his mouth to say something, apologize, maybe, but Skulker was faster.

"It's okay. I think I need to apologize."

Wait, what? Technus was so surprised even his head seemed to clear for a moment of confusion.

"Don't give me that look. Listen-" Skulker looked directly at him, unafraid. "I think I've been taking you for granted."

"What, no-"

"Please. Let me finish, alright?"

Technus nodded.

"I've been taking you for granted because I assumed if I enjoy hanging out with you, then so do you." Technus felt the movement on the couch as Skulker shifted. "And not just that. I've been assuming that if you tell me you're fine, you are fine. But you're not like that, are you?"

Looking away, Technus shrugged. He wasn't the tough one. It didn't really matter, did it?

"Hey, I know I'm the one wearing a metal suit, but you're the one that makes himself untouchable. You can tell me when something is wrong, you know?"

It sounded so foreign to him, yet the concept seemed familiar. He was untouchable when he encased himself in hardware or when he turned intangible, but was he untouchable as a person? Was he even still a person? As if in response, an invisible knife plunged into his head, making him stop the habit of pulling hair in through his nose. Yes, it seemed to say. Just because he died, he wasn't not a person anymore. He still felt pain, just a little differently.

Glancing at Skulker, who looked so genuine that it was hard to imagine him on the hunt, he sighed. It was Christmas, he was here, the lights on the tree shining on them and mixing with their own glow. Would a bit of honesty, a bit of showing weakness even be able to ruin this?

"I just," he closed his eyes for a moment. "I just have a terrible headache." Skulker seemed surprised, whether it was at the fact that he was troubled by a headache or that his words had gotten through to him somehow, he didn't know. "And I'm tired," Technus continued. "And I don't like Christmas." Before Skulker could reply, he smiled at him. "But," The headache was still pounding in his head, but he felt like he was letting himself be wrapped in a blanket. "I guess I'd still rather be tired here with you, than alone. So if you still like me when I'm weak and lame-"

Skulker took his head , effectively making him shut his mouth. "I like you how you are, strong and interesting and right here."

And Technus believed him.

[eskalations]

"This is about my pride, Riza." Roy reasoned, taking a few steps closer to her desk. His palms were up, as though it was the simplest explanation in the world. "If Rebecca knew I was incapable of this, she'd never let me hear the end of it."

A series of oneshots documenting the life and times of the Amestrian First Family.

A/N: Alright, fam - this was tough. I don't know WHY this was such a hard chapter to write, but it was. I had a rough week at work, so my writing muse wasn't as strong as usual. That being said, I'm not exactly happy with this chapter. I hope that despite that, and any other mistakes there are, that you still at least find this chapter somewhat readable.

Also, fun fact, that I forgot to tell you last chapter. I've always considered Xingese, the equivalent of Chinese in the FMA universe - so, when Elizabeth refers to her little sister as "Mae Mae", it's actually a reference to the Chinese term "Mei Mei" which means "little sister".

Thank you so much for reading!

~

"Of all the times we spoke of hell, this is not what I imagined – "

At Riza's unimpressed look, Roy clamped his mouth shut. He knew his dramatics were not going to earn him any positive points with his wife at the moment. She was far too tired to deal with his own childish commentary.

" – however, I would do anything to keep my wife and daughters happy." Roy finally finished – a near visible sweat drop forming at the start of his hairline. At the change of conversational direction, Riza gave him a dubious look from over the documents in her hands.

"You're sure you can handle it?"

"No," Roy answered quickly, too quickly for a man who was usually so confident. "But I don't see any other choice."

"I could ask Rebecca – "

"I would rather you didn't."

With a single blonde brow raised, Riza regarded her husband in confusion. "I don't understand why you're so against – "

"This is about my pride, Riza." Roy reasoned, taking a few steps closer to her desk. His palms were up, as though it was the simplest explanation in the world. "If Rebecca knew I was incapable of this, she'd never let me hear the end of it."

"You're acting like a child, Roy."

"No," Roy patted his chest, quite a sight in his military blues. It was almost amusing how seriously the Fuhrer was taking this. "I am acting like a man. A man does not back down from a challenge such as this."

Riza couldn't help the tired smile that appeared on her features at such conviction. "A challenge such as a sleepover?"

Her husband gave her a withering look. "Don't say it like that, you make it sound ridiculous."

His petulant expression had laughter bubbling up in Riza's throat. The sound caused Roy's heart to soar. She hadn't been laughing much in the past few months, so it was nice to hear such a happy sound coming from her lips – even if it was still tinged with exhaustion.

Before Riza could respond, she was interrupted by a cry coming from the makeshift crib that lay in the corner of the room. Without a second thought, the First Lady of Amestris was on her feet and comforting the child that lay within the soft pink blankets.

The scene had Roy sighing in defeat. The main reason for their current dilemma was the same precious bundle that was now being cradled by her mother.

Mae Mustang had certainly turned their lives upside down.

Winter had come and gone, and with it, so had the illnesses that pestered the Mustang household all season long. Following the solstice, it seemed like the girls came down with a new round of sniffles every week. Nothing hit the family near as hard as the flu that had preceded the solstice – however, both Roy and Riza had certainly had their hands full with both their daughters and their duties.

On top of all the sickness in the house, Riza's moods had not improved much over time. With an extremely colicky baby, the woman had felt as though she were doomed to never get a normal night's sleep ever again. She was quick to anger and extremely lethargic – two things that no one who was part of their circle had ever known her to be.

Once she had brought up the issue with her doctor, the woman assured her that it was a normal to feel this way after some pregnancies. Given the fact that Mae was also a very fussy baby, it was to be expected that she would feel like she was at her wit's end for the first few months of her youngest daughter's life.

Though her words had been unconcerned and gentle when she had spoken with Riza, Roy would never forget the serious expression she gave him as she pulled him to the side.

'Keep an eye on her,' she had said with concern evident in her eyes. The soft warning in her tone was enough to have Roy breaking out into a nervous sweat.

He had already been concerned, but after that, he was really concerned.

That was why, nearly four months after their second daughter's birth, Roy insisted that Riza continue to work from home. While Riza normally would have argued against this, wanting to be as close to Roy as possible at Central HQ, she had simply nodded and agreed that this arrangement was her best option for now.

While working from home, the First Lady was able to sleep in and attend to her infant daughter throughout the day. Roy had suggested hiring a nanny temporarily, just to give Riza more time on her own – however, that idea had been quickly shot down by his wife.

'Are you saying I'm incapable of taking care of my own infant daughter?' Riza had snapped at him, absolutely appalled by the suggestion. Knowing that his wife was wrought with insecurities when it came to her parenting, Roy had dropped the subject rather quickly after that.

The man hated feeling useless, but there was only so much he could do to help his wife when he was several blocks away at Central HQ. The woman refused to let him tend to their daughter at night, citing that he needed his rest in order to attend to his duties as Fuhrer. Thus, that left Riza to take care of everything, from night feedings to bathing their young, infant daughter.

In the middle of all this was poor Elizabeth, who was certainly beginning to feel slighted by all the attention that was being given to her sister. Though she had always loved the baby and wanted to be around her whenever she was home, Roy could see that the tolerant child was beginning to grow weary at the lack of attention she was receiving from her usually doting parents.

Hence, the sleepover.

Elizabeth's birthday had always been cause for great celebration in their household. While typically they held a party with both friends and family alike, Elizabeth had requested something different this year. Though her time spent with the Elric and Havoc children had been nice, she wanted to invite her own friends over from daycare for a different kind of party.

A sleepover party.

The idea was foreign to both Riza and Roy. Riza had never concerned herself with birthdays during her adolescence, since her father thought they were nothing more than another day of life and that there was no real reason to celebrate them. Roy, on the other hand, had celebrated many birthdays during his formative years – however, despite having grown up with a multitude of foster sisters, was completely unfamiliar with the concept of a sleepover.

Though both her parents had been quite hesitant of the idea at first, Elizabeth's sweet little pout and tears had finally convinced them in the end. If this was what she wanted, then this was what she was going to get.

However, Roy had not expected that he was going to have to run this gig solo.

Three days before Elizabeth's sleepover – Mae had started showing signs of teething, and suddenly the sleepless nights of colic, became something a little more.

In the past several days, the frazzled mother had maybe gotten a total of three hours of sleep. Between keeping up with Mae's feedings and comforting her as she sobbed from both the pains in her stomach and her mouth, Riza had very little time to rest. Roy could see, as the days went by, that the usually dark circles under his wife's eyes, were continuously getting darker. Not only that, but the healthy glow of her peach-colored skin, had changed into a sickly pale pallor.

It was obvious. She was exhausted.

On top of all that, Riza was still performing her duties as Amestris' First Lady. She continued to move forward with her plans for the new school she was commissioning and had even kept up with the interviews she had scheduled to help with the hiring of its faculty.

Roy had no idea how she did it. He wasn't even sure how she found the energy to dress in the morning with all she was doing.

Hence, why he had offered to take over the planning and execution of their daughter's sleepover party. Though he seriously doubted his skills in this department, he would do whatever it took to give Riza a much-needed break.

Even now, as she cradled their youngest in her arms, Roy could see the weariness in the way she bounced their child in comfort. She had never looked further from her former self than she did now. The formidable "Hawk's Eye" – now beaten down from a rather rough patch of motherhood. It was unfair.

"I want to help you." Roy told her honestly, his voice soft as Mae's cries finally began to subside. He walked over to Riza's side, wrapping an arm around her waist. "If I'm already up with the girls, then that will give you some time to rest without having to worry about Mae."

"So, you're going to take care of Mae, too?" Riza asked, doubt evident in her words. She gazed down at their daughter – all blonde hair and dark eyes, before looking back up at him. "Are you sure it won't be too much?"

"I'm positive." Roy affirmed, rubbing a comforting hand over her back. Even through the thin material of her tapioca dress, Roy could feel the notches of her spine. She had lost more weight again. With this in mind, his resolve only grew. "Besides, I won't be alone. Breda and Havoc are going to help me."

Riza's brows rose to her hairline. "How?"

"I've dismissed my bodyguards for tonight, so they're going to stand in." Roy brought a hand up to rub a hand against Mae's fevered cheeks. "I know it's technically below their rank, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

The Fuhrer rarely made Captains Havoc and Breda his guards, unless there was something really important going on, such as the birth of his daughter. However, he had already asked the men if they could free up their Saturday night to assist him on a 'mission'.

Of course, he hadn't told them what that mission was – but Roy wasn't big on details. Besides, they weren't going to say no to their boss.

Riza shook her head at the idea. "You really think those two will be able to help you?"

Roy shrugged. "Possibly."

The woman rolled her eyes at her husband's answer. "I think you just want them to suffer with you."

"I'm wounded by your words, madam."

This had Riza laughing. Roy's chest puffed up at having made her smile again. Perhaps, this was the exact thing Riza had needed – a night off. Regardless of any of the torture he was about to face in the coming hours, Roy couldn't bring himself to regret his decision. He would do anything to keep that smile alive on Riza's face forever.

"Okay." The woman finally agreed, the grin never leaving her face. "I appreciate it. I hope you know though, that if things get tough, you can come get me at any point in time."

"Trust me," Roy assured her, pulling her close to his side. "Everything will be fine."

~

Everything was not fine.

Sure, things had started out alright – but Roy was pretty sure that he would be completely grey by the end of the night.

For the first hour, Riza had stayed by his side as they greeted the parents of the little girls' who entered their home. Both parents, having always been very involved with their daughter's schooling, recognized many of the adults who usually stood outside Central Children's Daycare. Introductions were made and the children were sent up the stairs to be greeted by excited exclamations from the other little girls who were already there.

That was when things took a turn for the worst.

He had no idea his daughter had befriended a child of Ishvalan descent.

Now really, he shouldn't have been surprised. Elizabeth was incredibly loving and friendly, so any differences between her and others, were usually swept under the rug by the innocent mind of the unprejudiced child. Even after the situation with Miss Abra at the daycare, Elizabeth still knew nothing of the history her parents had with Ishval.

Roy and Riza had just been wishing one of the girls' parents farewell, when a hulking figure of a man walked through the door. His appearance had both the Fuhrer and his wife pausing – though it had nothing to do with his height or the rippling muscles that peaked through the fabric of his shirt.

It was the white hair and telltale red eyes that caused their greetings to catch in their throats. Not only that, but the stern look on the man's face made it obvious that he wanted to be just about anywhere else but there.

From behind his leg – a little girl poked her head out to look up at the parents of her friend. Like her father, the girl's hair was white as snow with eyes the color of blood. They shared the same dark features – except where there was an expression of near hatred on the elder one's face, the little girl's expression held nothing but hesitance.

Riza was the first to recover from her surprise. Behind her, Roy could hear the sound of Breda and Havoc shuffling, as though preparing for a fight.

"Hello," Riza spoke softly, as she crouched down to the young girl's level, Mae still absconded in her arms. The child shrank back a bit behind her father's leg, but continued to stare at the pretty blonde woman before her. "What's your name?"

The girl had just opened her mouth to answer, when a flurried set of footsteps made their way down the stairs.

"Etha!"

From out of nowhere, Elizabeth scurried past her parents, already sporting her light pink pajamas. Disregarding her friend's timid disposition, the Fuhrer's daughter tugged the girl from out behind her hulking father's leg and pulled her into a tight hug.

At his side, Roy watched as Riza stood from her crouched position, ready to reprimand her daughter for being so rough with her friend – however, her words died in her throat.

Etha was smiling.

"Hi Lizzie," The young girl's voice was much quieter than her friend's, but just as excited. "Thank you for inviting me."

Elizabeth pulled back to smile at the girl. Standing together, they couldn't have been more different. With Elizabeth's hair dark as night and eyes nearly the same shade, she was a stark contrast to her white-haired and red-eyed friend – yet, none of those differences seemed to change the way they regarded the other.

The girl's father, on the other hand, seemed almost hyperaware of the differences between the girls in front of him.

At the top of the stairs, the five other girls who had already arrived, called for both Elizabeth and Etha to make their way up to the second floor. They were shouting about something that had happened on the popular children's radio show Roy had already set up for them to listen to.

"Come on, Etha!" Elizabeth tugged on the other girl's hand, dragging her over towards the stairs. "It's the good part!"

The little girl went to follow her friend, holding tightly to one strap of her backpack. Before she started her ascent up the stairs, she turned around to throw her father a quick smile and wave.

"Bye, Daddy!" Etha called as she was hauled up the staircase by her overenthusiastic, newly six-year-old friend. As they reached the top, the other girls squealed before grabbing their hands and tugging them back towards the nursery.

The three parents watched the two children as they were dragged off by the others, an awkward silence hanging over them following the exit of their respective daughters. Once again, Roy could hear Havoc and Breda shift nervously in their boots at the tension that seemed to engulf the room.

"I expect her to be returned in one piece."

The man's voice was deep, the sound of it rumbling in his muscular chest. The threat laced in those words went without being said, and while Roy wished he could be offended by such a vicious accusation, he couldn't say the man's worries were born from nothing. What he had done in Ishval could never be erased from the minds of those who had been made to suffer because of his actions.

"Of course, sir." Riza responded easily, though Roy could hear the tightness in her voice. She too was upset by the man's words. "Etha will be treated just as any other child in our home."

The man glared at Riza, as though measuring her words for any sign of deception. Roy could feel his spine straighten and fingers twitch at such a threatening stare. Although the Ishvalan father had many inches over him, Roy would not hesitate to defend his wife should it come to it.

Lucky for him, such a fight was not to transpire that night.

Without so much as introducing himself, the man turned on his heel and made his way out of the house. The door slammed behind him, causing all four adults left in the room to jump at the loud sound.

"Well, boss," Havoc drawled, walking up to his two old friends with a toothpick between his lips. "That went quite well."

Roy glared at the man, raising a dark brow in challenge. "I would really hate to know what you consider bad, then."

Havoc smirked in Roy's direction. "A pancake-shaped Fuhrer."

Breda tried to hide a chuckle behind his fist, feigning a coughing spell instead. At his two subordinates' behavior, Roy rolled his eyes.

"I know you two are upset that I didn't tell you what was going on tonight – " Havoc gave him a look that clearly said 'you think'. Roy ignored this and continued on. "However, I expect you to remain professional just as always. Keep in mind, this is a very important mission."

"It's a sleepover."

"It's a girl sleepover." Havoc corrected Breda, gesturing wildly at their military blues. "And here we are, decked out as though we're facing ole' Bradley."

Riza butted in, quickly – cutting off her husband's surely snide remark. "If it's really that much of an issue, I don't mind taking care of it."

Both Breda and Havoc went silent at this. From beside Riza, Roy was glaring at the two men, his eyes telling them that they better not accept such an offer. Both soldiers knew better, though. They had seen how different Riza had been upon their trips to the house, they knew she needed this reprieve more than anyone.

"Nah, Riza." Breda finally said, sending a supportive smile her way while shoving his hands into his pants' pockets. "Like I've always told you, we'll do anything for you."

Havoc nodded, agreeing with his friend's words. "Even if it means putting up with a few female brats for a couple of hours – we'll do it if it's for you."

Riza smiled gratefully at the two men, while Roy's expression turned sour.

"Are you saying you wouldn't do this for me?"

"Nope."

"Not at all."

Such insubordination had the Fuhrer's eye twitching – however, a loud bang and a yell from upstairs caused a pause in the conversation. Before any of them could react, a round of giggles broke out, the sound traveling down the stairs. Roy groaned at the thought of what that noise could have possibly been.

Riza was about to say something, when Mae began to fuss from her place in her mother's arms. Roy gestured for her to pass the baby over, but Riza shook her head.

"Let me bathe her and feed her before you take over." The woman bounced her daughter, as her fussing got louder. "That way you'll have an easier time putting her to sleep."

Roy was going to make a comment on how nothing seemed to help Mae sleep, even after four months of life – however, Riza had already started to make her way up the stairs. Even from his spot on the ground floor, the Fuhrer could hear his wife cooing at their daughter as she rounded the corner towards the master suite.

"So," Havoc drawled, clapping a hand on his boss's shoulder. "Is there a reason you didn't employ Becky to help you with this little venture?"

Roy glared at the man behind him. "Shut up, Havoc."

~

If Roy thought that the night couldn't get any worse than the awkward interaction that had kick-started the party, he was sorely mistaken.

The cake cutting had gone alright, besides a few cases of dropped icing and misplaced forks. One of Elizabeth's friends, Grace – if Roy was not mistaken – had shared offhandedly with the man as he passed her a piece of cake, that she was deathly allergic to nuts, causing Roy to pause in his action.

Elizabeth's cake was chocolate with nuts added into the icing of the middle layer.

Narrowly avoiding a potentially harrowing situation, the man had fished out a cookie from the pantry to give the girl instead while the other children enjoyed their cake. The small, blonde girl nibbled on her sugar cookie while telling Roy about the time she had nearly died after eating a sandwich that unknowingly contained peanuts. At the description of a swollen throat and difficulties breathing, Roy could feel himself growing pale.

Havoc simply laughed from behind him, watching as the Fuhrer's face grew more and more horrified. Breda would have laughed, too – however, he was distracted by his own piece of cake.

With that situation successful avoided, Roy actually felt like he was doing pretty good on his own.

After cake had been served, the girls had been redirected to the upstairs nursery. While Breda helped Elizabeth pick up her fallen dollhouse – the culprit of the loud sound they had all heard earlier – Riza entered the room with a freshly bathed Mae.

Upon the appearance of a baby, all the girls immediately turned their attention to the Fuhrer's wife.

"That's my sister, Mae!" Elizabeth told them excitedly, following the girls as they crowded around her mother's legs to get a better look. "I like to call her Mae Mae!"

Riza herself was already dressed in a pair of soft white pajamas with hair wet and cheeks flushed from her recent shower. Roy couldn't help but think she looked absolutely angelic as she began to approach him.

"She's all ready to go." The girl's mother said as she passed him the bundle of blankets. Mae didn't even fuss as she was transferred from the warmth of her mother to that of her father. "I've already fed her, so all she'll need is a good rock before bed."

"I can do that." Roy assured her, noting the worried look in her tired, amber eyes. "Go get some rest. I'll bring her to the cradle by the bed when we're done in here."

Though she still looked worried, Riza could not hide the near visible relief that suddenly flooded her body. Giving her husband one last grateful pat on the cheek, the woman kissed her young daughter's forehead, before taking her leave of the room.

Roy turned towards his men with Mae now cradled in his arms.

"So," He started, wincing visibly as Elizabeth and Etha squealed over something that had taken place over on the other side of the room. "I'm going to go put Mae to – "

"Uh, no you're not." Havoc reached out for the baby, his hands making a grabbing motion as though Roy were about to pass over a weapon. "You're staying here, boss. I'll take baby duty."

"If you hold her like that, you'll drop her!" Breda commented, also moving forward to get in on the action. The auburn-haired man didn't want to be stuck in the nursery with the young girls either. "At least give her to me, so she can rest in peace."

"Excuse me?" Havoc asked, turning to his friend, Mae completely forgotten. "What is that supposed to mean? I have four boys!"

"Which I have never seen you hold!"

"What?! That's bullshit!"

A chorus of tiny gasps caused the men to pause in their argument. Looking over to where the seven girls were crowded around the dollhouse on the opposite side of the room, the men were met with the shocked faces of each and every one of them. Havoc almost swallowed his toothpick in fear, scared to turn and see the dark look that was surely developing on the Fuhrer's face.

"Breda, take the baby."

Havoc winced at the Fuhrer's flat tone, not even turning to watch as Mae was placed in Breda's arms. The man made himself scarce as he opened the door to Mae's small room without even throwing a glance behind him.

While the girls continued to stare, Roy clapped Havoc harshly on the back. To the girls, it would appear to be a friendly gesture – however, Havoc knew better. Instead of retracting his hand after placing it on his subordinate's back, the Fuhrer continued to hold on to the fabric of his jacket.

"Hey, Lizzie?" Roy called out, prodding Havoc to step forward and towards the girls who were still staring in their direction. "Didn't you say earlier that you wanted to play doctor?"

Havoc gulped as a round of cheers erupted from the other side of the room.

He really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.

~

Roy had thought that forcing Havoc to partake in a game of doctor with the girls would somehow end up saving him from a similar fate – however, he had been wrong.

While he was already worried that all Elizabeth's friends would go home and tell their parents that the Fuhrer had some very foul-mouthed subordinates, he was even more worried that Etha's father would come and pound him into the ground for allowing his daughter to be exposed to such language. After all, the Ishvalan people were very religious, and he couldn't remember a time when he had ever heard any of them curse.

So, to distract the girls from the word that Havoc had let slip, Roy went about helping them create a makeshift "stretcher" to put the very unhappy man on.

Serves him right, Roy thought to himself as he fluffed up Havoc's pillow a bit more aggressively than any medical professional ever would. The blonde Captain gave his superior a withering look.

"Really, sir?"

Roy shrugged, allowing the young girls to take over from there, already having gathered all their "equipment" to perform a successful "surgery". The man found it all very amusing, until a tiny tug at the bottom of his jacket had him turning.

"Mr. Fuhrer Mustang, sir?" A small, black-haired child, who he believed was named Abigail, was pulling on the fabric of his coat. "Aren't you going to play with us?"

Roy opened his mouth to say no, when Elizabeth – appearing out of nowhere – began to tug at him a little more aggressively than her friend. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Daddy come play!"

"Lizzie, I don't – "

"Yeah, Daddy." Havoc mimicked the voice of a young girl from his spot on the floor. Grace was sat on his chest with a plastic stethoscope, trying to listen to the man's heart. "Come play with us."

"Havoc," Roy warned as his daughter continued to tug on his hand, leading him over to a second "stretcher" that the girls had prepared. "I don't ever want to hear those words from your mouth ever again."

The blonde man rolled his eyes, wincing as Grace reached out to hold his lids open to shine a light into them. From behind her, a young Alice scribbled away on a notepad, appearing to take notes as Grace shouted out random observations to her.

Roy was forced to remove his coat as his daughter pushed him back on to the pallet. He was suddenly surrounded by Etha, Abigail, and Lizzie, all who had donned white robes from his daughter's closet to give them the appearance of medical physicians. Two sisters, Helen and Margaret, rushed from the room to go retrieve something from Elizabeth's craft table.

"Hurry!" Elizabeth shouted after them, taking her plastic stethoscope from Grace to listen to her father's own pounding heart. "We're losing him!"

Noticing the wide-eyed stare of her father, Elizabeth leaned down with her hands on her hips. The look she gave him was quite stern. "Daddy, you have to at least act like you're dying."

Having been on the brink of death many times before, Roy had no problem playing the part of a dying patient. After heaving a sigh of resignation, the man relaxed on his back with eyes closed, mentally counting down the hours before he could finally force the girls to go to bed.

Despite the flurry of activity going on around him, and the poking and prodding courtesy of his daughter, Roy was able to get pretty relaxed atop the pallet. After a long week of talks related to a skirmish with Aerugo along the border, the man was definitely ready for a long night of rest alongside his wife.

He almost allowed himself to get lost in the image of her soft, warm body against his – when something cold and wet landed squarely on his forehead. The sensation caused his eyes to pop open, only to be met with a curious blue pair.

Helen had returned with a wet cloth and had been instructed to place it on the Fuhrer's head in an attempt to "lower" his "fever". The girl was the youngest of the bunch and the smallest as well, following the orders of the older children as they continued to move around him in mock concern.

Before Roy could comment on the water dripping into his eyes, another cold, wet sensation made him pause at it made itself known through the fabric of his shirt. From across the room, he could hear Havoc let out a yelp of surprise, as well.

"Lizzie?" Roy asked, as he tilted his head up to see what his daughter had just put on his stomach. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he watched her draw a circle with red paint over the area where his burn scar resided. "Lizzie! Where did you get that paint?!"

"Shhhh," The girl warned him, never pausing in her actions. "Daddy, we have to save you. I'm performing Alkahestry."

Roy groaned, knowing his wife was going to be unimpressed with the state of his shirt when she caught sight of it. "Lizzie – please, be careful. We don't want the paint to spi – "

Before he could even finish his sentence, a gasp broke out from the girl beside his daughter. Margaret, the dark-haired sister to the young child keeping vigil by his head, looked down at the floor in horror. The red paint can that had caused Roy such weariness, was now lying over on its side, its contents covering both the sheets of Roy's pallet and the side of his blue pants.

All the girls went silent as they stared at the mess in shock. Then, suddenly, a wail broke loose from Margaret.

"I didn't mean to Mr. Fuhrer!"

Roy, still surprised by the spilled paint all over his pants, hurriedly sat up to comfort the crying child. "Margaret, it's okay."

"Please don't arrest me!"

"Margaret," Roy reasoned, careful not to shift too much, lest he displace more red paint on to the floor of the nursery. "I'm not going to arrest you."

"I don't know, Margaret." Havoc commented from his spot on the other pallet, looking quite amused by all of this. "He's a pretty mean guy!"

"Havoc!"

The man's words only had the girl crying harder. "I wanna go home!"

While all the girls rushed to comfort their distressed friend – Roy groaned, while laying his head back down on the pallet. He was really starting to consider enlisting Rebecca's help, when the cold, wet cloth from before was placed back on to his forehead.

Looking up, Roy noticed that Helen was the only child who hadn't rushed to help her sister. Instead, she had remained by the Fuhrer's side with a bowl of water and a cold compress.

Wait a minute…

"Helen?" Roy asked, trying to gain the girl's attention. "Where did you get that water from?"

The facets were high in the manor's bathrooms, making it almost impossible for a small child to reach them unless there was a stool present. Even then, Elizabeth still had trouble reaching the knobs of the sink without the help of one of her parents. It made Roy wonder how a child of such small stature could have filled a bowl under one of the bathroom facets.

Unless…

"The toilet."

Times like these, made Roy wish he had birthed boys.

~

Breda returned to the room to find both Roy and Havoc sat on the floor and covered in paint. If he noticed the reddish tinge of Roy's freshly washed face, he said nothing.

The girls had convinced Roy to do "pretty" braids in their hair, after having seen Elizabeth come to school with them on more than one occasion. It was one of the perks of having grown up with a multitude of sisters. It was definitely something Riza was thankful for, since she had little experience with hair that was not her own.

Currently, the Fuhrer sat braiding Margaret's hair, the young girl's tears finally dried after having had her friends calm her down. No longer scared of the man behind her, the girl had agreed to let him braid her hair. Elizabeth, who sat beside her with her dark hair already braided, pointed excitedly at something in the book that lay before them.

Havoc stood from his place on the floor to greet Breda, pointing towards the mess of sheets and paint on the floor. "Want to give me a hand?"

Breda didn't even ask questions as he walked over to assist his comrade.

"I think Felix is really cute." Grace was saying, playing dolls with both Alice and Abigail. Helen scooted over so that she could watch the scene unfolding. "We shared paints last week."

"Ohhhhhh!" The two other five-year-olds giggled, their faces flushed with the idea of young love. Roy couldn't help but hope it would be a few years before he caught his dear Elizabeth saying such things about the males in her class.

As it was, his daughter seemed rather preoccupied with her book, gesturing for Etha to come over so she could show her something as well.

Roy smiled at her actions. His daughter certainly took after both him and his wife – always curious and always learning. It wouldn't surprise him, if in a few years time, she approached him about wanting to learn alchemy. He still wasn't quite sure how to feel about that one.

Once all the girls had their hair braided and their sleeping mats had been set up, Roy employed Breda to read them all a bedtime story in an attempt to tire them out. Though, from the look of their drooping eyes, it didn't seem like the men were going to have any trouble getting the girls to sleep.

While Breda and Havoc acted out the scenes from a bedtime story, eliciting giggles from the young girls curled up on the floor, Roy went to go check on Mae.

The infant was resting peacefully in her room that lay adjacent to the nursery. Roy was surprised that the noise hadn't disturbed her – however, with all the crying she had done over the past few days, the man figured she was just about as tired as her mother was. Careful not to disturb her rest, Roy picked the girl up from her crib to transport her back to the master suite.

After depositing his daughter into the small crib in his bedroom, Roy returned to the nursery, surprised to find it quieter than before.

The sight that lay before him had the Fuhrer nearly bursting into laughter.

Havoc and Breda were sat in two small nursery chairs, snoring loudly with both their heads thrown back. From the looks of it, all the girls seemed to be asleep as well.

Chuckling quietly to himself, Roy made his way over to where his daughter lay in the middle of it all. The man leaned over quick, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin of her forehead.

"Happy Birthday, Lizzie."

Roy was about to stand up once more, when a quiet, little voice had him pausing.

"Thank you, Daddy." Lizzie murmured before turning over, her new doll clutched tightly to her chest. It had been a present from her great grandpa Grumman.

"You're welcome, Lizzie." Roy replied, giving his daughter one last kiss to the head before turning the lights of the room off. With Breda and Havoc watching over them, Roy was sure the girls would be more than okay for the rest of the night.

After washing up and changing from his now ruined uniform, Roy was finally able to make it into bed to join his wife in blissful slumber. She had looked so cozy when he had moved Mae to their bedroom earlier, that all he had wanted to do was forego his nightly routine to join her.

Careful not to disturb Mae where she lay in her crib, Roy quietly reentered the room and made his way to the bed. After situating himself under the sheets, the man turned towards his wife and pulled her close to his chest, nuzzling his face in her hair.

Riza hummed tiredly. "How'd it go?"

Roy was too tired to explain the dramatics of the night. Instead, he pulled his wife closer and snuggled deeper into her embrace. "It went fine."

"Thank you." Riza kissed his chest tiredly, rubbing her nose against the skin there. "I needed a break."

"I know." Roy rubbed her back in comfort. "I certainly didn't mind giving you one."

Riza gave no response, already slumbering once more. Roy was just about to join her, when a shrill sound broke him from his semi-conscious state.

Mae had started to cry.

Fighting back a groan, Roy was just about to lift his head off his pillow when the door to his bedroom burst open and Elizabeth pushed her way through.

"Daddy!" The young girl exclaimed, ignoring the cries of her younger sister as she rushed over to her father's side. "Helen threw up on the floor!"

Now, Roy did groan.

He was really starting to hate sleepovers.

[urkingbby]

@jenevievemccoy​

"They said the school covered it up as long as she agreed to leave, so thats how she got away with it." Jenevieve said referring back to the letter she received. Jenevieve looked away from him. "Are you sure?" she said as she nervously twisted her rings around her fingers nervously. "Okay. If you insist, only because I'm....legitimately scared, I do feel bad putting you out of your own bed though." She said looking back up at him. "Thank you." She said pulling him into a hug.

Jackson didn’t spend much time resenting the aristocratic students; some of his best friends being among them, but it was in times like this that he honestly wondered how the upper class managed to get away with half of the things they did, especially if it involved someone being killed by another student. He shook his head, his expression saddened in thought of this poor girl and her family. “And she pushed her?” He asked for clarification again, really trying to imagine what had taken place. “Down the stairs...” he trailed off, feeling as though it was all really rhetorical, still remembering everything Jene said very clearly.

He shook his head again. “Don’t feel bad.” He insisted, not wanting Jene to have to worry about anything other than relaxing after the day she had... and especially after the weeks she would continue to have, having to face Maddie after revealing her secret to the school. He released a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the events at the school lately. Wrapping his arms around her again, he carefully rested his chin on the top of her head. “Do you need water or anything?” He murmured.

☆*:.｡. [ From Bottom to Top​ ]  .｡.:*☆

“Especially if she actually got away with it.” He agreed absentmindedly before releasing a bit of a sigh. Suddenly, the thought of Maddie having jumped Leo a few months back was swarming his mind, and the fact that Maia had beaten her up. He wondered what could have happened to Maia, had Maddie been willing to hurt her in that way as well. He only allowed himself to think of it long enough for his stomach to churn and he brushed it off once again. Standing before Jene in his room now, he lowered his chin as he kept his gaze steadily on hers. “I’m not gonna pretend I don’t care just so people won’t be mad that I want to help you.” He insisted, releasing a bit of an incredulous laugh when he did. “And you’re not kicking me out of my bed, I’m offering to not sleep there so you can.”

Jenevieve shrugged. "I mean, I don't blame them. The benefit of the doubt, murder is a far off concept. Whatever happened that day, a girl fell down the stairs because maddie pushed." she said shaking her head. Jene nodded as she followed him out of the common room, it made her feel a bit better, she was on edge Axel would come in at any moment. "Um, no. I couldn't. I couldn't do that you.. and if Axel... if he found out I don't think he would be the nicest to you because he pretty much hates me." She said feeling bad. "Plus, I can not kick you from your bed because I started drama with the resident bitch."  

With the brief description of Balo, Jackson pushed his lips to the side in thought, his expression falling to one of deep distress and wariness when Jene suggested that Balo may actually allow people into their dorm to go after Jene. He released somewhat of a scoff. He had only really known Balo from arts club, but wasn’t sure who she was outside of it or what she might be willing to do when upset for her friends. “I don’t know how anyone just blindly defends something like that.” He said before he had a chance to stop himself. He knew he shouldn’t have been leaping to any sorts of judgements, knowing very well how much dread he felt knowing that others would be judging him when it had been his secret to be revealed, but murder? He shook his head with the thought, unsure if he even wanted to evaluate much further. He knew Axel was close with Maddie, but there was something particularly off-putting to him about allowing Jene to return to her dorm that night. “Let’s go into my room.” He suggested, figuring that it would be safer in there than out in the common area of his dorm, unsure if and when Axel would return. “Do you wanna stay here tonight? You can sleep in my bed, I’ll just sleep on the couch.” He offered.

Jenevieve shrugged, honestly she knew that people really close to maddie would think she made it up, but she was surprised how many people didn't believe it, it was kike they instantly forgot the crusade even existed. Jene knew the circle was bad, but this was next level. Forcing others to do their dirty work was insane. "I live with Balo who is basically Maddie and Jacks little yappy puppy." Jenevieve said with an exhale. "I don't think she would do anything, well... except open the door and let people in to come after me." She said looking away from him. This was stressful, the months Maddie were gone were honestly Jene's happiest. She wished she would just leave again. "I don't think I'm safe anywhere. At this school, safety is just non existent."

Jackson’s lips turned down a bit at the edges with her words. Although it was never ideal, he knew that this was the approach that was likely necessary to pull through knowing how Maddie could get... but also knowing that there were countless people likely of the belief that Jene did something like this on her own. He pressed his lips together when she explained and he released a terrible sigh, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, Jenevieve.” He released amid his sigh. He knew that the pair of them had faced terrible things at the hands of The Circle and he couldn’t help but fear that what they were walking into would be much worse than even that. “Are you safe at your dorm? Who’s your roommate?”

Jenevieve pushed her hair out of her face. She bit her lip as Jackson said she wasn't okay. "I know, but if I say I am enough... maybe I'll believe." She said almost in a whisper. The one thing she loved most about Jackson was that he was understanding. "They gave me a choice. A choice between two evils. I could do horrible things to a person, say some pretty fucked up things to this person I care about or get a secret to reveal. I didn't know it would be... hers... but then they sent me a letter with when, where and what to say. The crusade is so much worse than the circle... They don't just go after you... they go after the people you care about most and let them suffer knowing its because of you"

Jackson peered sadly at Jene when she pulled away from the hug. He pressed his lips together a bit when she spoke and took a deep breath, trying to take a few seconds to process what The Crusade’s last message had been before reevaluating exactly what Jene had done that day. He couldn’t help but wonder if there would be more. “You’re not.” He whispered. “And I don’t expect you to be...” he released a small sigh. “What did they do?” He asked. “How did they tell you about... Maddie? What did they say to make you do it?”

Jenevieve knew her leaking makeup had to coming off in his shirt as she buried her face into his shoulder. There was something about his gentle touch that calmed her. SOmehow she knew that out of all people, JAckson would be the lask to judge or yell at her, not the way Maddie Sav and Axel did. The way Axel looked at her, like she had just killed his puppy or something, really broke her to pieces. And the fact that she was on edge and had threats coming her way scared her. Jenevieve pulled away and whipped under her eyes before taking a deep breath. "Its okay. I'm okay" she forced out before added a small smile. It was clear she wasn't but bottling her feelings was aways a good option.

Hearing the emotion arise from her, Jackson inhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, pulling her just a bit closer when he did. He pressed the pads of his fingers against her back and shook his head. "Don't worry about my shirt." He murmured somewhat firmly, finding some level of amusement in the concern but being unable to dabble in it for very long as his mind ran over the events from earlier again. Gently rubbing her back, he felt a certain level of urgency, wanting to be able to do something but knowing that whatever had taken place today was far beyond anything he could control or help in any meaningful way. He didn't ask if she was okay or how she was doing, of course how she was doing was not well. But all he could think to do was be present with her, unsure if he even had anything to say that could begin to scratch the surface. "It's okay..." he insisted through a breathy whisper.

That was their thing, comfort in the silence. She wasn’t sure why still. But she didn’t mind it. Sometimes she thought they could just feel eachothers emotions and thoughts without having to say the words. She wrapped her arms around him and exhaled as she felt she could finally breath. The exhale was the sound of a whimper before a breakdown. Tears fell from her eyes. “I’m straining your shirt...”

Hearing the familiar voice, his head shot in her direction and he immediately got to his feet. “Hey,” an exasperated and worried sort of sigh pressed from Jackson’s lips with his greeting, the feeling clear in his eyes as he peered at her. He pressed his lips together. There was no doubt in Jackson’s mind that Jene wouldn’t have simply done what she had done that day on her own, and although there would definitely be people who thought otherwise, he couldn’t decide whether or not that somehow made it worse. Would it have been better if she would have done it without some sort of prompting? He stood in an uncomfortable sort of silence for a few seconds, unsure where to even start. Before taking the chance to ask how she was doing, he quickly closed the space between them, not hesitating to wrap her in an embrace; still not exactly finding anything to say just yet.

After ythe whole exposé, Jene was not really feeling social, especially with Maddie on her back. It was late at night while Jenevieve roamed the halls. She made her wsy over to Jacksons room, letting herself in at this point, she did not want to be a sitting duck waiting for him to answer the door. "Jackson." She said as she pushed into his dorm, landing in the common space. "Hey"

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

starker=> “What if they find us?”and “They’re not looking anyway.”

I’ll Keep You (Dirty Secrets)

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Word Count: 4.8K Notes: I made up a totally different canon universe and that was a lot of fun - thanks for the fun prompt, nonnie! Warning: NSFW things, crazy canon divergence Summary: 

Peter is the most surprised to see Tony Stark on his couch not because it’s Tony Stark, but because they hadn’t agreed to see each other when he left the older man’s house a few hours ago. 

Or: What if Peter Parker is college age and dating Tony Stark during the events of Civil War? 

do the thing, send in all the prompts 

The last thing Peter expected to walk in and find after his 3PM Thermodynamics class was Tony Stark sitting on his couch with May.

The surprise didn’t come from Tony himself – he left Tony’s place a few hours ago to make sure he got to class on time. When he walked him to the door, Tony never mentioned anything about coming over and choking down his aunt’s fig-nut bread and smiling innocently at him like they’d never even seen each other before. Shaking his head, Peter walked into the kitchen to collect himself.

When he turned back around, there was a surprised look on his face. “May, what’s going on?” Peter asked, his eyes wide. Turning to look at Tony, Peter did his best not to smile – “Hi, hi – I’m Peter, Peter Parker.” He did a ridiculous little wave, then looked back and forth between the two “adults” in the room.

Finally getting behind the protection of his thin bedroom door, Peter slapped a hand to his mouth and let out the laugh he’d been holding in since he walked through the door. Tony looked at him affectionately, his plump lips slipping into a beaming smile. “That went much better than I expected,” Tony admitted. He closed the gap between them and pulled Peter into a brief kiss. “I needed you to be surprised. We’ve got to head to Germany – it’s about to get real, Pete.”

Wrapping his arms tightly around Tony’s hips, Peter kept him close. For the past couple of weeks, Peter walked into the penthouse to a very irate Tony. Though he hadn’t wanted to get himself or Spider-Man involved just yet, Peter knew he wouldn’t be kept away for long. Steve Rogers was at odds with Tony and the conflict was slowly coming to a head. The crazy suit Tony put together for him a few months ago would finally get to see some action worthy of its excellence.

Tony’s well-crafted plan to get him away from Queens for however long it took to finish things, worked like a charm – May kissed his cheek and bought him a celebratory dinner before Happy came to whisk him away the next day. Getting to the hotel and finding his suit upgraded and waiting for him made his heart race.

Peter still felt pretty nervous about joining in business he still wasn’t sure was meant for him, but he’d do anything for Tony. Even if that meant finally putting himself in a world he’d been tiptoeing around for the entire year he’d known Tony and the Avenger’s business he dealt with.

He got through high school without exposing himself or his loved ones – that’s all that really mattered to him. If this entire ordeal led to Tony offering him induction onto the team, Peter would take it. Being with Tony meant exposure to this world; why not take it by the reins and make his own home on the team, hopefully under his own conditions.

There wasn’t much time to marvel at each of the heroes he’d been reading about for years – the concept of the fight was simple; stop Steve and Bucky from leaving. Peter did his best to keep up with the most revered superheroes and felt pretty good about the fact that he’d managed to stay in step and outsmart a few of them. Maybe Tony’s urges weren’t entirely selfish on the older man’s part – Peter had plenty of things to contribute to the disorganized chaos of the people around him. When they were working cohesively, Peter knew they’d be pretty unstoppable.

It was pure luck, finding Tony before he took off after Steve and Bucky. Peter stopped him in his tracks when Tony tried to push past him. The idea of Tony taking on something that felt so personal by himself didn’t even register – Peter wouldn’t take no for an answer; he jumped into the ship before Tony could really argue. The entire flight was silent – Tony hell bent on keeping up the silent treatment. Peter took the opportunity to try and put together the pieces of what was really happening.

Someone was out to split the group up – someone that had information that would force certain people to take sides. Peter didn’t have enough information to know what the root of all of this was, but whatever they were dealing with couldn’t tear them apart; that would be the ultimate win for the person orchestrating.

The swift realization that Steve kept something so raw and personal from Tony almost had him swinging across the building with every intention of attacking “America’s Ass”. The look on Tony’s face stopped him, however – there were real traces of hurt evident on his already strained face. Tony’s parents were something they hadn’t talked much about – Peter knew he resented Howard and missed Maria wholeheartedly. Much like Peter, Tony lost his parents long before resolution or satisfaction could come from their relationship. The shock of having them ripped away by people he knew wasn’t surprising or unfounded – Tony would need to reevaluate some of the decisions people he considered close to him made and the reasons behind them.

But, it wasn’t the time for that. Tony looked two seconds away from spontaneously combusting – the only thing Peter could do was stop him when Steve and Bucky took off. Tony looked at him with murder in his eye – the betrayal he read on his face made Peter’s stomach clench. “Think about it, Tony. Just stop and think. Zemo did this to create a divide. Something isn’t right and you know that.” Peter shouted the words at him – his heart racing with each one he threw from his chest. “Let them go.”

Tony went slack against him – whether it was realization or simply surrender, Peter wasn’t sure. He kept Tony in his arms until he heard the jet Steve and Bucky took take off. The resolute silence a few minutes after that had him pulling away, his hand reaching up to pull the mask off of his face.

The brown eyes that met his when he could see Tony again were much softer, the instant anger of the situation giving way to a more guttural feeling. “He killed my mom,” Tony babbled, his face falling. Peter was only strong enough to pull him in before tears of his own were falling.

Silence surrounded the flight back to the Avenger’s compound, only this time, Peter kept his arms around Tony’s middle and didn’t move a single bit the entire way. It took them two days to get the needed medical attention and track Steve down – the cell phone he left for Tony was the exact thing they needed to narrow down their whereabouts and catch them before they were untraceable.

The conversation that followed managed to satisfy Tony enough to not want to rip Bucky’s head off anymore. In the end, he was the one to suggest seeking out Shuri in Wakanda. Despite not having direct access to the country, Tony knew all about the genius being produced there – it was hard not to take notice of the smart people of the world. He told Peter that line time and time again.

It took a few months, but Steve finally returned to the compound. Between him and Tony, they managed to strike up a deal (which really meant intimidate) with Senator Ross. Saving the world wasn’t political business – at least that much everyone could agree to.

----

Thanos’s threat became a reality for the group at the compound when Thor’s distress signal reached them. They couldn’t pinpoint his location, but his cryptic message was enough to kick start them into action. It was clear to see that protecting, collecting, and destroying the stones was the only possible option.

Now a full-time member of the Avenger’s, Peter had a good time pointing that out to everyone in one of the many meetings they had about what to do about the fucked-up situation they were heading into. After the third time suggesting that they split up, Tony finally heard him and started to formulate a plan.

Steve, Wanda, and Vision headed out to Wakanda to get back in touch with Bucky and get Shuri to work her incredible magic. Tony and Peter wandered off in hopes of finding the time stone. Nat was tasked with the daunting task of pinpointing where Thor was. It seemed like each of them had a mountain to climb – but the world depended on it.

Happening open Doctor Strange when hunting down the time stone became an apparent advantage when he drew a portal and magicked them directly to Wakanda to join the others. The mind stone’s presence drew Thanos’s troops and they needed all of the manpower they could get.

News of Nat finding and heading out towards Thor’s location came to them when they got to Wakanda and met up with Steve and a fresh-faced Bucky. The first two seconds of the interaction were weird – Tony stood stock still. Then, he let the mask drop and pulled the man into a hug. Just the sight of it was cathartic – Peter could only imagine how both of the tortured men felt in that moment.

Meeting Shuri and T’Challa was a little rushed as they were all equipped with some of the Wakandan technology and weapons. Tony’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack when he saw all of the things that Shuri got to work on and with – some of it was replicated in his own workshop, and some of it was brand new and calling his name. Peter watched with silent amusement as the nerd in Tony tried to fight its way to the surface. There wasn’t time for that now – Shuri was in the final stages of separating Vision from the mind stone.

Standing in the middle of the battlefield a little while later, completely surrounded by Wakandan soldiers and the crew he’d been slowly making himself comfortable in, Peter felt himself smiling. They were about to fight for their lives, but he felt confident and ready with all of the strong characters flanking him. Tony gave his hand a quick squeeze before his face plate settled into place – at least they were taking on the fight together.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he swung from one place to the next, taking out as many enemies as he could along the way. Peter and Tony played off each other frequently, the boost of Tony’s ability to fly gave Peter a distinct advantage. He’d have to mention that to his boyfriend when all the craziness was over. 

The back and forth seemed to go on forever – their retreat was leading them closer to the city with every minute that passed. Finally, there was a loud blast of a horn in the air, the richness of it sounding like victory.

Shuri managing to save Vision and destroy the stone sent them down a road that made the triumph over Thanos more and more likely. Nat found Thor and Loki with Rocket, Gamora, Peter Quill, and Groot.

She quickly found out that Gamora lied to her father and had the soul stone the entire time and Thor and his newly reformed brother Loki were in possession of the space stone. It didn’t take any prodding for either party to give up the infinity stone in their possession – Gamora regaled them with the many stories of Thanos murdering half of the many planets he managed to conquer. Not a single piece of the threat was a joke.

After destroying them, they were half of the way there. The time stone was safe with Stephen until the rest of them were collected. Peter Quill knew that the reality stone was with The Collector – he’d heard the man brag about its presence more than a few times. Knowing that Thanos only had one in his possession made settling for a plan of action much easier – the ability to include everyone in the flight gave them the upper hand.

Gamora offered herself up as bait – she knew her presence would draw her father out. He took the power stone by force, decimating Xandar without blinking an eye. Thanos was smart enough to know the fight was coming – Peter just hoped he didn’t know how big their team actually was.

In the end, it came down to Peter yanking the glove that Thanos wore so arrogantly on his hand, off and into the hands of Tony. There was a second when everyone looked around – the idea of winning never actually crossed their minds. They were all brought back to the reality of the situation when Gamora shrieked and took Thanos’s head straight off.

The collective sigh of relief that settled over the group didn’t really latch on until all 6 of the stones were destroyed. It took a little more convincing than Peter would have liked to have Stephen actually give up the time stone – but he saw reason eventually. It might have been imagined, but Peter thought something shifted in the universe when the final stone was destroyed. In this universe, the stones couldn’t cohesively exist without someone challenging them for the power they contained. The timeline was finally set right.

----

Celebrating the ultimate win took a few weeks to actually make a thing. Peter and Tony were content enough to be wrapped up in each other in the free moments they were gifted. Without the threat of Thanos, Peter decided to go back to school – Tony stayed in the city with him under the guise of getting back into the swing of things with Stark Industries.

It wouldn’t matter a single bit that they were together, but Tony was hell bent on keeping their relationship a secret. It made sense – things got to stay between the two of them for as long as they desired. Being open meant inviting people into their relationship and neither Peter nor Tony was particularly looking to do something like that.

Peter was right in the middle of his fall semester when Tony called him on his way back from class. Seeing Tony’s name flash across the screen, Peter picked it up instantly – the three-ring rule didn’t apply in situations like this.

“Hey Tony,” Peter said in answer, his voice a little breathy from the excitement that he couldn’t stop from coursing through him. Since Thanos, it was a lot more important to grab on to every single ounce of happiness.

His time with Tony would forever be too short. He learned the reality of that each time he stressed about losing Tony when they so selflessly put their lives at risk for the sake of everyone’s freedom, not just their own. The involvement in that wasn’t changing, so the risk would forever be there.

Shaking himself of the thought, Peter smiled when he heard Tony’s voice on the other side of the phone, the obvious scratch of disuse giving away his many hours straight in the lab. “Hey Pete. I got word from Steve today that they finally want to throw that fancy celebration shindig. Of course, they want to use our house to do the entertaining, but I couldn’t say no. You know how much I like a good party.” Tony actually sounded excited about the whole thing, so Peter paid close attention. The sound of Tony saying ‘our house’ was hard not to fixate on, but he tried his best.

By the time Peter got home, Tony was in the kitchen without his shoes on. The normal lab garb made him look half his age and never failed to pull at Peter’s heart a little. Tony’s carefree nature came out when he got to flex his brain – Peter loved getting to see his boyfriend that way. He managed to get behind Tony before the man even realized he was there – his muscled body tensed for a second when Peter’s arms wrapped around him.

“Hey, you,” Peter said against his ear, his lips trailing the words with a kiss. Peter let his face pressed against the side of Tony’s head, his boyfriend relaxing against him after a second.

“You scared the shit out of me. I was running through the latest specs in my head and got distracted. Nice surprise, though,” Tony remarked, his hand reaching back to grip Peter’s neck. Adjusting a little, Peter pressed their lips together, the weird angle making him chuckle.

“I might have put on the web shooters and swung the rest of the way back,” Peter admitted, his cheeks reddening when Tony’s hand tightening against him. “You seemed so excited on the phone; I couldn’t wait for the subway.”

Tony turned around in his arms, his own hands coming to tangle in the hair at the back of Peter’s neck. Leaning forward, Peter gave Tony another kiss, the softness of it a direct contrast to the hands in his hair. “I am excited. I get to put you in a suit and watch Thor get delightfully drunk. That’s always a party, Pete,” Tony muttered breathlessly. Their foreheads were pressed together, and Peter found himself going in for kisses every few seconds.

“He’ll bring the mead, I bet,” Peter said with a laugh, Tony’s breath tickling his nose as he too snorted out a breathy chuckle.

“One can only hope.”

The rest of the evening and all the ones for the next two weeks were filled with planning and getting ready for the first big gathering of everyone since the big win against Thanos. 

Steve and Bucky went back to Brooklyn to see what living together would look like. Nat and Bruce were regulars to Stark Industries and the Stark household – out of everyone, they were the only two to know the true nature of his and Tony’s relationship. Loki, despite his initial misdeeds, was helping Thor run New Asguard – and they were actually getting along.

All the effort seemed worth it when they were all in one room together. It was like no time passed at all – the easy camaraderie that came with saving the planet couldn’t be lost in just a few months’ time. Peter mingled with everyone, his eyes wide and cheeks sore from reminiscing and catching up with the people that he considered family, despite the reservations he initially had about the saviors of the world when his journey with them first began.

He found himself wanting to pick Tony out of the crowed whenever he moved around and got caught up in the same conversation with someone else. Peter found himself able to withstand from the pull of Tony’s presence for a couple of hours. Eventually, when he noticed him over Bruce’s shoulder during their riveting discussion on the different types of sod, Peter excused himself and trailed after Tony. He was heading towards the back part of the penthouse where their bedroom was – it was the perfect place to grab a second or two of alone time with him. With all of the excitement surrounding them, it’d be nice to feel the grounding effect that Tony had on him.

A soft sigh left his lips when he found himself being pushed back against the door of their bedroom. He heard the creak of the floorboard by Tony’s side of the bed and went to investigate – Tony pining him against the wood was a very excellent end to his hunt. Tony gripped his hips tight, the older man’s hips rolling forward to pin him completely to the hard surface of the door.

“You’ve been catching my eye all night and it’s so hard to concentrate. I talked to Thor about his struggles with a preteen online twice before I realized it. I need you, Pete,” Tony got out before pressing his lips to Peter’s, kissing him soundly. The words were enough to make him harder than a rock, and the kiss set him on edge.

“What if they catch us?” Peter mumbled, his head turning to break the kiss in a desperate attempt to pull him oxygen into his lungs. His skin was plastered to the fancy shirt and jacket he let Tony talk him into wearing – everything felt tight against him. The arousal pumping through his veins woke up the hypersensitivity of his Peter-tingle and doubled the intensity of the feeling.

Tony didn’t respond to him right away – he methodically went about getting Peter out of his suit jacket and the tie around his neck. Peter’s fingers fumbled to pull Tony’s clothes from him, but the older man simply slapped his hands away and did it for him He didn’t care where the clothes landed, the rumpled look they’d return to the party with would be obvious – but at the moment, Peter didn’t give a shit, either.

When his bare back hit the mattress, Tony finally framed his face with his hands, his black eyes staring down at Peter intently. “I don’t care if they catch us. Not anymore. Hiding what we have hasn’t been worth the moments we miss out on. I should have had you on my arm tonight.” Tony said the worlds simply, the look on his face recognizably genuine. “They’re not looking, anyway. Everyone is in their own little world celebrating how badass we actually are.”

Laughing, Peter surged up and caught Tony’s lips – his legs wrapped around trim hips to bring them closer. It didn’t take much to get lost in the kiss and the not-so-subtle way they were grinding against each other. Peter didn’t try to hold back the overwhelming sensations – he bit into Tony’s neck when his orgasm washed through him. Tony pulled back enough to kiss him through it, their tongues tangling until Peter was too overcome to continue.

The boneless way Peter pressed into the mattress made it easy for Tony to spread his legs a little wider and start prepping his hole. Peter brought his bottom lip between his teeth, the tangibility of Tony’s touch still washing over him in the most overwhelming way. Tony must have recognized that, because he continued to tease his finger around Peter’s rim and pepper kisses to the inside of his thighs. It was just distracting enough to turn too much into not enough.

Peter looked down at Tony and nodded, the non-verbal communication just as important between them – especially in times like this. Tony abandoned his position between Peter’s legs for a second before returning, a bottle of lube in his hands. He willingly went when he felt Tony’s hands on his hips prod him into turning over. A moan left his lips when the coolness of the sheets pressed against his cock that was already starting to harden again.

The thickness of Tony’s fingers always surprised him upon first entry – they were a bit on the shorter side, but wide and filling from the get-go. Peter did his best to relax, Tony didn’t wait long before thrusting forward impatiently. The tip of his finger brushed against Peter’s prostate repeatedly – his cock going from somewhat interested to leaking within a few presses. “Another, Tony. More – “ Peter gasped out breathlessly, his skin pebbling from the collection of sensations.

1 finger quickly became 2 that gave way to 3 without Peter really noticing. Tony was peppering his shoulders and upper back with kisses and running his free hand down his perineum, the tickle on his skin there just enough to keep him from jumping off the cliff. He did notice the absence of them, however, his head turning quickly to take in Tony curiously.

“It’s okay, Pete – I’m going to fill you up. Just a second,” Tony muttered, his eyes finding Peter’s for a brief moment. He could see the tremor of Tony’s hand when they broke eye contact, his shaky fingers having a hard time getting the cap off the lube again to spread some of the slick along his weepy length. Peter dropped his head between his shoulders when Tony closed his eyes, the hand on himself obviously just a bit too much. Chewing on his cheek, Peter relaxed as much as he could and pressed back when Tony started to push in.

Hearing Tony groan when he was finally seated completely inside of Peter had him reaching down to grasp the base of his cock. It never stopped being sexy, how much Tony lost control when they were wrapped up in a position like this. For whatever reason, Peter held a key to another part of Tony that not a lot of people got to see. It drove him absolutely insane. Everything about Tony did that, though.

Their pace started out slow and specific. Every one of Tony’s thrusts was long and targeted, the head of his cock pressing deliciously against Peter’s prostate with each one. As Peter started to get closer to his orgasm, his ass clenched more and more tightly around Tony’s cock. His boyfriend slowly started to lose the battle between measured strokes and desperate thrusts – his hips stuttered and started to chase a deep spot in Peter randomly. Tony’s panting breaths were loud, the only other sound in the room the squeaking of the mattress under them and the slap of skin against skin.

Peter only had to stroke over himself once to finally succumb to the brain melting goodness of his second orgasm of the night. He called out Tony’s name and pressed his hips back into the ruthless slamming of his boyfriend’s hips. He clenched the walls of his ass even tight around Tony and felt the liquid heat of his spend start to spread within him a couple of seconds later. Groaning when he felt teeth in his neck, Peter felt all of the energy drain out of him as the noise left him – his chest hit the bed unceremoniously.

Tony pulled out and shuffled them until he was pressed against Peter’s back, his sweaty arm warm across his stomach. “Holy fuck,” Tony mumbled, his lips finding the side of Peter’s neck.

Grinning, Peter snuggled into Tony’s touch, a soft ‘mmmm’ coming out of his mouth the only source of agreement. The gust of Tony’s laugh made him grin a little wider, the floaty feeling so much better with Tony’s arms around him.

----

They went back to the party a little while later – Tony had FRIDAY set an alarm for 15 minutes and slipped into a deep sleep almost immediately. Peter relaxed against him and enjoyed the cadence of his boyfriend’s snores – most people hated the sound, but it meant that Tony was getting the rest he needed, and that’s all he wanted for him. FRIDAY’s voice brought him out of the little trance he fell into – he shook Tony awake as gently as he could so they could get up and try to slip back into the flow without being noticed.

It should’ve been easy, slipping back into the party. Everyone seemed pretty drunk when Peter walked into the open area of what was usually their living room. Most of his comrades were broken up into small groups talking and laughing – Thor and Loki were regaling Rhodey with some sort of heroic tale, Peter could tell by the shit eating grin on the God of thunder’s face. He walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and was stopped by Steve – the man’s eyes wide.

“Are you wearing Tony’s shirt?” Steve asked without hesitation. He walked over to Peter and went for the collar, his fingers pulling it back. Everyone knew that Tony was narcissistic enough to label his clothes with a TS on the collar. The black of the stitching contrasted the red shirt he hadn’t been wearing when he first walked into the party a few hours ago. Glancing up, Peter caught Tony looking down at his own shirt – the maroon shirt Peter started the night with buttoned up over the gleam of his arc reactor.

Peter got out of Steve’s grasp easily and walked over to Tony, his arm wrapping around his boyfriend’s shoulder. He gave him a kiss on the cheek and just about lost it when Tony raised the hand not wrapped around Peter’s waist and uttered “surprise”. The collective gasp in the room had him laughing, his head resting on Tony’s shoulder without a single care in the world.

[inkstaineddove]

Circling Eagles

Characters: Austria, Prussia; mentioned Hungary, France and Holy Rome

Summary: Austria is suddenly summoned to Berlin by Prussia for a vague meeting. Tensions run hot between them as egos due to an over abundance of ego and animosity in both, throwing their discussions off course to air grievances and bait the other.

Berlin, 1806.

Prussia was hunched over his desk in his study. The matter of France’s increasing territorial ambition had left him with more work to do than ever. He found himself a slave to all his papers as they stacked up, growing ever higher each day. He was roused from this by a light tapping on the door. One of his servants stepped in and bowed her head. He flicked his hand towards her as if to beg her to get on with it. "Master Edelstein has arrived, sir."

He harrumphed. "Have him wait five minutes in the parlor before sending him up. I'm in the middle of something." He returned back to his papers, scribbling out correspondence to generals on the front and to ambassadors throughout the European courts.

Not even a minute had gone by before the door slammed open. "Oh for heaven's sake, Gilbert! Who do you think I am, Baden? You can't expect me to wait around like your coy little mistress after you rush me over from Vienna." Roderich was leaning over the desk, in the Prussian's face.

Gilbert grimaced. Why did his beloved cousin have to wear so much fucking perfume? It never smelled good either, making it even less tolerable. "Get over yourself, Roddy. You know I would never treat your mistress like that. How is she, by the way? I've been so busy, I haven't had the chance to call on her. I hope she hasn't wasted away, having to capitulate with a man hardly capable of fulfilling his marital duties."

Roderich straightened up, his face red. Gilbert rose and shut the door. The staff didn't need to hear all this. "You jealous, spiteful little rat. If this is all you have to say to me, when I've been sending men to death to protect your pathetic little state, I've got no qualms signing a treaty with France and ending the whole thing! I'd love to join with him and rid myself of you, but tragically I have honor."

Prussia shrugged, barely suppressing his amusement at the other’s outburst. "I was enjoying myself, but you've always got to ruin the fun." He began rummaging through the stacks of paper on his desk. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. "Have you received any letter from us yet, dated a month ago after Austerlitz? I know your men were at the battle, but no one reported to me seeing you there."

"I know we got our asses handed to us and about the resultant treaty afterwards, as I negotiated that, but that's it. I'm assuming you tried reaching me about something else?" Austria gaped as he watched Prussia toss out the letter he had so valiantly fished for. "What was the point of that?"

"I'll show you instead. It's about that troublesome empire you clung so tightly to." Prussia led him out and down the halls to a darkened room in the basement. "Thankfully, it's really unsettling down here so I've had no trouble keeping my staff away from here. But it sure was a bitch wrapping the kid up in sheets and bringing him down here in the middle of the night. Without making a sound, should I add." He couldn't help the hint of pride in his voice. He lit the candles hanging by the sofa.

Roderich leaned against the wall, needing it for support. He felt queasy. There before him was the body of Holy Rome. It was a wretched sight. He was covered in wounds, his body appearing as if it had began bursting apart. His eyes were rolled to the back of his head, his tongue was swollen, and his face distorted. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything! He was sent here after Austerlitz in need of expert medical care. He got it, but everyday he kept getting worse. He became so shriveled up, completely disfigured and eventually unable to eat or move. I guess this is what happens when a state's dissolved by treaty. Almost feel bad for him, it might've been better if France had just gutted him with a sword." Prussia yawned, completely unbothered. As the years had gone by, he'd grown less and less fond with the empire-in-name-only. If anything, Francis had done him a personal favor. "I'm sorry you lost the seat of your power."

Austria was not taking this discovery well. He knew that Holy Rome ceased to exist in everything but name - hell, he agreed to it in the treaty - but he expected the embodiment of it to go slowly, peacefully. To eventually fade away till it existed in memory only. This was grotesque. A horror beyond any other imaginable. He wanted to throw up, he wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, to drink till he was numb. So of course, of course, Gilbert would take this as an opportunity to douse the wound in vinegar. "How dare you! Insinuating that was the only reason I cared for him after all these centuries. To stand there, on your high horse, and act as if you're somehow more worthy than me because you're so callous, so uncaring towards this. Marvelous! Further proof that a ghoul has no soul! Are you proud, are you fucking proud Gilbert? Will this help you sleep at night, knowing you have to live in my shadow while I've gotten everything - the girl, the empire, the power - that you've wanted?" As he spoke, he pushed Prussia against the wall, his breath stinging hot against Gilbert's lips.

He saw red. Before he even knew it, he'd punched Roderich in the jaw. Before he even knew it, he'd spat on his cousin’s hunched over body, landing it right on Roderich's cheek. He knelt down and grabbed the Austrian by the collar. "For a little whore who can't defend himself, you really love talking a big game. What do you have that I don't have? I think we know who your wife would rather be with. You know that too, don't even fucking start there. This isn't the fifteen-hundreds anymore, Roderich. All your power comes from who you can get your monarchs to marry off to, whoring yourself around to each nation so maybe they won't recognize the paper tiger in front of them. What power can you really have if you're too weak to truly flex it? As for your empire-" He gestured towards the decrepit corpse of Holy Rome, "-he's over there. Rotting away, no longer any use to you. Now what puppet will you have to prop yourself up with?" He pushed Austria away and stood. "Get over yourself, you'd be less intolerable. Sure, you won't see me crying any tears for this nuisance, but I'm not celebrating. If he really means that much to you, then figure out what to do with the body. That's the reason I called you here. I don't want this shit here any longer. He’s stinking up my cellar.”

Austria spat the blood that was pooling in his mouth out. He wiped the spit off his cheek. "You're a barbarian. Who could ever love that? Uncivilized, uncouth, an ogre. Whoever you appeal to simply lacks taste, that's all. It's not an attachment to you, it's an absence of acculturation to be worked on." He paused. "Vigorously." Collecting his pride, he rose and dusted himself off. Roderich rolled his eyes. "I suppose a proper Catholic burial in Vienna will be due. All the royal honors. I'll invite the other German states, though I doubt they'll show, a fitting tribute to their allegiance."

"Burying it would be a waste. Haven't you heard what the others have been begging for? The whole specter of France has the weaklings begging for a united Germany." Prussia wrinkled his nose up at the concept of it. "If they get their way, it might be worthwhile keeping the damn thing."

"A united Germany? One where Bavaria, Saxony, and the two of us are all working together, fighting for the same goals and for the same nation?" Austria scoffed. "A fantasy. No, if I kept him in an accessible area and the idealists got wind of that, my God. It would be a propaganda victory for them if they believed I sided with them. I can't have that. It would be suicide."

"Just a thought. That whole group keeps clamoring for it more and more. I'm not sure how easily we'll be able to crush the idea. They seem to be putting all their hopes into it." Gilbert laughed. "It's ridiculous. They want every state to be considered equals in it. Can you imagine? Having us be equal to all of them? I'd be embarrassed having to consider Cleves a peer."

Austria gave him a pointed look. "I think what would be worse is us having to consider the other an equal. The day I look at you occupying the same plane as me will be my last. You'll always be that backwater nation with unchecked ambitions to me. Saxony and Bavaria have had the common sense to acknowledge that, it's you who's always been desperate to rise beyond his station. Funny, you'd expect a Calvinist to accept that he was predestined for mediocrity."

Prussia's blood ran cold. He clenched his jaw. "And you'll always be a dying star, clinging to its last streaks of glory. Too proud to admit when he's washed up and no longer en vogue. For all your trappings of wealth and culture, it never seemed to get you any class. You're still here, in the mud, where you'll always be. Come on, don't be afraid to admit that you like it." Austria shifted nervously. Prussia smiled. "I'll send the body to you. I figure you don't want it riding in your carriage with you, you're welcome."

They tersely went back up the stairs to the main hallway. Roderich collected his coat and checked his appearance in the mirror. "You're beautiful, please leave my home now." Prussia opened the door and, as Austria walked out, said, "Make sure to give my regards to the misses."

Roderich stopped and leaned in close to Gilbert's ear. "I will as we're going to bed tonight after I've fucked her so good. And I'll think of you, sleeping in that big bed alone, and I'll sleep like a baby." He strode off, leaving Gilbert in the dust. Another meeting of unfinished business.

[the-blueish-trashcan]

He's in Charge; Chapter One

Pairing: Henry/Bertrum

Warnings: [None yet]

A/N: This is the first chapter of a very, very long fic I've come to love, and treat as one of my better works. I've posted part of this on ao3 and wattpad already, but just haven't been getting any feedback on it. Treat this chapter as a pilot, the thing that should hook you in for the next part. If the feedback on this is good, well... there will be more to come! I'd also like to personally thank the wonderful @halfusek for allowing me to tag him in my incredibly obscure fanfic! I'm surprised he even liked the idea I pitched, but I'm so, so thankful for it!! Half, if you do read this, you're one of my favorite folks here, and quite the blessing, too! ^.^;

Chapter word count: 2,061

{First part [YOU ARE HERE]} {Next part}

Fic summary: As an up-and-coming animation company, Joey Drew Studios hardly had time to toy around with itself or its staff. Or, at least, that's what the budget said, and Joey Drew himself was never one to listen to a budget. To him, the best way to draw people to his cartoon was to drum up publicity, and what better way to do that than to build a theme park? With prototypes being constructed in the depths of the studio, it was only a matter of time before tensions started to run high and money to run low. It was also only a matter of time before one Henry Stein was fated to meet the constructor of the park, the great Bertrum Piedmont. With a positive relationship quickly building between the two, not a single soul could have imagined what it would do to the studio, and everything in it.

Chapter One: Pilot

“C’mon, Henry, it’s important for you to meet the man behind the park! Everything’s in the likeness of your creation, after all!” Joey spoke as he led Henry out of the lift in the lowest parts of the studio. The “development levels”, Joey called them fondly. 

    “I understand that, what I don’t get is-” The shorter man started, but was interrupted when Joey began to speak again.

    “We’re making dreams come true, don’t you see? We’re making these cartoons larger than life!” He gestured wide with his arms, hitting the wall with the stack of papers in his right hand without meaning to. He threw a glance back over his shoulder, deep blue eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it exciting?”

    All Henry could do was offer a fake smile and nod. He knew there was no stopping Joey once his mind was set on something, even if the animator didn’t agree with it. In this particular case… it was an amusement park. It wasn’t something unheard of, but between the renovations needed to make room for the development levels and the money it would cost to purchase enough land to accommodate anything when it was finished… Henry knew it was going to be a steep bill.

    The pair mounted a flight of stairs in an otherwise empty room after navigating a maze of different hallways with pallets of different materials scattered around them. At the top, the first thing Henry noticed was the massive, gaping maw of a hollowed out Bendy head. The head itself, looking to be made of many metal plates, had to be at least two stories tall, the interior lit by a few coverless pendant lights. Under the lights were two plywood tables, cork boards not far from them covered in papers depicting plans and different concept sketches for the park.

Standing in front of one of the cork boards with his back to them was a man at least a foot taller than Henry himself, dressed in a black tailcoat and pressed black slacks. His dark brown hair had been slicked back, not a single one out of place. His shoes had been covered in dirt by the unfinished floors throughout the prototype park, but that seemed to be the only imperfection about him.

Joey cleared his throat, causing the man to turn around. He had one thick eyebrow raised, but was soon scowling at the sight of the other man. Cheery as ever, Joey didn’t seem to care. “Bertie! What’s the big project today, hm?”

Bertrum’s lip pulled up into a sneer, the comb mustache on his upper lip shifting as his expression changed. “Today’s project is the same project as yesterday’s. And last week’s. And the week’s before that. Unless it was finished, Mister Drew, which I would have notified you about, why would it be any different? Not all of just have the flexibility to jump from one idea to the next each day.” His voice rumbled, seeming to fill the extra space.

“Oh, well, I just figured I should ask! See how things were going! What did you think of my bumper car design?” Joey leaned on the table with one arm, making it lift slightly at the other end.

“Frankly they’re far too similar to my design for the carts in the haunted house. If I ever get to bumper cars, I can assure you, they will not look like that.” Bertrum pointed behind him to the table without looking. His statement, though, caught Henry off guard. It wasn’t every day that someone was that blunt with Joey, especially about something he wanted.

“Oh. Well… What about my idea for the swing ride? You got that sketch, right?” Joey tried again.

At that moment, Bertrum turned on his heel, taking one stride to the tables. Across the top sat a small scale model of what Henry could only guess was the proposed layout of the new park. He folded his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest and making himself look just that much bigger. Henry found himself taking a half-step back from both of them.

“Mister Drew,” He began, “If I were to squeeze in any new rides, you would have to fit in another two acres or more of land, depending on what half-brained idea it is you tried to cook up, and I’ve already warned you, this is going to break the bank as it is. You cannot bring in any new designs and if I’m being quite honest with you, I do not want them. I can make up my own sketches, thank you very much, and I can draw them to scale to work as a real attractions. If I need absolutely anything from you, I can assure you, you will know.”

The way Bertrum spoke sent a shiver up Henry’s spine and he was sure he could see the light leave Joey’s eyes, even through his smile. 

Joey let out a low chuckle, holding his papers out for Henry. “Here. Hold onto those for me, will you?” After Henry took them, Joey moved to the table and started to try and reason with the designer. Just by the way he spoke, Henry could tell it was going to be a very long afternoon.

*****

    After two yelling matches, two different requests for coffee from both taller men and about three hours, Joey finally decided he’d had enough of Bertrum and started to lead Henry back upstairs. It was only in the lift back to the main leves that Joey seemed to come to some sort of realization.

    “Oh! Shit, Henry, I didn’t even introduce you! That’s the whole reason we went down there!” He slapped himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand.

The animator decided to just play it off like it was nothing, for his own sake. “Oh, that’s alright. We’ll have other times to go down there. Besides, it looked like you had a lot to talk to him about anyway.”

Slowly, Joey nodded. “You know… you’re right. I did have a lot to cover with him. And it’s already awful late! You have some fill work to finish before the day’s out!” The lift slowed then, stopping shortly after. Joey plucked his papers from Henry’s arms, briskly making his way down the hall. “Back to work!”

With a sigh and a slow shake of his head, Henry simply went back to his own desk to settle in and finish his work for the day.

*****

    The clock in the break room had read ten to five the most recent time he checked it, not long ago. The rest of the studio had mostly fallen quiet by then, most of the other employees readying themselves to go home. Henry, though, was just getting started; With a fresh cup of black coffee, his tie loosened and his suspenders shrugged off of his shoulders, he was just getting ready to clock out, but not leave quite yet. Heavy, even footsteps down the hall from his desk didn’t pull his attention away from the sketches in front of him, but a voice he recognized from earlier did.

    “Pardon me, but I was sent in this direction for one Henry Stein, head of animation. Will you please just show me who it is I’m supposed to be going to?” Bertrum snapped.

    Henry turned quickly, pen still in hand, and blinked. He found himself scrambling for a response under the intense gaze. “I… Well, um… Y-yeah, that’s, um… That’s me. I-I’m Henry Stein.” He managed, but not at full volume.

    Bertrum’s eyebrows shot up in shock, his eyes widening. “You? It’s you that’s in charge of all of this?” At that, Henry could only nod, looking sheepish. The response caused the designer to curse. “The way Drew treated you made me think you were his intern! My deepest apologies, sir.” He put a hand to his chest, bowing his head ever so slightly.

    Henry let out an awkward laugh. “Oh, it’s alright! He does it all the time, I don’t really blame you.” 

    Now the other’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “That certainly doesn’t seem right. He wouldn’t even have a job if it weren’t for you.”

“Try telling that to him. I certainly have.” He hastily waved off the conversation. “Did you need something from me?”

“Ah, just this.” He held out a stack of sketches on gridded paper, all covered in notes. “I trust your judgement than Drew’s, seeing as this cartoon devil is your creation. Not to mention, after our encounter today, I would be dead before I asked him his opinion on my park. I assumed you would be gone by now so I would just be leaving those at your workspace. Please, look over them at your leisure.”

“Oh! Uhm, alright… What, uh… What, exactly, do you want me to do with them? Do you need my input, or…” Henry carefully took the papers, making sure not to set them in the wet ink. 

“I want to know what you think. Drew’s designs are… childish, at best, and while entertaining young children is a main goal of a theme park, it is supposed to be a family experience. The more the parents enjoy themselves as well, the more likely it will be that we have returning visitors.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense…” He began flipping through some of the pages, tilting his head as he did. “...What’s the theme supposed to be here? I-I mean… Obviously it’s Bendy, but… Are we going more for fun or horror? Because that’s what this looks like.” His gaze flicked back up to Bertrum. “No offence! These designs are great! I just don’t know if they match my cartoon at all.”

“Ah. I wish you had said something earlier, then. My teams have already started prototyping some of this.”

“I would have if I’d seen them, sorry if it’s caused you any-”

“What do you mean, if you’d seen them?! Drew was supposed to have gotten you to sign off on-” He thundered, then stopped when he realized he’d made Henry flinch. “Were you not shown any of this?”

“No sir, this afternoon was the first I’d seen anything come from that park at all. I just knew it was there, Joey never wanted me to go down to see.”

“That’s ridiculous. That means he hasn’t even gone over any of our plans with you, damn fool…”

Henry glanced back at his drawings, then shifted in his chair to face the other more easily. “If you’d like to discuss some of it now, I’d be more than happy to know what’s going on with the company I own half of.” He indicated the extra chair not far from him with his hand, offering for Bertrum to sit down.

“If that’s quite all right with you, I would be happy to.” Smoothing down the front of his coat, Bertrum took a seat. 

“My, um… my first question is, uh… What’s your actual name? You just really don’t look like someone who should be called Bertie to me.”

His mustache twitched as the corners of his lips turned up. “Of course I don’t! I am Bertrum Piedmont! Drew insists on this demeaning nickname of his, I can’t begin to explain why.”

Henry gave another awkward laugh. “Yeah…. That’s Joey for you…”

*****

    Far, far past the time that Henry was supposed to have already been at home relaxing, he was still sitting at his desk, but he wasn’t alone. At some point, his conversation with Bertrum had turned from being about work to about life. Despite what he had thought at first, it was fairly easy to make Bertrum laugh, and goodness knew he needed it, the animator could tell. That had to be the case, since Henry never counted himself as someone very humorous.

    When Bertrum finally gathered himself to leave, it was only because of Henry’s promise to come check on his work more regularly, despite what Joey said. In return, Bertrum promised that any trouble Henry got in for it, he would handle directly. Even with the sketches still not fully lined or filled, Henry didn’t have the energy to keep working. He put everything on his desk in order, storing the ink and switching the last of the lights off on his way out.

[literarydumpinggrounds]

Secret’s Out: Part 4/?

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Slytherin!Reader

Word Count: 3,004

Warnings: Fluff, implied violence, minor language, and maybe some angst if you squint?

Notes: Dreadfully sorry about how long this part has taken me! I don’t know what it was, but I couldn’t seem to get the concept out into words. I’ve picked and picked and rewritten and edited until my brain is mush, but it’s time to get it out, even if I’m not entirely pleased with it. As always, enjoy! :)

Draco had been wandering aimlessly around the shop for longer than he’d like to admit, valiantly trying to avoid the group he had accompanied for as long as possible when he spotted you through the window. You wore a deep virescent turtleneck that tucked into the trousers under your house robes, and bulky woolen socks that stuck out from your boots as you trudged through the fresh powder on the street. He admired the look of absentminded appreciation settled over your features as you happily followed along with your friends, but only for a moment before he continued browsing the display he’d been approaching. He allowed his fingers to ghost over the vibrant sugar quills as the bell at the door rang faintly into the crowded room, barely loud enough to be heard over the incessant chatter of the third years that crowded the shelves. 

He couldn’t help the tension that resided in his muscles, accumulating a dull ache that he’d rapidly grown accustomed to over the last few months, as his mind wandered to all of the tasks that were forcefully bestowed upon him. 

Dread owned his conscious mind, pushing against the confines of his carcass like an invisible gale. It was like his stomach was perpetually locked tight, requesting that nothing went in or out. His face set like rigor mortis, teeth locked together like a vice. He was a prisoner in his own body, and a slave to his troubled mind. 

He glanced up to the rest of the room as someone near him released a howl of laughter, his eyes settling on you in pleasant surprise. You observed the invading flurry for a moment before turning your gaze onto him, almost as if you’d felt the presence of his thieving stare. 

As your eyes met, he felt his heart leap in his chest and his stomach lurch at the tickle of nerves, a smile cracking through the hardened exterior of his previous expression. You swaggered over to him with a disarming confidence that sent a rush of brief panic through his chest, his pulse accelerating considerably despite his apparent calm.

“Funny, I never took you for a sugar quill kind of guy.” you held him in place with mischievous eyes, your fingers tracing over the display as if you hadn’t seen it a hundred times. You were an angel. 

Draco couldn’t help but admire your ability to keep him guessing; from picking fights in front of the entire school and radiating effortless confidence one minute, to making the perfect potion and blushing humbly the next. He hadn’t been able to get you off of his mind, even among all the darkness he’d witnessed, among all the horrible things he had done, his mind always seemed to wander back to you. 

Chuckling softly, genuinely amused by your choice of conversation, he requested your thoughts on what kind of guy you took him for. Your reply sent a swarm of butterflies through his gut, preventing him from holding eye contact as a slight blush heated his cheeks. Busted. 

“In that case, I should probably tell you; I prefer daisies.”

Calling this feeling a crush was infantile, something invented by older individuals with an interest in belittling young love. Draco hated it. He didn't have some school-boy crush, his feelings for you had developed with a passion hotter than a thousand suns. You were the only thing that truly mattered. You were constantly on his mind, burning every inch like a fire seed blossoming; you were light, everything he had been missing, and he craved your presence with an intensity that he could hardly bear. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

ㅡ

The entirety of your day after you’d agreed to meet Draco had led you to be consumed in thought. Conjuring every possible scenario that could unfold that evening, both positive and negative, then ran through them again as Vixen rattled on about her demands as your future maid of honor. The unknown was both daunting and exhilarating, and you’d needed reassurance on your appearance nearly three times before you began your journey from the Slytherin Dormitories to the Astronomy Tower. 

It seemed that every floor you ascended only added to your nerves, making it increasingly difficult to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Mr. Filch’s nocturnal reconnoiter was always over by eleven, allowing him ample time to spend with his dreadful feline companion before they turned in for the night. You slithered through the dark hallways effortlessly, despite the impairment of sight due to the torches fizzling out in their holds, having memorized them through your years of wandering about the castle. As your nerves clawed around in your gut, you reminded yourself of the words your mother had assured you with before your journey back to Hogwarts that year. 

When one simply chooses to be brave instead of allowing themselves to be the puppet of fear, everything will change for the better. 

The papers had headlined dreadful occurrences for months, and warned of the dangers that the world was to face upon Voldemort’s arrival. His followers at every corner, emerging from their sulfuric shadows to terrorize the masses, fulfilling whatever horrific demands he gave them without an ounce of remorse. The mere mention of them nauseated you with the overwhelming hatred for the malicious toxicity that poisoned their minds, the cancerous sludge that Voldemort inflicted into whatever vessel he touched. You were prepared for the worst, even despite the frigid burn of fear that rippled through your body at the thought of what could become of your lives. You were prepared to see him, and anyone who trailed in his shadow, diminish in an almighty hellfire. 

You hoped that a miracle would unfold, some unworldly intervention that would allow you to truly begin your life before the darkness had a chance to take it from you. You longed for something to lose. 

Outside the start of the winter season was beginning the annual breach from the autumnal hold, the ground littered with what had fallen from the afternoon sky as thousands of tiny snow kisses, each so delicate that they’d cease to exist at the touch of your hand. You ascended the stairs leading to the Astronomy Tower, calming yourself with a deep breath as you made note of the sensations you were experiencing. The outside air invaded the warmth of the castle through the open space, enveloping you in an icy vice that sent a shock wave of goosebumps to the surface of your skin, and the enigmatic electricity of adrenaline spread outward from your chest. You favored this time of the day over all. The night promised a beautiful serenity, and presented its infinite wisdomㅡ ageless stories of your ancestors ㅡthrough the aligning stars that littered the velvet black skies. 

You could hear Draco’s footsteps before you saw him, but your amusement melted into surprise as you observed the room.

The torches were lit around the room, providing a romantic glow to the worn stone, and lush blankets woven from cotton strands the hue of petals adorned the wooden floor beside the south-facing window; acting as a resting place to gaze over the Black Lake. Draco looked sick with nerves before he’d noticed your arrival, but quickly brightened as you stepped off of the last step and into the room. 

“Should we be up here?” you inquired gently, curious eyes looking around the room as you made your way towards him. “Won’t the astronomy courses begin at midnight?” 

You watched him smile then, a smile that just seemed so genuinely sweet that you felt warmth rush through you. 

“Professor Sinistra only holds classes on Wednesday.” 

He seemed relieved to see you, his shoulders visibly relaxing in your presence. The both of you sat in an unsure silence for an agonizing moment before he spoke out, your mutual gaze breaking so he could motion towards the blankets. He discreetly wiped his palms over his coat pockets as he let out a heavy breath, silently offering you a seat on the blankets. “I wasn’t sure what you preferred, but I brought a few bits for you, if you’d fancy them..” 

You joined him among the cozy nest, nestling into the warm embrace of the fabric, trying to ignore how close he was. 

“Sounds amazing.”

ㅡ

Hours had passed, and it was well into the night when you’d realized how close the both of you had migrated, the heat radiating off of you both within the blankets. You talked about anything and everything, devouring bandofee tarts and pumpkin juice together until you couldn’t imagine stomaching another bite, and now the both of you sat shoulder to shoulder in a comfortable silence as you stargazed. Suddenly, you lifted your hand to point towards the velvety black sky. 

“Do you see that string of stars there?” you murmured inquisitively, glancing over to see Draco’s features scrunched up in focus, eyes straining to find exactly what you were talking about. Chuckling softly, you guided him by his chin, a soft smile ghosting over your features as you watched him nod in acknowledgement. 

“It’s my favorite..” you state confidently. 

“Draco the Dragonㅡ” he cut you off with a snort, which you protested with a playful swat to his arm. “I’m serious, you twit! It’s Latin.” 

“It’s a circumpolar constellation, meaning it’s out all night long every night of the year.” your gaze returned to the constellation fondly, oblivious to his eyes wandering over to watch you as you spoke. “During the summer, Rastaban and Eltanin give him flashing eyes.”

You looked over to Draco to find that his warm gaze had fallen to your lips, dusting a rosy hue over the apples of your cheeks.

“In muggle mythology it’s said to represent Ladon, the dragon that guarded a tree in the gardens of the Hesperides that grew golden apples.” 

His eyes held an indescribable warmth, so fond that you thought you would melt at the end of them. “It suits you, don’t you think?”

He simply hummed in response, earning an inquisitive glance from you. Staring for a moment longer, the both of you withered in the pressurized silence as something between you grew, blossomed. 

“I really like you, Y/N.” he disclosed gently, his gaze hesitant and warm as if he feared that you would run. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you for weeks, and being with you today..” 

He trailed off, his gaze softening as he looked over your face, a nervous smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I don’t think I could keep to myself if I tried. Whatever this feeling is, if— if you feel it too, I’d fancy giving us a chance.”

A brilliant smile overpowered your features as a fiery warmth burst through your chest, compelling you to surge forward and kiss him. 

After what seemed like a small eternity, you pulled away from him, but only a few inches; your bottom lip taken hostage by your teeth as you observed the bliss on his features melting into delighted realization. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the oceanic orbs that haunted your memory as he smiled. 

“Is that a yes, darling?” he teased breathlessly as he looked over your features, trying to remember every detail in that proximity. 

“That depends, Malfoy.. Will you share your golden apples?” 

ㅡ

Your fate would have been written in different ink had you not met each other in the Astronomy Tower that night, a different decision would have left you without the other at your side, neither one complete. From that night on you were inseparable, hardly ever seen without the other by your side; told each other virtually everything, never a secret among you, or so it seemed. 

The world had become a broken heart, and all the money in existence could never mend it. It was nearly biblical. Problems that once seemed to loom as monstrous as Goliath, paled in the presence of your newfound stone of love, and any good heart could wield its power as David. Love was the only solution to healing the demolition sprouting all over the world, and you felt rejuvenated, empowered even in the presence of love. 

However, despite the radiant glow of young love being omnipresent in your life, everything had begun unraveling around you at an alarming pace. 

It had been nearly two months since you and Draco had made things official, and the Wizarding World was deteriorating before your eyes, crumbling like granules of sand at your fingertips. Hogwarts had surrounded the campus with an enchanted protective barrier, Mr. Ollivander had gone missing along with every wand in his shop, and Death Eaters were said to be after Harry Potter at the Dark Lord’s command. He was a menace as far as you were concerned, and you’d frankly grown tired of hearing his name being praised from the heights as if he were an impenetrable warlock made of gold. As long as he was running about the castle, nobody would ever really be safe at Hogwarts, that you were sure.

Yet, none of these occurrences had truly petrified you until the news of Katie Bell spread like wildfire through the halls. 

Katie Bell had been cursed on her way back from Hogsmeade. The stories varied in detail due to the verbal transference, but what remained consistent was that Katie had been propelled nearly fifteen feet in the air in the presence of the Golden Trio after touching an opalescent necklace that she was instructed to deliver to the Headmaster himself, and that she can’t recall exactly who told her to do so. 

The attempt on Dumbledore's life, as if it weren’t chilling enough, was sure to be just the beginning of death and endangerment at Hogwarts. So consequently, all trips outside of the schoolㅡ especially to Hogsmeade ㅡwere strictly forbidden until notified otherwise in efforts to maintain security. It was once this news began to spread that Draco started pulling back into himself, seeming to get lost in his head more and more as Katie neared her admittance back into her classes from recovering, and speaking to you less and less. 

You’d allowed him his space, as much as you could stand, until the day Katie returned.

ㅡ 

The Great Hall was filled with a motley cacophony of conversation and laughter when Draco had come through the doors. He was later than usual, but from his exhausted appearance you hoped that it was due to oversleeping, and not another visit with his mother. As he started towards your place at the table he seemed to be distracted by something at the other end of the Hall that halted his movement, his entire face draining of its color. 

With a furrowed brow you followed his wide-eyed gaze to find Katie Bell, who was staring back at him inquisitively over Harry Potter’s shoulder. Whatever was troubling Draco was now becoming a bigger concern, your mind swirling to connect the possible scenarios in which Katie Bell, an elder Gryffindor, had anything to do with your boyfriend. 

You watched discreetly for a moment as Harry seemed to notice her detachment from his conversation, heart beginning to hammer in your chest as his peridot irises caught stormy seas, the tension pressing down until you gently stood from the table. 

You knew Draco quite well, better than anyone ever had, and it made it all the more unsettling to see him so openly displaying his anxiety. Usually, his fear ripped viciously through veins, but never made it far enough to influence the stoic expression he’d practiced so well. His complexion remained pale and matte, his eyes as steady as if he were leisurely window shopping; only exposing himself to those who were well informed on his behavior, who knew him well enough to catch the telltale tics.

However, he was showing pure opposition to his usual mannerisms, his eyes wild and face uncharacteristically glistening with sweat. 

What could possibly be going through his head? 

An all too familiar look of determination crossed Potter’s face as he caught sight of Draco, and before you could even properly find your footing, he had hurried out of the doors with Potter on his heels; and despite your better judgement, you burst out of the doors to chase the both of them. 

You shoved through the crowded halls, desperately trying to keep up until they turned down a quiet corridor. 

The sound of crashes and bangs echoed viciously, forcing your walk into a run towards the bathrooms, mind racing as you thought of their rivalry. You were tired of the secrets and the lack of communication and the inability to ask for help. He was going to tell you what's been going on if it killed him. However, all your thoughts crashed to a halt as you burst through the back entryway to the boys bathrooms, and saw Draco laying among the wreckage and water, bleeding inconsolably. 

Your blood ran cold, and you couldn’t process all the questions you’d suddenly formulated as you rushed to his side, soaking your robes and trousers as you kneeled. Shakily your hands hovered over the invading crimson of his shirt, his hand gripping the edge of your robes as he whimpered helplessly, looking at you with a panic that broke your heart. 

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay, lovely..” you sniffled, tears painting your cheeks as they mirrored his own. 

Too caught up in your panic, you hadn’t noticed Harry until he gasped, sending your attention to where he stood, pale and horrified, the bastard. 

Burning rage hissed through your body like a deadly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of violence. It was like a volcano erupting; fury sweeping off of you like ferocious waves. The wrath consumed, engulfing your moralities at the sight of him. You’d never been so angry in your life. The world around you nearly drowned out as you snarled. 

“Potter?” 

ㅡ

@httpsavocados 

@that-weird-kid-charlie 

@emothrash  

@sinfulmango 

@theroyalbrownbarbie