#anything I mentioned or linked in that first answer I earnestly feel anyone reading this should check out!

[deathvsthemaiden]

3 4 6 11 13 17 & 23 !!! 🤠🌻

AAAAA ty Annie! 😳💌📖💕💕

3. top 5 books this year?

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin, The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison, Rhythm of War by Brandon Sanderson*, By Light We Knew Our Names by Anne Valente, and Bound by Evelyn DaSilva! And this is cheating but I read way less than usual this year and it’s hard to compile a top 5 because of it, so: I read the short story collections The Refugees by Viet Thanh Nguyen and How Long ‘til Black Future Month? by N.K. Jemisin and my faves from each respectively were I’d Love You To Want Me and The Elevator Dancer.

I’m gonna cheat again and list one manga (Spy x Family, unbelievablyyy satisfying and fun) and some of my favorite works by mutuals also. This year Eve @pinkafropuffs published plenty of fanfics in addition to Bound, but if I had to choose one recent favorite I’d say: May Flowers Bloom Wherever You Wander. Such a spectacular, magical end to a delightful series, everything fell together so so wonderfully 💞🌸 highly recommended reading her fanworks even if you’re not familiar with the fandoms!! Ari @haldimilks published Burnish, Burn, a Heathcliff centric Wuthering Heights story that I think about and revisit often<33 You also don’t necessarily have to read Wuthering Heights before reading it and the website it’s on classifies it as a 10 min read so! you have nothing to lose 👀🔥 Ilika @sheherazade wrote and it went unsaid. a Queen’s Thief one shot that blew me away! Her love for this series is contagious and she perfectly nailed the complicated feelings and sincerity between Gen and Irene imo 👑📚

*It came out this year but I only read the preview chapters, so like barely a fraction of this brick of a book, but like.... it’s the fourth book in the series and I know in my bones I’ll love it and I deliberately didn’t screen myself from 60% of spoilers because I’m so impatient and I’m so so EXCITED to finish it next year uff 🤒🤒 and hopefully do the same with the same author’s new novella, Dawnshard, also.

4. Any new authors you love?

Grady Hendrix (my kind of horror/supernatural thriller! love his ideas and he executes them very well too), Toni Morrison (I could read her prose forever. was legit sad for a bit when I reached the end of TBE)

6. anything you meant to read but never got to?

GQISJWJ so many books.... SO many it’s not even funny! I have this thing about reading a landmark number of books every year because anything else makes my brain itch uncomfortably so I was gonna read 5-10 more books than I did last year (125) and had to bite the bullet and chop it down to 75 books last month...the universe’s way of gently knocking me down a peg and reminding me the one thing I can never be is consistent 😌 (I’m kidding) anyway I complied a list of books I DEFINITELY plan to tackle come 2021 and a lot of it is compromised of books I had planned to read and/or started this year! Like The Count Of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, The House at Baker Street by Michelle Birkby, Bending the Willow: Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes by David Stuart Davies, The Book of Collateral Damage by Sinan Antoon, Thorn by Intisar Khanani, The Professor and Vilette by Charlotte Brontë, and The Bear and The Nightingale by Katherine Arden. (So mostly a bunch of Sherlock Holmes adjacent stuff and fairytale retellings.... mecore as hell 🤭)

11. favorite not newly published book?

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin hands down but also most of Sherlock Holmes in general. Some of my top favorites of what I’ve read so far are: A Study in Scarlet, A Scandal in Bohemia, The Beryl Coronet, The Speckled Band, The Norwood Builder, A Case of Identity, The Adventure of the Copper Beeches, and The Adventure of the Gloria Scott.

13. least favorite books of the year?

Mexican Gothic by Silvia-Moreno Garcia (I was SO excited for this one! it just felt unpolished in terms of plot direction and I questioned a lot of the writing choices... it’s title is basically just a concept and that’s what the book felt like and it unfortunately wasn’t satisfying), The Door in the Hedge by Robin McKinley (short story collection and McKinley’s works in general are hit or miss for me and this was a collection of misses 🤕 too much description and not enough plot or substance in these particular retellings that were played too straight, like no twists or changes leapt out at or hooked me), And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie (I went into it knowing the original title and more about Christie in general than I wished to, but even without that... I just did not feel for any of the characters and was relieved every time one of them finally bit the dust), A Woman is no Man by Etaf Rum (don’t get me started.... I’ll just say I’m unfortunately aware of why non-Muslims ate this one up and I don’t like it. Tragedy p*rn and not even of the author’s own experiences. Reinforces too many stereotypes and is not a story about Muslims I think American/Western/whatever readers need to be exposed to rn.)

17. surprised by how good they were:

My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante (that end!! Very excited to see how the main characters’ lines progress in the next few books), The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires by Grady Hendrix (this was SUPPOSED to be a popcorn read but I got SO invested it was magical), Pachinko by Min Jin Lee (one of those meandering books that follows generation after generation, dull at times but ultimately I liked the level of detail every other character got like? The author clearly knew what she was talking about and I enjoyed the overall picture she painted of the time periods the book takes place in. The duller parts were necessary and worth it), When The Emperor Was Divine by Julie Otsuka (I just loved the prose of this one and how quick a read it was. None of the main characters had names either which intrigued me a ton and worked in the story’s favor)

23. fastest time it took to read a book?

Mm. The audiobook to The Yellow Wallpaper was like 45(?) min long GWHSHWH I also read Dostoyevsky’s short story A Novel in Nine Letters, which was short and snappy, and I’m also in the middle of reading An Honest Thief and Other Stories, also by him, which I probs won’t finish till next year but the first story was also easy breezy. I’ve mostly read short stories in 1-2 sittings this year, to keep me sane in between homework and freaking out, so I could go on but those stick out to me!

[zintranslations]

Kaleidoscope of Death, Extra 7

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Extra: Bai Ming and Zhang Yiqing

After Bai Ming and Zhang Yiqing met, Zhang Yiqing once asked Bai Ming a question. He asked him: "What are your dreams?"

When he heard this question Bai Ming immediately beamed. He met Zhang Yiqing’s eyes and answered earnestly and solemnly, "my dream is you."

At this, Zhang Yiqing was momentarily taken aback.

"I'm seriously asking."

Bai Ming, "and I'm seriously answering."

Bai Ming indeed was serious. Before encountering the doors, he'd already been a fan of Zhang Yiqing, obsessively devoted to that handsome man onscreen.

Bai Ming collected Zhang Yiqing's every movie, every drama, and every commercial. And when he found out that Zhang Yiqing was quitting the silver screen to direct behind-the-scenes instead, Bai Ming went crazy for a good long while.

During that while, nobody in their organization dared to go through doors with him. They all knew Bai Ming was the sort of person capable of doing anything on a bad mood.

Back then, Bai Ming had not yet been the boss of their organization. He had just been a plain and simple door-crosser, though the potential he emanated often gave his fellow door-crossers the sense that he was no small-pond creature.

Bai Ming's family situation was more complicated. He'd lived at an orphanage since youth, and had only been found and brought back home after he turned twelve. Only then did he learn that his father was actually a rich man, and the reason his father brought him back had nothing to do with paternal devotion, but rather because his brother needed a healthy liver.

This sort of bloody melodrama was what befell Bai Ming.

The truth was, prior to actually meeting Zhang Yiqing, the two of them had seen each other once before.

It was at a cocktail party hosted by the Bai family. Bai Ming had stood in a corner, small and thin, and watched as a smiling Zhang Yiqing chatted with his father. Zhang Yiqing had been young back then, and had just recently snagged Best Actor—there was still a touch of youth in his appearance, but the unparalleled splendor of his later years could already be seen.

Bai Ming had stared at him for a long time, many thoughts flashing through his mind. At this point he was already a fan of Zhang Yiqing's movies, but was too nervous to just walk up and start talking to him. He could only gaze from afar.

And later, Bai Ming met the doors, so he'd thought that there was only ever to be the one encounter between he and Zhang Yiqing.

But fate was always an extraordinary thing. After many years of hard work, Bai Ming had staked out quite a position for himself in the world of the doors. One day, a good friend suddenly asked him: "Bai Ming, you like Zhang Yiqing, right?"

Lit cigarette hanging between his lips, Bai Ming vocalized a lazy, "mh."

"He's started entering doors too," his friend told him. "Want to consider taking him on?"

Bai Ming's head twisted to stare at his friend.

"What did you say?"

Looking innocently back at him, his friend repeated himself.

Bai Ming extinguished the cigarette and laughed, "this isn't a joke, is it?"

Of course it wasn't a joke. The moment he saw Zhang Yiqing again, Bai Ming knew that his dream was about to come true.

Zhang Yiqing, who had retreated behind the scenes, was no longer as tender as he'd been in his youth. He was no less handsome, however. Like an aged bottle of wine, he and his charms had not faded with time, in fact had begun to emanate a unique fragrance of maturity.

All competent people have arrogance, and Zhang Yiqing was a proud standout in his industry. He'd taken the laurels for Best Actor four times, not to mention countless other awards, both large and small. The year he turned to directing, the country had even nominated him for Best Director.

The only shame was that after encountering the doors, his fate was forced to take a sharp turn.

"Hello, I'm Bai Ming." The two sat face-to-face, and Bai Ming held a hand out to Zhang Yiqing with a smile. His smile was sincere, and paired with that harmless-looking face, there really was no visible aura of an apex predator about him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Naturally, Zhang Yiqing was fooled by Bai Ming. He took Bai Ming's hand and said, "it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Zhang Yiqing."

"Oh," Bai Ming nodded. "I've seen your movies."

Zhang Yiqing smiled politely. He likely thought Bai Ming was just a normal fan, or perhaps not even that—Bai Ming may just be an audience who had seen his movies in passing. But much later, when Zhang Yiqing saw that room stacked full of his own works, he would finally realize that Bai Ming was nowhere as harmless as he made himself look.

Of course, at this point, Zhang Yiqing was not aware of anything. He saw the headful of natural curls, the unsophisticated grin, and really took Bai Ming for a gentle-natured young man…

At this point Zhang Yiqing even failed to understand why everybody in Bai Ming's organization was so scared of him, to the point where Zhang Yiqing thought there really must be a misunderstanding…

Inside and outside the doors, Bai Ming did not change much. His personality stayed genial. When confronted with malicious words or even malicious people, he was never even vicious in return.

Sometimes, Zhang Yiqing even thought Bai Ming was being too nice, and would step up to protect Bai Ming.

"You're too well-tempered," was something Zhang Yiqing once said. "Nice people get taken advantage of. Harbor no intent to hurt, but preserve all instinct to caution!"[1]

Bai Ming listened to Zhang Yiqing's reprimand and said, beaming, "Zhang-ge's right to scold me."

Zhang Yiqing didn’t know what went through his head then, but seeing Bai Ming's well-behaved smile, he reached out and gave that head a pat. Only after touching Bai Ming did he realize the gesture didn't seem quite right, and so he coughed once, before explaining, "it just looks good to touch."

Bai Ming just blinked his eyes noncommittally.

Bai Ming's hair was extremely fluffy and truly peak touch quality. Just seeing it made people want to pet it. But there really weren't that many people who’d dare to pet a tiger—Zhang Yiqing was one of few, though at that time, he had yet to discover the fact that Bai Ming was a ferocious beast, and not some adorable kitten.

But fake was fake in the end—Zhang Yiqing was no idiot either. By the time he became aware of the incongruities about Bai Ming's person, the two of them had already grown closer.

Zhang Yiqing had noticed the oddity and even joked about it, saying, "Bai Ming, how come I've discovered that anyone who crosses you gets struck with misfortune?"

Bai Ming batted his eyes at this.

"Don't they deserve it?"

At his smile, Zhang Yiqing froze. Zhang Yiqing had only been joking, but after careful thought, a layer of cold sweat began to dot his back. Because as far as he could remember, ever since he and Bai Ming started entering doors together, those who had wronged Bai Ming were not simply "unfortunate," they were all…dead.

That's right, dead. Dead via various odd accidents. Some things may seem accidental on the surface, but—upon multiple occurrences—could no longer be mere coincidence.

Incidental became inescapable after a certain point.

Having realized something, Zhang Yiqing looked once more to Bai Ming, and found that the young man who was once so easy to read now seemed something of a stranger.

The good thing was, that feeling only lasted for a moment, because Bai Ming grinned and scooted closer again.

"Zhang-ge, come get hotpot with me tonight?"

"Sure," Zhang Yiqing agreed.

The relationship between the two of them was still ambiguous at this moment, but one could die at any time inside the doors. Zhang Yiqing saw clearly Bai Ming's devotion to protecting him, and so the two got closer and closer—until one day, when Zhang Yiqing went to a party.

As a heavy hitter in the entertainment industry, there were naturally many people lined up to take a ride on his coattails. That was why that day, a coworker introduced him to a beautiful young woman.

Though Zhang Yiqing rejected her immediately, Bai Ming, who'd come along for fun, still saw everything.

Oddly enough, against Bai Ming's gaze, Zhang Yiqing felt a sense of guilt. The party hadn’t even been over when Bai Ming pulled Zhang Yiqing alone into a break room. Zhang Yiqing wanted to resist at first, but discovered that he wasn't at all Bai Ming's opponent—he was picked up and brought along as if he were a sack of rice.

"Does Zhang-ge have someone he likes?" was what Bai Ming asked him.

Zhang Yiqing said, "no."

"No?" Bai Ming said. "Then what's the deal with her?"

Watching Bai Ming's expression, Zhang Yiqing had the thought that the person before him seemed a bit drunk. He licked his lips, and spoke hoarsely: "I don't like her."

"You don't like her, but you'll still have her?" Bai Ming asked.

Zhang Yiqing opened his mouth, wanting to explain. But when the words got to his lips, the pride in his bones was for some reason set off by Bai Ming's accusatory tone. He lifted his chin and, with a cool expression, forced down the anxiety deep in his chest.

"So what if I will?"

Bai Ming pressed a hand to his lips, got closer, and hummed, "but I'll get angry."

Zhang Yiqing's brow furrowed.

Bai Ming, "I'll get very…very…angry."

Zhang Yiqing was just about to ask and so what if you get angry when Bai Ming shoved him onto the break room sofa. Bai Ming's fingers picked apart the first button on his shirt, and the man looked down at Zhang Yiqing from high above. His voice when he spoke was colder than anything Zhang Yiqing had heard from him.

"I don't want to wait anymore."

Zhang Yiqing's eyes went wide. This was the first time he became aware that Bai Ming and that harmless youth he thought he knew were two completely different people.

"Zhang-ge," Bai Ming said. "I like you. Do you like me?"

Zhang Yiqing swallowed, and he didn't answer Bai Ming's question. He only said, "calm down a second…"

Bai Ming watched him. "You also like me, right? You just don't want to admit it…But even if you don't admit it, that’s alright." He smiled, as handsome as an incubus. "It's fine as long as I like you."

Everything that happened after that was unspeakable.

By the time Zhang Yiqing once again regained consciousness, he was limp all over. Bai Ming had him wrapped up in blanket and was placing him into the car. Seeing him wake, Zhang Yiqing beamed.

"Zhang-ge, you're up? We're headed home now."

Zhang Yiqing wanted to speak, but found his voice nearly gone. He recalled something, and a smudge of red appeared over his cheeks as he grated out: "Animal."

Bai Ming batted his eyes. "Zhang-ge, are you calling me big?"

Zhang Yiqing, "…" He surrendered.

Bai Ming, "no worries, it's only 3AM. There's still plenty of time when we get back."

Zhang Yiqing wanted to retort, so Bai Ming caught him by the lips. Bai Ming's kiss was rough enough to turn his mouth an evocative red.

Zhang Yiqing went dizzy with the kiss. It was only then that he had the faint realization that he…seemed to have caught the attention of someone incredible.

Translator’s Notes:

害人之心不可有，防人之心不可無; idiom that literally means, “you can’t have intent to hurt people, but you can’t not be guarded against people.” The two phrases have parallel rhythms Chinese (note the four middle characters are identical), so coming up with a translation that mirrors that to some degree is both fun and difficult.

[Extra: Twin Lives, Twin Deaths(3)] | [Extra: Tan Zaozao]

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 10 ~The Art of Non-Communication

WARNING: MILD SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in The Mediation

"Three million pounds for a house!" Jenny broke through his reflection. "Doesn't it make ye wonder what else she inherited?"

Jamie looked at the paper again.  That's what the house is worth? Ach, Christ!  Even the Oxford gossip found its way to Broch Mordha. He knew Claire would be mortified if the news of her assets became everyone's favourite topic of conversation.

Folding the note, he handed it back to his sister. He shook his head at his sister. "Not a word about this to any of yer mates!" he warned her. "Or else ..."

Jenny's eyes widened. "What do ye take me for?"

"A babble merchant," he ribbed, unsmiling. "Now, let me be."

"Ye're no' angry at me still, are ye?"

"No," he sighed. "I'm just exhausted."

"Can I do anything for ye?"

He puffed out a breath. Jenny was looking at him earnestly, and he knew she only wanted to reach out. "Aye, in fact, ye can. Ye can arrange that appointment with the therapist for me."

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

  Jamie was removed from the noise of Lallybroch's homely routine when he stepped inside the shower that barely allotted for his breadth and height. He stroked the erection he'd been sporting since he'd woken up from his dreams of Claire, his elbow occasionally hitting the wall. If he kept this pace up, there would be some damaged tiles to answer for by the time he finally climaxed.

Creamy pale skin and amber eyes seeped through his mind, and he stifled a groan, the throbbing flesh in his hand swelling to the point of anguish. It was the reason he'd escaped to the shower when his dad had woken him, the image of Claire still vivid and the need to spill urgent. But the act of pleasuring himself was tainted with guilt. It didn't feel right using the memory of them together to find completion when he'd left her on her own. Not only did it make him a sick lecherous human being, but his action defied all reason and logic. 

Anyone in their right mind wouldn't be depriving themselves if they had what he and Claire had, but instead, here he was, on self-imposed retreat, his hungry thoughts reliving that time she'd been on her knees taking his entire length in her sweet, sweet mouth. Depravity kicked in, and his body responded to the memory in a fast, fluid rush. Every moral compass he'd had, went from dried cement to loose sand, and nothing could contain the rampant desire to relieve the pressure between his legs. 

He propped his left hand on the wet wall and quickened the pace of his strokes, the tight fist travelling from the base of his hardness to the engorged tip. 

"Christ," he gritted, hoping he could finish without the repercussion of self-loathing and feeling like an unredeemable bastard. 

Ye left her! In tears!

It's for her own good. I'm taking steps to make myself better ...for her.

What if she gets sick and tired of waiting for ye to sort out yer issues?

No, no ...she understands. 

Ye havenae called her.

I'll see her after the therapy, for fuck sake.

Guilt made him want to dim the image of Claire sucking him, but the heavy sack hung between his thighs wouldn't be wheedled into emptying without envisioning her. 

He was so close. He replayed Claire's most recent voice message in his head, her voice husky and yearning. She must have been in bed wearing nothing but his shirt.  I love you, Jamie. I wish I could hold you right now and ease your pain.

"Ah, fuck!" Jamie groaned as convulsion racked his body. "Christ, Sassenach." His seed spurted from his cock in what felt like an endless surge of the tide. Back and forth until he was compelled to release his flesh to brace himself with both hands on the tiled surface while the remnant of his release washed down onto the shower floor.

The water had turned tepid by the time reality came streaming back in. Steeling himself, Jamie waited for the chitter-chatter in his head to start reprimanding, telling him what a sick bastard he was, but nothing came. It was quiet. Notably quiet, in fact, and the prolonged silence was too unusual for comfort and almost deafening. The voices had been his life long companion, and it seemed like someone had muted the noises. The only sound he heard was the sound of his breathing and the shower spray hitting the surfaces.

He almost jumped at the loud rapping on the door. "Jamie! Ye're gonnae be late for yer therapy appointment," Willie called out, impatience lacing his voice.

He blew out a breath. "Two minutes!" he shouted. Damn it!

"Two minutes," Willie repeated, and he strode off, the sound of his heavy footsteps making creaking sounds on the wooden floor.

Therapy! He wasn't looking forward to it, but if it would mean bringing him closer to living a normal life with Claire, he'd take his chances. He had his future waiting for him in his cottage, and God knew what was going through her mind with his prolonged absence. There's a possibility she could decide right there, and then, she'd had enough, and he could be returning to an empty home. Fuck that! No' gonnae happen.

Wrenching a curse from the depths of his soul, he grabbed a towel and dried himself in record time. No more messing about. It was time to regain back the rein to his life. After his therapy, he was returning back to his Sassenach.

..........

Jamie hadn't replied to Claire's multiple voice messages, so she'd stopped sending them, thinking he needed a break. If it hadn't been for Willie checking up on her, Rollo needing to be walked and her own work keeping her busy, she would have gone out of her mind. 

She found solace in knowing he was safe with his family and sorting out his issues and tried not to dwell on the theory that she might be the reason for his worsening condition; otherwise, it would mean giving up on them and walking out of his life for his own good. They'd both had a traumatic start to childhood. If anything, their shared experience should bring them together ...well, at least she was hoping that was the case.

As long as she was busy, she was absolutely fine. But it hurt being apart from Jamie. The minute she unwinded from her daytime activities, the feeling of abandonment crept in, and she felt lost and empty. An all-consuming gloom would lurk, overwhelming her, and tears would start to fall. It had been only two days since Jamie left, but she was already fearing she'd return to London without seeing him again. It's just not fair. It was as if the universe was conspiring to keep them apart, and if that was the case, they'd never really had a chance from the start. Such thoughts would lead to a part of her wishing they'd never met because it was like being shown what happiness with someone you love could be, only to be yanked back out of reach.

She glanced out the kitchen window and realised it had begun to rain, the grey skies echoing her sombre mood. Frustrated, she mentally shook herself. There were a lot of things to do, and her uncle would be arriving in a couple of days. She hadn't mentioned anything to him about what had happened with Jamie, but that was a worry she'd have to deal with later. Because of all days, Tom Christie had called earlier, arranging to meet with her this afternoon to further discuss his book's publication. She hadn't anticipated meeting up with him for another week or more. Maybe it was a good thing he'd decided to show up. It would certainly be a much-needed distraction from the growing worries she had of Jamie. But first, she needed to book a bed and breakfast room in the village centre, a request her uncle had explicitly stressed as he didn't want to stay in Jamie's cottage to watch them canoodle, as he'd gruffly pointed out. But Claire highly doubted there would be any danger of his uncle witnessing that anytime soon.

Grabbing her coat and bag, she headed out. She was just stepping across the threshold when she caught sight of Jamie's sister walking towards her. What is she doing here? The last time she'd seen Jenny was when they were first introduced, and back then, she hadn't failed to notice the lukewarm reception. She'd tried her best to dismiss it as overly protective sibling behaviour. But something had been niggling in her mind lately ever since Willie mentioned Jenny's meddling with Jamie's love life.

Bracing herself, she forced a smile. "Hi, I'm just on my way out. Does Jamie need some fresh shirts?" She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I can quickly grab some if that's what you came here for."

There was an awkward silence. "I ...ah, I'm here to see ye." Jenny held up a plastic container. "Oh, and ma made these ... it's rhubarb pie. And she's asking after ye."

"Oh, that's thoughtful. How are ..."

"Do ye have a moment?" Jenny interrupted out of the blue.

Claire paused. Though feeling like she was in this weird bubble filled with fog and not in the mood for small talk or niceties, she stepped back and waved Jamie's sister in. "Sure. I suppose I can spare a few minutes."

Jenny nodded gratefully and stepped inside the cottage. Claire watched her cross the room to place the rhubarb pie and her shoulder bag on the dining table. She started to wring her hands, possibly because she'd realised Claire wasn't going to initiate the talk. 

"Jamie is taking steps to get better," Jenny began, facing her.

"I know."

"Of course, you do."

Claire tamped down the urge to roll her eyes. "From what Jamie's told me, that's what he's been doing all his life, hasn't he?"

"Yes, that's true."

She sighed, impatience beginning to creep in. "Jenny, why are you really here? Please let's not pretend that you like me. You practically ignored me when we first met, and you've made no attempt whatsoever to get to know me. I am not expecting us to be the best of mates just because I'm with Jamie, but I do expect manners. So, I am asking very kindly if there's a reason for you taking over my precious time, please spit it out."

Jenny's eyebrows hit her hairline. "I ...uh ...I came because I wanted to see you. To check if ye're alright."

"Willie's been doing that but thank you anyway." She had no time for pussyfooting around. Pulling her coat tighter around her, she made a move to leave. "Well, I need to get going. Please thank your mum for me for the pie. I'll have it later with coffee when I return. And regards to your da as well." She pulled the door open.

"Wait ..."

"Yes?"

Jenny let out a rickety inhale. "I'm sorry, okay? I came to apologise. You're right. I was downright rude." Her lips barely moved when she said the words. It was as if it's taking a lot out of her to admit to her faults. "I have no right to meddle in my brother's affairs, moreso make ye feel unwelcome when ye're the one Jamie wants to be with." Her shoulders lost most of their tension, but the lines of her body were still strained tight. "I was worried about my brother making trips to London, and ye ken the reason why. I thought by not acknowledging ye, ye would eventually go away for good. I ken it was wrong. I shouldn't have behaved the way I did."

"But making me go away wouldn't have made a difference to his condition. Jamie would have continued to have those panic attacks."

"I ken," Jenny shrugged. "It was a dumb move, and I feel stupid for it. I realise that now. I dinnae ken what I was thinking. I'm so sorry, Claire. Can we start all over again and be friends?" 

Claire felt a spark of sympathy for Jenny. In that brief moment of admission, she'd kind of started to like the girl in front of her. Though she knew it would take a while before they could converse without feeling awkward, at least this was a start. Claire smiled genuinely for the first time. "Of course. I understand now why you felt the way you did." She glanced at her watch. "But in as much as I'd like to continue this bonding, I really need to go. I have a few errands to run. Shall we talk another time?"

"Oh aye, I completely forgot ye have someplace to go." She whipped around to grabbed her bag but knocked it to the floor instead, spilling its contents. "Ach, so clumsy of me," she muttered, getting onto her knees. "Ye go ahead, Claire. I have a spare key. I'll lock up once I'm done,

Claire immediately crouched down to help, grabbing feminine bits and bobs that were scattered on the rug. "Two pair of hands are always quicker getting the job done," she assured her.

"Aye, I guess so," Jenny mumbled as she skimmed the area with her eyes looking for anything she missed.

Claire scooped the loose pennies that had rolled off and slotted them into Jenny's bag. Then she picked up a slip of paper and was about to hand it to Jenny when she realised it was a newspaper clipping with her surname printed on it. Curious, Claire unfolded it and was surprised to see it was a small article from Oxford Mail about her family home, including a small line mentioning her as an heiress. Though she was aware of the article's existence, she was shocked to see it in Jenny's possession. What is Jenny doing with this?

Blood drained from her face when she recalled Willie's story about Jenny playing matchmaker between Geneva and Jamie. Didn't Willie say Geneva comes from a well-off family, Jenny's perfect solution to Lallybroch's financial problem? Claire skimmed the familiar article once more, the worth of her property jumping out of the paper: three million pounds. A sudden sharp pain slammed into her chest.

Claire held up the newspaper cutting to Jenny's face. "Why do you have this?" she whispered through numb lips.

Jenny's face was white as a sheet. "I ...it was given to me."

"Is this the reason why you're suddenly nice?"

"No!" Jenny licked her lips, thoughts racing behind her blue eyes. "I swear to God, I meant what I said earlier ...that I’m sorry. It has nothing to do with ..." She waved a hand towards the paper Claire was holding. "...that."

Claire scrambled to her feet. "You're sorry?" Her voice was high-pitched and unnatural, but she couldn't help it. There's a rumbling earthquake beginning to take place inside her. "When did you start feeling sorry, Jenny? After you read this?" She crumpled the piece of paper and threw it on the floor. "Did you really want to be my friend? Or was that all hogwash too?"

"Claire, please." Misery slashed across her face. "I realised my mistake when Jamie took off with his car the other night, and Willie spent hours looking for him. My parents, husband and I were up, and we were worried sick. My constant meddling has made him fled and taken him away from ye." She wrung her hands together. "I was a bloody idiot for thinking I was doing what's best for my brother when, in fact, I was making things worse. And Jamie's now miserable because he thinks it's all his fault when really, it's mine. Ye have to believe me when I say that piece of paper was given to me. I never sought it myself. It was handed to me."

"Good God, are you listening to yourself?" Her voice had been reduced to a whisper. All she could see was Jamie's guilt and tortured face that day when he'd told her about his fight with Jenny. His pained expression before he'd sped off to the night and her fear of the unknown. The many times he'd excused and apologised for his sister's behaviour because he thought Jenny was doing it out of love when Claire could clearly see it was all out of selfishness. "Let me get this straight ...you only recognised your mistake because you became worried sick after your brother took off. Are you even aware that you've been treating him like an imbecile all this while as if he can't decide for himself? This was never about him, Jenny, is it? You're only thinking about yourself. The other night scared the bejesus out of you because you knew well you were part of the reason he took off. Tell me this ...how does it feel like to be riddled with guilt now, huh? Try multiplying that guilt by a thousandfold and remind yourself that's what Jamie feels every day of his life. And if you think saying sorry will make things right again, you need your head thoroughly examined. Jamie loves you despite all your meddling, and you unashamedly continued to manipulate him. So excuse me if I have trouble believing a single word you're saying now. Because you know what the bloody hell this looks like? Your apologies to me sound like you're trying to manipulate me as well. And all because I happen to own an impressive three million pound property."

"No!" Jenny shook her head in despair. "Everything else is true ...but not that about yer property." There's a tremor in her voice and shame in her eyes. "I stopped by yesterday to apologise to ye, but ye werenae home, and when Mrs Fitz from across the road saw me, she handed me that newspaper clipping. I swear to God, Claire, I came to ye even before I knew ye had that property."

Claire couldn't stand there and listen anymore, not after what she'd gone through the last couple of days. She needed to let all her frustration out, or she'd implode. "I don't trust you, Jenny. If drivel could bounce, you'd be in the bloody orbit by now. Unfortunately, that won't happen, so I'm out of here. I can't stand being here any longer." The words exploded out of her and popped in the air like bright red fireworks. 

Jenny fell back a step and gasped. Claire was shocked too with the words that came out of her mouth. But she took that opportunity to rush out of the cottage, not caring if it was still raining, only focusing on getting as far away from Jenny as possible.

She'd just crossed the street when a vehicle screeched to a stop and reversed. Claire kept on walking, still reeling from her conversation with Jenny.

"Miss Beauchamp?"

She stopped and glanced into the Land Rover window that stopped by her side and noticed a familiar face. "Yes?"

The man tipped his baseball cap on his head and smiled. "It's me, Tom Christie."

"Oh ... it's you ... you're early!" was all she could say, too surprised for words.

"Actually, I'm on my way home to change clothes before our meeting. Do ye need a ride? I noticed ye dinnae have a brolly with ye, and it's raining."

Claire glanced back at the cottage and saw Jenny standing at the doorway, looking at her with that still ashen face. She'd heard rumours in the village about Tom being a ladies' man and knew what it would look like to Jenny if she got into the Land Rover with him. But she didn't give a flying fig. Let her gossip! Smiling, she nodded at Tom. "Yes, please. To the village centre if it's no trouble."

He grinned. "Nae bother at all. Hop in."

..........

"Remind me again why I'm here," Willie mumbled under his breath as they followed a young woman down a long hallway lined with modern paintings. "I thought I made it clear it should be Claire attending this therapy with ye. In case ye need reminding, I got our business to run."

Jamie sighed. "I'd rather ye're here. Ye ken my condition better than anyone."

"Is it Geneva ye're worried about?" his older brother asked in a low voice.

"God, no. I'd be more worried if Jenny came with me. Christ, she'd been pushing Geneva and me together for as long as I can remember. I ken the lass took a fancy in me, but that's all it ever was. I'm just concerned it's gonnae be weird since we ken each other."

Willie glanced at him with understanding. "There's nae avoiding it, lad. We live in a small village, and everyone knows everyone. It's the bane of living in such a place. We just have to make do with what we have."

"Aye, that's true."

The young woman in front of them turned. "The last one on the right," she smiled, pointing at the white door. Jamie wanted to say he knew his way around and that it was the same office as his former therapist but decided not to and returned her smile instead.

With Willie close behind him, he stepped forward and knocked lightly against the door. A feminine voice answered from the inside, "Come in."

Pushing the door open, they were greeted by a familiar, cosy space and Geneva, dressed in a black pantsuit with her hair done in a bun. She was sat in a dark leather armchair, looking them over with her transparent-rimmed glasses. If she was surprised to see Willie with him, she hid it well. 

"Mr Fraser, it's nice to see you again." Smiling warmly, she stood up and held out her hand for him. Taking it, she gave him a firm handshake before doing the same to Willie and motioning them towards the over-size beige leather sofa arranged in the middle of the room. "Please take a seat." Like a couple of schoolboys, they both did as they were told. 

"Before anything else," she began, looking at Jamie. "I have you here for one on one therapy. Is there a reason why you brought your brother with you?"

Jamie cleared his throat and licked his lips. "I, ah, wanted him here for moral support." 

"Fair enough. So what can I do for you?" She smiled, crossing her legs and reclining back into her armchair, a clipboard resting on her thigh.

Jamie anxiously glanced at Willie, but his brother only shrugged. "I dinnae ken where to start. Ever since yer predecessor left, I havenae been to therapy because I didnae feel comfortable seeing a therapist who knows me on a personal level. It kinda feels odd."

She steepled her fingers together, her blue eyes narrowing on him. "I understand this is out of your comfort zone and probably, for some, highly unusual. But I'd like to make it clear that I take my job seriously, and I hold myself to the highest professional standard. Whatever friendship I have with your sister will have no effect whatsoever on what would transpire within these walls. If you wish to proceed, please take a few deep breaths and just forget that you know me. In here, I am Dr Dunsany, and you are Mr Fraser."

Jamie considered her words as she waited patiently for his reply. After a minute of contemplation, he finally nodded and took a few cleansing breaths. "Fine."

She smiled. "So, first things first. What prompted you to finally see a therapist?"

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. "I'm in a serious relationship." Jamie thought he saw an ever so slight arching of her eyebrow but immediately dismissed it as his imagination. "And my condition and the panic attacks are hurting our relationship. I figured in order for us to move forward, I needed to take steps in getting better."

Geneva picked up her clipboard and started scribbling. "What do you believe your girlfriend thinks about your condition?"

Jamie smiled briefly at the thought of Claire. "Weel, she's very understanding and very patient, and she's taken my condition in a stride. Like the rest of my family, she thinks I'm suffering from suppressed guilt and emotions."

Geneva paused and closely appraised him. "Why do you think she thinks you have suppressed guilt and emotions?"

His heart began to increase its pace, and his throat tightened. "Because we were both there when her parents died. She was able to move on, but I couldnae," the words came out rapidly.

A whoosh of breath came from Willie.

"Why do you think she was able to move on and you couldn't?" she pushed, seemingly unaffected by Jamie's revelation.

A bead of sweat formed on his forehead. "Because it's my fault that she grew up without a family."

He heard Willie's breath hitch, but Geneva ignored his brother.

"And why do you think it's your fault?"

His mouth became dry, and his tongue thick. "I didnae run fast enough to get help when their car crashed. If I had, she wouldnae be orphaned today. If I was stronger, I wouldnae have needed to run off and get my godfather, and I could have pulled the door open myself and saved her parents as well."

"You look like a strong man, Mr Fraser. Why do you think you needed to run and get help to pull the door open?"

"I wasnae big enough back then. I was only ten." He dropped his head into his hand. "And she was so wee ...crying for her ma. All I could do was hold her." 

He started to hyperventilate as the image of Harry staring at him through the window, sprung to life. It was the last image he saw before the car had exploded.

Sensing his discomfort, Geneva stood from her armchair and retrieved two bottles of mineral water from the mini-fridge, handing them each to the brothers. They both gratefully accepted, taking large gulps.

When he got his breathing back under control, she proceeded. "I understand now your frustration at not being big enough to carry the task out yourself and why you had to get your godfather." She scribbled a few more notes on her clipboard. "I'm going to go back to the question you haven't answered yet. Why do you think your girlfriend was able to move on from her parents' death?"

He squashed the empty bottle of mineral water. "She was too young then to understand any of it, just a wee bairn when it happened."

"And so were you."

"She was five, and I was ten. I was old enough to be able to do something about it, but I couldn't."

"Your godfather, who was old enough and stronger than you, was unable to do anything further. Do you think it was your godfather's fault?"

"No! Of course, not. He tried his best. We got her ...Claire, who's m-my girlfriend now, out first and my godfather made me take her to safety. But the car caught fire, and it exploded."

"So it's not your godfather's fault, and yet you think it was your fault."

"Yes!"

"Why would you think, after all the efforts you and your godfather have done to try and save your girlfriend's parents, it's still your fault?"

"It was the way he looked at me."

"Who looked at you?"

"Claire's father. Just before the car exploded."

"How did he look at you?"

"He was just staring at me."

"And you can't get that out of your head?"

"No."

A mild frown of concentration descended across Geneva's face as she flipped through the notes on her clipboard. She reached out for a manila folder on a coffee table by her side and browsed through it too. "This is a great start, Mr Fraser," she continued. "From what I've here in your history with your former therapist, this is the first time you've ever talked about an experience from your childhood. This is highly interesting. Care to tell me why you've never talked about this before."

"It's a memory that I've forgotten, and it's just resurfaced recently."

She arched an eyebrow. "How recently?"

"A few days ago."

"Can you remember what triggered the memories to come back?"

"The night I met my girlfriend's uncle on video chat."

"So, prior to that night, you had no recollection of the forgotten memory, is that correct?"

"Aye."

"Why do you think your girlfriend's uncle triggered all the memory to come back?"

His fingers began to pick at the water bottle label. "He looks exactly my girlfriend' father."

A long silence ensued.

Geneva placed the clipboard by her side and uncrossed her legs. "That will be all for today, Mr Fraser. We've covered enough to have something to work on."

Jamie's head shot up. "So that's it? That was quick," he pointed out, glancing at his watch.

"Oh, we're far from done, Mr Fraser, but you've revealed more than I anticipated, so I decided to stop while we're ahead. Thank you for answering all questions as openly as possible."

"So what's yer diagnosis?"

She tilted her head to the side. "I believe you have a lot of misplaced guilt about your past that may be hindering you from moving on. So ...what I would like you to do is ...I want you to think about how you want your future to look like. Think really hard and try to dig deep. Next time we catch up, we'll discuss everything in details." She stood up, and Jamie and Willie followed suit. "I'll see you next week. My assistant will write down the date of our next meeting. You can pick up your appointment card on the way out," she smiled, opening the door and ushering them out.

The brothers walked out quietly together, both lost in their own thoughts.

"That wasnae too bad, was it?" Willie asked as they stepped out of the building.

Jamie shook his head. "No, no' at all." His head was still buzzing from the session, so he didn't really have much opinion to offer.

"Perhaps next time, ye can bring Claire with ye."

At the mention of her name, he pulled out his phone from his back pocket. He'd silenced it all morning as he'd prepared himself for the therapy but was disappointed to see there was no new message from her. "She hasnae messaged."

"I'm no' surprised. You havenae been returning her calls. And ye have no excuse, lad, because I left ye a charger at Lallybroch."

Jamie followed his brother close behind as they made their way to the car. "How do ye know I've no' been returning her calls?"

"She told me."

"How is she?"

"Find out yersel'."

A familiar bright red Fiat slowed down next to them just as Jamie was about to get into the car, and Ian, their brother-in-law, poked his head out of the window. "Hey, lads, guess who I just saw back in town?"

The brothers looked at each other and shrugged. 

When Ian stalled, Willie blew out an impatient breath. 

"Out with it!" Willie grumbled. "I've been away from work for far too long already."

Ian grinned. "Yer pal Christie."

Jamie waved a hand in the air in dismissal and turned to open the car door, not particularly interested in hearing the latest coming and going in Broch Mordha. "I'm pretty sure the lassies will be thrilled he's back."

"Aye, ye're probably right, but I dinnae think ye'd be too pleased to hear if one particular lass is enjoying his company."

Jamie whipped around. "What do ye mean?" He sounded like someone just launched a flying rugby pass onto his stomach.

"Saw Claire and Tom through the window of Slater's Arms. Probably sitting down for late lunch."

His heart and brain must have swapped places because suddenly, his heart seemed twice as heavy, and his brain thumped against his skull. "M-my Claire?"

Willie tipped his head like he's on the brink of calling Ian an eejit. "Hold up, this could all be just an innocent thing. Wasnae Claire supposed to be meeting with someone from here for some book publication?"

"Nae way!" Ian shook his head. "Christie doesnae look like the type to string a sentence together, never mind write a book."

"Alright," Jamie breathed, propping his hands on the edge of the car's roof. His brain was barely functioning because it was knocking against his temple, making him see red. He'd completely underestimated his ability to let her go, thinking he was doing it for her own good. Claire hadn't called today because she thought he'd given up. Ah, shite! He felt he was going to be sick. "I need to go and see her. Now."

"Fuck!" Willie muttered. "I'm coming with ye." Then he bent down to Ian's eye level and pointed his index finger at his brother-in-law. "Next time, run this kind of info by me first."

Ian smirked. "Fine. But I'm coming too. I'm up for seeing a bit of nefariousness."

Jamie was already in the car, fastening his seat belt. "Let's go!" 

  Dear Readers,

Whew, that was a long chapter. I'm literally drained; nevertheless, I'm feeling a sense of satisfaction that I can post it today. My eyes are wonky, though, from editing, and I was about to go through it again when I thought, ah bugger it, I will do the grammar check tomorrow.

Before I say nighty-night, thanks for your feedback from the previous chapter, and I'm looking forward to what you think of this next one. I know it's slow going, but I really wanted to cover as many plot holes as possible. Slowly but surely, I'm getting there. Anyway, take care always and keep spreading kindness and love. Until the next update, much love! X

[cavvaje]

Hearth and Rime | Ch. 1

Pairing: M!Eivor x Reader

Summary: Eivor has had a rough day and you make him feel better :)

Words: 1600~

Genre: Fluff, Comfort?

Warnings: Spoilers for end of Cent Arc! | Somewhat suggestive fade to black

Note: Still a bit new to writing fics, so sorry if its a bit rough around the edges!

I actually finished this in time for valentines but just kept editing it and being too nervous to actually post it? Then decided to retake all the photos lol... 

This is also a continuation of the first fic I put up, BUT you don’t need to read it to understand (it was like 200 words). Here’s a link!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The home is modest for its outwards appearance. According to Eivor, the last occupants were runaway Saxons, who fled the day after they saw him in the area. They didn’t leave much behind, but it’s serviceable.

“Smells good!” Eivor stands by a cooking pot in the corner, setting down the bright torch in his hand. He turns to you with a cheeky look.

“Here,” He says, untying his cloak. The Viking comes to you as you stand in front of the doorway. His cloak needs to go over, and so you squeeze your head through the hole. “This should help you warm up.” 

Gentle arms reach around your shoulders, and instinctually, your arms begin to trace his waist to his back. Adrenaline surges in cold shivers: from your arms through to your spine. Your face is practically buried in the nook between his neck and shoulder. You hold each other a moment, checking off an imaginary checklist of things that make him real. His warmth, his scent, his breath...

A tight tug wakes you up; the cloak has been set, albeit loosely. He lets go of the embrace. Even as he leaves, the cloak maintains his warmth.

“It smells like blood…”

He chuckles lightly, “Does it now?... Surprise?” he flips his axe in one hand, starts drying the rainwater off the metal, then sets it down. He motions towards the steaming pot. “Can I dig in?”

You stare at him as he pulls off the bracers and his hidden blade. He looks back a moment later, puzzled.

“I missed you, Eivor.” You say, plainly.

“Ah…” he pulls you in for a proper hug this time; his arms hold you tight. “I missed you too.” 

“Mmm… what’s bothering you Drengr?”

You feel the sigh heavily from the movement of his chest against yours. “Please, let me eat…”

“Of course! Sorry. Must’ve been a long trip...” 

“No no, don’t be.” He lets go, but locks his eyes on yours, and gives a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’ll explain, I won’t be like Sigurd.” 

“Like Sigurd?” 

His weight falls heavy on the stool, as he grabs a bowl. 

You pace towards him slowly, a hand gentle on his left shoulder. “...Did you find him?”

“Not exactly.” 

You feel his rage beginning to simmer on your hand, but it sizzles down quickly. You wait for a few minutes as he ravages his stew, and then places the empty bowl down calmly and precisely. 

“We found an arm.” 

“Shit…”

“Aye, shit.”

He turns to you suddenly, his eyes focused. “Don’t tell the ravens. Please.” He scans your expression. “Can I trust you to this?”

You nod.

“..Thank you.” He sighs and slumps down onto the table.

You stand idly, unsure of how to proceed. The silence fills the room like a cursed fog.

“Perhaps we should talk more in the morning? After you’ve rested from your journey?” you perk up, sitting down next to him. Your hand moves to the Viking’s back reassuringly, and he arches to greet it. “For tonight, let me take care of you, ok?”

He stifles a small chuckle and looks at you earnestly. “That sounds great.”

You smile and get up from your seat. He follows, holds your hands, and leans in close. “Thank Freyja I found you…” His eyes meet yours. You put your hand up to his scarred cheek and… after a moment of hesitation, kiss him. He tastes like a paradise gritted by blood and steel, or maybe it’s the venison... A kiss that feels like a surging tide effortlessly enveloping you. His hands move to wrap around your waist and the back of your neck, and as you break the kiss, it moves back to fall on your cheek. 

He lets out a satisfied breath and slowly removes his hands as well, instead moving them to hold yours. “I needed that.” His voice barely a whisper, yet still raspy and impassioned. 

You coyly move away, tracing your fingers over his own as you leave. “Come… get comfy. Let me help you away with the stresses of your life, Wolf-Kissed.” You begin to move towards the other end of the room.

“Are you just telling me to take off my clothes, lover?” he returns, just as coy, but begins to remove his top anyway. His now shirtless figure is darkened against the light of the fire.

“And you? It’s only fair…” His voice and eyes gleam with a newfound playfulness.

“Ah… but my cloak is so heavy…”

He quickly moves to uncloak you, then slower to unclothe. His lightly calloused hands ‘accidentally’ feel your stomach and arms as you two connect in this growing heat. Both of you a little more exposed, you sit on the bearskin by the bed, absorbing each other’s presence. 

“New scar?” A faded but deep red streak across the top of his wrist into the forearm. He smiles and shrugs. You feel it… still a bit fresh. “It looks good on you.” 

He traces it with his other hand in empty thought, while you grab a nearby satchel containing medicinal herbs. He tries his best not to wince as you apply your treatment... he doesn’t wince once. He’s simply watching you in admiration. 

“What’s that look for? Something wrong?” You ask, knowing the answer.

"You are stunning. Like a painting, framed in a lantern-lit gold. In comparison to you, even its fire seems dull and cold...” 

You shove his shoulder playfully and he laughs, but his eyes stay on you to look for your smile, and he finds it, blushing. He looks proud of himself. Bastard. 

You get behind him and slowly begin to unbraid his hair. It’s matted in parts, likely from blood and dirt. You move him to an empty spot in the room and begin to wash his hair with a nearby water basin, trying not to get him too wet...

“Mmph, you treat me too well…” He mumbles.

“Only what you deserve, and well, much more than just this,”

“...Why’d you say that?” his voice is sweet and innocent. You laugh in surprise.

“What? Eivor, you’re the leader of our clan! At least until Sigurd comes back...” You watch as his head swoops down in thought. You place your hand on his shoulder cautiously. “Hey… what’s this about?”

He doesn’t respond, and you continue to work through his hair. Eventually, though, you decide to break the silence. 

“Why exactly… did you want to meet away from Ravensthorpe?” 

You think back to the letter you got, Synin being a talented messenger bird. He never mentioned why you were to meet here, except that he wanted to meet first for a romantic getaway before he was whisked off elsewhere. At first, that was enough, but now...

“I just wanted to see you, is that too much to ask for?” he retorted.

“Eivor…”

“Fine. Why do you think I asked then?”

You pause. “Honestly, I thought you were gonna have a private issue that needed taking care of, one that needs my particular skill set…”

He looks at you with wild eyes and a smile about to be broken into laughter. “Well! I suppose that too!” he laughs. 

“What? No! I mean if you needed someone, you know...” You imitate a neck being sliced. He laughs again. You slap his shoulder.

His laugh slowly trickles out, and he returns to his thousand-yard stare after a moment, but his mouth moves. “I think… I just needed a break from it all. Just for a moment.” He looks back at you. “With you.”

…You resist the urge to defuse the moment and hug him tightly from behind. “Well if you need anything else, I’m all ears.” 

He shakes his head and gives a quick kiss on your cheek. “Let’s save that for tomorrow...” 

He pauses. 

"Because tonight..." He turns to you and puts his arms over your shoulders. His face slowly approaches yours— and you make eye contact, your face clearly anticipating the worst. He nearly laughs but quickly turns to whisper into your ear. "I have other plans..." he smiles, and lightly nibbles on your earlobe, pulling it ever so slightly. This is not what you meant by ‘all ears’. The actual sensation is nice enough, but the sudden waves of euphoria that washes through your headspace is what makes you a little dizzy. 

"H-hey, I'm nearly done with your hair..." You manage to say, barely. He smiles both warm yet seductive, then turns around to let you finish.

As you finish up with his hair, he gives you a sweet look followed by a grateful kiss. It was a... mostly calming activity. As you get up, he childishly hops on the fur bed with a thud. You turn away to tidy up. However, a shuffling sound catches your attention.

He’s striking a pose... one eyebrow raised. He extends forward his hand and winks at you. 

“Come… play with your Drengr, love…” he recites dramatically. 

You stare at him, incredulous, then laugh in protest when he grabs your arm. He yanks you in... you fall, barely lit by the low lantern light, into your love dance.

~

Sleeping next to him is a warmth you always regret not cherishing more. Just his presence makes this cold and dangerous land feel safe. His fingers trace your arm ever so slightly— not enough to wake you, but just enough to send tingles rushing through to your brain. You return the favor and he smiles surprised, but welcome in his half-sleep. 

…Time passes immeasurably through the night, as it always does. So when all you feel is a vacuum of cold air rushing in, you aren't sure what time it is. You try to open your eyes... you see him, barely.

But your eyelids hang heavy, and you fall back asleep.

Note: haha get it “barely” I hope this was ok and the warnings+genre were accurate! I didn’t wanna put earlobe nibbling as a warning so lmao. Also I hate small cottages and I’m never taking photos in them again.

If anyone has any advice/feedback I’d actually really love to hear it! Especially about how to make Eivor’s voice feel more accurate, or if the Reader character has too much personality. No pressure though!

[mysticmylifeisamess-enger]

Forget Me Not - Ch. 18

Pairing: Saeran/Reader

Word count: 1,271

Summary: From the perspective of Yoosung

Warning: Spoilers for Ray route, Saeyoung’s route & secret ending.

A/N: I finished this instead of planning a lesson for my students tomorrow so yall better appreciate this chapter bc my kids are going to have a lab day tomorrow instead bc of this acfghvb I also reeeeeeally wanted this done bc the next few chapters are going to be juicy

Context references (if you need them): Starts from the middle-ish of ch. 15 (when the twins part ways for the day) & the customer mentioned is the same one from ch. 5′s day 5 sequence

AO3 Link | Chapters Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom

Yoosung★: Saeran just called and asked me to water the plants in the shop for the next few days, Yoosung★: and they still have yet to come on the messenger since the party;;; Yoosung★: Has anyone heard from them in the last few days?? ZEN: Not a word… ZEN: But they didn’t mention why they’ve been away or why you have to go to the shop for them?? Yoosung★: They didn’t. Yoosung★: I tried to ask but he dodged the question. Yoosung★: I hope they’re okay…

Rika has entered the chatroom

ZEN: Rika! Have you heard from the twins?? Yoosung★: Do you know if they’re alright? Rika: They’re fine. Rika: Just a little overwhelmed, Rika: they did have a lot of work during the party so I advised them to take a few days off. Rika: I’m sure they’ll be back soon. ZEN: But it’s not like them to stay so quiet. ZEN: Saeyoung especially;;; Yoosung★: And for so many days? Rika: I know it seems a little weird, but believe me… Rika: They’re doing alright. Rika: Everyone needs a break once in a while!

Yoosung contemplated her words, wondering how recent that talk could have been when he just heard Saeran. He didn’t sound fine at all over the phone. He sounded anxious and entirely on edge, the definition of racked nerves. To hear the exact opposite, especially from someone so close to them, only drew more questions.

ZEN: I guess… ZEN: I’m still a little concerned, ZEN: but there’s not much I can do if they aren’t answering calls or texts. ZEN: The next best thing would be stopping by for a visit… Rika: You don’t need to do that. Rika: They’re fine! Rika: I’ll even talk to them again tonight to make sure. ZEN: Alright… ZEN: Let me know if they need anything.

ZEN has left the chatroom

Yoosung★: Rika? Rika: …Yes?

His fingers froze, pausing as he thought over carefully how to ask.

Yoosung★: You wouldn’t... Yoosung★: You wouldn’t lie to me, right? Rika: Of course not! Rika: Why would you ask such a thing?? Yoosung★: No reason. Yoosung★: I really do trust you... Yoosung★: You’ve never given me a reason not to, Yoosung★: but I’m just worried. Rika: Worried about what?

He froze once again, truly unsure of how to answer.

Yoosung★: Forget I said anything. Yoosung★: I should get going actually, Yoosung★: Saeran made it clear that I needed to water the plants first thing in the morning. Yoosung★: Something about how it’ll retain more water… Rika: Yoosung… Yoosung★: Yes? Rika: Just know that I’ve only done what I have for everyone’s best interest, including your own. Rika: I would never hurt a member of the RFA, Rika: But most importantly, I wouldn’t hurt you. Rika: You’re the closest to family I have… Rika: So just remember that I’m always looking out for your best interest. Rika: Even if it seems unconventional or harmful.

Rika has left the chatroom

Yoosung read over the messages again and again, equally as perplexed each time. As caring as the words seemed, the last message threw him off completely. Though he noticed this wasn’t the first time she left the chat with words that could make anyone’s skin crawl, he never thought that he’d be on the receiving end of one.

~

The shop felt different upon entering. Any time Yoosung had been here, it was vibrant with color and alive with the smell of fresh-cut flowers. As warm and inviting as the two that ran the shop.

And maybe it was the cold, bitter air at the crack of dawn or the lightless and empty space, but it felt eerie to be there. A whole different atmosphere with the vague impression that something had happened here. Something that made it as dark and unsettling as it was.

As fast as he unlocked the door and came in was as fast as he watered the plants and closed up shop once again. It was a race to leave before anything in the air could sink in. Upon locking, he looked up to read the sign above the shop, as if making sure he was at the right place.

“Excuse me young man,” a delicate voice coming from behind him pulled him out of his thoughts, turning as he finished locking up to meet eyes with an elderly woman.

“Is the shop closed today?” She asked with a bit of hesitancy. He could already see the disappointment in her stare before he could speak, a small amount of guilt flushing him to having the response he did.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Yoosung replied earnestly, “I’m only here to tend to the flowers in the owner’s absence.”

“Are Saeran and Saeyoung away on vacation?”

“You could say that,” he said, taken aback that she knew them by name, “though I think it’s more of a break. Some time away from work.”

“Saeran is not one for taking such long breaks. They don’t even close on holidays,” she said, “Do you know when they’ll be back?”

“I’m actually not sure, but hopefully it’ll be soon,” Yoosung said, unsure of what else to say.

“I hope so too. And hopefully Saeran’s girlfriend has been keeping him company in all this,” she sighed, looking back at him with a sincere smile, “Well you let them know their favorite regular, Mrs. Kym, is thinking about them, okay?”

All Yoosung could do was smile and nod, watching as she walked off in her direction. He didn’t even consider where you could be in all this until you were mentioned. With how dearly Saeran held you in regards, he’d assume that the two of you were talking through this disappearance, but he couldn’t truly know.

All he truly knew was what Rika had disclosed: they’re fine. Though the uncertainty he was feeling about that statement didn’t leave him entirely confident in her words. As badly was he wanted to blindly trust her, he also knew something wasn’t right.

It couldn’t hurt to see for himself, settling on Zen’s suggestion of stopping by one of the twins’ place before class. If one twin was more prone to talking, he knew it had to be Saeyoung.

~

The door to his bunker always sent a shiver down Yoosung’s spine. A steel protectant from the outside world that perfectly hid him away. He always sited having such a set up was for security purposes, always leaving Yoosung with the same question: ‘Why would a florist need so much protection?’

Taking a deep breath, as if building the confidence, he knocked on the door three times; each louder than the last. The cold morning air finally reached his nose as he waited, causing him to shift on his feet uncomfortably. With every passing second, he could feel a small fit of worry surface until he knocked a few more times, being sure to knock extra hard.

As early as it was, he was also aware that Saeyoung would usually be on the messenger around this time, boasting about the all-nighter he just pulled. A regular occurrence that would make it hard to believe he’s not awake in this moment. Looking down at the time on his phone, he slumped his shoulders with a breathy sigh.

Yoosung★ has entered the chatroom

Yoosung★: I just stopped by Saeyoung’s… Yoosung★: And they’re not even answering the doors now?? Yoosung★: I’ll try to visit Saeran later, I have to get to class now Yoosung★: But if anyone hears from them, let me know…

Yoosung★ has left the chatroom

[taotrooper]

Colorful horizon

Title: Colorful horizon Series: Mo Dao Zu Shi Pairing: wangxian Summary:  Wei Wuxian wants to make Lan Wangji's life more fun, so he decides to make kites just for them. An afternoon together teaching his husband how to fly a kite under the breeze of a perfect sky, smiles and song and words of love on their lips, proves to be truly special. Notes:  For visual aids, this is the novel's description of WWX's kite back in Yunmeng. There are more pics of pretty Chinese kites that inspired me on the AO3 link.

🍃 On AO3

"What a cruel man," he pretended to be offended. "I worked for three days and you mock my beast. Is it too silly to you? Too tacky? Too childish?"

"No," Lan Wangji replied. "It is in fact extremely well done."

"Well, I would hope so. Then why did you laugh at it?"

"It suits Wei Ying."

Silence fell. Wei Wuxian frowned. He turned the head around and leveled its large eyes with his. While it was a great dragon-like creature, that wasn't exactly a beautiful animal. Unbelievable. Lan Zhan was teasing him once more!

"It is lively and bright and loud," his husband continued. "It takes the entire sky, fills it with color and horror, and it's impossible to look away. It suits you."

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

Wei Wuxian leaned back. He stared at his work and sighed in relief. His nimble fingers were covered in ink, paint of every possible hue, paper cuts, and even splinters after hours of work. The desk was a real mess that could attest to the intense creative process. However, it was worth the effort if he could say so himself. Not bad for his first and second attempts at this craft! It wasn't as gentle as Shijie's brushwork or as sturdy as Uncle Jiang's frame, true, but he felt pride in his chest as he raised both toys to the light for a final inspection.

But would the elegant Hanguang-Jun consider them worthy?

'Well,' he thought with a cheeky grin, 'he ended up liking me. His taste isn't that graceful or refined as he'd like to think.' He couldn't wait to see his beloved's reaction to those masterpieces.

The crazier the kites, the more fun you have flying and shooting them. That's just a fact.

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

The wide blue sky over his head was clear, with barely some white clouds spread across. Yet the wind was both gentle enough to refresh the summer heat, and strong enough to lift anything weightless —the grass under his boots, the clothes he was wearing, hopefully papercraft— into a disarray. In short, it was the perfect afternoon to fly a kite.

A strangely-shaped white shape moved closer and closer into the azure. As it reached the little valley, it was evident to the eyes that it was but a man. Patterns of blue clouds were embroidered into his white garb. For Wei Wuxian, the sight of that beauty warmed him more than the sun and shook him more than a gale.

Lan Wangji effortlessly unmounted his sword with a poised hop and pulled Wei Wuxian into his embrace right away. They joined lips, ignoring the distracting weather and taking their time to kiss in bliss.

"Did you wait long?"

"An eternity! What took you so long, Lan Zhan?"

"I was punctual."

"But I was early for once and I missed you..." A pout was quickly replaced by a mischievous laughter. "Ah, no matter, it's okay! You're mine for the rest of the day."

Lan Wangji tilted his neck to try to look at the pouch Wei Wuxian hid behind his back. "Will you tell me what you've planned, Wei Ying?"

It was natural he was curious. Three days of secret work, locked in a corner of the Library Pavilion, fingernails red and golden underneath. Of course his husband knew he was scheming and preparing something special, with this little date as the culmination of his labor. Anyone else would have been concerned to see the Yiling Patriarch crafting anything at all, yet Lan Wangji gave him space and trusted him, and never demanded to be told what that was about.

"Yeah, now I can say!" the devious artisan grinned. "We're flying kites! I made us some really cool ones since we didn't have any. Let's play, Lan Zhan."

Lan Wangji blinked in surprise. "Mn," he just said before reaching again for a final soft peck that made the other one purr.

Reluctant, Wei Wuxian let go and opened his pouch wide. He offered it to Lan Wangji, who took it. "Hold it, I need both hands to get them out."

After some rummage, Lan Wangji's eyes opened wide as a red monstrosity came out of the bag. It was all face and tail, the longest kite he had ever seen. The head was almost as large as a human's, with sharp horns and fierce eyebrows on top, bulging eyes, pig-like nostrils, and tusks coming out of a huge open mouth. While the base paint job was crimson, a plethora of vibrant colors adorned the flying beast's semblance.

Even though it should have looked intimidating or majestic, Lan Wangji's lips curved upwards and the softest chuckles were born and died in his throat in an instant. Wei Wuxian was left breathless, any outrage gone by the joy he felt, by the miracle that was making the stoic Hanguang-Jun laugh.

"What a cruel man," he pretended to be offended. "I worked for three days and you mock my beast. Is it too silly to you? Too tacky? Too childish?"

"No," Lan Wangji replied. "It is in fact extremely well done."

"Well, I would hope so. Then why did you laugh at it?"

"It suits Wei Ying."

Silence fell. Wei Wuxian frowned. He turned the head around and leveled its large eyes with his. While it was a great dragon-like creature, that wasn't exactly a beautiful animal. Unbelievable. Lan Zhan was teasing him once more!

"It is lively and bright and loud," his husband continued. "It takes the entire sky, fills it with color and horror, and it's impossible to look away. It suits you."

Whether he was saying it earnestly or trying to fix his comment to hurt Wei Wuxian's feelings less, the latter didn't know. He gaped, looked at his husband, looked back at the kite, and looked up again. He decided not to say that not only the design wasn't his, but also Jiang Cheng's kite was basically the same with slightly different colors.

"So... do you really like it?"

"Mn. It's perfect."

Beaming, and the weight in his stomach loosened a bit, Wei Wuxian turned the kite around and made the beast's mouth give a little nudge on Lan Wangji's cheek.

"Are you ready to see your own kite?"

Lan Wangji's face didn't change, but his shoulders tensed.

"Hahahaha, don't be alarmed! I made something completely different for you! Something pretty, I promise! Let me take it out."

Wei Wuxian put down the red beast on the ground and rummaged inside the pouch again. It didn't take him that long to fetch it, but he stalled and kept moving his arms for a while to increase the suspense. After building enough expectation, he pulled it out and rose it to Lan Wangji's face's level.

"Take it! It's yours now!"

Lan Wangji grabbed it with the utmost care, as if it was made of glass or silk instead, and glanced at it. The kite was larger than the targets that sect disciples and civilian children flew, but was still a more conventionally shaped kite than the beast. Bird shapes were already a current popular motive. Lan Wangji's kite was a rooster, which wasn't that usual nonetheless. It had a white body, a red comb on the upper tip, and a colorful tail made with long strips of different papers which simulated feathers. Its eyes and beak were painted. Its wings were part of the shape of the sail.

By itself, the rooster was quite beautiful. But Wei Wuxian didn't leave it there. Over the bird's body and wings, he had painted flower designs. Large pink peonies with small blue gentians around them, decorated the otherwise jade white canvas.

Lan Wangji's eyes shone bright like gold, full of emotion and wonder. With his free hand, he slid delicately his fingers across the paper, stopping on each of the peonies with tenderness. Wei Wuxian could see with delight that the tip of his ears had turned to a softer shade than those flowers'.

He didn't need to ask if Lan Wangji liked it.

"I told you it was pretty, see?" he said instead. "I gave it a lot of thought, and I think it suits you. Are you pleased with this kite, Lan Zhan?"

"Very much so," Lan Wangji spoke in a whisper, his eyes fixated on his present, on the tail feathers. "Wei Ying, it's gorgeous."

The weight in Wei Wuxian's stomach was completely gone, replaced with satisfaction. He would cherish Lan Zhan's delighted reaction forever in his memories.

"Why a rooster, of all things?"

Wei Wuxian contained a laughter. He saw that question coming and he was prepared. Of course, he couldn't just say it was because his husband had stolen two chickens the third time he had gotten drunk with him, therefore giving him a chicken kite was a highly amusing idea to him. Instead, he just pointed out at the toy.

"Turn it around and you'll see the answer."

On one of the bamboo sticks of the frame, there were three characters engraved in the wood. They read 'Lan Wangji', except wang was written with the character for watch, and ji was written with the character for chicken and rooster. As soon as Lan Wangji groaned at the pun, Wei Wuxian couldn't take it anymore and sat on the grass next to his own kite, holding his belly as he cackled.

There were so many layers to that rooster joke. Cocks, obviously —and a quality Wei Wuxian admired in his man. Not to mention, in a more serious sense, that it was a lucky, auspicious animal that symbolized wisdom, goodness, loyalty, and courage —all qualities Wei Wuxian admired in his man. It was really easy to keep the connection fun without making Lan Zhan losing face. Lan Wangji crouched next to him and held his shaking waist gently, waiting in silence for his fit to end.

"Come on," said Wei Wuxian afterwards as he took the hand offered to lift himself up. "Let's fly these handsome babies before the wind goes away."

"Mmn."

Wei Ying then took the pouch again and started to take out the two sets of bows and quivers. Lan Wangji tensed up again, his face looking angry and dismayed.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think? It's to shoot them."

"No."

"You do know, right?" Wei Wuxian threw his arms in the air, exasperated at the curt, stubborn negative. "It's an archery target game, right?"

"...You worked hard on them!"

"They can be fixed or made again. Shijie took care of ours all the time."

Lan Wangji fiercely protected the rooster in his arms as if it were a masterpiece, very much like his drunken self with the actual birds. "Nonetheless, I refuse to damage it."

"..."

They glanced at each other. Wei Wuxian understood: he saw it as a mere toy but it was something he made for Lan Wangji, who treasured everything related to the man he loved with zeal. It was just unthinkable to open holes in them. With that point of view, he felt a tug in his heart and he offered a conciliating smile while he put the bows back in the pouch. Time for a compromise.

"You win, Lan Zhan. There are other games we can play anyway: which one flies it for the longest time, or which can reach higher. And we can just be boring and look at them! That's nice, too."

"Mn." Lan Wangji had the hint of a smile in his eyes.

Wei Wuxian put his arms around Lan Wangji's shoulders. "Next time I'm bringing a few little cyclopes we can shoot into shreds. I kinda want to see which of us does better. You will shoot normal training kites, right?"

"I will, yes."

"Good boy!" He dived for a long kiss, licking his husband's lower lip before breaking apart. "Now let me show you how it's done by a true kite champion."

Lan Wangji followed his instructions carefully and emulated the way he had to run with nothing short of perfection. The rooster shot upwards and did well at first, but after he stopped in one spot it started to jerk down in the changing currents of gust.

"Do I give it more line?" he asked, glancing at the spool in his hands.

"Yeah but put... Ah, it's more complicated than that. Hold on, let me..."

Wei Wuxian quickly went and positioned himself behind his husband. He cupped each of his hands with his own, and gently moved his arms into the correct position.

"Like this, Er-gege," he murmured into flushing ears. And it would've been tender and erotic to fly the kite like this together for a while, their hands intertwined and their bodies against each other, but the breeze had another ideas. Lan Wangji's perfect silky mane was whipping against Wei Wuxian's face, not allowing him to see ahead or talk without eating hair.

He would be really annoyed if that hair didn't smell like sandalwood. He couldn't stay mad at that soothing scent. After some chuckles and coughs, he broke contact for a moment in order to grab the hair and shove it under Lan Wangji's collar. Then the lesson resumed until the kite was stabilized and the other man had learned the basics. As good as the embrace was, Wei Wuxian was itching to fly his own creation.

Soon a black-garbed man ran across the green, and a big red creature rose up behind him across the blue. Wei Wuxian managed to move so he stood up right next to Lan Wangji, but with enough space for the two kites.

"Lan Zhan~"

"Wei Ying?"

They glanced at each other, but careful not to leaving the kites completely unsupervised.

"First time flying a kite?"

"Mn."

"Have you shot kites, though?"

"I have. Archery training with moving targets is a group activity for junior disciples."

"But as a class, I assume? Not as a game with the other kids during your free time?"

"Indeed."

Just as he thought. He didn't expect Lan Wangji to share that common childhood experience. That was the real reason that drove him to get paper, scissors, paint, bamboo, string; to make something both fun and beautiful for a wonderful person who craved, deep down, for childish excitement he never had.

That, and the fact that during their drinking session last week, an inebriated Lan Wangji had demanded for kites after seeing children playing during the day. Wei Wuxian couldn't provide even one in the middle of the night and distracted him with a hide-and-seek game. Even if in the morning his husband had forgotten, he couldn't.

"Haha, look!" Wei Wuxian smirked and pointed above. "My red fury is flying higher than your white cock! I'm winning."

"Mn."

Lan Wangji was now looking at the kites closely. Even though the face remained with the same serious expression, he was mesmerized by the two figures. There was a happy shine in his eyes that told Wei Wuxian that he did not mind if he wasn't victorious. The same shine was in Wei Wuxian's eyes with that sight, infectious and endearing.

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!"

"Wei Ying?"

"You're having fun, aren't you?"

"Yes. More challenging to keep it balanced than I thought."

An overwhelming emotion of joy filled Wei Wuxian's already puffed chest. Lan Wangji was having fun.

"Yeah, it's way less dull than I thought. And you're doing amazing for your first time, Lan Er-gege. Talented in everything he does, that's my husband."

"I have a talented instructor," Lan Wangji replied. Wei Wuxian guffawed, his cheeks flustered. Ah, that Lan Zhan was getting better and better at flirting and quips. His heart couldn't take it.

"Oh, yeah? I heard he was a champion or something."

He glanced again at Lan Wangji's direction, who had said all that without taking his eyes off his kite. Wei Wuxian's eyes wandered to his man's hands and how he was unwinding the line slowly, with care and dexterity. Then he dropped his voice to a hoarser tone. "Honestly, I wish I were that kite, to feel your fingers all over my spool until you take me to the heavens."

Lan Wangji almost dropped his kite, but he quickly recovered.

"Shameless."

"Ahahahaha!"

"...I will do that later."

"I know you will, my sweet Lan Zhan," he winked. "And I will make you fly so high as well, but let's play for a while while it's windy. After all my efforts to make these guys for us."

"Mn, let's."

He noticed that Lan Wangji was now looking at him with longing eyes.

"Are you envious of my kite, too?"

His husband didn't answer for a few seconds, weighing the question. "No need. You're the wind underneath my sail."

It was the red beast's turn to shake violently. He pouted, his face matching his own toy in color. "Argh, Lan Zhan! You're definitely doing it on purpose! And he has the audacity to call me shameless?"

But despite his complaints, this was truly happiness for Wei Wuxian. As he recovered altitude, a few notes from a tune that always calmed him against all turmoil came out of his lips, resonating in his throat and chest. Lan Wangji hummed back the following notes. It sounded so natural in his velvety deep voice, just like that time over a decade ago when the song was born out of reluctant young love in bloom. Wei Wuxian joined him for the next verse, and they kept singing along in an improvised duet.

The playful breeze made everything sway to the melody. The vibrant tails of the kites danced. Wei Wuxian's red ribbon and Lan Wangji's white forehead ribbon danced. The sleeves of their robes, their hair as dark as ink, the green grass around them. Even their souls danced to the wind and the music.

When the sky exploded in the soft colors of twilight and it was too late to play, they packed the kites; it was their time to glide in the air. Balanced on top of Bichen, Lan Wangji carried Wei Wuxian in his arms all the way home, both enjoying the sunset. Wei Ying's head rested on his beloved's shoulders. They couldn't wait to unravel in each other's hands, to make the other one reach those familiar heights.

[sage-nebula]

So . . . against my better judgment, and also because of @kcgane‘s prodding, I did end up applying for the Wild Fyre Keith zine as a writer. I figure there’s probably still a slim chance I’ll get in anyway, so there’s probably not much risk, but either way, I applied.

That said, I’m sharing the samples I applied with to see what you guys think my chances are. None of them are Voltron fics (instead they’re one Yu-Gi-Oh! and two Pokémon fic samples---and before anyone groans, don’t worry, there are no card games even mentioned in the YGO sample), because I haven’t actually written any fics for Voltron before (I’ve only thought about it), but I figure that the point shouldn’t necessarily be the fandom, but rather the writing quality. So maybe take a look, and let me know what you think? (I’m also including links to the whole fics in case anyone is interested in these fics after reading the excerpts.)

Excerpts / samples below:

Sample #1:

Matsumoto let out a low, impressed whistle. "Well, serves me right for doubting you could pull it off," he said. He leaned forward to grab the bottle of alcohol—what kind it was, Jounouchi couldn't tell—on the table, and slid it across the surface toward Jounouchi. "Here's to you, kid. Have one, on me."

Jounouchi didn't bother to hide his disgust. "Pass," he said.

Matsumoto looked at him in open surprise, and Hirutani spared him one acidic glare before he looked to Matsumoto with an apologetic smile. "You'll have to forgive my boy," he said. "He hasn't yet learned how to speak to his betters."

My 'betters,' Jounouchi thought disparagingly, as Matsumoto laughed. Show me someone who's better and I'll show you how I talk.

Then again, he thought, as Matsumoto and Hirutani moved on to another topic, while Matsumoto was a petty bastard with yakuza dealings and Hirutani was a backstabbing, blackmailing, drug dealing, sadistic, equally as petty asshole, they weren't the only ones he had a habit of mouthing off to. His stomach twisted as he thought of Yuugi's face that day two months ago when he'd ended their friendship, and his throat felt thick when he remembered how earnestly Yuugi had looked at him not a half hour ago, how he again harshly told Yuugi to stay out of his life even as Yuugi had the misguided notion that Jounouchi could—or should—be "saved." Yuugi hadn't known about the hard drive in Jounouchi's pocket, hadn't known about the money he'd stolen despite the fact that the hard drive was the only thing he'd been sent after. He hadn't known that, however much he viewed Jounouchi as a worthwhile friend, as someone good, Jounouchi was anything but. Yuugi was selfless, kind, and honest. He was everything Jounouchi could never hope to be, and yet, even before he had fallen right back into Hirutani's toxic spiral, Jounouchi didn't think he'd ever really shown Yuugi the gratitude he should have for that second chance.

Jounouchi lit his cigarette and took a drag. Maybe Hirutani had a point after all.

". . . look forward to future dealings," Matsumoto said, and Jounouchi looked up in time to see him reach across the table and shake Hirutani's hand. Both of them had stood up while Jounouchi was lost in thought, and Jounouchi figured that he was probably expected to as well, as a form of "courtesy" or "politeness" or "etiquette" or whatever. He leaned back further on the couch and exhaled the smoke from his cigarette.

Matsumoto looked over at him. "I also look forward to seeing what you continue to bring to the table, Joutou-kun. I'm sure we can expect great things."

"Sure," Jounouchi said. He supposed Matsumoto's definition of "great" differed from his own.

Hirutani walked Matsumoto to the door, and Jounouchi frowned as Matsumoto nodded and exited the lounge without Hirutani. It occurred to him only as Hirutani shut and locked the door that Matsumoto was the owner of the bar. Wasn't this backwards? Shouldn't they be the ones getting the hell out of his place?

Hirutani turned and leaned back against the door, and his eyes were narrowed in seething rage as he stared down at Jounouchi on the couch. Jounouchi knew that look, and he suppressed a groan as he let his head fall back on the couch and shut his eyes.

His thoughts were torn between god fuck, here we go and I don't care, I don't care, I don't care, I don't—

"Where were you tonight?" Hirutani asked. His voice was quiet, level, but it held all the tension of a suppressed spring. Jounouchi tapped his foot in a rapid beat against the floor to try and channel his excess energy, and took another hit off his cigarette before he answered.

"You know where I was," he said as he exhaled. He ashed his cigarette over the floor. The ash tray was all the way across the table; too far to reach for some near-yakuza sleaze's lounge. "I was getting that hard drive thing for Matsumoto."

"After that," Hirutani said. "You were forty minutes late. Where were you during that time?"

"On my way here," Jounouchi said, and it wasn't a lie, either. Aside from that little backtracked detour in the park . . .

"And that's all you did? You came straight here?"

Two months ago, when Hirutani had first pulled Jounouchi back into his gang, he'd told him to never ask questions he already knew the answer to. It seemed to Jounouchi that Hirutani was making himself out to be something of a hypocrite now, but he had a feeling that it wasn't going to be to his benefit.

"Yep," he said.

"And that blood on your hand," Hirutani said, and he nodded toward Jounouchi as his eyes flicked toward Jounouchi's right hand. "That came from nowhere, did it?"

Jounouchi followed Hirutani's gaze, and dread dropped in his stomach like a sack of lead at the sight of the blood smeared across his knuckles. He hadn't even thought about the blood that had poured from the nose of Yuugi's mugger in the heat of the moment, hadn't even considered that some of it had gotten on him, hadn't even thought about it because it wasn't like it was the first time he got blood on him . . .

"It came from the guy," he said finally, and he tried to focus on the staccato rhythm he was tapping out with his foot, or the fact that he'd almost finished with his cigarette and kind of already wanted another. "You know, that business dude I had to get the hard drive from. I told you I knocked him out."

Hirutani raised his eyebrows. "You didn't wear gloves?" he asked, and Jounouchi had to stop himself from squeezing his cigarette hard enough to crumble it in his fingers. Shit. "You left prints?"

"No, I wasn't dumb enough to leave prints. I had gloves on for that. I . . ."

"You what? You took off your gloves in the car, knocked the man out, put them back on to steal the hard drive, and then took them off again?" Hirutani asked, and Jounouchi really hadn't needed him to spell it out to realize how stupid it sounded. He took another drag of his cigarette. "You're a piss-poor liar, Jounouchi. I'm only going to ask you one more time. Where were you between getting that hard drive for Matsumoto and coming here?"

Jounouchi allowed himself a brief moment of bitter reflection on the fact that, despite apparently being a piss-poor liar, he'd managed to fool Anzu, Honda, and Yuugi well enough two months ago. On reflex, he reached up to run a hand through his hair, but stopped himself short when he realized it was a waste of time given how short it was now. He settled for raking his nails against the back of his neck instead.

"Fine, you caught me," he said. "I got in a fight in the park. Happy?"

"With who?" Hirutani demanded.

"Why does it matter?" Jounouchi shot back. "I got what you—what Matsumoto wanted. I ditched my gloves, coat, and the hat I wore in the water off the docks." Which sucked, because even if he wouldn't miss the hat, that winter coat and those gloves had been the only ones he owned. Winter was going to suck ass this year. "Mission accomplished, no evidence to tie me to it. So I got in a fight on the way back and was a little late. So what? Shouldn't matter so long as I got the job done."

Hirutani crossed his arms, his nostrils flaring. It was a warning sign, but one that Jounouchi didn't care to heed. "When I want your opinion on what does or doesn't matter, I'll ask for it. And don't," he snarled, as Jounouchi leaned forward to grind his used up cigarette into the table, "put that out on the table, you fucking dipshit. Use the goddamn ash tray."

"Oh sure," Jounouchi said, as he pushed himself up off the couch to walk over to the end of the table. "You'll pass coke off on middle schoolers, but god forbid I put my cigarette out on the coffee table. Nice to see you've got your priorities straight."

"One of us has to," Hirutani said, and Jounouchi rolled his eyes as he ground his cigarette into the bottom of the ash tray instead. "Now answer my question. Who did you fight in the park?"

"My god, you sound like a jealous chick," Jounouchi said, and he pushed his voice up a couple octaves. "'Where were you tonight? Who were you with?'" He crossed his arms to stop himself for reaching for another smoke and gave Hirutani a caustic look in the face of the livid glare he was receiving. "If you're gonna act like my clingy girlfriend, at least buy me dinner first."

For all that Hirutani had pitched a fit about the prospect of Jounouchi putting his cigarette out on the coffee table, he had no qualms about stomping on it himself. With speed that belied his size, Hirutani bounded over the coffee table and shoved Jounouchi back against the wall.

"Watch your mouth," Hirutani snapped, and Jounouchi forced a laugh as Hirutani growled, "Last chance, Jounouchi. Who did you fight?"

"Last chance before what?" Jounouchi asked, and as Hirutani's lips pulled back in a soundless snarl that told Jounouchi he was about to reach for his knife, Jounouchi heaved an exasperated sigh. "Why the fuck does it matter? Why do you care? It was just a random asshole in the park whose face I decided to break. It's not a big deal."

"I care because you chose to piss away your time doing that instead of your job," Hirutani said. "You had one job—"

"And I did it," Jounouchi said, glaring right back in the face of Hirutani's furious scowl.

"And you did it halfway before you decided to piss off picking fights in the park, supposedly for no reason. You were told to get the hard drive and get back here. You did half of that—"

"Did you not see me hand over that hard drive when I walked in? Because if not, you could have fooled me from the way you were staring at me nearly the whole goddamn time—"

"When you walked in, forty minutes late. What part of this is too difficult for you to wrap your head around? Your job was to get the hard drive and get back here on time—"

"Because Matsumoto seemed real broken up that I got here late—"

"God damn it, that is not the fucking point!" Hirutani slammed his fist into the wall beside them. Jounouchi didn't flinch. Hirutani glared at him, teeth bared, before he shut his eyes and scrubbed his hand down his face, breathing through his teeth. "Do you have any idea what that looks like to a man like him?" he asked quietly. "Do you understand what it is that I'm trying to do here? What it is that I did here tonight?"

"I get that it's more of your usual bullshit," Jounouchi said. Hirutani opened his eyes to glower at him.

"Now that I've done this for him, he owes me a favor," Hirutani said, his words careful and deliberate. "I can cash in at any time. More importantly, he knows that I'm reliable. If he needs a service again, he can deal again to get it done. In return, he'll owe more. Those totals will stack. With more credibility comes more power. And given the influence he has, that is credibility and power that I can use." Hirutani narrowed his eyes. "Do you see now? Do you see what it is that I've done? Do you see what it is that you could have easily fucked up with the stupid ass way you decided to act tonight?"

Jounouchi gave him a flat stare before he pushed past Hirutani to head to the other side of the room. Space. He needed space. Room to breathe. "I see that you're going on about your accomplishments when you didn't actually do much," he said, and he made his voice as casual as he could given the way adrenaline was making his pulse spike. "All things considered, I'm pretty sure I'm the one any favors should be owed to."

Hirutani snorted. "Nice joke."

Jounouchi turned and raised his eyebrows. "Uh, excuse me, but who's the one that actually went out and got the damn thing? Because I'm pretty sure that was me."

"Who's the one that sent you?" Hirutani fired back. "Who's the one who knew that you'd be the best man suited for the job? Who's the one who is in charge?" Jounouchi bit his tongue to keep himself from replying, and in his silence Hirutani said, "You can fight, but that's all you've got. You're nothing unless someone with brains comes along to be your handler, and that someone is me."

Jounouchi was far from the smartest guy in the world, and he both knew and had accepted this fact a long time ago. But he still balled his fingers into fists as he glared at Hirutani and said in a low voice, "I can handle myself."

Hirutani scoffed. "Yeah, you handled yourself real well when you swaggered in here forty minutes late," he said, and Jounouchi rolled his eyes. "You handled yourself real well when you decided it was a smart idea to give Matsumoto a dumbass alias when he asked for your name—"

"He's yakuza," Jounouchi said. "Or near enough."

"That didn't seem to matter a whole lot to you when you were mouthing off and ignoring him in equal turn," Hirutani said, and Jounouchi scowled at the coffee table. He didn't have a real response to that. "It didn't seem to matter when you were a stupid enough pissant to refuse the drink he offered you—"

"I don't drink," Jounouchi said sharply, because even if there was truth in that maybe he should have watched his mouth a little better to avoid bringing the yakuza down on his head, he wasn't about to chug booze for them. "You know that."

"What I know is that when a man like Matsumoto offers you something, you don't say no," Hirutani said, and Jounouchi held his ground as Hirutani stalked a few paces toward him. "You don't have the luxury of refusing someone like that. If he says drink, you drink. For that matter, if I say drink, you drink. I brought you in as my number two, but—and here's a refresher since you seem to keep forgetting—that means that I am still your boss. So if I decide to have you toss back a couple beers—or if I want you to have a drink with Matsumoto—guess what?" Hirutani took another step closer, and Jounouchi crossed his arms to keep from slugging him. "You're going to do it."

Jounouchi scoffed. "The fuck I am," he said, and fury flared in Hirutani's eyes. "I won't even drink soda around you after the roofie incident, much less—"

Hirutani rolled his eyes. "That was one time—"

"One time is enough, asshole!"

"—and it was almost a year ago. Get over it." Hirutani gave him a cold look. "Or don't. I don't really care what you think, Jounouchi. I care what you do. And what you're going to do is whatever I tell you to do, no questions asked or backtalk given. Are we clear?"

The appropriate answer, Jounouchi knew, as his heart worked double time to pump adrenaline into his muscles, was 'yes.' The better answer, the one that would stroke Hirutani's god complex and make him higher than an entire bottle of ecstasy could, was 'yes sir.' But, Jounouchi figured, what made him so stupid wasn't that he never knew the right answers. It was that he often knew what the right answer was, but then deliberately chose the wrong one anyway.

"Fuck you," he said.

Jounouchi was momentarily blinded as Hirutani's fist crashed into his eye. The force of the blow knocked him back, his leg smacking into the corner of the coffee table as his cheekbone throbbed, and he barely had time to blink the spots from his eyes before Hirutani swung again. Jounouchi jumped back a few steps, both to dodge the strike and to move into the open area on the other side of the table. More room to move, more room to fight.

The problem, if it could be called that, was that they were more or less evenly matched. Hirutani was stronger, but Jounouchi was faster; Jounouchi was able to weave and duck around blows that Hirutani couldn't avoid, even as Hirutani was able to better withstand Jounouchi's fists every time Jounouchi socked him in the face. Ten minutes into their fight and Jounouchi's head was throbbing while Hirutani's mouth was freely bleeding and his right eye was swelling, but still Jounouchi ducked under another one of Hirutani's swings to move back toward the center of the room, his fists raised to block if he couldn't dodge, and that was when he noticed the thing sticking out of Hirutani's pocket.

He looked up in time to see Hirutani's fist rocketing toward his face—

Jounouchi caught Hirutani's fist and used Hirutani's own momentum against him, dragging him back toward the wall. Jounouchi was briefly pinned, but he wrenched himself free to twist around Hirutani again, his free hand palming Hirutani's knife out of his pocket on the way. Hirutani grabbed Jounouchi's arm, but Jounouchi twisted in his grip and slammed his foot against Hirutani's kneecap, and the pain—however brief—was enough to make Hirutani let go.

Jounouchi flipped the knife in his hand.

He'd never really fought with weapons before. They were cheap, as far as he was concerned. People who relied on weapons were people who couldn't kick enough ass with their fists. There were exceptions to the rule, of course; he was no stranger to using pool cues or chairs when he was faced with too many opponents that had too many size advantages on him back when he was a punk middle schooler who had a habit of picking just that kind of fight. But things like knives, things like guns . . . they weren't his style. He was too good at what he did to rely on things like that.

But this had to end. Hirutani turned to face him, a dangerous grin tilting his lips, and Jounouchi ran his tongue along his teeth, tasting blood. Not just this fight—this whole thing had to end, and if he could end it here, end it now—

Once again, Hirutani came at him. Jounouchi skirted to the side, and when Hirutani turned, Jounouchi slugged him with his opposite hand. It wasn't his dominant arm, but it worked; Hirutani stumbled back, and Jounouchi pressed his advantage, throwing his full weight against Hirutani to knock them both down to the floor, Hirutani pinned beneath him. Hirutani's head was against the wall.

Jounouchi raised the knife.

He could end it. He could. One stab was all it would take. One to the throat. He wouldn't get up from that. If he stabbed—if he killed Hirutani—that would be it, it'd be the end, he'd be dead and Jounouchi would never have to—no one would ever have to—

He swallowed, tightened his grip on the knife handle. His hand was shaking—adrenaline—and he raised it higher—

It occurred to him a second too late that Hirutani had been oddly still, watching him—and his hesitation, his late realization, cost him. Hirutani shoved him back, and a half second later kicked Jounouchi hard enough in the ribs to, he was pretty sure, at least splinter some of them. Jounouchi was thrown backward, and when his back hit the floor he lost his grip on the knife. It fell somewhere, but he had no time to see where as Hirutani threw himself on top of Jounouchi, straddling him, pinning him, pain searing across Jounouchi's ribs at the added weight, one of Hirutani's hands around his throat, the other holding his right arm down—

God, he couldn't breathe; Jounouchi grasped at Hirutani's hand with his left hand, trying to pry Hirutani's fingers off his throat, only for Hirutani to squeeze tighter. With the way he was straddled, he couldn't kick him off; his head spun and every time he tried to breathe, tried to cough or choke or gasp for more air, all he felt was pain, more pain and he couldn't—he couldn't—he couldn't breathe and needed Hirutani off, needed him to get off, get off, get off get off get—!

Jounouchi coughed and sputtered as Hirutani released some of the pressure—just enough to let Jounouchi breathe. Hirutani kept Jounouchi pinned beneath him, and as some of the dizziness faded, Jounouchi became aware of the fact that Hirutani was talking to him. Maybe he had been the entire time he had him pinned there.

". . . gave you the perfect opportunity, and you wasted it," Hirutani said. "You're soft, Jounouchi. Weak. You don't have it in you to kill. Not yet. It's in your best interest if you don't try, because unlike you, I won't hesitate."

Jounouchi glared at him. "I'm not—" His words were cut off as Hirutani tightened the pressure again, and he coughed when Hirutani loosened his grip.

"You are," he said. "Soft. Weak. Worthless as you are now for the things we're doing. For where we're headed. You want to talk about how Matsumoto's yakuza? Where do you think you'll be in a couple years, give or take? Provided you don't fuck everything up, of course."

Yakuza. The thought made bile rise in Jounouchi's throat, but then, that might've also been due to the guy strangling him. The last time Hirutani had him pinned like this—years ago, back in middle school—he'd held Jounouchi's arms, but it seemed that since then he'd learned—

"I'm done with petty gangs, Jounouchi. I'm better than that. You are, too—or you will be. Once I finally break you." Hirutani leaned closer, and Jounouchi ground his teeth together to bite back a gasp as pain flared in his cracked ribs. "I don't know what it's going to take to do it, but I'll find it. I'll break you, and then remake you. By the time I'm done . . ." He laughed softly. "The yakuza will be bowing to make way for us."

"Who says I want to be with the fucking yakuza?" Jounouchi spat, and Hirutani snorted.

"What makes you think you have a choice?" he asked. "In case you've forgotten—again—I decide your future. I decide where you go, what you do, how and when you do it. And I've decided you're to be my number two, no matter how many times you make me hurt you."

Jounouchi scoffed a laugh. "I make you—"

"Yeah, you make me. What the hell else do you call this?" Hirutani shook his head in disgust. "You know the deal, Jounouchi. You know our agreement, and you continue to fight me. The sooner you give in, the easier this will be. You know that. I know that. If you weren't so damn stubborn, you'd admit it."

Jounouchi said nothing. He glowered at Hirutani for several long seconds, before Hirutani finally pulled back a little, his thumb stroking underneath Jounouchi's jaw.

"You'll learn," he said, and it almost sounded more like he was talking to himself. "One way or another, I will make you understand. And when you do, you'll be better for it." He met Jounouchi's eyes. "You'll see."

Hirutani pushed himself up, and once he finally—fucking finally—released his hold on Jounouchi's throat, Jounouchi pushed himself up, ready and raring to knock the shit out of him—

Only to have Hirutani stomp down on Jounouchi's ribs—his fucking ribs, god fuck!—and pin him back to the floor.

"You're done for tonight," he said coldly. "You're not ruthless enough. Not yet. You will be—I swear on my mother's rotting corpse I'll drag it out of you if I have to break every bone in your body first—but you're not yet. Give it up, Jounouchi. We're done here."

Jounouchi forced himself to smirk, and propped himself up on his elbows despite the boot on his chest. Fucking hell, if his ribs weren't broken before— "And then I'll get to cut your fucking throat out, right?"

Hirutani huffed a laugh, and turned away. Jounouchi watched as Hirutani picked up his knife, tossed it once in the air, and then caught it again before he slipped it into his pocket.

"You'll at least be able," he said. "But you won't."

Don't bet on that, Jounouchi thought savagely.

Hirutani made his way toward the door, unlocked it, and paused just before stepping out.

"By the way," he said, and he didn't turn to look back as he did, "if I find out that you were with any of your little Domino High friends during your random stint in the park tonight, then so help me, the next time you see them will be at their funerals." Jounouchi's heart felt frozen in his chest as Hirutani turned to throw a caustic smirk over his shoulder. "But don't worry. I'll buy you dinner first."

 From: Whispers in the Dark, ch. 3, “In the Details With the Devil”

Sample #2:

Nestled at the base of a mountain so far in the woods off the standard trail of Route 10 that it would take less of a map and more of a mercy from the Fates to find, Isolé Village carried the air of a town that was unaware that time was supposed to move forward at a decent kip. The lack of cellular reception that made Fulbert groan and grumble as he stuffed his pokégear back into his pocket aside, all of the buildings in the village (settlement might have been a better word for it, really—a little cluster of buildings contained within the small pocket created by the trees and mountain range at the back) looked to be at least thirty years out of style with the rest of the architecture in Kalos. Most of the buildings were fashioned out of wood (which was, Augustine thought, the primary reason why they had so much trouble with the houndour raid), and those that weren’t were constructed from stone. Choice in material aside, no house was greater than one story, and none of the businesses (of which there seemed to be only one of each variety: a general mart, a diner, a pharmacy . . .) looked big enough to contain more than one main room for business and perhaps one room in back for storage. There were no Pokémon Centers in sight.

But even with the rustic architecture and construction of the tiny village, it was clear that the reason why it looked as if it was falling apart had less to do with the fact that it was doubtful any new construction had taken place over the last several decades, and more to do with the fact that most of the buildings contained within it had been set on fire very recently. Scorch marks streaked the earth, leaving large dirt trails where it was evident grass used to grow, and soot was caked into the stone of the fountain in the center of town. Most of the buildings had holes that had been temporarily patched over with tarps or mismatched boards, and there were great black marks on the sides and front of nearly every building where it was clear a fire had been hastily put out. Half of the general store sign was missing so that it read GENER instead, and there was a sign on the door of the diner that read, CLOSED DUE TO HOUNDOUR PANTRY INVASION.

“Seems like we found the right place,” Fulbert said, though he looked disgruntled as he patted the pocket that contained his pokégear. “Even if we’re about thirty years too early.”

“It would be kind of ironic if a pack of houndour we were tracking just so happened to come raid the same village once every thirty years, wouldn’t it?” Augustine asked, and he grinned. “Particularly considering that I wouldn’t have been born yet.”

“Neither would I,” Fulbert said, indignant. “We’re the same age.”

“Are we?” Augustine asked, and his smile grew as Fulbert’s scowl deepened. “Oh, that’s right! I forgot again, my mistake. Well, what do you say we put that behind us and find the mayor of this humble town so we can get this show on the road?”

Fulbert looked as if he wanted to rise to Augustine’s teasing and press the point, but his distaste for being in such a remote area won out over his annoyance. “Fine. Sooner we get the info we need, the sooner we can find the houndour and get out of the sticks. I’m in.”

Augustine beamed. “That’s the spirit!”

Fulbert shook his head as he turned and started deeper into the village, attracting more than a few stares from the townspeople (who were, in contrast to the state of their hamlet, dressed in reasonably modern clothing if several years out of current fashions). But no matter how disgruntled his colleague was, Augustine couldn’t keep the grin off his own face.

Fulbert was not wrong when he pointed out that they were the same age, and if one wanted to be technical, Fulbert was actually several months younger. But aside from being built like an ursaring and sporting a beard that could make a hiker feel like a youngster, Fulbert had a habit of examining every situation with the same attitude a middle-aged man might take to newspapers bearing stories of rambunctious youth setting up underground rollerblading clubs in the local parks. No matter the situation, there was a serious and often grave angle to it that Fulbert was sure to spot and grouch about within the first five minutes of examining it. He was physically capable of smiling and laughing, of course, but his usual state of perpetual grump made it difficult for Augustine not to try and prod the fun out of him every now and again. That they had been roommates in university and had decided to partner up to aid in each other in their various areas of research after school only made it more irresistible.

This venture was one such joint project of theirs. For the past three years Augustine and Fulbert had been tracking several different species of pokémon around the Kalos region. Fulbert’s area of research focused primarily on regional variations within different species—whether or not species that were born and raised in certain areas would have varying capabilities or markings compared with species born and raised in other areas, and other such hypotheses of that nature. Augustine, meanwhile, was intrigued by the concept of mega evolution (something which had very little evidence documented for it so far and which Fulbert had warned was not likely to result in a breakthrough big enough to sustain Augustine’s profession, but Augustine waved his concerns off), and was intent on following houndour given that its evolution, houndoom, was one of the pokémon that historical records said could mega evolve. Perhaps by studying houndour, Augustine could stumble across a clue that would help him progress his research. (And if not, well, it was fun to tag and track houndour, so it wasn’t as if he was really wasting his time anyway.)

But while the houndour had kept to their standard areas along Route 10 in the previous years, this year Augustine received an e-mail pleading for help from the mayor of Isolé Village, claiming that a pack of wild houndour had rampaged through and destroyed half the town. (How they managed an internet connection at all in such a remote location puzzled Augustine and Fulbert both, but Augustine was curious to find out.) Worried that it was their houndour pack, Augustine and Fulbert set out to investigate, and when their pack was missing from their normal dens, they opted to begin their search with the village and spread out from there to find out what had driven their pups off course.

It was likely going to be easier said than done, as Fulbert feared, but Augustine was looking forward to the adventure.

The mayor’s residence was, according to her e-mail, nearer to the back of the village, positioned just in front of the well. That was where they headed and where they found (who Augustine assumed to be) her, carrying a laundry basket containing a moving bundle of sheets as she made her way across the town square.

“Excuse me!” Augustine called, and when she looked up he waved and offered her a bright smile. “Would you happen to be Mayor Gosselin, by chance?”

“Yes, and you . . . oh!” the mayor’s face brightened as she took in Augustine’s and Fulbert’s lab coats, and she shifted the laundry basket so that it was tucked under her arm instead. The bundle of blankets inside of it continued to shift and move around. “Are you the professors? Professor Sycamore, and . . . ?”

“Fulbert. I’m a colleague of Professor Sycamore’s,” Fulbert said, shaking the mayor’s hand in turn.

The mayor beamed widely at the pair of them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Thank you so much for coming out. I’m impressed you managed to find us so quickly!”

“So am I,” Fulbert muttered, “considering it’s so far out in the—”

“We’re both well-traveled, and we’re familiar with the area due to our research, so all it took was a little extra legwork and determination to find you all,” Augustine cut in. The mayor gave Fulbert a bemused look for a moment before she smiled gratefully at Augustine once again.

“Well as I said, we’re so grateful you could make it. Here, come with me; I’ll fix you both up a cup of . . . tea or coffee, whichever you prefer, and we can have ourselves a talk about the current situation. Whatever help you can provide we’d be most grateful for.”

“We’ll certainly do what we can,” Augustine said, and he motioned for Fulbert to follow the mayor first as she led the way back to her home. Fulbert rolled his eyes but followed Augustine’s gesture, and Augustine grinned.

The mayor’s home had, thankfully, seemed to be spared the worst of the damage caused by the houndour pack. There were only a few errant scorch marks marring the wood on the outside, and the inside seemed clean, open, and inviting. Potted plants hung in the corners of the living room, and while the coffee table was crafted from aged oak, the small, lacy table cloth fitted over it was charming, and there were coasters protecting the surface from any condensation caused by glasses. Augustine and Fulbert took seats on the sofa (Fulbert looking a bit uncomfortable, no doubt to the quaint furnishings), and the mayor set the laundry basket she had been carrying on one of the chairs nearest the door before she headed into the kitchen.

“What would you gentlemen like?” she called. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Whichever would be easiest for you,” Augustine said. “Would you like some help?”

“Oh no, you’re our guests! What sort of hostess would I be if I had you serve yourselves, hm? Besides, so long as you can help rid us of that houndour menace, you’ll be helping more than enough, trust me.”

“Don’t know ‘rid you of’ is the phrasing I’d use,” Fulbert said beneath his breath, tapping his fingers against his legs.

“So long as we discover what attracted them to the village in the first place, we can modify it and she—the village won’t know the difference,” Augustine replied, using the same undertone. “Though I agree, her word choice could be a little better.”

Fulbert grunted, but otherwise didn’t reply.

They were quiet for the next few minutes as the mayor prepared their drinks in the kitchen, Augustine surveying the room as Fulbert drummed his fingers against his thighs. Every now and then the laundry basket on the chair would wobble and shake, and Augustine felt his curiosity gnawing at him like a pikachu on a frayed wire. Just when he was about to get up and investigate it (manners be damned) the mayor entered the room with a tea tray and three cups, which she set on the table before them.

“Here we are! Three nice cups of tea,” she said. Augustine and Fulbert both sat up to take theirs as the mayor sat down in the only remaining empty seat. As she did so, the laundry basket shook again, wobbling ominously. Augustine watched it before he looked over at the mayor, who raised her eyebrows at him.

“What is—?”

Before he could finish his sentence something burst up through the bundle of sheets in the basket, startling Fulbert enough so that he splashed his tea on himself with a hissed profanity. As he grabbed a napkin off the tea tray to help himself, Augustine saw that the creature previously in the basket was a bunnelby, which bounded over to the coffee table, nose twitching.

“So you’ve finally decided to come out now that you know something’s been prepared, have you?” the mayor said, her tone caught somewhere between stern and amused. The bunnelby’s ears twitched, and he looked at her hopefully. She shook her head. “No, that tea is for our guests. You know where you can find your own food.”

The bunnelby pouted, but then bounded around the sofa to head to another part of the house.

“A laundry basket is an interesting choice of carrier for your pokémon,” Augustine said, smiling, and the mayor laughed as Fulbert wadded up the napkin he had used to clean the tea from himself and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Oh, he isn’t mine. He’s wild. We have bunnelby all over the village. They seem to like infesting our laundry most of all, but really they scamper every which way they can.” She shrugged. “We used to think of them as pests, but they’re far from our biggest and they behave better in comparison, so we don’t mind them much. We just set out food for them so they don’t get into ours.”

“Setting out food will just encourage them to stay,” Fulbert said, frowning. He glanced at Augustine. “And that might be what attracted the houndour.”

“The houndour shouldn’t want the same food the bunnelby eat, though,” Augustine said. “Unless of course they were hunting the bunnelby . . . but I don’t see why they would go this far for prey. Route 10 didn’t seem to be suffering a lack of other pokémon.”

“They didn’t seem to be hunting the bunnelby, neither,” the mayor said, and both Augustine and Fulbert looked back to her, Augustine taking a sip of his tea (and doing his best not to grimace at the taste). “If they were, why would they attack our buildings? They ransacked the whole village, I’m sure you saw. Fires everywhere, they completely cleaned out the diner . . . it was a wonder we managed to chase them off. I’m still not sure we did. They didn’t seem intimidated by us, at any rate; one of them ripped Maurice’s broom from his hands and destroyed the thing.”

“Was it a wooden broom?” Fulbert asked.

The mayor gave him a quizzical look. “Yes, why?”

“Why would Maurice, whoever he is, try and chase off a houndour with a wooden broom?” Fulbert demanded, and the mayor opened her mouth as if to rebut, but didn’t manage to say anything before he said, “Houndour are fire-types. Even if one of them didn’t take it, they could have just set it on fire. Then he’d be holding a flaming broom and the houndour would still be there. What part of that seems like a good idea?”

“That aside,” Augustine said, as the mayor drew herself up in an offended huff, “can you think of anything specific the houndour did, or seemed to be doing? Did it look as if it was a coordinated hunt? Did you notice any odd behavior from them—any stumbling, dizzy or confused movements, unusual salivating—anything like that?”

“Not that I can remember, but I’m not the most familiar with houndour. We don’t usually see them ‘round here, and I’m not one of the ones that goes out for supply runs,” the mayor said. “They just seemed wild to me, but I know they hit up every building before they finally headed back to the mountains.”

“Back?” Augustine exchanged a glance with Fulbert, who gave him a puzzled frown in return.

“Well, that’s where they’re from, right?” the mayor asked. “From up in the mountains?”

“Not at this time of year, no, and definitely not when they came through here. They should have still been back on Route 10,” Fulbert said.

“But their usual dens were empty. It did seem as if they moved on, though there was no hint as to why . . .” Augustine set his teacup back on the tray. He wasn’t going to finish it. “They must have moved on early. The reason why is likely related to whatever it was that compelled them to come through here.”

“You’re sure you don’t know anything?” Fulbert asked the mayor, and Augustine discreetly kicked his ankle as an admonishment for his rude tone. Fulbert didn’t so much as twitch. “Anything at all?”

“Like I said, I’m just not familiar with houndour. None of us are. All I know is that when they were done they booked it back to the mountains,” the mayor said. “I can show you the path, if you’d like.”

Fulbert opened his mouth—to turn down her offer, if Augustine knew him, and Augustine did—but Augustine cut across him before he could reply. “That would be most helpful, thank you.”

The mayor smiled, and set her own teacup down on the tea tray. “Certainly, Professor. Come with me, and I’ll show you the way at once.”

She rose from her chair and headed toward the front door, and as Fulbert set his own (empty, amazingly) teacup down on the tea tray with the other two, he hissed, “It’s not like the mountains are hidden or hard to find. We can get there ourselves.”

“There’s no reason to turn down her offer, especially since she couldn’t give us much other information,” Augustine replied, his own voice barely above a whisper. “Be nice and let her help, it won’t hurt you.”

Fulbert made a sound deep in his throat that sounded an awful lot like harumph (which was, in Augustine’s dignified and educated opinion, a crotchety old man grunt if he had ever heard one) before he followed the mayor, and Augustine followed suit. The mayor smiled at them again as they joined her at the door, and without further prompting opened it so that she could lead them out (leaving it open for a second longer than necessary so that the bunnelby from before could dart through and bound across the grass).

“You really should watch out about letting wild pokémon roam your house,” Fulbert said. “Bunnelby might be cute, but that doesn’t mean they can’t bite or cause damages.”

“Oh, they’re fine,” the mayor said, waving her hand dismissively. Augustine grinned as Fulbert scowled. “Like I said, they’re hardly the worst nuisance we have to contend with, although . . .” She looked up at the sky, pondering something, and then smiled. “It’s the end of the month, so at least that’ll be off my family’s plate in short order. For a little while, anyway.”

“What will?” Augustine asked.

“Never you mind that, now. You’ve got enough to worry about with the houndour without having to handle our other problems, too,” she said. Augustine glanced at Fulbert, who gave him a look and shrug that plainly said ‘well, she’s right about that one’ in response.

The mayor led them to the base of the mountain, which—as Fulbert had pointed out—was more or less a straight shot through the village, not too far from the mayor’s own home. In fact, Augustine was perplexed to see that—the gap of wilderness between the mountains and village aside—the only thing that really seemed to be standing between the mountains and the village was no longer actually standing: the remnants of a small fence littered the earth, completely dismantled save for a few of the posts on either side.

“We put that up ages ago to try and deter wild pokémon from coming too close,” the mayor said, noticing Augustine and Fulbert’s stares. Fulbert gave her an appalled look. “It didn’t wrap all the way ‘round the village, of course, but our previous mayor—that is, the mayor before the mayor before me—thought that they might still get the picture . . . well. The houndour didn’t seem to, anyway.”

“Unbelievable,” Fulbert said. Augustine elbowed him in the ribs.

“Well, we’ll take it from here. We have a fairly good idea of where to start. Thank you so much for your help,” Augustine said.

“Glad to do whatever I can to make sure this whole thing gets resolved,” the mayor said. She paused, and then added in a worried tone, “Are you sure you’ll be all right up there, Professor? Should we send help if you’re not back by a certain time?”

“Ah, no. I might not quite be on the level of a hiker, but I’ve certainly done my fair share of traveling in my day,” Augustine said, and he clapped Fulbert on the shoulder. “Besides, I have my faithful colleague here with me, and despite his age he could survive in the mountains for weeks without tiring.”

“We’re the same age,” Fulbert said, and he jerked his shoulder out from under Augustine’s palm.

“So you really needn’t worry,” Augustine told the mayor, ignoring Fulbert. “We’ll be just fine.”

The mayor smiled, although her smile seemed a bit uncertain in the face of Fulbert’s sour scowl. “Well, all right then,” she said. “But you make sure to come on back down if you need anything at all, you hear?”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you for your kindness.” Augustine bowed courteously (Fulbert inclined his head in a little jerk), and after returning it, the mayor turned to head back toward the village. When she was out of earshot, Augustine turned to Fulbert and said, “You could at least try to be a little polite.”

“Me? I’m just being honest. You want to see rude, you didn’t even finish your damn tea,” Fulbert shot back.

The aftertaste of the tea still lingered in Augustine’s mouth, and he couldn’t help but grimace a little. “It wasn’t very good tea,” he said.

“Hah, see, and you call me rude.”

“It’s not as if I told her that her tea was bad! That would have been rude. I simply didn’t finish it because we have work to do. You’re the one constantly trying to refuse her hospitality and making fun of their—what used to be their fence.”

“Look at it.” Fulbert gestured to the ruins of the fence. Upon giving it a more serious look, Augustine could see that even when it was standing it would still fall short of the village borders by a few feet on either side. “What pokémon was that supposed to deter? Caterpie? There aren’t even caterpie out here.”

“At least they tried. It was a solid idea,” Augustine said. When Fulbert gave him a flat look, he grinned. “No, it really was. That wood looks like it was pretty sturdy when it was still standing. It was definitely solid.”

Fulbert gave him a look of deep disgust, and turned toward the mountain trail. “I’m leaving you for dead in these mountains. Goodbye, Augustine.”

Augustine laughed, and jogged after to catch up. “You would never. But if we are getting started, how do you want to handle this, hm? I’m sure we can take care of this within the day—two at most—but as fun as this adventure is bound to be I think we should have some sort of plan before we get started.”

“Augustine Sycamore wants to use a plan. Wonders will never cease,” Fulbert said. This time it was Augustine’s turn to roll his eyes. Fulbert paused in the middle of the dirt path, and squinted against the sun at the mountain range that stretched before them. “We can cover more ground if we split up, and I think I see a fork ahead. You take the left, I take the right?”

“Sounds like as good a plan as any. And here, I had a feeling that we would lose cell reception out here, and so . . .” Augustine dug into his travel bag, pushing past his notebooks, travel mug, and other equipment to produce two large walkie-talkies. He held one up in each hand, beaming as he said, “Ta-da!”

Fulbert gave him a nonplussed stare. “What are those?”

“They’re walkie-talkies. You know, devices that can allow us to communicate over long distances.” Augustine poked Fulbert in the shoulder with the antennae of one of the walkie-talkies. “For such an old man, you really are clueless when it comes to the technology of your generation. I know you really want to fit in with the youth and use all their tech instead, but—”

Fulbert swiped the walkie-talkie from Augustine’s hand, and in the same beat punched Augustine’s shoulder with his other fist. Compared to how hard Augustine knew Fulbert could hit (with the broken hinges of their dorm room door after they locked themselves out one winter serving as proof) Augustine knew that Fulbert hadn’t hit him that hard, but he still rubbed the spot nonetheless.

“I know what a walkie-talkie is,” Fulbert snapped, and he held it up and shook it a little as he said, “But what I want to know is what century this one is from. Did you get this up from the sunken part of the S.S. Cactus?”

“They’re not that old,” Augustine said, and he couldn’t help but sound a bit defensive as he examined his own. “I found them in my parents’ attic the last time I visited. I think they’re charming.”

Fulbert snorted. “Charming. It’ll be real charming when we’re stuck up there and they don’t work.”

“I tested them before I took them from my parents’ house. They work just fine,” Augustine said, and he smacked the antennae of his own walkie-talkie against Fulbert’s shoulder. Fulbert gave him a skeptical look that Augustine didn’t think dignified addressing. “Let’s just get started, shall we? We can radio one another through the walkie-talkies if we find anything, and we’ll meet back here in two hours to discuss regardless of whether we find anything or not so that we can change our strategy if necessary. Agreed?”

“That’s the most logical plan I’ve ever heard you produce in your life, so yes,” Fulbert said.

Part of Augustine wanted to tap Fulbert on the head with his walkie-talkie this time, but he settled for smirking instead. “I disagree. Don’t you remember the pulley system I created so that we could bring food we had delivered to us up to our dorm via the window so that we didn’t have to go down into the cold to get it during the winter months?”

Fulbert shook his head, and started up the mountain path again, veering to the right as they had discussed. “I repeat, this is the most logical plan I’ve ever heard you produce in your life,” he said.

“You made great use of that pulley system! You used it just as many times as I did!” Augustine said, and he raised his voice as he took to the left path, walking backwards so that he could call after Fulbert’s back.

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t ridiculous!” Fulbert shouted back, without turning.

From: Genesis

Sample #3

Like TF, the corridors of BF consisted of polished, gleaming chrome. And if the corridors of TF had felt empty (even if most of the rooms Alan had passed while walking the halls had not been), then the corridors of BF seemed intent on making him aware that he was completely and utterly alone. That thought was ridiculous, he knew; Lizardon’s pokéball was in the right pocket of his lab coat, and so long as Lizardon was with him then he would never, not ever be alone. But the corridors of BF felt weighted with an oppressive, yet somehow omniscient, silence, as if despite the lack of another soul or any security cameras that he could spot, his every move was being observed by some mute presence he couldn’t see. Alan hastened his pace through the corridors, and was careful to move on the balls of his feet in an effort to muffle his footsteps.

While the corridors of BF matched the corridors of TF, the rooms were another story—or at least, the room containing the chimeras was another story despite how the maps hadn’t seen fit to mark any sort of distinction between them. The moment he stepped over the threshold into the chimera holding room the motion sensor lights flickered to life, revealing a room that was three times the size of any of the rooms above. The floor and walls in this room were comprised of concrete, not unlike the stockrooms of most retailers, and while there were long, metal tables in the center that held various instruments, charts, and other equipment, the main point of interest in the room rested in the cells that lined the walls.

“Cells,” Alan thought, was putting it gently. “Cells” was the word that the Aether Foundation had used in its documents describing the containment facilities for the chimeras, but the structures that lined the walls from the doors to the very back of the room were better described as cages. Each individual cage reached floor-to-ceiling, and while the width of the cages wasn’t as impressive, it at least didn’t look as if most of the chimeras were being crushed by the size of their prisons. Each cage had solid metal walls on either side, but the doors that faced the center of the room were barred. It was for this reason that Alan was able to get a glance at each chimera as he passed by its cage, at least as much as the light in the room would allow. Bright though it was, most of the chimeras had pulled away from it the second the lights flickered on, and now cowered at the very backs of their cages as he passed by their doors. They weren’t entirely silent—he heard claws scraping against metal flooring in some of the cages, could hear labored breathing coming from others, heard feathers rustling in some and the sound of tails accidentally thumping against bars in another—but not a one of them so much as sniffed in his direction as he passed. Maybe he was biased, but he thought the silence sounded an awful lot like fear.

He made it to the middle of the room before he crouched down in front of one of the cages to try and get a better look at the chimera contained within. He had chosen the cage at random, but the second he laid eyes on the creature inside it, he felt he had made the right choice. He couldn’t pin a name to this particular chimera (though thinking back over ‘cc.xsml’ again, he thought Type: Ignis was as good a guess as any given the red and orange markings), but that didn’t matter very much to him. What did matter was that the chimera was, like the others, huddled in a trembling ball of fur and scales at the very back of its cage. But as terrified as it looked, it also looked pained. The eyes that gazed at him from the shadows were glazed over, pitiful looking with the way its ears were pressed back against its skull and its snout rested on large, scaled forepaws. The light couldn’t reach the chimera very well, but Alan could still tell that it was having difficulty breathing. Setting aside the way each breath stuttered through its body like an engine struggling to start, he could hear a whistling wheeze through its nose every time it inhaled. Alan moved a little closer to the door, and when he did a weak whine escaped the chimera’s throat. Alan felt his heart splinter.

“Hey,” he whispered, and he poked his fingers through the bar of the cage. The chimera didn’t move. “It’s all right, I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help, I promise.”

The chimera lifted its head, and after staring at him morosely for a second, slowly started to drag its body toward the door of its cell.

“That’s it,” Alan said, and he gave the chimera an encouraging smile. Its snout (so much like a growlithe’s, even if its eyes were all houndour—he’d recognize eyes like that anywhere) wiggled as it sniffed him out. “You can do it. Just a little farther, all right?”

“And just who the hell are you?”

The second the new voice—loud and sharp as it was—cut through the silence in the room, the chimera leaped back to its original position with such speed and force that the entire cage rattled. It wasn’t the only one; so many chimeras jumped at once that the room was suddenly full of the sounds of bodies clashing against metal and startled, pained yelps. Alan himself jumped to his feet and whipped around to face the door, his fingers snapping into fists as he eyed the person who had spoken.

The man who had entered was at a point in his life that Alan felt was best described as either “mid-life crisis” or “pretentious to the point of embarrassment.” Though he was dressed in all white as most Aether Foundation employees were, the man’s excuse for a lab coat had a collar so large that it flared up to reach the back of his head on one side, and drooped so ridiculously on the other that the end of it touched his ribs. His glasses were not much better. Though the shape of them suggested they were supposed to imitate laboratory safety goggles, that was just it: they held the appearance of safety goggles, but none of the practicality. Lurid green and huge though they were, they weren’t nearly secure enough on his face to actually shield his eyes from harmful liquid or debris. About the only thing they succeeded in doing was drawing attention away from the man’s obviously receding hairline.

But as ostentatious and overall awful as the man’s appearance was given his position within the Aether Foundation, that wasn’t as important as his identity. Going based on the employee list Alan had looked at before, the man glaring at him from the doorway was none other than the branch chief of the Aether Foundation—a man named Faba. Alan didn’t know the specifics of every one of Faba’s responsibilities, but he was smart enough to know that it was unlikely he would be able to bluff the branch chief into thinking he was a newly hired employee. At the very least, he wouldn’t if he tried to be too specific about it.

“No one in particular,” he said, and he slipped his hands into the pockets of his lab coat as he turned away, palming Lizardon’s pokéball. The room was large, but with the tables in the center he didn’t think Lizardon would be able to battle comfortably. Still, better safe than sorry. “Just a researcher, passing through.”

“Is that so,” Faba said. He strode into the room, the door swinging shut behind him, and Alan locked his jaw as the chimeras tried to squeeze themselves against the backs of their cages as Faba passed. “That’s funny, because this isn’t exactly a place most people can pass through. This tends to be more of a place you get to deliberately. A place you go through on purpose.”

“Really,” Alan said. He made a show of looking at the other cages, and kept his tone as light and casual as he could. “Imagine that.”

“Yeah. Imagine it.” Faba’s tone was tart, and not at all amused. That was fine by Alan; he wasn’t feeling very amused himself. He looked back over as Faba walked along one of the center tables in the room, and noted that Faba had not once looked away from him. “Imagine my surprise when I went to access my user account to get some work done and found someone else was already logged into it. Imagine my surprise when I finally got in and saw how many documents had been open recently—documents that, prior to tonight, hadn’t been touched in months. Imagine my surprise when I saw the warp panel activate not ten minutes after that.”

Alan pretended to consider it for a moment before he said, “I imagine that must have been pretty shocking.”

“It was.” Faba smiled, and maybe it was the fault of the glasses, but it didn’t look like his smile reached his eyes. “But as shocking as all that was, I think I’ve got a pretty good grasp on the situation now, Sonny Jim. And seeing as how I do, I can tell you one thing you’re not, along with two things you are, and one you’re about to be.”

Given how very obviously busted he was, Alan thought Faba probably did have a good enough grasp on the situation—at least a good enough one to make it likely that the Aether Foundation enforcers had already been alerted to his presence, and were likely waiting outside the doors to arrest him as they spoke. There was a very good chance he was going to have to fight his way out of this situation, and he was incredibly thankful now that he had the foresight to copy the Project Alkahest folder onto his PokéNav Plus when he did. If nothing else, it would make it easier for him to plead his case when the Aether Foundation no doubt turned him over to the police. All the same, Faba wasn’t arresting him immediately, and Alan had to admit that he was a little curious about where Faba was going with his taunts. So rather than release Lizardon immediately, he said, “Oh? And what would all of those things be?”

Faba snorted. “Well, for one, you’re not ‘just a researcher, passing through.’” Faba affected a mocking voice that he clearly thought was supposed to be an imitation of Alan’s, yet Alan thought sounded much more like a vocal caricature of a teenager. “You’re a snot-nosed smart-ass, but you’re sure as hell not a researcher of any kind. I don’t care what costume shop you pulled that lab coat from.”

“Excuse me,” Alan said indignantly, “but I’ve been employed as—”

“And as for what you are—well, that’s one of the things. A snot-nosed smart-ass who somehow found his way in here, but sure as hell isn’t going to find his way out, which leads me to the second thing you are: sorry. And as for what you’re about to be?” Faba smacked his hand against the bottom of the table, and a series of metal clicks rang through the room as the barred doors in front of the chimera cages swung slowly open. Alan spun around to watch each door open, though none of the chimeras within moved an inch. “Well, given the time of day, I’d say you qualify as a very light breakfast.”

“You’re joking.” Alan turned back to glare at Faba, whose leer didn’t fade even as he pulled something from the pocket of his flashy coat and put it to his lips. “These chimeras aren’t in a fit state to do anything, much less attack me. They’re either sick or injured, and they’re definitely scared. Whatever you’ve done to them, they—”

A sudden cacophony erupted from the cages. On instinct Alan clapped his hands over his ears to try and muffle the noise, even as he looked around in time to see most of the chimeras scramble from their cages, hackles raised and tails lashing, feathers and fur puffed in clear agitation. Their eyes were bright, wild; several staggered as they exited their prisons and most were breathing heavily, but all of them had their hungry eyes pinned on him.

Alan whipped back around to face Faba as he demanded, “What did you do to them?”

“I just told them it was dinnertime. Breakfast. Whichever.” Faba laughed, and returned the item—the whistle, Alan realized now—to his pocket. “As far as they’re concerned, you’re just a meal passing through, Sonny Jim. And by the way, I recommend you start doing that. Passing through, I mean. Moving. Running. Or you’re about to be a whole lot sorrier than I at first gave you credit for.”

Alan looked back to the chimeras—and, specifically, to the one he had been reaching out to before. It stumbled toward him, breathing hard, saliva dripping from its mouth. He reached out his hand toward it, palm up, slowly, gently—

The chimera lunged, fire lacing around its fangs, and it was only by virtue of the reflexes he had drilled into himself during his years in Lysandre’s service that he managed to yank his arm out of the way just before the chimera’s fangs connected. But that one attack was the trigger; as a mob the rest of the chimeras pounced toward him, snarling and crying out in various degrees of aggression and distress; and Alan, knowing that there was no room for Lizardon to fight all of them and no chance for him to calm them down without fulfilling Faba’s sadistic prophecy, spun on the ball of his foot and bolted for the door.

The right way back to the warp panel was to hang a left out of the chimera room, take another left upon reaching the end of the hall, take a right at the end of that hall and then enter the second door down on the left. Alan knew this—he could visualize the map in his mind’s eye, still, and even if he had been unable he remembered enough to retrace his steps. But none of that mattered as he threw himself through the doors and—in a moment of blindness where his only thought pertained to putting as much distance between him and the voracious chimeras pursuing him as possible—made a sharp right and sprinted down the hall. It was a stupid, stupid decision, and one he regretted the second he made it and realized what he had done—but then, it hardly counted as a decision, hardly counted as a thought as he ducked beneath a Flamethrower that avoided singeing his hair off, but succeeded in blasting against the wall at the opposite end of the corridor and making the chrome paneling glow bright red as it partially melted. He skidded to avoid crashing into both the wall and the newly heated piece of paneling and made another hard right down the next hallway, the chimeras scrambling over themselves and each other as they hastened to follow, barking and snarling and yowling in agitation, hunger, and rage.

But he wasn’t dead yet. He could still make it back to the warp. Not the way he had originally come, no—there was no way to make it past the chimera pack, and not enough room for Lizardon to comfortably fight against them (and not enough time, either, for him to stop running and form a strategy for the too-narrow corridors that would let both him and Lizardon escape a battle like that unscathed). He could still visualize the map, even as he took a left at random to avoiding leading the chimeras around in a semi-circle that would likely end in a dead end (literally) for him. If his position on his mental map was accurate (and gods, he needed it to be accurate), then the T-shaped intersection they were coming up on led to a storage room on the left, and the arena on the right. There was another set of doors on the other side of the arena that would loop back around to the wing of BF that housed the warp panel. If he could just make it through the arena—

Rather than turn, Alan dodged to the right and spun the second his foot made contact so that he could bolt for the set of double-doors at the end of the hall that led to the arena. The half-second longer he spent running straight at the wall rewarded him; the chimeras, not anticipating his dodge out of the way, crashed into the walls and tripped over one another as they attempted to untangle from the pile-up they’d landed themselves in. The distance between them widened, and Alan ran hell-for-leather at the doors, the motion sensor light above them flashing green as he came within range and causing the metal doors to slide open—

Alan threw himself across the threshold, and the moment he crossed it the door slammed shut behind him. The chimeras who had succeeded in separating themselves from the pack quickly enough to charge after him were a few seconds too slow; they crashed bodily into the door, their howls of pain, confusion, and fury audible even over the sound of flesh and bone meeting steel. Nothing short of relief flooded Alan at the sound, but even as he took a second to catch his breath and thank whoever had designed the facility that the motion sensor apparently had a delay (or that the door locked after recognizing an entrant), he still felt a pang of sympathy for the creatures on the other side.

He had no intention of being their breakfast, but that didn’t mean they deserved to suffer.

Now that the chimeras were no longer three steps from devouring him, Alan took a minute to survey the room he found himself in. When he had first noticed the arena marked on the map, he had assumed that it would be a battle arena built to League regulations: concrete or steel rectangular walls, and a floor that was either hard-packed dirt or concrete as well to give the pokémon that battled on it good traction and even footing. The floor would be unmarred save for the regulatory boundary lines that marked where each trainer was supposed to stand as much as they marked the center of the field where the pokémon would duke it out. It was true that the Alola region didn’t function under the League system, but the moment Alan saw that they had an arena within the BF section of their facility, that was the first assumption that sprang to his mind and he hadn’t thought to dash it.

But rather than a battleground that would stand up against League regulations, the arena Alan found himself in was massive, pure white from floor to ceiling, and rounded. The walls curved and combined with a domed ceiling (or what little Alan could see of it, anyway, given how the very top of it was shrouded in shadow) to give the room a spherical appearance. Windows lined the walls on the left side at the base of the domed ceiling; the windows were too high up for him to get a good look through the glass, but from what he could see they looked like the windows to a spectator room of sorts, not unlike the one Lysandre had watched him from at Fleur-De-Lis Laboratories during the mega evolution gauntlet. His throat suddenly dry, Alan tore his eyes away from the window, and looked to the opposite side of the room instead. There was, as the map had shown, a set of doors on the other side of the arena; but what the map hadn’t bothered to mark was the cavernous opening just to the right of the other set of doors, inside of which Alan could hear guttural breathing, and—before he could so much as take a step across the room himself—slow footfalls so heavy that each one made the room quake.

Alan stood, frozen, for just a second. The footsteps—for that was what he knew they were, somehow, even if he didn’t know how he knew, and even if he didn’t want to know that despite how he did—were slow and rhythmic; his pulse timed itself to them, each thud in his chest painfully in-sync with each pounding beat against the floor, but as his heart pounded in his ears, Alan could hear it beating the same word into his brain again and again: Run. Run. Run!

His nerves were on fire as he pushed himself forward, starting across the room at first a brisk walk, and then an outright jog. Even if it wasn’t set up the same as a League stadium, length-wise it was still about the same size, and so even though he forced himself into a sprint to match the hastening footsteps of whatever behemoth was emerging from the opening by the exit, he only made it halfway across the room before the creature finally stepped out from the maw of its cave and reared not one, but three gargantuan heads in the blindingly bright lights of the room.

The beast—no, chimera, it was another chimera, he was sure of it—was at least as tall as Primal Groudon, if not taller. Like most of the other chimeras Alan had seen, this one was quadruped; its massive forelegs resembled a pyroar, whereas its hind legs were closer to that of a houndoom. Each of the chimera’s three heads was an odd cross between (if he had to guess) an aerodactyl and a tyrantrum, and it had a tail that looked nearly as long as the chimera was tall, and about as robust as Prism Tower. The chimera was covered, from its back all the way down its tail, in what looked like metal plating; but as it crossed the room to stand between Alan and the doors on the other side, Alan saw the steel shift and catch the light. Rather than a solid plate, it looked more like a coat of quills.

As it emerged from its den, the chimera plodded over to stand between Alan and the exit. With how languidly the chimera moved, it might have been coincidence. For just a moment, Alan could believe that perhaps the chimera wasn’t blocking his exit deliberately. Perhaps, if he asked nicely, the chimera might even let him pass without a fight.

But once it stood before the exit, its tail slowly swishing across the floor to thump against the wall hard enough to make the room rattle despite how casually the chimera had flicked it, all three heads turned to him. Three sets of eyes, all six of which were an odd mishmash between reptilian and avian, focused squarely on him. And as Alan stared up at the beast that only had eyes for him, one of the heads began to raise its hackles over yellow, pointed teeth.

On instinct, Alan walked backward until his back hit the doors that he had entered through. The chimera pack on the other side had either left or gone entirely silent; not a peep could be heard from them through the steel. Unfortunately, the door didn’t open, either. Either the motion sensor had broken when the chimeras had body slammed the door, or the door was perma-locked from his side. Either way, with his original door locked and refusing to budge, the only exit was the one the three-headed chimera was guarding. That meant that his only options were to either get past the chimera or die.

Alan took a deep breath, and glared straight back into one of the chimera’s faces as he reached in the pocket of his lab coat for Lizardon’s pokéball.

The idea of sending Lizardon against the chimera was not one that thrilled him, but he had no intention of dying without a fight.

Lizardon appeared, as he always did, from a shower of light within the pokéball. He wasn’t small by any stretch; he grew bigger by the day, at least to Alan’s eyes, even if Manon insisted that she couldn’t tell a difference and that he was “as big as ever.” But although Lizardon was far from tiny, he looked it standing before the chimera, which easily towered over him and sniffed two or three times in his direction once he materialized on the field. Lizardon stared right back up at the camera, holding its gaze for a long moment, before he twisted around to look back at Alan. Alan didn’t need Lizardon to utter a sound to understand the ‘are you saying what I think you’re saying’ look he was receiving. He nodded, and Lizardon flattened his horns against the back of his head.

“I know,” Alan said, “but we only need to distract it long enough to get to the door on the other side. If we can get it to move, we can get out of here, but we’re going to have to fight to do that. Will you fight wi—”

Lizardon snorted, sharp and annoyed, cutting off Alan’s question before he could ask it. Despite the situation, Alan smiled as he stowed Lizardon’s pokéball back in the pocket of his lab coat, and clutched the Key Stone around his neck in a tight fist.

“Right. Thank you. Get ready, then.” Lizardon turned back to face the chimera, but Alan kept his eyes on Lizardon as he otherwise focused on the pendant in his palm. “Key Stone, respond to my heart. Surpass evolution—mega evolve!”

Lizardon roared as radiant light emanated from their matching necklaces, and his scales turned from vivid orange to inky black, his eyes shifting from bright blue to dark red. Brilliant blue flames burst from his mouth, matching the flame that now topped his tail, and without waiting for a cue from Alan he gave his wings several strong beats to push himself into the air, trailing smoke behind him as he arched up toward the chimera’s left-most head. All three heads were focused on Lizardon now, their eyes following his every movement through the air, and Alan flexed the fingers of his left hand.

“Lizardon! Dragon Claw!”

From: To Devour the Sun, ch. 5, “The Point of No Return”

[darkfromday]

countdown, part 6

From here on, there’ll only be a link back to the previous part. Strap in!

part 5 is here

(part 6)

“Sakaki Yoko-san?”

Yuzu was out in front of Yoko before anyone else could blink, holding her arms out firmly and protectively. “Don’t you dare! How could you come here after everything?”

Reiji blinked and adjusted his glasses. He looked… puzzled. “I… beg your pardon?”

“I remember you, and I know why you’re here—you’re trying to take over You Show again, aren’t you!?”

“I… no?”

“I won’t let you hurt Yuuya!”

Yuzu went for her fan, only to have her arm halted by Yoko. A moment later she was gently moved aside so that Yuuya’s mother could see their visitor straight on, and answer him as though her tiny would-be guardian had never spoken.

“Yes, I’m Sakaki Yoko. Can I help you?”

The gentle prompt was enough to get the young man back on track, though he did fiddle nervously with the red scarf around his neck as he spoke. “I am Akaba Reiji… CEO of LEO Corporation, graduate of Leo Duel School.”

“The infamous Pro Duelist who also runs a company?” Yoko asked; clearly she knew about him. Perhaps Shuzou had told her about him showing up to duel her son?

“Yes, you may have heard of me.”

Yuuya’s mother put on a stern frown. “So then—is what Yuzu says true? Have you come here to make another attempt at consolidating You Show Duel School?”

Akaba Reiji shook his head earnestly. “I assured Sakaki Yuuya weeks ago that I would do no such thing.”

“You’ve seen Yuuya since your duel?!” Yuzu blurted, then flushed with embarrassment as the elder prodigy duelist looked her way and nodded. But—when? He never mentioned it! That was just one more odd instance of Yuuya’s reticence in telling her, his best friend, what was going on with him.

Sora chose that moment to speak up from his new position well inside the house, just loud enough for Reiji to hear. “If you’re not here to duel Yuuya, then what in the world are you here for?”

“Sora,” Yoko chided. But it was clear that she too expected an answer, and that her guest’s status did not intimidate her in the slightest.

Reiji seemed to hesitate in front of their eyes. For the first time, Yuzu took notice of just how nervous he appeared to be, how disconcerted, how—concerned. Twice he opened his mouth to speak without anything coming out, and it took an uncomfortable period of silence before he was able to drop his bombshell.

“Earlier today, Yoko-san, I sensed something like distress from Yuuya. I was unsure of the cause and of his location, but… I wanted to find him and speak with him.”

He… what?

There was another pause, one pregnant with shock and confusion this time; it was Sora this time who broke it.

“You sensed that Yuuya wasn’t feeling well? You met him a few weeks ago, how in the world could you sense something like that? That’s crazy, no one can—”

But Yoko was nodding, as if her suspicions were confirmed. Her bright green eyes had lit up at Reiji’s words, and she was now glancing down knowingly at his wrists, both covered by long blue sleeves.

For her part, Yuzu was beyond stunned. It had taken her a little longer than Yoko, but the pieces to answer Sora’s question were coming together in her head as she stared from Reiji’s sheepish expression and faintly pink cheeks to his sleeves, as she thought back to the past three weeks of Yuuya suddenly asking to borrow some of her hair ties to wear over his own wrists “for fun”, of his dispirited and avoidant behavior ever since the LDS invasion, and of the most important fact that she’d forgotten until now—that Yuuya’s timer that morning had been very, very close to running out at last.

“You’re…”

“Ah… I see he had not mentioned it.” Reiji adjusted his glasses again. His violet eyes looked a little vulnerable. “Yes, Yoko-san, Hiiragi-san, Yuuya and I are soulmates.”

He rolled up his right sleeve. The Years/Days/Hours/Minutes/Seconds countdown read 00:00:00:00:00 in a flattering shade of claret red that Yuzu immediately noticed was the same shade as Yuuya’s eyes. It made the violet numbers she’d seen for so many years on her best friend’s wrist make much more sense.

“Oh!”

While Yuzu kept staring blankly at Reiji’s pale arm, Yoko seemed to thaw a little bit with the revelation. She immediately began talking up a storm, asking the young president more about himself and inviting him to stick around until her son returned home, which really shouldn’t be long, truly.

Akaba Reiji, however, didn’t seem concerned with anything but Yoko’s last casually-thrown out words.

“Pardon me… Sakaki Yuuya is not here?”

“No, he’s not,” Yuzu said flatly before his mother could chime in or invite the older boy in again. There was a faint tinge of judgment in his voice, as though they should have kept a tighter leash on a fourteen-year-old boy. That was a rather odd level of possessiveness of someone he’d only met a couple of months ago.

“Ah… well…” Reiji hesitated again, then polished his glasses more assertively. “Perhaps I should look for him, ensure he gets home safely.”

Thud.

Yuzu almost jumped a mile; Shuin’in Sora had shoved his chair back rather firmly, and was glaring fiercely at Reiji.

Has he been staring—glaring—at him this whole time?

“Your school was the one that almost took You Show away from Yuuya,” the spitfire of a boy was saying. “Now you want to go looking for him? No way—if anyone can find Yuuya it’s me, not you!”

“Sora!” Yoko scolded again, and she immediately excused herself to pull the mysterious, vehement boy over to a corner of the kitchen to dissect the reason for his temper. Their interjections could barely be heard over each other.

“—I don’t trust—”

“—no way to talk to a guest—”

“—tried to hurt Yuuya—”

Yuzu was left shuffling awkwardly in the doorway, watching Akaba Reiji as he watched Sora and trying to figure out what to say next. Because she didn’t quite trust him either, even as she wrestled with all the implications of him being her best friend’s soulmate.

Still… offering help to find Yuuya after feeling his hurt through a soulmates’ bond was a far cry from offering to duel him to settle a twisted tied match. It was possible that Reiji was different than the many people who populated LDS. She could tell by the barest hints of sweat on his brow and the way he fiddled with his scarf and glasses that he truly was concerned about Yuuya and wanted to find out where her friend was, and what might be wrong with him, as soon as possible.

And she was concerned about Yuuya too. Her friend had his ups and downs, but he wasn’t in the habit of worrying his mother, not after his father’s disappearance. Whatever his daily sorrows, he always tried to come home safe, sound and on time. Errands wouldn’t have taken him this long to complete.

I have to be mature, she thought. Gongenzaka’s not here to give me his insight, and I don’t know Sora all that well either. I can’t tell if he’s jealous or if he really does sense something wrong with Akaba Reiji.

“Hiiragi Yuzu,” the young man on her mind said then, “if necessary I can make you a promise that I do not intend any harm for Sakaki Yuuya—I wish only to find him. Is that acceptable?”

Keep your enemies closer, a tiny voice whispered inside Yuzu’s head. She glanced between Yoko, Sora and Reiji and acquiesced to its demand.

“Of course,” she replied, “but only if I get to come with you.”

Only three heartbeats of time passed. Reiji barely blinked.

“Very well. I will allow you time to get ready before we go.”

‘Get ready’? Yuzu opened her mouth, ready to bruise him with words if not her fan. What kind of nerve does Akaba Reiji have, to assume that when Yuuya’s out gods knows where I wouldn’t immediately be ready to go out and fi—

But then she wiggled her toes, and her mouth closed with an embarrassing snap that made her cheeks flush.

She still had the slippers on.

[fanfic-shiz]

Mistletoe (Part 2)- Percival Graves

Pairing: Percival Graves/OC

Warnings: None!

A/N: It’s finally here!! Sorry to keep you all waiting but hope you like it! Lots of fluff! <3 

Mistletoe Part One

‘It’s not too late’, I reminded myself as I stood motionless in front of the grand double doors. ‘It’s not too late to leave the country and start a new life with a brand new identity.’

My fingers were gripping my purse strap so tightly that my knuckles had gone white. The doorman was eyeing me strangely, and I couldn’t blame him. I probably looked ridiculous, hovering outside on the sidewalk as I tried to talk myself into going inside. I was already five minutes late. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to dispel my nerves. There was a good chance I wouldn’t even see him today. If I barricaded myself in my office, and only came out when it was necessary, there was a slim chance our paths would never cross.

My face had already begun to turn red just as the thought of Percival Graves. Even though I’d had an entire day off to come to terms with what had happened, of what my idiotic drunken self had done and said, I still was monumentally embarrassed. I remembered the slip of parchment paper that he’d left on my nightstand, the one tucked into the front pocket of my purse. My stomach tumbled like a Quidditch player trying to dive out of the way of a bludger.

‘You owe me a sober kiss.’

I’d read the words dozens and dozens of times. Enough to have memorized the sloped handwriting. With it came snip-its of a conversation, though everything was still so fuzzy. He’d sat in that chair, so close to me, our knees touching. His dark eyes had looked directly at me when he’d said the words I still hardly dared to believe…that there were secret reasons behind his visits to my office. That he would have asked me to dance at the party.

“Oh Merlin.” I muttered, gripping my purse strap even tighter.

“Miss?” The doorman suddenly asked, tilting his head to one side. “Will you be coming inside?”

My eyes snapped toward him, wondering if it was possible to feel even more like a fool than I already did. “Inside? Yes. I suppose so.” I answered awkwardly, taking a step forward as he pulled open the door. 

He looked like he wanted to ask more, and opened his mouth before quickly shutting it again. Probably for the best. I muttered my thanks and stepped inside from the cold, warmth immediately washing over me. The lobby was already full of people, bustling up and down the stairs as elevator doors chimed their arrival. I kept my head ducked as I hurried toward the grand staircase, hoping to avoid having to speak to anyone before I made it to my office.

My heels click-clacked against the marble floors, keeping my eyes low. I’d almost made it to the lift without any conversation when a familiar voice suddenly called my name. I lifted my eyes to see Tina coming toward me, wearing an anxious expression. I remembered how I’d abandoned her at the party.

“Tina, I’m so sorry about the other night at—“ I said quickly, my eyes growing wide with apology.

She made a face, waving my words away. “Never mind that. I’m just glad you’re alright.” She linked her arm with mine and tugged me into the elevator. Her short dark hair was pinned back, making her pretty brown eyes big and doll-like. “What I’d really love to know is how Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security, ended up taking you home.”

Her voice was hushed but I elbowed her and shushed her all the same, my eyes roaming around the half empty lift. No one was paying us any attention, though. 

“Not here, Tina. Please.” I begged.

She clucked her tongue. “Well, you can’t blame me for asking! One minute you’re at the bar with me, and the next you’re gone and I’m getting an owl from Graves letting me know he’s seen you home safely!”

My face was so warm, there was absolutely no way it wasn’t as red as a fire engine. “And that’s all that happened. He made sure I got home safely, then he left. End of story. Now please, not here.” I pleaded earnestly.

She pursed her lips but sighed. “Fine.”

I let out a breath of relief and leaned back against the wall as the lift slowly began its descent down to the floor of Magical Security. I pushed back a stray strand of hair that kept stubbornly falling in front of my eyes, feeling a slight tinge of guilt about hiding the note Graves had left from Tina. Normally, I told her everything but for some reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to share it with her. Maybe because a part of me was still having a hard time believing it was real. That it hadn’t been a figment over an overactive drunken imagination.

“So when can we talk about it if you don’t mind me asking?” Tina whispered conspiratorially, leaning toward me. She had a sly, teasing smile on her face and I rolled my eyes as the lift jolted to a halt.

“Later, I promise. I just need the morning to get over my lingering embarrassment.” I admitted, making a face. “Hopefully I’ll be able to avoid him until that happens.”

The doors slid open and we waited for our fellow passengers to exit before following after them. I stepped out of the lift and we fell into step together, walking side by side down the narrow, tastefully decorated corridor. My heart felt like it might burst from my chest and run off without me at any moment, my anxiety about seeing Percival through the roof. I realized I should’ve prepared some type of conversation, should’ve practiced what I was going to say when I did see him.

“That might be harder than you think, considering this isn’t a very large floor.” Tina reminded me gently.

“Unfortunately.” I mumbled in response. And almost as if to prove a point, as if my entire situation was a big joke to the whole of the universe, I turned the next corner and bumped right into a broad, muscular chest. I stumbled backward, but a hand grabbed my wrist and steadied me. My heart dropped, my stomach tightening. I didn’t even have to look up to know it was him…I could smell the familiar pine scent of his cologne. Not to mention Tina had frozen next to me, becoming still as a statue.

“Morning, ladies.”

I slowly lifted my eyes, letting them travel slowly up his chest until I was looking into his handsome face. He was still holding onto my wrist, his dark eyes focused on me as his mouth lifted into an amused smile.

“Good morning, sir.” Tina said quickly, and I felt her gaze flicker to me before looking back at him.

“Morning.” I mumbled, my cheeks automatically turning pink. I cursed myself internally for the sudden bout of awkward shyness.

“Lucy, can I walk you to your office?” He asked, his sure grip slipping from my arm as he slid his hands casually into his pockets. He was dressed impeccably, as always, wearing a plum colored tie over a white dress shirt and black suit jacket.

My mouth went dry as I nodded my head. “Um, sure. I mean yes, of course.”

He nodded his head in the direction of my office and I managed to sneak a nervous look at Tina who gave me an encouraging smile. Though it looked almost more like a nervous grimace. It didn’t give me the confidence boost I needed. Percival was quiet as we walked side by side, seemingly unconcerned and giving no indication at all that anything had changed between us. It gave me both a surge of hope, and a stab of disappointment. While I wanted so desperately to forget how embarrassingly drunk I’d been in front of him, there was still a part of me that was wondering if the words written on his note were still true.

When we reached my office, he opened the door and gestured for me to enter first. I shrugged off my jacket and tossed it onto the desk with my purse before turning to face him, clasping my hands in front of me. He had closed the door behind him, and when he turned to face me, his expression had softened. There was crooked smile on his face.

“I take it you’ve recovered from the Christmas party?” He asked, a gentle teasing tone in his voice.

At his words a groan escaped me. I buried my face in my hands and leaned back against the desk. “Oh don’t remind me. I’m so so sorry, Percival. I’m so embarrassed!”

To my surprise, he let out a laugh. I peeked at him from between my fingers, my pulse accelerating as he came toward me. His fingers curled around my wrists and he gently coaxed my hands back to my sides. 

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, darling.” He assured me, still wearing that same half smile, somehow both adorable and devilishly handsome all at once. His eyes were incredibly honest as he gazed down at me, his hands sliding down my wrists and interlacing his fingers with mine.

“I don’t know about that.” I said quietly, a nervous laugh escaping me. I swallowed hard, looking down at our hands before tentatively letting my gaze lift to his handsome face. “I said some very foolish things.”

He raised both dark eyebrows. “I thought you were quite adorable.”

I ducked my head again, letting my forehead fall against his chest. “At least one of us thinks so.”

It was his turn to chuckle, a warm sound that made my heart trill a little. He  suddenly let go of one of my hands and I felt his fingers beneath my chin, lifting my face until I was forced to look him in the eyes. “Don’t feel embarrassed.” He said, his dark eyes leaving no room for argument. “For months I’ve been wondering how you feel about me, and you made it so I didn’t have to wonder anymore.”

I placed my hand over his, and was instantly reminded of doing the same exact thing the other night as he sat across from in my bedroom. I exhaled a shaky breath, trying to be brave. “Your note…” I trailed off and he waited patiently, mouth twitching as he fought another smile and watched me nervously struggle to piece together a sentence. “A sober kiss?” I ended helplessly, my eyes searching his.

“Are you asking me to confirm what it said? Or are you asking for that kiss now?” His voice lowered, and his smile grew teasing again, making me flush.

“I…well,” I began, coherent thought suddenly impossible.

He moved his other hand to my opposite cheek until my face was cupped between his hands. His eyes searched my face, as if making sure he had my permission (which he very much did), and leaned forward. My eyes fluttered shut and a moment later I felt his warm breath against my lips. He seemed to stall for a second and my body reacted as if on impulse. I closed the remaining space, leaning into him and letting my lips press against his. A sigh escaped me, my hands moving to his chest and pressing against the soft fabric of his shirt. I could feel the steady beat of his heart underneath my hands. It was everything I wanted it to be, and somehow more. Like experiencing all my favorite things at once…a warm cup of cocoa, the pages of a favorite book, the first New York snowfall…He was new and familiar all at once.

He coaxed my lips open with his tongue, kissing me deeply and gently and I let myself meld into him. I let his body hold me up as his hands slid over my shoulders and followed the length of my back until they came to rest gently on my hips. A soft groan escaped me, knotting my fingers in the hair at the back of his head as I pressed myself up on tippy toes. Somehow, I was both content and in need of more.

I was relieved when his breathing was just as shallow as mine when he pulled away. His hands were pressed against the small of my back, keeping me close to him. I inhaled deeply, trying to memorize every little thing about this moment because I knew it would be one of my favorites.

“Just for the record,” He began, drawing my eyes to his.

“I really am an embarrassing drunk?” I suggested, jokingly. I couldn’t help but smile when this got a laugh out of him.

“No, I still don’t think that.” He said, his hands moving up my back. “What I was going to say was while you’re free to use mistletoe as an excuse to kiss me, it’s not necessary. It’s never been necessary.”

My lips stretched into a giddy grin, unable to help myself. I felt suddenly bold as I once again lifted myself on tippy toes and pressed my lips to his chin. “In that case, feel free to walk me home regardless of whether I’ve had too much to drink or not.”

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

His words were a whisper against my lips and it was all I could do not to melt into a puddle as he leaned in and gave me another kiss. One more, I hoped, of many.

Requests are open!

Check out my Masterlist here!

[salamoonder]

Dark Side | [ch. 10]

Virgil, Logan, Roman, and Patton are finally together. Things can only get better from here, right? Riiiiight?

Wordcount: 3.7k

Warnings: Eating disorder, brief mention of self harm

A/N: The gang's all here!! Which means the story can REALLY start. You guys may have noticed that I've started updating more, and that's because I originally intended to release chapters so that the fictional timeline actually lines up with real time...which means I should've had my Christmas chapter up by now, oops. Unfortunately I've had a whole lot of irl shit happen and for various reasons I've been unable, unwilling, or just plain unmotivated to keep updating. It's been a rough semester. A rough year, honestly. But I've discovered that working on this--revising it, adding more to it, working on the playlist--really helps me. So I'm trying to catch up, and I promise I'll do my best not to fall behind again. Every comment, every kudos, every hit...those give me life and I love and appreciate you guys so much. Thank you. Here's the link to the playlist. If anyone wants to know which song is for which character/relationship, I'm putting that on my youtube sideblog ( @octoberdear ).

|| Read it on AO3 ||

They end up going to one of the actual restaurants on campus instead of the dining hall, a sushi place across the river. Virgil is deeply uncomfortable. He’d much rather be having a quiet evening out with Patton; this is the first time in a while that Remy’s gone out with friends instead of sticking with them. And while Virgil can definitely say he’s gotten used to her, maybe even likes having her around, he had been very ready for some alone time with Patton. Socializing is exhausting.

The walk over in and of itself is super awkward. Patton is excitable and friendly, as always, and seems delighted that Virgil has made a “new friend” when he finds out that Logan is Virgil’s lab partner, and doubly delighted when he finds out that this new friend is Virgil’s roommate’s cousin.

“We’re not friends,” Virgil keeps saying. “We’re...acquaintances. And lab partners,” he adds, in case Logan is offended. But Logan doesn’t seem to be easily offended by anything, and Patton is circling around and through the three other boys and striking up conversations at random, prodding the others to join in, and so Virgil just draws his hood over his head and sinks back into it.

“This is so cool! Such a cool coincidence!” Patton squeals. “I feel like we were pulled together by fate. Do you guys feel that way? Ohh, do you think we’re going to be best friends?”

Virgil cringes further into his hoodie.

“I...can’t say I believe in the concept of fate,” says Logan. “And ironically Virgil and I seem to have bonded over the fact that we are both fairly bad at making friends. But,” he says, appearing to have reflected further, “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. As long as no one forces me to be friends with Roman.”

“Ditto,” Roman agrees grumpily. Determined as he is to remove himself from the situation, Virgil can’t help but be a bit curious, and a little amused, at how badly Roman and Logan seem to get along, seeing as they are indeed cousins.

Virgil doesn’t have cousins, but he’s met some of Patton’s and they all seem to be very close.

“What do you think, Virge?” Patton asks, breaking Virgil out of his reverie.

“I..think I’m getting pretty hungry,” says Virgil evasively, and Patton spends the rest of the walk pestering Roman and Logan.

Surprisingly Roman seems to somewhat take to Patton. Well, Virgil supposes it isn’t all surprising, but he’s used to Roman being stuck up and surly with him. He knows about the existence of Roman’s myriad of friends, but he’s never really seen him interact with a person positively for more than a couple minutes.

He hasn’t really seen him much at all, to be quite honest. He’d doubled his efforts to stay away from the room while Roman was around after the crying incident, and he’d almost stopped speaking to him altogether, afraid that he’d say the wrong thing but not willing to say the right thing, either.

Truth be told it was exhausting, and Virgil was still running up to housing to ask them if they could change his room to Patton’s whenever he had a chance. He was sure the staff was sick of him by now, but he didn’t care if it meant getting a room with Patton.

Finding the time to cut is exhausting as well. Virgil supposes that’s a good thing, but he can feel himself starting to unravel, to slowly come apart at the seams every time he goes too long without hurting himself. He needs it. Patton hasn’t noticed yet, he’s pretty sure, otherwise he would never leave him alone.

They finally arrive at the restaurant, and Patton picks a little corner booth near a window. Even from here they can see the river; sometimes Virgil feels that it’s omnipresent. Much to his chagrin, Roman slides in after him, and then Patton and Logan take the other side, in that order.

He spends ages deliberating over the menu. Virgil hates places with lots of items. He can never decide what he wants and he usually ends up asking Patton to order for him, which he always feels slightly ridiculous about. He can’t imagine doing that now, though, with Logan and Roman here. He’d probably look a lot more than slightly ridiculous.

By the time the waiter comes around he’s panicking slightly, but Patton leans across the booth and murmurs softly, “the yellow tuna sashimi looks pretty good, you might like that.”

Virgil nods, relieved, and orders that as the waitress gets around to him. Much to his surprise conversation picks up again almost immediately, mostly facilitated by Patton. He notices that Logan and Roman are mostly avoiding looking each other, but they’re still asking each other questions. Out of some feeling of obligation, he’s sure.

“Are you still going out with that girl?” Logan asks. “What was her name- uh- Isabella?”

“Ah. No,” says Roman, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Izzy and I...broke up.”

“Oh,” says Logan, looking surprised. “I’m. Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” says Roman, laughing so hollowly that Virgil’s sure not even Logan will buy it. Virgil stares at his napkin very hard, wondering if he can set it on fire with his eyes. That would at least be distracting enough to get the others to stop talking. He just wants peace, and quiet, and maybe some sushi, and then to go to bed.

Instead he suffers through several more minutes of awkward conversation before their food arrives. Fortunately, most of them know better than to talk with their mouths open.

Unfortunately, Roman is not one of those people.

“It just- it just wasn’t working,” he says across the table to Patton, a bit of avocado smeared on his lip. God, thinks Virgil, is he still talking about that girl?

Patton nods at him and makes sort of an encouraging gesture.

“I mean,” Roman continues, “we weren’t going to the same schools, we just...you know...we just kind of ended up together because we were each other’s opposites. I mean. We were acting opposite each other. That could happen to anyone, right? You just kind of go together because society-” he waves a chopstick dramatically- “has fooled you into thinking that you must be in a relationship to be happy, that naturally any reasonably attractive (or extremely attractive) guy and girl will end up together, it-” he pauses, and then suddenly stuffs a California roll in his mouth, swallowing hard.

Logan is nodding at him now too, seemingly oblivious to the somewhat emotional cutoff. “Compulsive heteronormativity is an extremely prevalent part of today’s culture, especially in high school.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone you like even more,” says Patton earnestly, swirling his sushi in a pool of soy sauce. He then shoots a meaningful glance at Virgil, who sinks backward into his seat and slumps downward. No way is he going to say something encouraging and cheesy to his dumb roommate about his dumb ex girlfriend.

“Who says I ever even liked her?” says Roman with bravado, then seems to want to backpedal. “I mean, of course I liked her. But. Perhaps I didn’t like her as much as I thought I did.”

He shoves another California roll in his mouth, and Virgil is left feeling distinctly uncomfortable. For the first time since the subject’s come up, it’s occurred to him that maybe that day he walked in on Roman crying, it wasn’t actually his fault.

Maybe he was just wallowing in the misery of a breakup.

Maybe that’s why he’s so insufferable.

Virgil pushes the thought away: his hurt feelings really want to reject the idea of giving Roman a second chance. Plus, if Roman was crying over his girlfriend, then it means that Virgil wasn’t really at fault after all, and he can continue to be his usual miserable self.

Oddly, the thought doesn’t make him as happy as it normally would.

“You’ve been very quiet, Virgil,” says Logan curiously. Virgil starts guiltily and picks up his chopsticks and begins poking his tuna with them.

“Something on your mind?” Logan continues.

“Um...not really,” says Virgil, trying to make his voice go as quiet as possible without it being a whisper. He’s forgotten that Logan’s not used to seeing him how he usually is: quiet and surly. He’ll talk to Logan, sure, because Logan is interesting and doesn’t expect him to answer questions like “how are you?” (not okay) or “are your parents coming for family weekend?” (definitely not) or “where’d you get that shirt?” (hot topic). Instead, Logan asks questions like “What is your opinion on string theory?” or “Do you think people come up with quantum theories because they feel good about presenting an opinion that can neither be proved or disproved and is therefore somewhat immortal in the scientific community?” or “I’m fairly certain that there are several species of Cretaceous period aquatic wildlife that never died out, what do you think?”

Those questions are easy. Ironically.

This one, however, is veering dangerously close to concern. Virgil doesn’t like it when people are concerned for him, not even Patton.

“I’m just...hungry,” he tries, and adds, “I didn’t have lunch.” to make it more believable. He’s not sure if he’s had lunch or not.

Logan shrugs and returns to his own sushi. Virgil pokes at the tuna again, aware that he’s going to have to attempt to eat it now. Roman glances across at him sharply and he freezes, ready for an insult, but Roman merely says, “Virgil, you're killing me, you’re holding that all wrong,” and waves his own hand to demonstrate.

“Wh-what?” says Virgil, thoroughly bewildered that Roman would take any notice, or even care.

“Here,” he says in a tone that Virgil is sure is part sarcastic, part scornful--and then he reaches across and takes Virgil’s hand.

Virgil goes absolutely still.

“Hold your fingers like this--no, a little further down--that’s it, and use your index finger to control--there.” He lets go of Virgil’s hand, and Virgil barely halts the whooshing sigh of relief that had been about to leave him. "And pick it up from the other direction, so you're not cutting through the fat between the layers," Roman adds, almost as an afterthought.

Much as he hates to admit it, it is now much easier to pick up his sashimi, and he can get a good enough grip on it now that it doesn’t fall as soon as he brings it to his mouth. Roman goes back to lamenting about his ex as though nothing has happened.

The rest of dinner passes mostly uneventfully, except that Virgil notices Patton taking the sushi that no one wants when they’re all finished.

Everyone is still talking so it’s not like he’s holding them back, but everyone else has stopped eating. Virgil doesn’t say anything, but he does try to catch Patton’s eye. Patton either isn’t paying attention or is intentionally avoiding his eyes.

Logan somehow brings the conversation around to astronomy, which makes Virgil perk up a bit. He knows it’s one of Patton’s favorite topics, and he’s sort of absorbed a love for the stars from him.

“What’s your favorite constellation?” Patton asks through a mouthful of salmon.

“I...don’t know that I have a favorite,” says Logan. Virgil suspects that he’s somewhat perplexed at the concept of favorite. “Draco is fairly intricate and yet easy to spot, though. I suppose that could be a favorite.”

“Mine is Orion,” says Roman, looking half relieved that someone has turned him off the subject of his girlfriend and also somewhat bewildered.

“Mine’s Ursa Minor,” says Patton, mouth still full. “Virgil?”

Virgil startles again. He’s really not used to being addressed in a group this big. He supposes four isn’t that much but for a long time any more people than Patton was completely overwhelming.

“Uh...I guess I like Cygnus,” he mumbles.

“Fascinating,” murmurs Logan.

“What?” Virgil asks warily.

“I’ve never quite understood Cygnus. For all intents and purposes, it simply forms a cross. It’s incredible that it came to be regarded as a swan and that people still see it that way today.”

Virgil glances down at the table, folds his napkin. “I guess.”

Logan and Patton fall to talking about the observatory. Logan hasn’t had a chance to go up yet, and Patton offers to take him. Roman observes the scene in slightly sulky silence. For once Virgil feels as though the sulkiness is probably not directed at them.

They pay the bill and trail out of the restaurant in a loose group, Patton falling back to walk with Virgil. Virgil feels his heart warm and settle a little as Patton falls into step beside him. He’s missed him. It’s simply not the same, having to share Patton with a group.

“Doing okay, kiddo?” Patton asks softly. Virgil listens for a second to Roman and Logan’s conversation before replying. They seem to be awkwardly discussing their last family reunion. When he’s sure they’re not paying attention to him, he murmurs, “I’m okay. Been better.” He pulls his hand discreetly away from his arm. They’re a bit torn up today but so far he’s done a good job of not scratching. And Patton still doesn’t need to know.

“Good,” says Patton, eyes brightening. “I’m real glad Logan and Roman came out with us. It’s nice to see you in a group setting.”

Virgil shrugs, trying to appear indifferent. He doesn’t want Patton to see what an ordeal it truly is for him. Then he notices that Patton has an arm wrapped loosely around his stomach.

“You okay?” he asks, concerned. Patton tries to shrug but ends up wincing instead.

“I’ll be fine,” he says with a half smile. Virgil glares at him. Patton stares at the ground, then mumbles, “but my stomach really hurts right now.”

Virgil grunts in frustration. “Patton, you’re literally hurting yourself. It’s no different from me.”

“It is-!”

“It’s not. Are you ever going to talk to anyone?”

Patton whimpers and tightens his arms around his midsection. “Maybe.”

“Please?”

“Mmph. Okay.”

“Thank you,” Virgil breathes, more relieved than he wants to let on. Then, after the silence goes on a beat too long, he adds, “I just want you to be safe, Pat.”

“I just don’t want you to be like me,” he doesn’t say.

That evening, Virgil doesn’t sneak out to the commons to hide in a corner until Roman goes to sleep, which is what he usually does. Instead he slips on his noise canceling headphones and lies down on his bed, listening to MCR. Roman is sitting at his desk reading. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t say anything.

Virgil switches to a horror podcast, No Sleep, after the album finishes and he’s done brooding over Patton. The sun’s set long ago and Roman’s gone to bed by the time the first story ends. He listens to two episodes of the podcast, barely enjoying the edge of fear that makes his fingers clutch at the sheets and his eyes go wide. Then, when he’s thoroughly exhausted, he takes off his headphones and places them and his phone on the bedside table.

There’s a noise coming from somewhere in the room.

Virgil freezes, still somewhat spooked from the podcast. He stares into the dark, hardly able to see anything, eyes stretched huge until they adjust. The noise...it’s hard to identify, but if Virgil had to guess he’d say that it was being covered. By a blanket or a wall, or something. It sounds oddly familiar. He knows he’s heard this sound before.

Then it hits him. Crying. He’s hearing someone muffle their sobs with a pillow. Well...not just someone.

Virgil rolls over to look at Roman.

It’s not immediately apparent that he’s crying; it’s dark and Virgil’s vision is still blurry. But as he focuses he can see the outline of his lanky roommate lying face down across his bed, clutching the pillow and shaking. Virgil feels his heart crawl up into his throat. His anxiety is through the roof, but he can’t decide which is worse: lying here in the dark listening to Roman cry, trying to sneak out to the common room or the kitchen for some late night coffee and alerting Roman to his presence, or...saying something.

Saying something?

What would he say?

What do you say to a person who probably hurts you when you catch them in tears in the dead of night in your shared room?

Virgil isn’t sure, but there’s a little voice in the back of his head telling him that Patton wouldn’t run away from this. Patton would rather die than leave a person in need, even a person he deeply disliked. Not that Patton ever disliked people.

So Virgil takes a deep breath.

And another.

And another until he tells himself to stop being a wuss and just say something, count of three; one, two--

“Roman?”

The crying continues. Roman doesn’t even move. Virgil’s not sure he heard him at all. His voice pretty much came out as a squeak. He clears his throat and tries again, louder.

“Roman?”

There’s a hitch of breath and then the awful sort of choking sound that happens when someone is trying really hard to hold back tears and failing badly.

“Are...are you okay?”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid--clearly he’s not okay or he wouldn’t be crying into his pillow. Virgil takes another shaky breath. “I-I mean, is there anything I can do?”

There’s almost near silence for a second, and then Roman sits up so fast that it startles Virgil, who yelps and shoots straight up as well. The sit there in the dark, staring at each other, until Roman sniffles and mumbles, “sorry,” and Virgil awkwardly says “it’s...okay,” half towards the apology, half because he’s pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to say to crying people.

“Ugh. Sorry,” says Roman again, louder this time, and now Virgil’s sure he’s looking directly at him. He pulls off the covers because it suddenly feels too hot in the room. They’ve started turning the heat on already but in Virgil’s opinion it’s not nearly cold enough for that.

“It’s just,” starts Roman, and shudders. “It’s. God, do you know how it feels to walk around as half of a person?”

Virgil stays silent. He has a feeling Roman has more to say. And he’s correct.

“Like, not even that part of you is missing, but that you’ve been literally ripped in half? Your heart just--rent in two? Can you imagine how painful that would actually be? I keep trying to come up with metaphors to describe it more accurately, but it’s like my creativity’s died.”

Roman looks down at the bedsheets, clutches them in both fists. Virgil’s eyes have adjusted enough now that he can actually see the tears streaming silently down his face, but Roman’s recovered enough to form words without stumbling.

“Not even that you’ve been ripped in half, no,” says Roman, and Virgil feels that he’s on a roll now. “No. Like half of you decided that it didn’t want to be that half of you anymore-that it didn’t even want to be a half--and it just straight up left.”

He gestures madly with one hand and Virgil tries to follow. He’s thoroughly bewildered and slightly frightened, but he tries to call on his empathy, tries to call on years of hanging out with Patton.

“I’m...sorry. That sounds. Uh. That sounds really rough.”

Virgil expects Roman to yell at him for using as mundane and small a word as “rough”, but instead he just sniffles.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “It is.”

Then he completely breaks down again.

Virgil doesn’t think he would’ve done it if the covers weren’t thrown back, but seeing as his legs are exposed to the open air, it’s simple enough (even if his heart is pounding in his chest) to swing them over the edge of the bed, walk over to Roman’s bed, and sit down. Then (and he really thinks his heart might burst out of his chest now) all that’s left to do is reach out and settle a hand on the shoulder of his loathsome roommate. Roman’s shaking. Hard. It’s deeply unsettling, but Virgil keeps thinking what would Patton do what would Patton do, and that guides him to start rubbing slow, smooth circles into Roman’s back. He’s trying to imagine what a breakup must feel like. He’s never even kissed anyone, let alone been in a relationship as long as he assumes Roman’s was, done all of the things he assumes Roman’s done. Heck, that Patton’s done.

Roman’s metaphors are not making very much sense in his head, though, and so he just tells himself that it must feel very, very, bad, and focuses on rubbing Roman’s back.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says, because it feels like the right thing to do and everything is so surreal and he’s not sure what else to say, and Patton always says it to him when he’s crying. Unfortunately that just seems to make Roman cry louder. And that would be the moment that Virgil absolutely panicked, except that it’s also the moment that Romand turns in toward him, sinks down, and rests his head on Virgil’s shoulder. So instead it’s the moment that he completely freezes, utterly terrified but somehow reassured that he must be doing something right. He’s not sure how long they stay there or how long it is before the thin t shirt he’s wearing as pajamas is soaked through in the shoulder, or how long it takes before Roman’s sobs fade to quiet sniffles, and then to snores.

He does know that he’s extremely startled the next morning when he wakes up with Roman tangled up in his arms, clutching at his shoulder. So startled, in fact, that he bolts upright yelping.

“Wh-” Roman rolls over, feeling around for a second as though clutching for a blanket, and then his eyes open and meets Virgil’s and understanding comes flooding back to him. “Oh. Oh GOD.”

Before Virgil can even say anything, Roman blurts, “Not a WORD, do you understand? Not a single word.”

Virgil nods mutely before scrambling off the bed, grabbing the first pair of clean clothes he finds on the floor, and running off to change in the bathroom.

When he comes back out, Roman’s gone.

[xtheingenue-blog]

lonely hearts club

who // rachel berry && mason mccarthy @wayoutmason when // monday, october 1st where // chicago, il what // rach & mase explore the city and bond over their disaster existences a/n // uncomplete but wanted to post anyways ~

mason.

Mason linked his arm through Rachel's as they left the art museum; it had been refreshing, and educational, which were once things he would have turned up his nose at, but with the chaos of tour so far - he'd appreciated the relative quiet, and the no-pressure, no strings company that came with Rachel. Plus, she talked almost as much as he did, so there weren't any uncomfortable silences; just thoughtful ones, spent in front of the installments, and even those only lasted until Mason decided that they should play 'keep, screw or toss' for each painting, to judge whether they'd keep a certain painting for themselves, screw the subject, or throw the whole thing away. Needless to say, it was hilarious.  "So what're we feeling for lunch?" Mason asked, double-checking the map on his phone to make sure they were heading the right way - toward the Bean was their only direction, and Mason didn't want to take a wrong turn and end up getting stabbed in a back alley of Chicago. Especially not with Rachel - he'd feel so bad if she got stabbed because he got them lost.

rachel.

To say things had been hectic was one hell of an understatement; Rachel had tried to calm most of the storm down since her fit, but even she couldn't fix everything. She still hadn't apologized to Tina - her feelings were, admittedly, very hurt after their fight - but everything else seemed to be righting itself. She felt better, more comfortable. Happier. "Italian," Rachel demanded, because it was her favorite and when she was feeling any sort of strong emotion, she wanted nothing but carbs and more carbs. "At a cute local place, preferably - I don't want to hit a chain we can go to anywhere." Her nose scrunched up as he looked up options, Rachel leaning over his shoulder to pursue them herself before pointing at one, "here, Bella Notte - it's got a cheesy name, so I'm sure the bread is delicious. You in?"

mason.

Mason glanced at her, quirking an eyebrow. "No, actually, I figure you'd scope it out while I hit the Chipotle down the block," he deadpanned, though the grin on his face clearly said he was kidding. "I never pass up Italian. I love any food I can eat my weight in and barely notice. Plus I feel like we should do a compare/contrast thing for when we're actually in Italy," Mason added with a laugh, leading the way to the restaurant; the Bean was apparently just down the next block, and they had plenty of time.  "Think this is like, owned by Nonna, goes back for generations to the Italian Chicago mafia?" Mason asked as they stepped into the restaurant - it was dim and everything was richly colored and, in Mason's opinion, bordering on tacky, but fortunately Mason lived for tacky, so he just smiled. It wasn't crowded, which Mason was also grateful for; while he was hardly ever upset about being recognized, it was nice to just be a person sometimes. "Two, please," Mason said to the server who greeted them; he thanked her quietly as they sat, and Mason let his attention drift from the menu to Rachel and back again. "You said you'd been to Chicago before, right? With an ex?"

rachel.

It was nice to be with Mason, he could make her laugh with dumb jokes and she never had to worry about if he was making fun of her or not. She could see what Kitty and Ryder saw in him; he had such a genuine heart, it was hard to imagine him ever hurting anyone he cared about. And Rachel was pretty sure she was lucky enough to consider herself in that spotlight now too. "Nathan," Rachel nodded, the name only barely leaving a bitter taste in her mouth - though that probably had more to do with Sebastian's sudden appearance in her daily life than anything else. "He was from Chicago, so we'd come and visit when we had time. He wanted to move to the city, but I could never leave New York. Not permanently. Not even for someone I was engaged to." She chewed on her lip for a moment, debating her next question; he claimed he had no deeper feelings for Ryder, none that would be reciprocated at any rate - but she was more concerned about his feelings for Kitty. "What about you?" she ventured carefully, "any exes whose hearts you've broken that I should keep an eye out for?"

mason.

Mason's eyes flicked up to her, a sly smile on his face. "I object to the accusation," Mason said, playfully haughty, as he set the menu. "I try not to break hearts," Mason said carefully, "and the people I've been with aren't gonna be coming at you with a spork or anything." Mason shrugged. Usually, Mason would leave it at that or further avoid the question, but. But Rachel already knew about Kitty. And that made everything more complicated. "Is that what Kitty told you?" Mason asked, tilting his head slightly as he watched Rachel's face. "That I broke her heart?"

rachel.

"No, of course not!"

She probably objected too fast, but it wasn't what Kitty had said at all. But there was a thin line between discussing something that wasn't her business in the first place and overstepping her bounds completely - she didn't want to betray Kitty's confidences, but if Mason liked her and was holding back -

"I can just tell, how she talks about you. She cares about you a lot. But as fun as you are, you keep a lot to yourself. Maybe it's because you're not front and center like us - we wear our hearts on our sleeves. You can hide things better." She met his eyes, hoping he could see the earnestly in her own. "I just want her to be happy, Mase. And if you want her, I just think you should go for it. That's all."

mason.

Mason tilted his head the other way, perhaps just slightly unnerved by her entirely correct observation. It wasn't the first time someone had called him evasive, and it wouldn't be the last, but it had nothing to do with the position of the limelight - and everything to do with the audience. Too many times he'd been singing for the rafters, only to have the house lights come on and reveal he was alone, again, so he'd learned that it was far, far simpler and far less costly to save his breath. "It's not that simple, is it?" Mason asked with a wry smile. Even setting aside Kitty's 'boyfriend' being on a one-way path to the friendzone, they'd never worked as a couple. It was like they always had all the pages of their story, but half of them were in the wrong order or glued in upside down, and it never seemed to take long for them to make each other crazy. Mason wasn't exactly dying to bring that to tour. Even more than that, there was part of him that knew he was being cowardly - that for however much it made him feel like the king of the world when Kitty looked at him the way she did, it came with pressure, and with pressure came failure, and with failure came being alone, again, and Mason definitely wasn't sure he wanted to bring that to tour. "But that's what I want too," Mason added with a soft sigh. "And I know she--she thinks that I'm..." Mason gestured vaguely with one hand, then sighed again. "I guess that I want her to be happy more than I want to risk making her unhappy." Mason finished, kind of lamely, then shook his head, shaking himself out of the confusing back-and-forth that started in his head every time anyone so much as mentioned Kitty's name. "What about you? I can't help but notice you're here with me, and not sitting down with Mr. and Mrs. Evans for afternoon tea?"

rachel.

Rachel listened intently, but she had learned, many times over the years, that it wasn't always what was said, but what wasn't. There was more to the story, she knew - she was only getting to know Mason, to know Kitty. She had their best intentions at heart, but maybe pushing them to be together would only hurt them both in the long run. And that wasn't what she wanted at all. Her nose crinkled as the tides turned to her - she was afraid of that, and grateful for the arrival of their food. She took a moment, spinning spaghetti on her fork while she thought about her own answer. She could be just as evasive as Mason when she wanted to be. "I told Sam I was sleeping with someone," Rachel admitted, "not who, of course, but I think it might have made things better while simultaneously making both of us a little less excited about this venture. It seemed so nice in theory, back in New York while drawing up contracts and paperwork for it. But in reality...tour is crazy, and I'd rather be with someone I can be with, instead of just someone who I appear to be with. You know?"

mason.

Mason nodded thoughtfully - he'd never considered a fake, PR relationship as something people actually did - he heard gossip about it, obviously, but he thought that was just the fans going nutty and reading too much into little looks, or lack thereof. But here Rachel was, talking about contracts and describing it as 'nice', when to Mason it sounded hellish even at that point. "Can you get out of it?" Mason asked, after swallowing his generous bite of garlic bread - Rachel was right, it was delicious, and obviously fresh-made. "Like, if neither of you are vibing it. Can't you go to your people and shred the whole thing?" Mason shrugged. "People break up all the time. You can tell everybody it's nobody's business but the two of yours and that you're still good friends. Or that tour made it impossible to date. 'Cause that's actually true." Mason chuckled and took a bite of his food, free hand absently tapping out a rhythm on the table as he thought. "Do you actually wanna be with the person you were with?" Mason asked, his mind drifting back to his own escapade the night before - sex made things so much clearer and so much more confusing, all at the same time, and Mason wasn't even someone who put that big a premium on it.  "Like, even if it's not, y'know, public knowledge or whatever. Like do you want to be with them in a non-naked way?"

rachel.

"I suppose we could," Rachel shrugged, "but I haven't asked him if that's what we want. I just told him if he wanted to sleep with someone, or be with someone, we could call the whole thing off, no bad feelings. I'm sure we will before we were supposed to - it's only been two weeks, and we're already barely spending time together - but for now, we might as well keep up appearances, right?"

She froze when he mentioned Sebastian. Not by name, thank god, but it was bad enough that anyone knew about it. That he was back in her life, wrecking havoc just like he had years ago. A bad habit she never quit after Nathan, just like smoking. "Absolutely not," she scoffed, dipping some of the bread in her sauce, "he's a child. He's never someone I could be with in any real capacity. We fight, we fuck, and that's about it. There's nothing real there. It's habit, that's all. When I find someone else I'm interested in, that's when I can let him go - for good this time."

mason.

Mason thought maybe the lady doth protest too much, but he decided to take what she said as the truth - she clearly seemed to believe it, and Mason knew even less about her situation than she knew about his. "Habits that make you feel good are the hardest to break," Mason observed - he'd seen enough people's habits end them in rehab or the cemetery to know it was hardly ever that easy to change destructive behavior. "Does he feel the same way about you?"

rachel.

"If he feels anything about me, I'd be surprised," Rachel rolled her eyes. Emotions were not something the two of them did, not in any capacity. Not with one another, at least. She'd never actually asked if he'd ever been in any serious relationship before - or if he'd had one while they were together, either. She didn't really know a lot about Sebastian. "Do you ever think that maybe we're just not capable of having that normal, happy love? That we're too high maintenance, or too dramatic, or too...something? I mean, every time I even get the chance, I sabotage it anyways. Maybe I'm not meant for it."

mason.

Mason watched Rachel, a slight frown creasing his brow as she spoke. It was his instinct to deny what she said, at least on her count, but it was the 'we' that threw him - he'd said too much the other night. "Maybe," Mason said with a quiet sigh. He was definitely too something; nobody could stand him for long all at once, and he'd never been able to figure out why. "I dunno. I don't even know what I'd do with--with like, a normal relationship, y'know? Like, I'm not--god, this sounds so Hot Topic 2009 Edgy, but like, I'm not normal, and I dunno how to be, and I don't know how to like...do the white picket fence thing." Mason shrugged one shoulder - it'd be nice to settle down someday with someone who loved him for and in spite of his many, many flaws, but he wasn't holding his breath. "What do you mean, though? About sabotaging it?"

rachel.

"Nothing about our lives is normal, Mase, it's not just you." She didn't mean to drag him into her own worries, but the two seemed so similar that sometimes it was hard to ignore that he was probably going through the same thing she was.

She thought about his question, taking a moment before giving him an answer and letting the waiter clear away their finished plates, tearing up the last piece of bread as she did so.

"Okay, it's like this - I know that I'm not meant for monogamy, right? The idea of one person, for the rest of my life - it's restricting. I also know that I am very, very swayed by how much attention is given to me at any point in time - and that's where I tend to focus my own attention. So I cheat, and find it hard to express myself to those I think I could have anything real with, and make terrible decisions that end up blowing up in my face. Or letting other people do it for me. You know?"