#but the way she's drawn makes her expression difficult to decipher and gives off a sense of unease

[nicastamatis]

i really love the way that, rather than lulling you into a false sense of security, oshimi chooses to make every mundane moment feel foreboding... every page feels cloying and claustrophobic, even when its two kids sitting on a bench in an open field

[oddaodd]

Her Eyes

· Tommy Shelby arranged marriage imagine · 

warnings : arranged marriage.  

(Heapings of fluff and a pinch of angst if you squint) 

Y/n never imagined her family would have the nerve to marry her off as part of a deal between the one Thomas Shelby and her father, who had insisted that he couldn’t properly trust the Shelbys  if they weren’t united as a family, but there she was, standing outside the church ready to meet the man she would spend the rest of her life with.  Her father was a powerful man with many important connections and despite Thomas’s desire to never marry again after grace, he found himself having to accept to the deal. When he fist saw her, scarcely some hours before their wedding, he was intrigued by her beauty and kind eyes, but he put on a  nonchalant facade as he introduced himself to the woman whom he would have to live till death do them part.

“Thomas Shelby” he outstretched his hand.

She stared at him for a bit  “y/n” was all she managed to say as his rough hand wrapped around her soft one with a firm shake. There was something about him, almost like dream she couldn’t quite place. He was a very alluring, almost hypnotic man and she felt oddly drawn to him just a few seconds after first laying eyes on him.

“Lets get this over with, shall we?” He monotonously said, breaking her out of her reverie before stepping into the church.

The first few months were really hard because Thomas refused to let her get close to him, both emotionally and physically, Grace’s memory  still freshly lingering around him. Y/n however was determined to turn their marriage into something more than just a business deal. She would play with Charlie, she would bring Tommy tea whenever he was at home, and she always tried to get him to smile which wasn’t easy, but after a lot of persistence, slowly but surely Tommy let her in. Truth was, despite the circumstances he was somehow glad he met her. Thomas never thought he would find a match to his wit but there she was. They could spend hours and hours just talking as time unsuspectedly passed by.   She was an unusual person to say the least, smart, kind, caring, prim and proper, sometimes ladylike, sometimes not,  and with very expressive eyes. That’s the first thing he noticed about her when he saw her for the very first time, the pool of mixed emotions in her eyes before their wedding, she didn’t look perfectly sad, but she didn’t look perfectly happy either. He found himself enthralled by her eyes and in the end they were what made him relent to her subtle yet kind acts of affection. She found herself quickly falling for him and he too did for her, although he would never admit it to anyone least of all, to himself. Their relationship grew to become something along the lines of a friendship and she always made sure to give him space not knowing quite sure if he reciprocated her feelings or not, he was a difficult man to decipher after all.

One night he came home to find her sitting in the grass out in the garden all by her lonesome just staring at the sky and his stars. As soon as she saw him she invited him to join her. He sat next to her under the quilt, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the stars when she was sitting next to him. He had had an overly tense day and seeing her there, toying with the grass between her toes and a quilt over her shoulders, just  enamored by the night sky made all his worries disappear for a while. . Thomas had learnt a lot just by looking at her, she was brought up to be the perfect high society lady, but when she was alone or with him or Charlie she could really be her own carefree self, knowing they wouldn’t judge her and he felt glad he had become one of the few who could see her like that.  She felt his stare and turned round to look at him, she could feel her cheeks going red when their eyes met and in the heat of the moment, she leaned in to kiss him. A tiny pang of insecurity poked at her insides when he didn’t immediately kiss her back, thinking that she might  have had misread the look in his eyes, she pulled away, but he stopped her by placing both his hands on either side of her face and looking into her eyes where he could see a strange strain of vulnerability before kissing her. Hesitantly she kissed back and they became so entangled in each other that everything around them became non existent. He made love to her that night with the stars as witnesses and after that, their relationship flowered into something else.

Time passed and they grew closer and closer together. She earned the trust of the rest of the Shelbys and soon enough she felt like a part of the family, even more so than with her own family.

Every year Y/n´s family held an event to “ rejoice with friends and family” as they put it, but y/n knew it was more of a “I´m richer than you” parade to which all of her family’s friends and relatives were invited to.  Knowing that her mother would make a fuss if she didn’t attend, she and Tommy found themselves in y/n´s family home one Friday evening, dressed in the heights of fashion, drinking the most expensive champagne money could buy and sitting through her mothers inquiries about their married life. Y/n´s mother was relieved that y/n had married after all, her biggest fear was any of her daughters not living up to the standards according to which she brought them up to be.

“So, Y/n dear, are you with child yet?” Her mother asked in feigned sweet tone.

Y/n choked a bit on her champagne, not expecting her mom to blatantly ask that. Tommy turned to look at her and after taking a drag of his cigarette replied  with a serious face“Not yet Mrs. Y/l/n”

“Oh but you are planning to aren’t you?” Her mother insisted.

“Not at the moment mother” y/n chimed in a bit too harshly for both her and her mother’s liking. Tommy grabbed her hand underneath the table with his free hand to reassure her a bit, but it did little to put out y/n´s feelings of discomfort “and anyway, why does it matter to you? You already have plenty of grandchildren from my sisters” she said this time with a politer tone.

“All im saying dear is that you are not getting ny younger and I would certainly not blame Mr. Shelby here” her mother said pointing at Tommy “ if he were to decide the deal he made with your father isn’t worth enough to put up with a woman of your likes” she finished before taking a sip of her glass of champagne and looking over at the couple to asses their reactions.

Y/n opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn’t find the words she needed. Tommy took her silence as an opportunity to get his word in after another long drag of his cigarette “with all due respect Mrs. Y/l/n,  I think we are way past the business part of this marriage”

Her mother gave him a forced smile indicating that she didn’t believe a word of it before replying with “of course you are Mr. Shelby”

Tommy smiled at her mother in reciprocity before putting out his cigarette and turning to look at y/n “ Let’s dance, love”  he said.

They made their way to the dance floor and swayed to the music “Now I know why you weren’t exited to come” he said looking down at her, trying to lighten her up a little. She barely nodded, too consumed in her own thoughts, her mother’s words ringing In her ears. She would be lying if she were to say it hadn’t occurred to her before, that the distant nagging thought of Tommy only pretending to enjoy her company for the sake of not having another problem to deal with hadn’t kept her up some nights in the past.

“Let’s just go home” she mumbled into his chest.

And so they did and for the next few days Tommy could see that she was a bit distant, sure she always smiled and acted like everything was fine, but no matter how well she acted, Tommy could see right through it, all because of her eyes. She was a proud woman and he knew she would never admit her mother’s words had gotten to her.

One day she was working on some of the flowers she had planted across the property as Tommy approached her. He must have been very silent for when he called her name she gave a little jump.

“God you scared me” she said with a laugh, wiping a bit of sweat of her forehead “Are you in a habit of startling unsuspecting gardening women?” She teased.

“Only on you” he replied looking down at her.

She could see there was something in his mind, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was so she stood up shaking some of the dirt that had collected on her dress before loosely wrapping her arms around him so that she could still see his face and inquired “ What can i do for you dear husband?”

He raised his eyebrows and his mouth curved up ever so slightly. She smiled at him knowing she was the only one who could get him to smile and waited for his response.

“Marry me” he said in all seriousness.

She gave him a coy smile “ But we are already married” she said doubtfully, not knowing what had brought Tommy to request such thing.

“Aye, but i want you to be my wife knowing that I married you for you, because I love you , not as a part of a business deal” he earnestly said before producing a small golden ring with a tiny orange opal from his coat pocket and grabbing her hand (that was covered in dirt) in his “ So, Y/n will you marry me?”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it wasn’t that, it was the fist time Tommy had verbally proclaimed his love for her.  Her eyes welled up in tears, a whirlwind of emotions raging inside in full display. Tommy brought one of his hands to her face to wipe away the one tear that did dare to fall. “Of course I´ll marry you Thomas Shelby” she said grabbing his hand in hers and looking at how he, with his other hand  effortlessly slipped the ring on her finger before chuckling tearily and crashing her lips on his. They had a small ceremony right there on the garden that same weekend, saying their vows in front of the Shelby family. Unlike their first weeding, everyone seemed happy and even though it wasn’t an “official” wedding, they both knew it was the one that mattered.

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden: Booklet 2

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. In case anyone is feeling generous, please consider donating to my Ko-fi or PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

← Previous || Index || Next →

I wanted that star. I wanted to be the person who would piece through that star.

   Leon Stephanotis and the First Star

   I had once seen a comet that only came around every two hundred years together with a girl.

It had happened years ago. That was one beautiful evening. Even now, I can still vividly recall the twinkling of the stars we watched on that day while our bodies shivered at the coldness of the nightly wind. Like jewels scattered over a dark canopy, the starry sky was enough to make one forget to even breathe. As it passed by, dragging its white tail, the meteor looked just like a fairy in flight with insect scales scattering about from her wings.

Whenever I looked at a beautiful night sky, I would think many times over, “Aah, now that I’ve branded this moment into my heart, I’d have no regrets if someone reaped my life away”. Should I lose my life, I wanted it to be on a starry night like that. I wanted to die with the memory of witnessing something stunning.

“May the night sky be a beautiful starry one on the day I die,” I wished.

But that one evening was a little bit different. Maybe because I had someone to watch the stars with me. Maybe because that was my first love.

She was a gorgeous person. Even more than the stars. Her hair looked like the Sun when shining under the moonlight and her blue eyes were like gemstones created from a mix of the sea and the sky. With her porcelain skin and skylark voice, the way she walked was just as that of a well-cared maiden. In reality, she was an orphaned ex-soldier, as well as an Auto-Memories Doll from a far-away southern country, so the saying “don’t judge a book by its cover” was pertinent when it came to her.

She was most likely an once-in-a-lifetime kind of person, one that you couldn’t know if you would ever get to meet.

My chest throbbed even at the sigh that leaked from her when she was peeking at the telescope. When she looked my way and smiled faintly, I experienced an impact as if I had been hit in the head, giving in to a love that made me feel like my whole body would melt and crumble down.

“Master, astronomical observations are quite a wonderful thing.”

If, by any chance, my body were to be crushed by a star in that moment, only on that day did I want to keep looking at something, even if for just one second more. I wanted to keep looking at her. Forever and ever, I wished. That was what I thought.

This encounter had changed my life and decided my fate. I didn’t mind if people laughed at that, calling me a romanticist. I, Leon Stephanotis, whose destiny had been altered, would always look back on it.

On the day that I had watched the stars with Violet Evergarden.

   “There was a sea of gold in his land” – who was it again that had sung the praises of a desert like this?

“I’m beat.”

When bookworms read too much, their head’s capacity would exceed the limit, so they would automatically forget the things they had read in their early phases. I had confidence in my memorization abilities and yet I couldn’t remember this, so it was surely a passage from an adventure novel or something of the sort that I had read in my childhood.

——What a beautiful comparison.

When I actually stood in the middle of a desert, my impressions were drawn to the temperatures, sunlight and other such things regarding the environment instead, so this poetic expression hadn’t crossed my mind. In the destinations of my travels, I often reminisced to a certain someone who was somewhere in this world, as well as the things she, who spoke words as beautiful as that, used to say, as if borrowing them.

“So pretty...”

I liked the color of gold. I could observe the grains of sand moving smoothly for all eternity.

“Everyone, you did well; the books we excavated will be brought back by another group. Meaning that we from the starting line-up are finally off for the first time in months.”

As I was spacing out, I didn’t hear the commander’s words very well. I was only staring at the ground, missing out on everything. When I raised my head, the happy-looking faces of my bearded and somewhat dirty colleagues entered my eyes. All I understood right away was that we would get a vacation.

“After we get twenty days off, we’ll regroup in Iustitia, at Shaher’s headquarters. After that, we’ll go to that place in the south where the reconnaissance team was sent. Next will be our turn to bring back the luggage. Don’t let your bodies get weak.”

“Roger that.” Once everybody gave an agreeable reply in unison, we disbanded from the spot.

Iustitia, Shaher’s headquarters. The main office of my occupation. I was previously in a section called the codex department, devotedly working on the deciphering of documents and copying manuscripts, but now I had been transferred to a completely different section. It sounded good when we were called the leading actors, but it was actually a group of reeking adventure rascals, the literature collecting department.

I put my heavy baggage sack on the ground and heaved a breath. Wiping the white folk clothes that I had been provided with on-site, I dusted the sand off them. This clothing called dola – a long robe secured by a waist belt – looked flappy and inflexible at first glance, but it was surprisingly easy to move around in. It was made of a rather velvety silk material, so there would normally not be so much sand sticking to it, but since I was caught in a sandstorm until just a moment ago, there was no helping it.

We had returned from a thorough search in the ruins of an abandoned castle, once the dominion of a royal clan whose name was eminent in the past. A book burning movement had taken place in this land at a certain point, but we had received information that a scholar from those times, out of fear towards the situation, had hidden valuable books in the forsaken palace. The information was apparently right, so after wandering around all over the deserted castle, we had found dozens of books. The books that would be taken to Shaher’s headquarters were to be made into written copies and spread to the world.

Made for protection purposes, Shaher’s literature collection was also well-reputed in other countries. It was difficult to negotiate with the locals responsible for the abandoned castle, but we were allowed entrance this time as well thanks to our achievements thus far. Just like that, someone’s story, studies and feelings, which were supposed to have disappeared, would breathe once again. The books we had been looking for would be delivered to other people and comfort them during long nights.

——What a wonderful thing.

The working environment was awful, but I was proud of my job.

I sat down on my luggage and gazed at the cityscape while drinking water from my canteen. In this desert-zone city, everyone’s clothes seemed harmonized no matter what color they wore.

“Senior Leon, what will you do on your days off?”

As a junior who had not yet left the spot called to me, I furrowed my brows and looked at his face. He was a young man of masculine facial traits, which was enviable to someone as baby-faced as me.

“Hey, Sir.”

A rarity amongst the members of our unit, the man had not been born in Iustitia. If I wasn’t mistaken, he was a rich kid who had been born in a southern country and entered Shaher through connections with the foundation executives.

Getting a job at the Shaher Observatory was a daunting task even for those who had studied astronomy. It was hard to make it without learning in a good environment from an early age. Since Iustitia, the capital of stargazing, was the best place to study in, it was natural that the ones hired were mostly the locals.

——Well, this guy had connections, so this has nothing to do with him.

I pondered an answer. “Nothing in particular.” For the time being, I decided to be cold, acting as nonchalant as ever.

And this was also the same as always, but the junior took no offense in my crude response – rather, he laughed at me, looking happy. “Then that means you’ve got no plans. I was thinking of going home. If you’d like, how about we go together? We have a villa by the lake... If I go now, the schedule will allow my family to join in.”

“No, why do I—”

“Last time we had a break, I told my little sisters about your cool adventure story and they wouldn’t shut up about how much they wanted to meet you. Hey, hey, how about it?”

I was baffled. I had no idea what was good about me to this junior but he would oddly flock to me. The reason why I hadn’t told him about my plans right away was that I felt he would follow me if I did so. Honestly, he was a bother. Up to now, we had acted as a group. I wanted to be alone even if a second sooner.

“I’m not going.”

“No way... My family’s all pretty boys and girls! Sir, you like beautiful things, don’t you?”

“Do they look like you?”

“They do.”

“Then they might be pretty, but won’t be my type.”

“Sir! You’re horrible!”

“So loud. If your family’s waiting for you, hurry and go.”

While I gestured with my hand as if shooing a dog, the junior made a puppy-like sad face. Even though he had a big body, he was amicable and his display of emotions was richer than most people, making him look all the more like a dog.

“Then, if you ever feel like coming to see me during your break...”

“I won’t.”

“...could you contact a hotel called Varona in Leidenschaftlich?”

“I won... uh?”

“It’s a first-class accommodation establishment. It’s under my uncle’s administration, so you can get a stay there immediately, and I can pick you up as soon as you give me my name. Oh, you’re making an interested face, huh? Want to come with me right now?”

What piqued my interest was the word “Leidenschaftlich” – that was all.

——That’s where the CH Postal Company is.

And it was also where my first love worked at.

“You were from Leidenschaftlich...?”

“That’s right. I did say it in my self-introduction when I joined the department.”

“Well, I don’t listen to people I have no interest in...”

As expected, my junior gave a happy-looking smile with his whole face. “Sir, I like that you’re equally unfriendly to everyone. People only got close to me because of my title... and my family’s social standing... but Sir, you’re cold, and that feels nice.”

“Your suffocating actions are a pain in the ass to me. Besides, hum...”

“What is it, Sir?”

“Hum, say... is the CH Postal Company well-known?”

“Do you know Violet Evergarden?” – the reason why I couldn’t ask this was a literal embodiment of how much I lacked guts, I thought.

With an “aah”, my junior immediately made a face like the name rang a bell. “I know them. It’s the company of that businessman, Claudia Hodgins, right? They’re popular. Shocking that the name of a company would come from you.”

“I’m an adult, after all. I’d know the name of one or two renowned businesses at least.”

“That’s a lie, ain’t it? I already know you don’t have interest in anything but stars. Erm... if I’m not wrong, all the postal companies of Leiden got sucked into it. They also succeeded in company split-ups. Their president is a celebrity too. The newspaper series where he talks to other entrepreneurs is a trend... It got adapted into a book just recently. There’s a chapter in the extra edition where he talks to his secretary and the president of an affiliated company, and it’s so fun. The book’s in my room at the headquarters, so you can take it with you and read it all you want.”

“Is there nothing about business in that book? Like, about the Auto-Memories Doll field... Hum, according to my research, there should be a rather famous Auto-Memories Doll in it... Don’t know if she’s still there, though.”

I timidly attempted to ask, yet it seemed my junior didn’t know the details. That was expected. The number of people who could hire Auto-Memories Dolls was limited, so hardly anybody would know even the name of a famed Doll unless it was someone marginally acquainted with them.

“I wonder. I do sorta know that they apparently have one real beauty of a Doll. But I also have a good-looking face... so I don’t yield to beauties from here and there.”

“Got it. Thanks for the info. And for the nice conversation. Go home.”

“Sir...! If you get bored of being alone, please remember me!”

Leaving behind my clingy junior, I took off from that place. I strutted with a hand in my pocket.

My junior wasn’t a bad guy. He had a high-handed personality but fit into the category of good person. He must have talked to me like that because he knew about my background as an orphan who had lost his parents and got a job at the astronomical observatory by way of assistance from Shaher. Meaning he was worried about his senior, who would be spending his vacation alone with no lover or family. The reason why he had invited me to a house where his family would be was probably that he was exposing his intentions in his own way.

——But to hell with that.

I wanted to be alone. To say that the people who thought I was pitiful were the actual pitiful ones was my essence. I had always enjoyed watching the stars by myself anyway, and I enjoyed books about stars too. Book reading wasn’t meant to be done with two people, right? I liked being alone. This was also because I had lived a life of accepting solitude for a long time, but if anything, it was harder for me to settle down when I was in someone’s company.

When I turned the street corner and confirmed that he finally wasn’t following me anymore, I let out a relieved sigh.

——Alone at last. Time and space just for me.

The times when I was by myself like this were the ones I felt most comfortable in, and while I did have some things to reflect upon in that regard, unfortunately, I didn’t have a family to pester me about having children, unlike the rest of society. Because I was alone.

——I get that it isn’t a good thing.

There were things that you couldn’t get used to or change, despite understanding why you should. I was equal parts as obstinate as I felt inferior to those who had families. Only one person had ever made me want to be with her for a little longer when I was in her company.

——Only one.

Our circumstances were similar and we were also alike in that we were burdened with loneliness, but it wasn’t as if I liked her because of the similarity. It was because she seemed like she would be all right even if she were on her own, so I had wished to stay by her side. To get close to her. I “liked” her in that way. It wasn’t as if I wanted her to do something for me. I was the one who wanted to do something for her. It was that kind of “like”.

It had happened a long time ago.

After we had spent a little time together, she left. When we were bidding our farewells, I stopped her and confessed.

“Violet.”

I told her I was in love with her. I didn’t ask her, “I like you, so what do you wanna do?” – I simply told her I liked her.

“I’m... I’m... in the codex department now, but... I actually wanted to be in the literature collecting department like my father.”

She gave me this answer: the way that she cherished me was different.

“I had my hopes up that maybe my mother would come home one day if I waited here, bringing my father back with her... so I kept shutting myself in until this age, without ever stepping off into the outside world. That was possible in this place and I wanted it myself. But... just now...”

But if we ever happened to meet again, she wanted to spend time with me.

“I’ve just made up my mind. I’ll go around the world like you.”

In that moment, the woman who had said that she couldn’t feel emotions...

“I might face danger. I might lose my life without anyone ever finding my body, just like my parents. But—But that’s okay. I’m thinking of choosing that path.”

...smiled at me like a normal girl, looking happy, and told me something.

“If I do that, I’m sure we might get to meet someday, somewhere, under a starry sky. We’re both gypsies. And if that happens, will you...”

——...watch the stars with me again?

“Yes, Master.”

She told me that. She said it. This alone was already enough for me. This alone gave me the courage to come out of the world that I had been secluding myself in. Even if my love wasn’t requited, even if we never saw each other again, I was so happy.

She.

Violet.

Violet Evergarden.

Just that – just the fact that she had promised to watch the stars with me – had made me happy to the point of changing my life.

I kept making transfer requests ever since that day, finally earned approval and ventured myself into the outside world. The world other than Iustitia that I saw for the first time was bustling with a dizzying variety of things, which made me regret secluding myself. But surely, if I hadn’t met her, I would have taken a lot longer to go outside. No, I might have never left that bird cage to begin with.

That environment where I was allowed to wallow was terribly indulgent. After all, everyone was awfully nice to me for not being able to stand up, just because I was sad.

I didn’t simply think that I would definitely get to see her at least once. The probability of an astronomer and an Auto-Memories Doll, who had spent time together at work, meeting even once was surely the same as the meteor we had seen that day – once every two hundred years.

I was being ridiculous. If I really wanted to see her, I should just go visit her postal company in Leiden. The reason why I didn’t do it was that I was scared. That maybe her words were just out of friendliness, and that, if we did meet, she wouldn’t even remember me and I would be rejected. On top of being terrified of this, I also had a dream.

That if we ever happened to reunite, I wanted us to meet again truly by coincidence, under a starry sky.

If something like that really were to happen, just what would I do? Would I smile? Cry? Or ask for her love again?

I nodded at a passerby who had almost collided with me and started walking again. I had no particular destination. I could also go back to the headquarters just like this and be an idle bookworm in my own room, but going sightseeing around this city for at least a little bit was also good.

——I won’t get to see Violet if I stay in that place.

I had no free time to spend money, so I could afford the luxury of staying at a remotely nice hotel. Having made up my mind, I went into the main street and began looking for accommodation in the desert capital.

   Local idioms were honestly my weak point. Even though it was a common language, it was hard to catch because of the many dialects. When I talked to elders, I was done for.

However, I could perfectly understand that the inn’s owner, an old gentleman, had treated me like a “young lady”. Of course, I told him he was mistaken, but he didn’t hear it. He led me to my room with a hand around my hips.

The room was quite a high-class one, so I let it slide. If it were my old self, I would have been as furious as a raging fire. But I had grown up. By holding back my anger, I would manage to spend the night in a proper bed, where it didn’t seem like bugs would show up, so becoming an adult was for the best. Even if my self-respect decreased a little.

While I was chilling in the room and writing my diary, the sun went down in a blink of eye and it was getting late into the evening.

   “Heave-ho.”

It was the dead of night. I put on warm clothes and prepared myself to go out.

I wanted to observe the desert’s starry sky at my own leisure. As our activities had been limited to daytime ever since we had arrived here, I was now finally getting to do the things that I actually felt like doing. I had watched it together with everyone else from the windows of the cheap inn that the literature collecting department’s personnel had stayed at, but as expected, I wanted to see it from a spacious place with no noise or anything of the sort. As a scholar born in the so-called “capital of stargazing”, I obviously was going to have my fill of the desert’s night sky.

Unable to contain my feelings of excitement, I left the room after my lips relaxed a bit. For the heck of it, I greeted the innkeeper and told him I was going to see the stars. When I did so, he made a worried-looking face.

Apparently, women were forbidden of wandering outside at night in these lands. He couldn’t stop me from going out since I wasn’t a local, but warned me not to get too close to men. It wasn’t as if there were many ruffians among the people who walked around at night, but simply that this city had this kind of culture, so if the men suddenly spotted a woman, they might think badly of it. I had grown up in a men’s dormitory watching a bunch of idiots, so I understood what he was trying to say.

I showed him the retractable cane I was holding, and while I was at it, I also demonstrated with one swing that a blade came out from the tip as well. It was not for killing anyone, but it sufficed for making the other party recoil and holding them back.

Receiving the innkeeper’s applause from behind, I ventured myself outside.

The temperature gaps between nighttime and daytime was extreme in the desert. Having been raised in a mountaintop astronomical observatory, I was used to areas where there was a discrepancy in temperatures between day and night, but even then, I could bring myself to deem it as comfortable due to differences in humidity. The instant I stepped outside, I shuddered with a “brr”.

However, I forgot the cold as soon as I saw the sight spreading overhead. Surely, God must have dropped His jewel box. The starry sky unfolded in a way that made even someone like me come up with such a poetic saying.

Due to the fact that it was nighttime, there were few people out, but it wasn’t as if nobody was wandering about the city. Just as the innkeeper had said, it seemed that someone with a womanly appearance (I wasn’t a woman at all, though) walking around did catch people’s eyes, as they called to me countless times. I put myself on guard in each of those instances, and everyone withdrew with the same caution as the innkeeper.

Not letting the women walk around late at night was also meant for protecting them.

I had heard that there was a place for stargazing aimed at tourists somewhere a little far from the city, so I headed there, for safety as well. Several tents were erected around the sparse green area. In addition to privately built tents, there were also merchant tents selling drinks and food.

After looking through the signboards with the prices of the alcohol and warm soups that people of this region consumed and were familiar with, I picked the alcohol. I was an adult now and on vacation, so I told myself that it was okay to drink today and gave myself permission.

I went for a cloudy-colored alcoholic drink simmered in a large pot called the witch’s cauldron. It was warm and sweet, with a slightly spicy aftertaste. It warmed your body when you drank it and was the best delicacy to savor in cold weather.

Some people invited me to enter their tents, but I refused and steadily began setting up by arranging the astronomical observation tools that I had prepared. I assembled a demountable astronomical telescope over the sheets.

Even though this was said to be a place for stargazing, not everyone seemed to be astronomy freaks like in Iustitia – most of them were lying on the ground, enjoying a conversation with their companions while relishing in the jewels of the night. Everyone other than myself had simple handheld telescopes, so a few locals started appearing fussily around me, looking greatly interested. If anything, there weren’t just tourists.

A young father who had a child with him shyly came to ask me, “How much is it for you to let us take a look?” Apparently, he had mistaken me for a merchant.

“I don’t take money for it. It’s something for me to enjoy myself.”

The young parent made a bewildered face at my blunt reply, but nervously stepped in front of the kid and said, “It’s okay even if it’s just for a little bit, couldn’t you let this child take a peek?”

“Sure, it’s fine.”

He was also surprised at my ready consent. As he asked one more time if I really wasn’t going to charge for it, I declared that I wasn’t, swearing by this land’s god.

I beckoned the child. Our heights didn’t match since he was too small, so I lifted him by the hips.

“Can you see them?”

“Just a tad higher.”

“This much?”

“Amaziiing.”

At the child’s delighted look, the father and I locked eyes with each other and laughed. Then, other people who had been surrounding us at a distance came over one after another, asking me to let them see next. Whenever I said that I wasn’t charging any fee, they would ask me back, “Are you a saint or what?”.

In a land where you could see such beautiful stars, astronomical telescopes weren’t wild-spread among locals, enjoyed only by tourists and outsiders. That was probably the case. For them, this was an expensive item brought by outsiders. The stars were beautiful enough at naked eye, so if I had to say it, telescopes weren’t necessary. But if there was something that would help them see better, there would obviously be people saying that they want to take a look.

——Guess I’m gonna contact Shaher’s donors and indicate this place as a potential donation site.

If this pleased so many people, maybe it would be nice to have a telescope that everyone could look into, just as there were benches where everyone could sit on along the streets. I liked stars, so it made me happy even if just one more person fell in love with them.

“Having fun?”

“We are! You’re so generous!”

The figure of an elderly man much older than myself smiling like a boy, looking extremely happy, struck home pretty hard. It wasn’t like I wanted to hang out with anyone or that I had a preference for getting along with everybody. That wasn’t the case at all.

“This thing’s pricey, ain’t it? You okay with people touchin’ it without a care?”

“It’s not made for decoration; it’s something to look at.”

But these kinds of moments were nice.

——Very nice.

If these once-in-a-lifetime encounters would increase the proportion of stargazing in someone’s life, nothing could make me happier.

——When I get old, I guess I’m gonna run a rent-a-telescope or something like that somewhere.

I decided to take a few steps back and let everyone enjoy themselves.

This sensation that the joy of the surroundings was becoming more and more contagious. This feeling that people were gathering there only out of curiosity and adventurous spirit, not for profit. It didn’t seem fitting of my usual self, but something like this was also conceivable every once in a while.

With nothing to do, I naturally started looking around. Wonderful night, wonderful atmosphere.

The figure of someone standing still amongst it all entered my field of vision even without me wanting to. Everyone else had a companion.

The person was clad in dola like me and had a veil covering her face. From her physique, I could somehow presume that she was probably a woman.

Hoping that no weirdos would go talk to her, I worried about and kept watch over the woman, just like people had done for me. If she got caught up by anybody, should I intervene?

I used to hate women, yet here I was, concerning myself with one. I might have a misconstrued sense of justice, but I at least had to care.

I was just looking at her for a little while simply for that reason, but the instant that the wind blew strongly, all of my nerves became her captive. Her veil came off. It came off just slightly and I could see her face.

Her golden hair fluttered leniently. Her shapely profile was exposed under the starry sky. This beauty that could be discerned even in the nightly darkness was breathtaking.

It was really just a few seconds’ time and she immediately fixed the veil back on tight, but I had already seen her, so I knew. I knew.

I knew who that was.

Distancing myself from the telescope, I walked unsteadily towards her. Like winged bugs that gathered up to light.

This person literally shone like a lantern in my life. It was fire that wouldn’t disappear, no matter how much time passed. Time only strengthened the flame’s vigor.

That was why, aah, I... I...

“Violet Evergarden... is that you?”

That was why I called to her at that moment, with a shrill voice. As she looked at me, her eyes slowly crinkled, the corners of her lips went up and she smiled at me.

I felt like tearing up at that.

“It has been a while, Master.”

I had dreamed of this.

“Is it really you?”

I had dreamed of this day.

“Yes, Master.”

Always had been.

“Stupid, I’m not your master anymore... I have a name too... You’ve probably forgotten about it, but I... My name is...”

I had dreamed of this day and had always been thinking about what to say if we ever got to meet again.

“Mr. Leon Stephanotis. Is ‘Mr. Leon’ all right?”

If it were under a starry sky with not a single cloud, we could talk about its bare beauty. If it were on a rainy day, we could discuss the mythology related to the constellations.

“Did I mistake it? I have confidence in my memorization skills, but...”

If it were on a night where a once-in-every-two-centuries meteor were to pass by, we could share stories of the past in which we had observed the sky together.

“No... you got it right. You got it... Just ‘Leon’ is fine... Violet, the time you spent with me was so long ago, and yet, you sure... managed to...”

I had dreamed of this. You had no idea, did you, Violet Evergarden?

“You sure managed to remember.”

You were my first love. The first person I fell for. That day was the first time I confessed to someone.

“Leon, do you recall the promise we made?”

I opened the door to courage. I opened it thinking it would be okay even if I got hurt. But instead of hurting me, you accepted it. You broke my love to pieces, but still acknowledged it.

“Yeah.”

I had dreamed of this. Of this moment. You didn’t have to remember it. You could have forgotten what you had said to me. But if nothing else, I wanted to have one more look at you before I died.

“Have you memorized...”

One more time.

“...the names of a few stars?”

I wanted to see you one more time.

Violet Evergarden. I – the sixteen-year-old Leon Stephanotis – was in love with you.

He was in love with you. So was my current self. Now that you were in front of me, I could tell as much, even if I didn’t want to.

The flame inside my chest was saying, “This woman is the one who started the fire.” It told me that you were the woman who burned me up. You had burned me, and you still were. You melted everything that I had locked up within ice. It told me that you were the woman of my fate.

Violet wordlessly nodded in agreement. She nodded like a child. She was happy that I remembered what she had told me – I could tell by the facial expression she was making.

——You used to be so expressionless and doll-like – who was it that changed you so much?

You weren’t a doll anymore now. More like a girl who had someone’s love. You didn’t look like anything but that in my eyes ever since you were with me, though. But now, surely you had someone. This someone had changed you to that point, right?

“Violet,” I said, suppressing the pain of my sweltering chest. “If you have some time, won’t you spend it with me?” I asked.

I was attempting to open the door to courage again. Regardless of what awaited me beyond it, even if I regretted opening it. I asked nevertheless.

You changed me. You made me who I was. You probably didn’t know that. You didn’t have to.

“Yes, by all means.”

And this beautiful woman in front of me, too.

“I had been waiting for a day to come when I inform you about the fruits of my studies.”

Surely, she had also been made by someone.

“Should we ever meet, I had wanted to report them to you, even if you did not remember.”

Envy, affection and attachment ran through my body.

“That is what I was thinking.”

My sixteen-year-old self was screaming. “I was in love with you. I was in love with you. I was in love with you. I’m in love with you. Even now, I still like you,” he shouted.

I no longer had any of the youth and recklessness of those days. However, regarding my love for her, the me from back when I confessed to her was still here.

“I’m sure what I’m gonna say now will trouble you. But would you listen?”

I was still here. That version of me was still inside me.

Violet Evergarden, you...

“You can laugh if you want; you see...”

...to me, you... a woman like you was...

“You were my first love.”

Violet Evergarden, you...

“I still like you. Forgive me.”

To me, you were a woman of the stars.

[bittercoldbrew]

Okay, so technically To Build Something New is complete and finished and I’m totally not even supposed to be working on it anymore, but this has been a shitty week and I decided to write a little something sweet and then I sort of got....carried away........ So yeah anyway, here’s a little over 4k of Ezra x f!OC, a sorta kinda epilogue to Build Something but I tried to leave things vague so it could also just be read as a standalone. No warnings, just an embarrassing amount of fluff. Enjoy! (pssst, also, I ended up writing a follow-up to this, which you can find here)

Sleep has never come easily to him. Even as a child, Ezra remembers being plagued with nightmares so often and for so long that he wouldn’t even bother waking his worn and weary parents, would simply fetch himself a cup of water from the kitchen and flip through his favorite books, gazing at the pictures and tracing fingers over words he couldn’t yet read, until sleep finally returned to him.

The woman in bed beside him is no stranger to such restlessness, and certainly is no distant, frightful parent best left unbothered. If he were to reach out a hand to her shoulder, if he were to call her name, he knows that she would wake willingly, eager to help him talk his way out of whatever trouble his overactive mind has conjured, or to simply sit with him in silence until the tension passed; she would give him whatever he needs, even if he himself doesn't know what that is just yet. It is no lack of love, given or received, that stills his hand and shuts his mouth, but rather an abundance.

Her thoughts are scarcely any kinder to her sleep schedule than his, and these past few months since her parents came and tried to upend the life she's built have not been easy ones. She certainly owes as profound a debt to the god of sleep as he does, and he simply cannot bring himself to disturb her now that she's begun to repay it.

With a sigh, he eases himself out from under her arm and up from the bed, moving slow and careful, as quiet as he can manage, trying not to feel too guilty at the sad, soft noise she makes and the way she curls her arm back into herself with the loss. Some nights, he’s more than content to lay awake beside her even if sleep never decides to make another appearance, grateful for her presence, trying and failing, always, to twist and turn his thoughts into a shape that will allow him to believe this luck that has brought him to her side. But tonight he just needs...to stretch his legs, to move his body, to remind himself that it is, still, somehow, his body, despite all that it has lost. Despite all that it has found.

He moves to the bathroom, passes through it out into the hall, hoping the added distance will prevent the sound of the door from waking the woman asleep in the bed they share. In the darkness, in the quiet, he runs a hand over his face, grounding himself with the familiar sensation of the planes and slopes of his own features. Still his face. Still his hand, even if he only has the one of them, now.

It seems instinctual, the way his feet carry him to the door across the hall, the way his ear finds itself pressed to the cool wood. He won’t bother her, won’t risk disturbing the sleep of the teenager inside, but the low whisper of the white noise machine that he can hear is enough of a comfort. Cee adjusted to planet life far faster and more completely than he has yet to manage; but even though the members of this little family all came from such disparate backgrounds, they are bound together by the act of having chosen one another, as well as by their shared insomnolent tendencies. The teenager needs this facsimile of the rumble of a ship’s engines to be able to achieve anything like sleep. Ezra himself has attempted the same, but found the noise only gave his brain something to latch onto, a reason to stay wakeful and wary, a stark contrast to its intended purpose.

Hearing hers, though, is reassurance enough that the girl is having a better night’s rest than he is, and he is grateful for that small blessing as he leans away from the door and sidles down the hallway on quiet, bare feet, mindful of all the places that creak, mapped out in his muscle memory over the course of many such nights. He crosses the front room, passes through the kitchen, until finally he steps out onto the back porch and into the cold, clear night.

The sky out here, so far from the city center, is resplendent in its beauty, a breathtaking array of stars and galaxies. Despite his many far-flung travels, there are still so many worlds to visit, still so much to see, and he will never grow weary of the sight.

It's a little too cold for stargazing, especially dressed as he is in nothing more than a patched and faded pair of boxers; but the way the air prickles against his skin and in his lungs feels almost refreshing, for now at least. It makes his racing thoughts feel sluggish, and that is certainly worth a little chill.

Sighing, he steps forward and leans against the railing, letting his eyes trace out distant constellations and star systems, scrolling through his mental catalogue of those he's visited and those he has yet to. He's picking out the faint whorl of the Ephrate when he hears the door slide open, and a sweet and sleepy voice asks, "Ezra..?"

He should have known his absence would be enough to wake her. The woman he loves is the galaxy’s most notorious blanket thief, after all; even now, the evidence of her crimes is wrapped around her like a cloak, the excess fabric bunched in her hands and clutched against her collar. Often, it’s only the warmth of his body in the bed beside her that keeps her from descending into wanton lawlessness—or, at the very least, a sleeplessness of her own. It is a rare night indeed that he can leave her side for much longer than it takes to visit the bathroom and return, before the chill is enough to wake her.

She steps forward, head down, eyes scarcely open and only to keep herself from tripping over the blanket as she draws near and leans her body heavily against his. He wraps his arm around her back and does his best to hug her close with only the one, trying not to feel so profoundly guilty at the thought of how difficult it must be for her to sleep when he’s gone so long for work.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into her hair—an apology for tonight, and also for all those nights she spends without him.

But she only shakes her head, resting her cheek against his bare chest, just below his collarbone. She stands so tall and imperious in his mind’s eye that he forgets, sometimes, how little she is, and he is grateful for moments like these to remind him.

Her voice is thick with sleep, her breath warm against his skin, as she asks, simply, “Chocolate?”

He sighs and holds her closer, wondering if he knows a single word that might be able to encapsulate how it feels to be loved by her. Beloved feels too pedestrian, too obvious. Cherished, maybe. Harbored.

He needs to consider the possibilities more carefully, but later. For now, he merely shakes his head, begrudgingly declining her generous offer. “No, I’m alright. Just needed a minute, clear my head.”

She hums softly, and the gentle vibration of it against his chest feels planet-shaking in this quiet night. “Already put it on,” she admits slowly, sounding only marginally more awake than a moment ago. “Drink some anyway?”

Sustained? Is that the word? “With you? Of course.”

The wordless noise she makes in response is pleased, contented, and for several long, precious moments she merely rests against him and lets him hold her in the dark, unhurried and unafraid in his presence.

She’s so still for so long that he notices the slight movement of her cheek, the twitch that means she’s had to blink away a notification from her optical implant, the timer she must have set for the milk warming on the stove.

“I’ll get it—” he starts to offer, eager for some way to repay her kindness, but she moves quicker than he imagined she’d be capable of right now, pulling away and whirling the blanket off her shoulders and around his with a flourish.

“No,” she declares, in that tone of voice that always makes his brain go silent and his body stand to attention, willing to do whatever she requires of him without question. But the only order she gives is, “Keep this warm for me,” passing the corners of the fabric into his grasp, and he is certain to obey as she turns and heads back inside to the kitchen.

With a sigh, Ezra takes a step back and rests against the wall of the house, hiking the blanket up a little higher as he waits for her return. He finds himself wishing Aphelia had a moon, something to make the nights a little brighter than this; the lack gives them such a clear, glorious view of all the stars and a few of the other planets in this system, so he supposes he shouldn’t complain. But it would be nice to be able to see the garden from here, to make out what birds those are calling such sweet songs among the trees at the edge of the property, to better decipher the nuance of his partner’s expression when she steps back outside a few minutes later with two mugs of cocoa in her hands.

It requires a good deal of shuffling and muttered apologies, but eventually they find themselves sitting together on the floor of the porch, propped against the wall, the blanket drawn across them both, sheltering them from the chill of metal sheeting at their backs. She is nestled at his side beneath what remains of his right arm, and she rests her head on his shoulder as they both lift mugs to their lips.

He makes an indisputably better cup of coffee—mainly because she is too impatient in the morning, content to throw a packet of bland, dehydrated nonsense into hot water if it means she can be caffeinated quicker, only willing to wait for something better if it’s Ezra who does the brewing. But her hot chocolate is a wonder, a marvel, worthy of all possible veneration, and even though he’s watched her make it time and time again, he has never managed to determine what it is she does to make it so spectacular. The beverage in his hand tonight is perfectly warm, nutty and aromatic, decadent and sweet without being cloying, with just a hint of spice. One sip, and he can feel whatever this restlessness is that’s been holding him in its vice begin to ebb away into a gentle sleepiness.

“Thank you, starlight,” he sighs, and he hopes she knows that he means all of it—not just for the chocolate, but for the blanket and the company and the understanding, for her willingness to love him with this love that encompasses all of his very many faults rather than existing in spite of them.

She doesn’t say anything in response, simply turns her head and presses a feather-light kiss to the side of his neck, and he feels certain that she does know. Especially when she turns back, and gestures with her mug in the direction of the sky. “It’s a hell of a view. Thanks for not letting me miss it.”

His breath leaves him in a rush, and he rests his cheek against the top of her head, feeling bowled over by his affection for her. That hadn’t remotely been his intention, and even if he had merely wanted her to see the stars, she could get just as lovely a view from bed, through the skylight, without having to shiver out here on the cold floor with him. But he loves that she would offer this pretense, that she would look at something he’d done to stave off his idiotic insomnia and turn it into an experience for the two of them to share.

Transformed, perhaps, is what her love makes him. Because he isn’t entirely sure who this man is that he’s become, or where all this sappiness came from. He certainly had no need for it on the Green, nor in any part of his life before he first answered the siren song of aurelac.

If he’s honest with himself, though, he’d begun to see the first signs of it before he even met her, before he endured the loss of his dominant arm and thus found himself needing to rely, from time to time, upon the kindness of others. He’d noticed it in his unwillingness to leave Number Two behind after the rest of the crew split and ran; and then again when he’d first met Cee, when she’d used up the single capacitor of that old Boscelot rifle and he, who had killed so very many times before, had been wholly unable to throw a shot her way.

His lover had seen right through him from the first, had detected those loose threads in his psyche, those barest hints of a gentleness he’d long stifled. She had tugged and pulled them loose, had unraveled the cold and unfeeling shell that he constructed around himself, until all that was left was just...him. Minus an arm, and a good portion of his dignity, and any belief he’d once had in his ability to command his own fate.

And she had looked at whatever was leftover after all that loss, and had chosen to love him anyway.

“Oh, look,” she gasps, and he straightens up and follows her gaze, finding the trail of light streaking up from the horizon, a distant ship clearing the atmosphere.

“Leaving from the 12th Sector docks, I reckon,” he tells her absently, his brain automatically calculating the distance and direction for him while he simply takes a long draught of his quickly-cooling cocoa. “Where d’you think they’re headed?”

She hums thoughtfully, brow creasing in thought, her eyes tracing the arc of their ascent and extending upward. He’s been trying to teach her and the kid—trying to not be a pedantic asshole about it—how to find landmarks in the night sky, how to navigate by constellations and planets and stations. Mostly, he’s just trying to teach them how to keep themselves safe if, Kevva forbid, he ever isn’t around to do the job. Not that he thinks them lacking in competence—each of his girls is cleverer than him by half, he knows that, and together they leave him in the dust. But this, at least, is a skill of his that they do not share, and he hopes to impart a little something of it, just in case they ever need it.

“From 12, at that angle, this late in the year...” she says slowly, thinking aloud. “I bet they’re headed for the Pug.”

“I bet you’re right,” he agrees, grinning. “Do you see it?”

She narrows her eyes, an adorable little pout to her lips as she looks for it; her natural eye’s a little farsighted, but her implant is designed for close work and magnification, and he knows that discrepancy means this sort of thing doesn’t come easy for her. But that just makes it all the sweeter, when she gasps and smiles and points and says, “There it is.”

He just sits there, staring at her and the way the starlight dances in her eyes and highlights the lines of her face, for so long that she turns to him with a curious—and then bashful—look on her face.

“Hey,” she scolds, nudging him with her elbow. “Tell me I’m right.”

“You’re right,” he says automatically, and she scoffs and elbows him again. With a laugh, he tears his gaze from her and turns to look. “Sorry, sorry. Show me again?”

She does so, and he leans in close, following the line of her arm and her outstretched finger to the familiar, pulsing glow of Puggart’s Bench. “There?”

He dips his head, presses a kiss to the skin of her arm, just past the end of the short sleeve of her sleep shirt (one of his shirts, initially, though at this point she doesn’t sleep in anything else and he’d be offended if she did). “Perfect,” he tells her—because she’s correct, yes, but also because she is perfect, in his estimation.

She smiles in a way that makes him think she understands his double meaning, and says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says, and kisses her, and her mouth tastes like chocolate, and he doesn’t imagine there’s anything better in all the universe.

But then she lifts a hand to curl along his jaw and the tips of her fingers are like ice, and he pulls back in surprise and sets his mug carefully aside so he can grab her hand and hold it in front of his mouth and breathe a little heat against her fingers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were freezing, baby?”

"I'm not," she argues, even as she curls closer into the warmth of his body and tugs the blanket tighter around her shoulders, because she is, at her core, a woman of unmitigated stubbornness. "My hands are just always cold."

"Not this cold," he huffs, clenching the offending fingers in his own. "We should get you inside."

She shakes her head sternly. "I can stay out here as long as you want me to."

She has told him this before, way back when they scarcely even knew each other. Then, as now, she had been struggling to keep her eyes open. Then, as now, he had known she meant every word.

"What I want," he tells her, turning to kiss her temple, speaking the words into her skin, "is to hold you in bed for a while."

If he's honest, that's all he ever seems to want these days.

She smiles, and nods toward his mug, reaching for her own. "Finish your cocoa, first," she says, as though that is the entire reason they're out here.

And he does—because it's delicious and he doesn't want to waste it; because it's what she told him to do.

He would give her his left arm, the only one he has remaining, if she told him to.

They sit there, quiet and close, while he finishes his drink and waits patiently as she finishes hers. Then, leaning on each other for support, they make their way to their feet and back inside the house. He keeps the blanket around his body as she rinses their empty mugs and leaves them in the sink, then trails along behind her as she leads him back to their room.

Together they spread the blanket back overtop of the bed, tucking it in at the foot even though they both know she’ll have managed to drag it to her side by morning. Smiling at the thought, Ezra pulls up the covers and gets in, instinctively turning over on his right to reach for her—but she isn’t there yet, still standing next to the bed, watching him. It’s too dark to really make out her expression, but he can feel her eyes on him. “Baby?”

She doesn’t speak, just goes and walks around the bed. He turns, twisting at the waist to watch her as she lifts up the covers and...slips in behind him. She puts her arm around his chest, twines her legs with his, moves her free hand up to bury her fingers in his hair and scritch lightly against his scalp, and he groans out her name and all but melts back into her soft body.

“Is this okay?” she asks after a moment, her breath fanning against the back of his neck. He wants to answer, to tell her this is so, so much better than merely okay, but his chest has gone so tight that all the air in his lungs seems to have lodged in his throat instead. He settles for a nod, the drag of her short fingernails on the back of his head just delicious with the movement, and he knows she must be tired and will need to be asleep soon but he wishes she never had to stop.

“I know you said you wanted to hold me,” she murmurs, her voice so soft and sweet, “but I thought this might be...nice.”

“I...” he starts—or tries to, but his voice falters, and all the words he typically can rely on appear to have fled him. “Yes,” he sighs simply. “It’s very nice.”

“Good.” Her lips press a delicate kiss to his shoulder, and his breath leaves him with more of a shudder than he’d intended. “You gonna be able to sleep?”

He covers her hand with his and draws it up higher along his chest, where her fingers gently trace the line of scar tissue just below his sternum. “I hope so,” is the best answer he can offer, because even though he feels so fucking good being held by her like this and even though he can feel the exhaustion tugging him even deeper into the mattress, he knows better than to count on his mind to be cooperative.

She hums softly, and he can feel the bridge of her nose and the curve of her forehead against the skin of his back as she presses her face against him, settling in. “Okay,” she breathes, and he can tell she’s nearly asleep again already, can merely hope he’ll join her shortly. “Wake me if you get up again, okay?”

“You have work in the morning,” he reminds her, squeezing her hand, already feeling guilty for disrupting her rest as much as he has. His schedule isn’t nearly so demanding—he could stay in bed all day if he needs to, could make up the hours some other time—but she has people who rely on her, people who aren’t him.

But she just clicks her tongue against her teeth dismissively, shakes her head. Her fingers leave his hair for a dreadful moment, but only so she can reach down and tug the covers up higher (already beginning her nightly larceny, though she’s pressed so close to him that Ezra, too, may get to benefit from it tonight). “I’d rather be tired at work than not know where you are.”

It’s a simple thing to say, but he knows how much she means by it. He’s well aware of the anxieties that plague her, of the way she worries when he’s gone, of how his job and its need to drag him far away from her for long stretches of time wears at her until he’s with her again. As much as he wishes he could make all of that go away, wishes he could offer her a gentler life than this one, he knows such a thing isn’t really possible out here in the Fringe, knows they’ve come much closer than most. Still, at least he can offer her this.

He picks up her hand and lifts it to his lips, presses kisses to her smooth, soft skin. “Go to sleep, starlight. I’m not going anywhere.”

“‘Kay,” she murmurs sleepily, and he can feel her smile against his back as she shifts around, tightening her arm around him, hugging him close. “Love you, Ez.”

“Love you too, sweet girl.”

In the morning, when she wakes, he is going to make her the best goddamn cup of coffee she’s ever tasted. He will swaddle her in blankets, will weight her down with so many of them she can’t ever leave their bed, she’ll have to just stay in it with him forever. He wonders how inappropriate it would be for him to ask Cee if she would spend the night at a friend’s tomorrow, because when this woman gets home from work he’s going to need to lavish every inch of her body with affection, to prove to her again and again and again how desperately he loves her, how thoroughly he needs her, and he doesn’t imagine he’ll be able to be quiet about it even with the kid home.

It’s in these last lucid moments before sleep finally pulls him under that he realizes this night, this moment, this blissful press of her body along the length of his own with her arm curled possessively around his torso is exactly the word he's been looking for. Maybe it really is as simple as that: she makes him feel held.

[twelvedy7]

Twisted - One shot

warning: sensitive topics (drugs). 

I just wanted to write something a bit different. It might be a bit OCC but I thought it might be a great fit for the manga universe.   This story won’t be published anywhere else than tumblr so feel free to save the story if you like it.

Oh and also english isn’t really my native language so sorry if there are incoherences. 

Takano had no sense of self-control. From a very young age he has been a witness of the sheer harshness of his mother and the complete indifference of his father towards their family. Despite how much he tried to convince himself of his difference he inherited from most of their flaws, which filled him with anger every time he thought about it. 

No wonder that whenever he met someone bright, kind, generous and appreciated he became more aware of his whole dark gloomy personality. That was the case with Ritsu he was still viewing today as the 16 year-old teen he used to be a decade ago.

No wonder that when he met this bright, kind and generous highschool kid he had become more aware of his dark gloomy personality. He was still viewing Ritsu as the 16 year-old teen he used to be a decade ago and yet he couldn’t understand for the life of him the reason why such a lovable person would waste their time with him rather than finding another likeable person that would be such a better companion than him.

If all the open rejections from the brunette could make him believe he hated him, he was at least smart enough to read between the lines and see what the other tried so hard to conceal under feigned anger and flustered reactions. 

What seemed to be like a bitter-sweet genuine love story from two ignorant teenagers who lost each other from a foolish misunderstanding was driving him straight into madness. Ritsu was constantly on his mind, invading his thoughts at any time of the day, reminding him of the terrible person he was and how he will never be nowhere near enough for him. Even in the poorly credible reality where the younger one would actually build up the courage to admit his feelings, he knew that their relationship was sealed to failure. 

One day Ritsu would mature and realise how incompatible they were and how idealistic they’ve been this whole time before leaving him to find another person that could offer him the support and love he needed. Maybe one day Ritsu would find the man of his dreams, different from senpai in every way, to finally live the blissful life he aspired to. That’s what broke his heart the most: they were not made for each other. No matter how hard he tried, it will never be enough because they were simply not meant to. 

He imagined Ritsu’s soulmate to be fun, social, caring, communicative and considerate which would make him forget all the turmoil he went through for all this time. His parents might be so enchanted by their personality that the fact they weren’t An-Chan wouldn’t even bother them.

The truth is he was physically and emotionally drained. He couldn’t feel a thing if it wasn’t his love for Ritsu and sometimes he felt as if that was his last tie with sanity. There were times where he would shut down his emotions. When it became too difficult to confront their inevitable fate, he would put himself in a semi-automatic mode working up to 15 hours straight without paying attention to anything or anyone, only accomplishing what he ought to.

Over time, he came to accept that he wasn’t able to love anyone without causing them a great deal of pain and suffering. That’s why he decided to distance himself from the few people who actually cared about him in his life and managed to bring him some split meaningful moments of happiness. It was like a lightning bolt shaking him from side to side, making him surrender to the hope of one day being able to spend the rest of his life with Ritsu and recovering from his long-lost friendship with Yokozawa. He hurt them both and didn’t deserve to be part of their lives. 

His phone vibrated. He broke off his thoughts to center his attention on the alias displaying on the screen: “Taisho” along with a message “I’m here.”

He stood up from the floor, came up to the entrance of his apartment and opened the door. A man of average-height in his mid-thirties was waiting for him. At first glance, he gave the impression of being a regular salary-man coming back home to his family after a long day of hard work. However, he came to discover that the man likely had a long history of debt behind him involving matters such as a costly divorce and low paychecks.

Not bothering to greet him, he pulled out 6,000 yen from his pocket and handed it to the fearful looking man who replaced the notes with a small transparent plastic bag containing a white powder. 

“Same thing next week?” asked the anxious black-haired man, his light blue eyes too faithful to be a dealer squeezing behind his oval glasses. 

“Yeah. See you.” 

Without giving him a second glance, he double-locked the door and came back to his dimly lit living room that felt so lonely without Ritsu here. It would take some time, if not forever, to prevent this heavy load in his heart from manifesting every time he would find himself alone without the prospect of his first love joining him any time soon. 

It still pained him… Nao came unannounced in the office earlier in the morning and asked Ritsu out for something that too likely looked like a date. A walk in the city center, a restaurant, and a nighttime exposure. That bastard. 

The rare times he had managed to take Ritsu out for a date was by forcefully dragging him out of his apartment or bluntly lying by message playing the card of ‘emergency’. He remembered the dull ache he felt in the morning as he realised how easy it was for his “best-friend” to take him out to a full outing while he had to prepare a strategy days ahead just to drink a coffee together. 

Opening the tiny bag in his hands, he chased away his dark thoughts and kneeled in front of his coffee table, pouring half of the powder out on its surface and realigned it in two fine lines with the help of an old credit card. He usually didn’t take such high doses in one shot, but tonight he knew that he needed it. The accumulated pain and overthinking were taking a toll on him. Rolling a paper, he brought it to his right nostril and sniffed the first line, ignoring the burning pain in his cavity before passing it to his left one and repeated the action.

A few seconds later he started feeling the tiny molecules flowing through his blood system, noticing the faster pace of his heart beat and the gradual relaxation of his muscles as the drug invaded his mind.

He closed his eyes. 

As always, the thrill was exquisite. The far away sounds of ambient city noises echoed and at some point the only thing he could decipher in the absolute silence was his own breath. His body was soft and any psychological pain he felt instantly disappeared. It was as if someone had covered him with a warm fluffy blanket while stroking his hair with a gentle grasp, providing him an endless feeling of comfort and security he so desperately needed. 

At that moment, everything stopped and all his troubles went away. Nothing mattered anymore. He was back being a young child pampered by a protective mother he never had with an unconditional sense of love. Pleasurable sensations coursed through his body from head to toes until his spirit went numb and he lost any notion of space and time. 

He reached that moment of nothingness that he wished could last forever.

___ 

“Takano-san!” 

...

“Takano-san!” 

Who was it? 

The voice seemed so far away he wasn’t even sure it was real.

“Masamune!” Why would someone try to break the silent darkness that was surrounding him?

For what seemed like hours, he felt himself trapped in-between the process of gaining and losing consciousness. He didn’t want to be drawn from his deep slumber yet.

He recognized some familiar voices in the background but it was hard to put a name on them as they seemed to continuously echo. 

It took him several more minutes to realise that people were present and it shook him. He became hyper aware of his environment.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was a bunch of white blouses around him scampering around the room at a feverish speed. 

His mind whirled. The world seemed to be going so fast but his brain was so slow. 

His golden eyes blinked several times to adjust to the brightness of the room. In an instant he was blinded by the artificial light of the leds on the ceiling. 

In the chaos of all the fast-paced strangers around him, he felt a delicate hand fondling with the hair on the short back of his neck and let out a soft tired moan escape his lips. 

“Takano-san can you hear me?!” 

He groggily stretched out his limbs while burying his head on the petite body frame behind him and looked up to see who was the kind stranger offering him such soft intentions. 

Above him were two wide teary green eyes displaying a worried expression. Despite his blurry vision, he could recognize the refined and familiar traits of the man he loved. It looked surreal, having the both of them like this sharing such intimacy in a restless atmosphere.

Next to him was standing Yokozawa in his usual professional attire. He could only watch them through half-closed eyes all the while trying to figure out what they were doing in his apartment in the first place.

“He’s stable now. Overdoses happen regularly when cocaine and other powerful stimulants are added to the equation. That’s what producers do nowadays to boost the effects”. Said a firm feminine voice. He could see the lady in white gesturing around to her colleagues and immediately realised what just happened. She was staring at him, probably trying to jauge how awake her patient was. 

“You were lucky Takano-san. This could have been much more serious.” 

He saw his friend sitting next to Ritsu, his usual severe expression ruptured by the deep crease in his eyebrows. 

“How did you find me?” asked the raven, his voice so weak he wasn’t sure the two others heard him. 

The brunette brought his face closer to his ear, petting his forehead as he replied in a shaky shy voice: “Yokozawa-san found you like this…” he heard a sneeze. “The front door was unlocked and your phone was ringing without you answering it. You… You stopped breathing.” 

He felt absolutely miserable. 

Trying to shift his position to have a better view of his comrades, he caught the look of utter disappointment and guilt from his older friend. He probably thought that he was long done with this dark hazardous period of his life. 

“I’m… I’m sorry... I didn’t want to…” 

His battle to stay awake was getting harder and harder. 

“It’s okay Masamune. Just rest for now.”

The nurse took a hold of his wrist and stuck the intravenous line with a patch. 

“We’re going to transfer you to the clinic as you need to take several tests. You’re safe now but your body needs to recover.” 

The hand that was playing with his hair resumed and he let his head fall back on his lap. This combined with the liquid in his body led him to a sleep without dreams.

___

When he woke up again, he found himself buried under the sheets of a hospital bed. It took him some time to become accustomed to the artificial lighting of the room. Gathering enough energy to finally keep his eyes open, he gazed at the clock at his right indicating 4:55AM.

The first thing he felt was an atrocious headache that hit him with a massive chest pain undertaking his whole body. He noticed the numerous wires connected to his skin accompanied with the steady regular bips of a machine.

He heard a light snore on his right. Shifting his head, he immediately saw the small fragile figure crawling up into a ball on the couch. A cheap blanket was covering him from toes to his neck. This sight made him feel so terribly selfish. As seconds went by he started getting back to a normal state of awareness despite a fizzy pang at the back of his skull. 

With as much strength as he could gather he sprawled a hand towards him and rested it on the others’ laps. He stroked his thigh lightly with the help of his thumb and stared at his seemingly exhausted resting face. He felt so worthless. He knew he had hurt him badly in the past already and the only thing he could think of is that this was too much.

“I’m so sorry Ritsu…”. 

After reuniting with his first love following the 10 years they had spent apart from one another he had started to believe in fate. Yet he had been too trustful, using it as a justification for every one of his impatient and inappropriate moves towards the younger one. Everything became painfully obvious. This whole thing they had was destructive and that was mainly his fault. It was time to finally respect the distance that Ritsu wanted and deserved. He could not go back to these college years pretending that nobody cared about him. 

Now Ritsu would need him. 

Still, they were nowhere near close from getting into a relationship. Too many mistakes had been made. It was crucial for both men to work on themselves first as jumping the steps one more time would only bring them unhappiness.

That day Takano swore he would stop pursuing Ritsu. He’s forever been broken and finally accepting to get help was a start towards a less twisted life.

“It’s okay Ritsu.” 

One day they would be okay. They would get the life they both secretly wanted. 

[phantomwarrior12]

Potentially Personal

Her right shoulder. 

It doesn't matter where she is. Elevators. In the midst of a conversation. It's always that right shoulder that she rolls. Her left hand braces the joint as she rolls it in a slow semi-circle. Even after her resurrection by Cerberus, she still moves it cautiously, favoring it in the field.

Garrus has never asked what caused the injury, never brought up how often or how reflexively the Spectre seems to do it. Though, he admits that the curiosity is beginning to get the best of him.

He never got to see Shepard's back before her revival, so, if there were a scar, it's no longer there. But there are certain privileges in being this close with the Commander, in being the only one she allows to spend long hours in her quarters going over intel. In being her confidant and dearest friend, though Garrus often wonders if they could be more.

So, when Shepard leans back in her chair, arching her back to stretch, Garrus lifts his gaze from the data pad in his hands.

"Needing a break, Shepard?"

"No," she returns, tossing him a reassuring look, "We have a limited time to go through these Cerberus files. I want to make the most of your hard work."

He offers a shrug, leaning back on the couch as he props one leg atop the other, "Their system isn't as difficult to crack as they'd like to think. Still, they're bound to notice eventually." He regards her form, vibrant blue tracing along the sturdy curves of her frame, trailing ever higher until she leans back in her seat and rolls that damned right shoulder.

He can't take it anymore.

He sets aside his datapad, "Shepard?"

"Yes, Garrus?" She tears her eyes away from the screen once more.

"Can I ask you something...potentially personal?"

He watches her brow arch, her features contorting into somewhat of a mix of curiosity and amusement before she offers a shrug. "I guess you've earned some prying rights," she stands, striding across the room, much to the Turian's surprise and takes a seat on the other side of the couch, "Shoot."

He uncrosses his legs, shifting to face her and he studies her features. She's completely relaxed, no trace of tension, no subtle flare of distrust, just...calm. It's not an expression he's used to from his Commander - from his friend - but it's a nice change of pace, especially after Alenko.

Garrus sits up a little straighter, clearing his throat as he searches for the most delicate way to address the question that's been plaguing his mind in the three years they've been friends - granted, two of those she'd spent in a coma in a Cerberus facility - but he's getting off-topic now.

"Garrus, I promise to give an honest answer provided you can spit the question out."

She's teasing of course, she'd give him an honest answer regardless - she's never lied to him. The thought draws a small smile from the Turian and he meets her gaze, "There is no delicate way to ask this."

"We haven't come this far with delicacy, now have we?" She props her elbow on the back of the couch, resting her cheek on her fist.

We.

His eyes flicker downwards as the smile broadens slightly. He can't quite put into words how much he likes the sound of that, but he's getting distracted again. Damn his - smitten, was it? Was that the word Joker had used? Yes. Damn his smitten mind. 

"Garrus?"

He looks up to see a shadow of concern creeping into the Commander's features. Brows drawn together. Lips parted. Her hand--

He looks down and her hand is on his, squeezing gently. There's a warmth that flourishes through his chest, chasing away the idle chill of the room as his eyes flicker back to hers and he offers an innocent: "Yes?"

"Are you okay? You seem a little out of it."

Out of it. Yes. That seems like the only logical explanation as to why his mind keeps getting side-tracked. Why he keeps getting lost in his thoughts and forgetting he wants to ask about her shoulder - oh. He's done it again, hasn't he?

He shakes his head to clear it, "I'm fine. Too many boring case files, I think." He's very aware of her touch, every fiber of his being vibrates beneath her warmth and he has to remind himself to breathe. "But back to the topic at hand--"

"Yes?" She quirks a delicate eyebrow and Garrus can almost see the amusement in her eyes as they study him.

"Your shoulder," he blurts out at last.

"What about it?"

"The right one. I've noticed you roll it a lot."

Her head tilts and there's almost a shadow over her features for a moment. She doesn't want to talk about it, it's written in bold text all over her face.

"I can see that that's a sensitive topic. Forget I asked, we should--"

"No." She interjects abruptly, holding up her hand to silence him.

He stares, "No?"

"No. It's a good question and it's damn near time someone knew."

"Shepard--"

"Garrus. You said it could be personal," there's a softness to her features and something inside the Turian aches in response, "It happened on Akuze."

He nods slowly, everything that's happened to the Commander seems to stem from Akuze, why would this one injury be any different? He almost feels stupid for not considering that the planet could be the source.

"What happened?" He leans forward, intrigued by the potential tale.

"When the Thresher Maw attacked, we were taken by surprise. The vehicle I was in was hit, one of their tails lashed out or something, sent the damn thing spiraling across the terrain. Dislocated my shoulder, tore a few ligaments but I made it out. I ended up killing the one who tried to splatter me and then fought my way to a transport. Couple of them got smart, I took another couple of hits. In the end, medics had a hell of a time trying to decipher what muscles attached to what tendons."

Garrus visibly flinches at the image, "But Cerberus rebuilt you? Wouldn't that--"

"You'd think," she chuckles softly, shaking her head, "The scar is gone, but the damned thing still gets stiff all the time."

Garrus regards her for a long moment, trying to decide if he'd be out of line to offer - oh, to hell with it. "I could try and help with that?"

"Chakwas--"

"I'm sure is very helpful, but perhaps a massage?"

It's her turn to regard him and Garrus tilts his head in mild amusement.

"Can't hurt, right?"

She sighs, the skepticism ebbing as she nods, "No, I guess not."

It's a small victory as the Turian adjusts his position on the couch before Shepard turns, unzipping her hoodie enough to allow the sleeves to sag off her shoulders. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth; he loves to admire the freckles that speckle her skin. They're like tiny stars with constellations all their own.

"You gonna stare all day? Or are you gonna help?" She laughs softly, stealing a glimpse over her shoulder at him.

"Right, sorry," he gently rests his hands on her shoulders.

"It's only the--"

"Relax, Shepard, I've got this." He scolds and the Commander holds up her hands in mock defeat. 

Her skin is so soft - for a soldier. His fingers ghost over the scars left behind by Cerberus'a reconstruction and he can swear he felt her flinch. He can't imagine the memories that are linked to them, even if she had been in an alleged coma. So as he gently, yet firmly massages the muscles along her neck and shoulders, he's conscious of the scars, careful not to touch them.

Her chin sags against her chest, eyes falling shut as he works and a small smile tugs are the corner of his mouth - until her comm buzzes.

She lifts her head with a sigh as Garrus pulls back, reaching over to press the answer button.

"Shepard, what the hell have you done now?"

Shepard and Garrus exchange an amused look. Lawson is furious.

"I'll be right there, Miranda." Shepard shuts off the comm with a sigh. "No rest for the weary."

"No, I suppose not," he watches her stand and adjust the hoodie before zipping it up.

"Thanks for the massage, Garrus, it did help a bit."

"Glad to be of service. Perhaps next time we won't get interrupted," he reclines against the back of the couch and she smiles. Spirits, that smile of hers. He doesn't get to see it often enough.

"Maybe." The smile fades just as quickly as it appears, "Well, time to go diffuse Lawson."

"Good luck. I'll finish up here."

"Oh no, if I'm getting both barrels for this, you're coming with."

The Turian snorts in amusement as he gets to his feet, "Yes, ma'am."

"Might need another massage later," she presses the call button for the elevator, stealing a glimpse towards him.

His heart skips.

"I look forward to it."

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

Taglists are open! Send an ask/leave a comment to be added!

@spoopyghostgirl @halo-2

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Congratulations on your milestone! Can I get #1 with Loki? Perhaps a bit of angst but leads to fluffy smut. Maybe the reader realizes her feelings after seeing him being flirty and affectionate with someone else and when he confronts her for acting differently, avoiding him and whatnot, she kind of loses it and just blurts it out and he responds with frustration as well. Sorry if that's too detailed but something along the lines of that is fine too.

Once again I have proven that I can’t write anything short. I think I managed to get everything you wanted in this, so I hope that you like it! Thank you so much for the congratulations and the request!

There is smut at the end of this, so y’all have been warned. Oh, yeah, there’s some language, too.

Brawn Over Brains

You would think that the most annoying sound in the world was something obvious, like nails on a chalkboard, someone chewing with their mouth open, or maybe the weird slightly out of tune humming that Sam does when you’re in a bad mood just to grind your gears.

But you were proven incorrect when the grating, too-loud cackle of the newest recruit to the Avengers assaulted your ears. You cut your eyes at her, feeling your blood absolutely boil in your veins at her fawning and throwing herself at Loki. He looked quite pleased with her attentions, all puffed out chest and handsome grins as they chatted in the corner.

You slammed your hand down a little too hard at the display they were putting on, accidentally forcing the knife through the onion you were cutting so hard that it split the wooden cutting board in two. Shit. 

“What’d that poor cutting board ever do to you?” Sam asked, coming up beside you and carefully taking the knife out of your white-knuckled grip.

You blamed the onion for the heat stinging at the corners of your eyes, gritting your teeth. “Just got distracted for a minute by Miss Thang over there, batting her eyelashes at Loki like he’s a piece of meat.”

“Oh, jealous, are we?“

You weren’t jealous, that was absurd. Sure, you had grown close to Loki ever since Stark had plucked you from a cell deep in an underground Hydra base. Your enhanced strength had proven you an effective member of the Avengers, and you had been drawn to the intimidating God of Mischief. Both mistrusted at first, but valuable for what you could do for others, paying for your position with a pound of flesh. 

He was attractive, yes, so much so that the very thought of his emerald eyes locking onto yours made your pulse thrum beneath your skin. But it was more than that. He had a sharp wit and a sharper tongue, keeping you on your toes. You both thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company, even if it was spent in silence while he read and you fiddled about on your phone. He was your best friend, at the very least, and lately you had hoped that that could grow into something more.

But Miss Perfect, with her hourglass figure, shiny hair, and big brown eyes, had swooped in and set her sights on him. She flirted with him with an ease that you could never match. Plus, she was several years your junior. You couldn’t compete with that. He certainly didn’t seem like he minded the attention. Who were you to get in the way of a budding romance?

You wiped your hands roughly on a dishtowel, shaking your head. “Hell no. He’s free to do whatever, and whomever, he wants.”

You could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on your back as you stormed out, but you couldn’t care less.

It was easy enough to navigate Stark Tower without running into either of them. You knew Loki’s schedule like the back of your hand, since you would normally go about your days together. Now that the new girl was trailing after him like a lost puppy, you just switched your routine around a bit. Trained a little later, ate a little earlier, and generally used the buddy system to ensure that he couldn’t catch you off guard.

But after missions, you always found it difficult to sleep. The adrenaline seemed to take ages to fully leave your system, even as lead weighed down your limbs and bruises pockmarked your skin. It wasn’t anything that a bit of a midnight snack couldn’t fix, though. And if it wouldn’t fix it, it wasn’t as if ice cream ever hurt anybody. Except your waistline, but you’d spent all day kicking ass. You’d earned it.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Loki’s low voice coming from the shadows of the living room made you shriek and jump in shock, dropping your spoon. You put a hand on your chest, as if it could calm your suddenly racing heartbeat.

“Fuck! I’m going to put a bell around your neck,” you hissed, dropping your head to your chest as you took in deep breaths.

“That is one of the more interesting Midgardian fashion suggestions you’ve given me.”

You dropped your now-dirty spoon into the sink, grabbing another from the drawer without answering him. All you needed was the ice cream…

Of course Loki had planted himself in front of the refrigerator, arms crossed over his chest and chin raised so he stared down the long slope of his nose at you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You slapped the back of the spoon repeatedly on your palm, letting your head tilt to the side. “Yup,” you replied, popping the last syllable.

“May I ask why?”

You pretended to think about that question for a moment, staring up at the ceiling and chewing on your bottom lip lightly before directing your level gaze back to him. “Um, let’s see… Nope.”

He ripped the spoon from your hand, sending it to the sink with a forceful throw that made it clang a little too loudly for the time of night. “Then I will demand it. Why are you avoiding me?”

He wasn’t going to let it go. That much was obvious. You wished he would, but he was a dog with a bone when he set his mind to something. Your stomach turned with nerves and anxiety, and you felt absolutely foolish facing him in your ratty mismatched pajamas. You backed up and leaned against the kitchen counter, bracing your hands on the smooth granite. Maybe you could play it cool? “I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Do not be childish,” he snapped. “It’s beneath you.”

“Well, that new recruit has been beneath you!”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth you wanted to take them back, grab them from the air and shove them down your throat before your filterless mouth got any more bright ideas. But it happened, so you set your jaw, glaring up at him.

The mixture of emotions warring across his face was difficult to decipher: rage, disbelief, shock, indignation. He closed the distance between you in two long strides, crowding you against the counter. “Is that what your immature behavior has been about? That simpering girl?”

You poked your finger into his chest as hard as you could, secretly pleased when it made him sway back on his heels a bit. “No, not ’that simpering girl’. You, asshole. You preening as she drapes herself over you, basically fucking you with her eyes. It’s disgusting!”

“Is it so damnable or distasteful that I would welcome the attentions of a beautiful woman?” He looked truly hurt at the question, the furrow of his brow contrasting the flare of his nostrils.

“No, but it shouldn’t be her!” you shouted, beyond caring if anyone heard you. You pushed at his chest with all of your strength, sending him back a step so that you could finally breathe. All of the hurt, the pain and anger you’d suppressed recently spilled out of you like a burst dam. “It should be me! You should be looking at me like that. I’m the one who has always been there for you, and she strolled in and just took you away from me before I even had a chance.”

“I am not yours,” he growled, fists flexing at his sides. “Why would you assume that claim over me?”

“Because I love you, you idiot,” you blurted out, much quieter than you had expected, but still loaded with frustration. Your eyes widened at the unplanned admission.

“That is quite foolish of you.”

You couldn’t read the emotion beneath his rich baritone, and he had managed to wipe his face of all expression. A humorless chuckle escaped you. “Yeah, well, I never said I was smart. Brawn over brains, and all that jazz.”

“Jealousy is appealing on you, little one,” he purred in that deep, velvet voice layered with sin that made heat pool between your thighs.

The shift in his tone was so shocking that it took a moment for you to get your bearings. When you’d recovered from the whiplash, you set your lips into a thin frown and huffed, “I’m not jealous.” You sounded like an indignant child again, but you couldn’t help it. He was mocking you.

His hands grasped your biceps, lifting you onto the counter in a smooth, controlled show of strength that made your breath catch in your throat. This new vantage point put your face on an even level with his as he stepped in between your spread knees.

You had never been more frustrated and grateful for ratty pajama bottoms and thin black sweatpants in all your days.

“You are.” He splayed one hand over your hip, pulling your bodies together so that you could feel the hardening length of his arousal pinned between your bodies.

Oh. You hooked your ankles behind his thighs, holding him against you. Your hands spread out over his chest, appreciating the flex of his lean muscles as you dragged them up to wrap around his neck. Might as well run with whatever was going on before he changed his mind. “Give me a reason not to be?”

You barely caught his wicked smile before he crashed his mouth into yours, the kiss rough and sloppy with clashing teeth and tangling tongues and nipped lips. His free hand cupped your breast through your top, tweaking the hardened peak of your nipple to send electric shocks to your throbbing core. You tugged on the ends of his hair to make him groan into your mouth and his hips buck into you, coaxing your excited gasp into his mouth.

In a flurry of grabbing hands and ripped fabric, you were both naked from the waist down. His hands held your thighs open as he slid the full length of his erection into you, stretching you and splitting you in two from the inside out.

“Norns, you’re exquisite,” he sighed reverently, resting his forehead against yours, just holding himself inside of your clenching heat.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, clinging on for dear life as you grew accustomed to him. You flushed with pleasure at his praise, leaning forward to leave a soft, gentle kiss on his lips.

“And you’re not moving,” you answered cheekily, squeezing around him in the same motion as your ankles pressing into his backside.

He dropped his forehead onto your shoulder, thrusting into you in a slow and sensual rhythm that allowed you to feel each and every ridge of his cock. His hand on your breast dropped to your lower belly so his thumb could just press into the pulsing pearl at the top of your sex.

You couldn’t remember how to breathe, couldn’t remember anything. He had burrowed inside of you and erased anything that wasn’t him, wasn’t the masculine scent of his cologne or the salt of his skin as you nibbled on his earlobe. You didn’t know any other sound but your name leaving his throat in a stuttered groan as his hips snapped against you at a punishing pace.

And when he finally surrendered to his orgasm with his mouth closed over your hammering pulse point on your neck, you followed immediately after at the insistent rub of the calloused pad of his thumb. You latched onto him like he was the only thing tethering you to this Earth, trusting him to hold you as you rode the waves of electric pleasure that spasmed in your tired muscles and flashed white behind your closed eyelids.

“C’mon guys, we have to eat in here!”

Loki’s arms wrapped around your back, and a blanket - presumably from his pocket dimension - was tucked around your shoulders to preserve your modesty and hide where you were still joined together. You nuzzled into his embrace, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. You were still basking in the pleasant afterglow, and you didn’t want to face the world - or Tony - yet.

“Walk away, Stark,” he growled, his dangerous voice vibrating through you where his cheek pressed against yours. “You too.”

At his address to a second person, you lifted your head, unable to stop the smug smile tugging on your bruised lips as you looked over your shoulder. That brazen idiot that had been throwing herself at Loki was staring at you both with her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, dumbfounded. You shouldn’t have taken as much pleasure in her shocked expression as you did, but you’d never claimed to be a saint.

“Yes, walk away,” you echoed haughtily. You very visibly drew your hand from around Loki’s back to disappear beneath the blanket, teasing at the cut muscle of his hip, staking your claim on the man still buried within you.

They both stormed off in different directions, allowing you to turn your attention back to Loki.

He beamed with pride down at you. “Minx.”

“But I’m your minx.”

He lifted you off of the counter, holding his hands beneath your backside as he carried you off in the direction of his rooms. “You are, and I must guarantee that the entire tower is made aware of that fact.”

Who were you to tell him otherwise?

***

Little Bit o’ Loki Taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity

Whole Shebang Taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @blah666 @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @claritastantrum

[greenishbucket]

aang/katara/zuko, 2.8k, smut!

for zutaraang week day 1: confession.

also on ao3

It can be difficult for three people to have sex. That’s just a fact, Katara is pretty sure, since it’s hard enough to keep elbows and knees and bed sizes and grazes and sore muscles and whatever else in mind when it’s just two people. Hard enough to sustain a certain position, to keep balance, even if one of the people involved is the Avatar.

So it’s almost inevitable when, just as they’re getting very caught up in everything and Zuko is making the kind of sounds he does when he’s right at the edge, Katara feels their careful co-ordination going out the window and her knee slipping off the bed. There are far too many silky throws on Zuko’s ridiculous bed to get any kind of hold, and it seems Aang is too busy telling Zuko how he’s doing so good for either of them to realise what’s going on until too late.

And then all of a sudden no one’s doing good anything because they’re not having sex anymore and Katara is half on the floor being smothered by all the throws she took down with her.

She thinks she maybe kicked-and-or-smacked both of the others in the scramble. There was definitely a sound, a strangled kind of yelp or gasp, but if someone had gotten hurt there would be laughing and instead there’s just an odd kind of silence as she sighs and stares up at the ceiling.

“All okay?” Katara asks, admitting defeat and swinging her one remaining leg off the bed so she can get back on.

Way too quickly, and way too squeakily, Zuko replies, “Yes. Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Now she’s sitting upright again, Katara can take stock of the situation properly. They’re still slightly entangled, so it takes a moment to decipher it’s Aang who’s still hard, torn between a startled kind of turned on and trying very hard not to laugh; Zuko, meanwhile, has a pinkish mark across his cheek as if he’s been slapped and has come all over himself.

“Oh,” Katara says, and she and Aang share a look that more or less contains the full range of potential reactions and questions a brain might be expected to fire off given the circumstances. “Um?”

Zuko is very carefully avoiding both of their gazes and going pinker still. He doesn’t make a move from where he’s half-under Aang to clean up and Katara doesn’t know what to say because if what she thinks happened just happened, it’s a little too much to process right then.

After a way, way too drawn out moment, Zuko, sounding sort of miserable, says “Uh, sorry.” He tries to pull back and move away, but Aang grabs him before he can.

Aang looks down at Zuko’s wrist still a little dazed, like he’s not quite sure what to do with it. He forces a laugh and says, “We’ve all been there, right? Don’t worry about it. C’mon, Katara, come back up here.”

-

They don’t mention it.

That is, they get back to business in that particular instance – and it’s fairly satisfactory all round even if Zuko doesn’t come again and seems more focused than usual on making sure Aang and Katara do – and then Aang and Katara discuss it some when Zuko isn’t around.

Maybe that’s like sneaking around behind his back. Aang in particular doesn’t seem content with the secrecy, but Katara thinks it’s important to take a united front on this.

It’s not as if they aren’t aware of the particular likes and dislikes Zuko has, the likes and dislikes they all have; expressing these things and discussing and negotiating them is an ongoing part of figuring out their relationship, as embarrassing and stilted as it can be sometimes, and as much as Aang and Katara have a head start with each other in that department. And as much as Zuko isn’t the best at doing it with actual words.

The point is that this isn’t like the specific shuddery thing Zuko does when they tell him he’s doing so well. That she and Aang picked up on pretty quickly and just adapted to include it without any of them having to have a discussion.

It's not even like when they figured out that that particular reaction could be provoked just by tell ing Zuko he did a great job in a meeting, or had some useful input on legislation, which is a slightly weirder thing to adapt to. But Aang at least has always had a thing for competence (Zuko’s or Katara’s) and Katara hardly resents all the semi-frantic, secreted away making out sessions they’ve squeezed into their schedules as a result, so it all works out.

If Zuko does like to get smacked, or whatever it was about whatever Katara did that did it for him – she really hopes she hit him with her hand or elbow rather than her feet, because she has her own lines – there’s the potential to really hurt, to do damage, if they don’t do it right.

So she and Aang start to try things out.

-

Katara presses Zuko’s wrists down hard, holding him there, putting her hand right on the bone and twisting his arm in a way she knows is uncomfortable if not quite painful. Zuko’s eyes go wide and questioning, looking between her and where Aang is otherwise occupied putting his own wrist to use on Zuko. 

He looks like he’s considering if they’re messing with him. Katara doesn’t know how to convince him they aren’t, other than by proving it with actions, so she nudges Aang to stop and takes her full weight off Zuko to ask, “Is this okay?”

Zuko considers the question, still looking unsure, then nods, and when Aang starts back up and Katara presses his arms down again fully he relaxes into it with a sigh.

-

The next time, it’s less thought out. Katara plays with Zuko’s hair all the time, mostly without thinking about it. In this particular instance, watching him take his time with his mouth on Aang, it’s deliberately keeping her hands busy, stopping her from feeling like she’s going to jitter out of her skin at the sight of them.

“Awesome, awesome, you’re so awesome,” Aang is saying, eyes shut and about to wriggle out of Zuko’s reach.

Half-teasing, Katara tells Zuko, “Do you hear that? You’re awesome.”

Zuko doesn’t say anything at all, obviously, but he doubles down on his efforts, his hair loosening from Katara’s grip to fall into his face. She gathers it back up and then, instead of stroking it like before, she yanks. Zuko’s head jerks back a little, and his whine is almost covered by the way the motion makes him splutter around Aang and pull off.

Katara lets go and Zuko wipes the spit from his mouth and chin with his hand, which is something that shouldn’t be attractive and almost isn’t. Aang stares at them both for a moment, glazed and sweaty, before taking the opportunity to roll onto his front, mash his face into the pillow and groan a whole lot of garbled feeling into it.

“Make sure Zuko can still finish you off,” Katara instructs, eyeing the way Aang is pressing his hips into the mattress. She knows exactly what that tone does for Aang. He shivers and eases up. Turning back to Zuko, she asks, “Was that okay?”

“Yes,” Zuko replies, so quick she hasn’t quite finished the question, and Katara feels the beginnings of a deep satisfaction, nothing to do with the arousal that’s fogging her whole brain. They’re doing this right . Slightly more measured, Zuko adds, “You could do that again, if you wanted.”

“Definitely,” Aang agrees into the pillow. And then, after some consideration, “But after you’re done with me maybe?”

Katara takes a handful of Zuko’s hair and tugs, much more gently than before. It can’t be enough to hurt even a little, but Zuko’s breath still catches. “You did great,” she says, and leans into a kiss but doesn’t let it go on too long, pulling back once Aang stops rubbing himself off on the bed like if he shifts in small enough movements she won’t notice.

She hands Zuko off to him and sits back, just watching for now, as Zuko pushes Aang back down onto the mattress.

-

The three of them get a whole two days free to just hang out together – other than the constant presence of tasks like researching and approving and corresponding – which is a circumstance pretty much unheard of; Aang takes the news with such fake surprise that Katara suspects strings being pulled.

They don’t have sex the entire time, and not just because they get a surprise visit from Toph who is far too omniscient for her interruption to not be on purpose, but they do have a fair bit of it, and a fair amount of that is spent indirectly assuring Zuko they’re good with his pain thing. 

More than good, really.

It starts slow, because if there’s something Katara likes almost more than being in charge it’s being able to take her time, and it’s a rare treat to not have something in the day’s schedule looming as a cutoff point. At first they’re lounging about, half-heartedly getting ahead on work, with the possibility of something happening just simmering, and then one not-at-all-smooth or subtle touch leads to another and Katara is gasping and pushing Aang and Zuko away as she comes down.

Sometime later, Zuko is sitting between Katara’s legs, resting his back against her torso, and Aang is kneeling in front of them, leaning in awkwardly to kiss along Zuko’s jaw and neck. They’re light kisses, enough that Zuko has already gotten ticklish and wriggled away a few times, until they’re not and Aang is focusing on one spot on Zuko’s neck and sucking.

“Oh,” says Zuko, and Katara is treated to a mouthful of hair as he tips his head back.

Until then, she’d had been considering offering that they reconfigure themselves to give Aang easier access, but the perfect view she has of Zuko’s shiver when Aang starts to bite a little gives her better ideas. 

When Aang finally pulls away, Zuko’s breathing is quick and unsteady and he’s so sweaty Katara would push him away and ask Aang to give them some fresh air if she wasn’t enjoying it so much. There’s no bruise formed yet, but the skin is an almost lurid red, slick and with slight indents from Aang’s teeth; Katara reaches out to press a finger to it and Zuko twitches into and away from the touch at once.

“Wow,” Aang says. He copies Katara, tracing the outline of the mark, and Zuko makes a choked sound. With Aang not pressed in as close, she can see in his posture just how turned on Zuko is. “Was that okay?” Aang asks, still touching Zuko’s skin.

Gently, Zuko moves Aang’s hand away. “Completely.”

“You should do that again,” Katara tells Aang. “Another one, somewhere else.”

“Now?” Aang asks, half to Katara and half to Zuko.

Katara waits, because although she might want it to be now, she wants to be entirely sure that Zuko does too, that the whole thing isn’t too much for him. And because she really wants him to be the one to say it.

It takes a moment or two but eventually, sounding almost embarrassed to let Aang and Katara to focus on him even a moment longer, Zuko says, “Yeah, now. Now works.”

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear,” Katara says. When she leans round to kiss his cheek, Zuko has the particular glow and smile she’s come to associate with being pleased he’s done well.

“Lower down this time, Your Fireiness?” Aang asks, “To make sure Lord Hotman can cover it with a high-collar robe in case some nobility faints at the sight?”

Zuko rolls his eyes, which would be more effective if he wasn’t flushed all over. “Sure.”

As Aang sets to work this time, more on Zuko’s collarbone than his neck, Katara lets her hands wander. Not with any particular intentions, just to get Zuko a little more riled up, touching here and there where she can reach, a pinch or occasional kiss to keep Zuko on his toes. Holding him back, just a little.

Aang makes this mark more of a performance, too, letting up on sucking after a bit to kiss the skin nearby, then starting up again, using the tiniest bite of his teeth before reverting back to sucking.

When he’s satisfied with that spot, he moves on to another and starts afresh, by which time Zuko is getting wriggly, his muscles twitching and his breathing catching to whines more often than not.

By the time they’re at mark number four, Katara spots Zuko reaching to give himself a little relief. She catches his arm and says, “Don’t.”

Aang chooses that moment to properly bite the current in-progress mark, harder than he had been before, judging by the way Zuko yelps and shudders. 

“Please?” he asks of Katara, voice almost small. 

Katara’s heart is racing. They’ve never taken this in that direction before, but if they are he knows he shouldn’t be asking at all.

“Not yet,” Katara allows. “Just relax. You can keep being good for me, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Zuko says, though he doesn’t sound sure.

“Of course you can.” Katara catches Aang’s eye and tries to silently communicate what she’s thinking. “You’re doing so well, you’re being perfect for us.”

It’s not strictly true, the way Zuko’s body is moving in the search for any kind of friction when she hasn’t said he’s allowed to, but Katara will give him a pass this time. She feels too light-headed for anything else.

Aang finishes up on the last mark, as lurid red as the first, checks in with Katara again, and then reaches down to take Zuko in his hand. Zuko gasps and almost breaks out of Katara’s grip.

She only gives him a few seconds to appreciate the sensations before she’s digging a fingernail into the first mark that Aang had made on Zuko’s neck. Katara presses hard into the deep purple bruise that’s formed, twists and presses her nail in enough for it to hurt .

Zuko’s whole body tenses up in a second that stretches and stretches and his groan comes out strangled the way it always does; he comes all over Aang’s hand a moment later.

-

Later still, they’re wrapped up in clean blankets on clean sheets and thoroughly worn out. Turns out sex can be really, really exhausting, especially if you have more than enough of it and it’s particularly strenuous. Especially if it’s three people.

Katara is half asleep, curled around Aang with a hand somewhere on Zuko on Aang’s other side. They’ve been quiet for a while, and it’s late, and they really do have to get back on a schedule of sorts tomorrow. Despite all of that, she asks into the dark, “Was that okay for you?”

“I thought it was pretty great!” Aang replies, sleepy and bright and purposefully dumb. Katara should have expected it. She feels warm with it, and it gets Zuko to laugh, too, breaking a weird sense of seriousness and earnestness and gravity which had laid over everything since Aang leaned in to make that second bruise.

“You know it was,” says Zuko eventually, sincere without the seriousness. Then, teasing, “Why? Are you fishing for compliments?”

“Well excuse me for checking in after all that,” Katara says, playing up the hurt. She’s mostly too blissed out to feel anything of the sort. “It got kind of intense.”

Aang gnashes his teeth together as if for emphasis. “Good, though.”

“It was nice,” Zuko says. “Really nice.” A pause. “Next time,” he continues, still into the dark, a faux casual confession, “you could, um- do something harder, if you want. It’s a pain thing, not just a drawing it out thing.”

Another pause. Katara is pretty sure neither she nor Aang expected Zuko to admit to that so readily, when they haven’t even directly addressed Zuko’s penchant for getting hard at the slightest praise. 

But still. It’s about expressing and discussing and negotiating and adapting, right? Katara figures it’s all a process that they’re only just in the beginnings of. They haven’t even started to unpack Aang’s thing for fire.

Aang himself breaks the following silence by laughing genuinely, and asking as sarcastically as he ever gets, “Oh, really? You think?”

“Thank you for making that clear,” Katara continues, putting aside her surprise and joining in. “I don’t think we could’ve got there otherwise. Definitely not what we were going for this whole time.”

Zuko shoves Aang, and by extension Katara, halfway across the mattress in response. “Okay, fine, I get it. Go to sleep, both of you.”

Katara lifts a leg over Aang to kick Zuko in the shin. Not too hard, though; she doesn’t want to awaken anything in him afresh, now they’ve just put down clean sheets.

[eltanin-malfoy]

Flunitrazepam (Kill Or Be Killed IV)

pairing : draco/fem-collegestudent!y/n 

word count : 2.7k

warnings : swearing, mentions of murder/poison/drugging, angst

Chapter 1 2 3

a/n : not betaed again! :3 the next part will (i think) be the final part of the story. i might write an epilogue afterwards at some point. requests are still open!!!!!!! also this isn’t as cliff-hanger-y as i would have liked :/

Chapter 4 : Flunitrazepam

Flu•ni•tra•ze•pam is a benzodiazepine with pharmacologic actions similar to those of diazepam that can cause anterograde amnesia.

Draco had read this one sentence over and over again on his phone after the doctor had informed him that she was in a Flunitrazepam-induced coma, but for some reason, he couldn’t grasp the words at all. He knew what they all meant by themselves.. but his brain was too muddled up to tell what it was supposed to mean. It was supposed to be a date-rape drug, apparently.. but.. who was upto things like that in a pub like that? One of the blokes who’d asked her to dance that she’d said no to, or the bartender. (but then, why would he want to ruin a perfectly normal glass of water when she’d been sipping on something alcoholic all night long? Easier to mask it then, no? Why had she had such an immediate reaction to it anyways?)

There’d been a big rush at the bar after Y/N had collapsed the way she did. Everyone got a little panicked and were about to start pointing fingers, but the bartenders distracted everyone by just calling an ambulance. Of course, Y/N had been there alone, and so everyone sort of anticipated Draco to go along with her. And, what kind of Malfoy would he be if he gave up so easily on his one huge conquest? And so, he went along, telling the paramedics and the doctors in A&E everything he knew so far. (“She had a sip of the water at the bar and just collapsed, I don’t really know…”) According to him, it was quite easy to decipher what had happened, but the culprit’s motivation wasn’t easy to comprehend in this case. She didn’t seem to be leading anyone on at all, and he didn’t expect the bartenders to have called for immediate care if they’d been the ones who’d drugged her.

He’d been sitting by Y/N’s bedside for a long time now. He’d even fallen asleep for a few hours, his black coat pulled over his knees as a makeshift blanket. He remembered when the nurse had shook him awake, asking him if he knew where the girl’s family was and what his own relationship was with her. Both of these questions were ones he didn’t have answers to, so he just shrugged his shoulders and said he was her friend. 

She surely wouldn’t like that. He’d thought to himself right after, almost smirking at the thought of her growing annoyed, but that only reminded him of his mission. He felt up the coat in his hand and felt the weight in his side pocket. The syringes were still right there and his target was right in front of him. All he had to do was draw the curtains round them after the others left them alone and give them to her. Although he realised that the nurses and doctors who’d tended to her would recognise him now, he could feign being alarmed and heartbroken. Right?

Whoever it was that had dosed her drink with Flunitrazepam had made his job quite a bit easier. After performing blood and urine tests within the hour they’d arrived, the doctor had said she’d be in a coma for the next seven hours or so, giving Draco ample time to make the moves he’d want to.

But something held him back. Something forced him to sit where he was, warily gripping the heavy pocket of his coat, almost trying to hide it. It was true, what he’d heard. Thinking about murder and committing it were two different things. The anxiety bubbling up in his stomach somehow calmed down long enough for him to nod off. 

He stared at the girl lying flat on her back on the bed, blanket pulled up all the way up to her chest as it rose up and down slowly. You could see the top of the blue scrubs a nurse had changed her into (after first asking Draco if it would be alright for him to step out, in response to which he’d turned a wonderful shade of pastel pink and nodded frantically, quickly stepping out of the area and drawing the curtain behind him) and how they stood out against her skin. Her red lips had parted slightly as she slept on, soft exhales exiting her mouth, her eyes shut tight. She was more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her like this, fast asleep with her nostrils flaring the slightest bit.

It was very, very easy to kill her in that moment, if he’d had the courage to. You’re just a coward, aren’t you? Some part of him was still trying to coax him into it, to grab the vecuronium bromide and just inject it into some part of her that the doctors wouldn’t see at first. Father was right all along. You do nothing but give up and disappoint everyone, like right now, you’re disappointing good old Hoyt. He huffed and clutched at his pocket again, gritting his teeth. If only he hadn’t died in prison all those years ago, he would have been glad to see someone was carrying on his legacy. 

He brought his jacket up slightly, adjusting it so that he could take a look inside the pocket. He reached inside and ran his hands over the hard plastic, keeping far from the sharp metal tips. Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching and laid his jacket over his thighs again, looking around. There wasn’t much time left until she was supposed to wake up, and so he knew he should try to get rid of whoever it was approaching them as quickly as possible.

The same aged woman who had earlier introduced herself as Dr. Pomfrey strolled past the curtains drawn around the bed and everything around it, carrying a clipboard in her hands. Her long, greyed locks were curled up into a bun at the back of her head, tied so tightly that her face always seemed to be paying attention. Her piercing blue eyes stood out, even through the spectacles that adorned her face. She glanced down at the board and then at Draco, looking at him in such a way that made him feel like she knew everything about him. He give her a slight smile and she returned it, albeit more warmly.

“Alright, so, seeing as you’re the only one here for Miss Y/L/N.. “ She cleared her throat and brought her hand to her mouth, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Her blood alcohol level has decreased greatly and she should be able to get herself discharged after she gets up. There doesn’t appear to be any.. permanent damage as a result of the Flunitrazepam, but we can only be sure of that once she wakes up. From what you said, she seemed to have received a very heavy dosage, all at once. She will likely wake up a bit agitated.” Not any different from normal. He sighed.

Draco opened his mouth to speak but paused, pursing his lips and glancing over at Y/N. Permanent damage? Really? He then looked back up at the doctor and nodded. “Alright, thank you, doctor.” He looked back over at the girl laying asleep (or would you say unconscious?) on the bed, bringing a hand up to set on his jaw, forcing some concerned expression on his face. But it wasn’t entirely insincere..

 So, someone could really have been looking to.. like, put her in a coma? He shuddered at the thought. Someone was really planning on hurting her like that? Jesus Christ. 

“Um.. uh.. Mister..?” The woman’s voice quirked up slightly and he looked back up at her, grey eyes wide as his eyebrows quirked up. “You have to make sure she doesn’t perform any strenuous activity for the next few days.” 

“Oh.. we aren’t very close.. I don’t..” He suddenly realised what she was suggesting and blushed, not even able to form thoughts. “Oh.. no.. it’s n-nothing like that. Really.”

“Sure, alright. Just keep an eye out, yeah?”

“Sure.” He looked down at his lap, trying to force a more neutral expression on his face.

She hates me, I’m trying to kill her and this old lady really thinks we’re fucking or something. The doctor stepped out, the curtain drawn open slightly. He looked outside and let out a deep sigh. He should probably get a breather. He certainly wasn’t going to be able to kill her now. He glanced at the Rolex on his wrist and rolled his eyes. It was almost four in the morning and he was now wide awake, but goddammit, he couldn’t really even blame the girl, could he? He could only see himself at fault by this point, he had had such a good chance in front of him. But.. why couldn’t he take it? 

He supposed he’d had enough of that internal dilemma and stood up, exhaling loudly. He set his jacket on the chair and walked out in search of the nearest restroom, suddenly realising how bad his breath was. 

***

He was away for nearly half an hour, having purchased a travel toothbrush and paste, brushed his pearly whites, washed his face, attempted to smooth out his ruffled hair and even ate breakfast. He took his time with everything, not exactly looking forward to his next brush with Y/N. 

He walked back to her bed slowly, trying his best to not act like his steps felt as heavy as they did. He half expected her to be chirping about, sucking up to the nurses and the doctors. They’d tell her about him being there for sure, and she’d react to all of it as if it was him who drugged her. She really is so difficult… I should just get out of here while I have the chance.

He walked in through the gap between the curtains, eyes fixed on the floor as he walked over to his chair, when suddenly, he bumped into a warm body in front of him. “Sorry.. I-” He froze as he realised who it was. The girl who’d been on the bed this far was standing in front of him, legs bare in those ridiculous scrubs and her hair messed up after lying on the bed for so long. Her face was slightly puffy and she was squinting up at him, hands on her hips. 

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was raspy and hoarse. She seemed to realise it herself and gulped, then coughed to clear her throat. “Are you seriously following me around?”

He rolled his eyes. “I brought you here, you know? Came in the ambulance and everything.”

“And why is that? 

“You collapsed out of nowhere in that pub. Drank a bit of water and got knackered immediately.”

“Oh.” She suddenly paused the way she was, smudged lips curled into an ‘O’.

“You must be one hell of a drunk. Just a sip of water was so out of place for you..” He smirked, unable to resist the temptation to tease her.

However, she didn’t even react and walked back over to the bed, slumping down on it. She sighed loudly and lay back down. Draco followed her movements with his eyes and then looked to the side, and at his coat. “I should call the doctor for you, I guess.” 

He took a deep breath and that same strong antiseptic scent ran through him. He picked up his coat and slipped it on, then stepped back out of the curtains in search of a nurse.

***

He decided to go straight home after informing a nurse of Y/N’s waking up, feeling like it really wouldn’t help to have him around. She already was a bit annoyed as is, and he would just add to that and increase her goddamn blood pressure. 

He truly couldn’t understand what was going on with him anymore. You should have taken that chance. She was lying there like that and you just sat there.. It was so fucking easy. He reached for a cigarette, his body begging for release at this point. He couldn’t understand why his nerves were on end, why he suddenly felt so afraid. It wasn’t like anyone had caught on. 

His way home from the hospital wasn’t much too easy either. The ambulance had driven them quite far off and when his only means of transport was his own feet, his trip back home certainly wasn’t fun. He’d finished half of the one pack he had by the time he got home, sure that anyone nearby could smell him moving around in his own apartment. 

He took a (cold) shower and forced himself to take a nap, the late shift he had to take again tonight seeming particularly daunting.

***

He was standing at the cashier again, Weasley by his side. It was kind of pathetic when he thought about it, being at work on a Saturday night. If he was to travel back in time to spring, he’d be the first to ridicule someone doing the same, but now.. everything really had changed. Thankfully, shopping at a Tesco on a Saturday night really wasn’t popular. It gave him ample time to just stare into space and gather his thoughts. Of course, it gave Weasley time to pester him, which was really quite awful, but he could bear with it, somewhat. 

The digital clock in the distance told him he had another twenty minutes to get through, which he supposed would just be idle anyways. The plot to kill Y/N came clear in his head again, her sleeping face flashing before his eyes. Can I even do it anymore? I’ve already seen her so vulnerable.. can I really do it? It’s just-

“Ahem.” He heard someone clear their throat in front of him and looked up at the new customer. Think of the fucking devil. Y/N looked up at him and, for some very weird reason, gave him a smile. She set her basket on the counter and he started taking the items out, running the bar codes against the scanner and passing them over to Ron. “Hi?” She said to him, leaning a bit closer to the counter.

He somehow worked up the courage to meet her gaze, looking into her curious, wandering eyes. “Good evening.” He responded, oh-so-courteously, trying to keep this interaction with her as short as possible. But, of course, the devil had other plans in store for him. “When do you get off your shift?” He scanned her last item (bread!) and looked up at her warily. Is she playing a practical joke on me? What is her deal? “What?” He said, looking her over quickly. She was wearing another dumb, colorful sweater which was tight around her in a way which made him want to stare. He looked away before his cheeks could flush. 

“It was quite nice of you, you know.” She started, keeping her eyes focused on him. “To come in the ambulance with me and everything. I kind of wanted to make it up to you. I haven’t exactly been very nice to you.. but you know why.” She shrugged and he could almost hear the smile on her face in her voice. He looked at her again, and sure enough, she was smiling shyly. Adorably. How can I say no to her?  

“Sure. I get off in.. fifteen.” He smiled back at her, then glanced over at Ron, who looked more confused than he ever had before. He bagged up her things as she handed Draco cash this time. Soon enough, everything was done and she walked over to the exit, waving back at Draco. 

“What the hell, mate? Last week you couldn’t tolerate her and now you’re all chummy?”

“I don’t know mate.. Got some charm, don’t I?” Draco smirked. 

But if he was to be truly honest, he wasn’t sure if he should have accepted her invitation. Personally getting to know her would just.. complicate things. And the way everything had been going already, it certainly wasn’t a great idea. Of course, he wasn’t going to let himself sleep with her, if that’s what she was planning in the first place. The doctor had asked for that not to happen specifically, anyways. He sighed, putting his hands back into his pockets.

I can get through this one night. At least. If she gives me any trouble there, I can still take care of her. 

No big deal.

Chapter 5

[peraltasames]

mountains and valleys (and all that will come in between) - chapter two

Jake, Amy, and four distinct yet painfully similar times the universe pulled them apart and pushed them back together.

read on ao3

part two: florida

Jake doesn’t speak until somewhere around the border of Virginia and North Carolina.

He listens to Marshal Haas, located in the passenger seat, as she briefs them on their new identities. He glances over at Captain Holt, who is listening much more intently than himself and twisting his wedding ring around his finger, likely trying to memorize how it feels before he’s forced to part with it. He looks out the window at the many streets, houses and towns that they pass, dimly lit by the moon and streetlights. He thinks about Amy.

It isn’t until Holt grabs his shoulder and informs him that the marshal just asked if he has any questions that he finally opens his mouth to talk, his voice coming out a little hoarse from lack of recent use.

“How long did you say it’s gonna take to catch Figgis?”

“It’s impossible to say, but we’re predicting somewhere between four months and a year,” Haas says with the same no-nonsense, clear tone that she’s been using since picking Holt and Jake up at the precinct hours ago after a much too short goodbye with the squad.

It seems so far away already. It feels like it’s been years, not hours, since he wrapped Amy in a hug in the corner of the briefing room - all the privacy that they were allotted - and kissed her hair repeatedly while she tried to stifle her panicked cries.

“It’s crucial that you follow every one of these rules exactly as I instruct you to,” the marshal continues, “or he’ll find you before we find him.”

“I know.”

She’s only stated this a hundred times since they left New York - follow the rules, follow the rules, follow the rules. He understands that she’s doing her job and trying to keep him alive and he should really be grateful, but he does not think that she understands the complete and utter torture of being apart from Amy Santiago.

He’s done it for the past three weeks, a much shorter length of time than the one they’re facing now and with frequent texts and phone calls and reassurance that she was okay. Still, they were by far the worst three weeks Jake experienced since they started dating last summer.

To make matters so much worse, they had just agreed to move in together. They were just about to take the next step in their relationship, a step that he hoped would be the first of several ensuing advancements towards a lifetime together - because, god, there is no way he’s ever going to find anything better than this. She is absolutely, undeniably, the best thing that has ever and will ever happened to him.

And now that’s on hold - maybe for four months, maybe for a year, any amount of time being too long for him.

Nobody else sees it, but as he turns his head to resume staring out the window, his tired eyes might just shed a tear or two.

-

The first few months, he doesn’t cope well.

The first month consists of cases of cheap beer from the K-Mart around the corner, watching movies he doesn’t like in front of a crappy TV with all the lights turned off and sleeping until two in the afternoon.

The second month is still getting used to calling Holt “Greg” (which feels wrong for a multitude of reasons), eating burritos in the hot tub and rejecting Greg’s pleas that Jake - Larry - take better care of himself.

The third month is his birthday passing and Holt giving him a small nod and smile when they walk outside to retrieve the papers in the morning, not being able to say anything aloud because Larry’s birthday is in October.

The third day of the fourth month, Holt comes over for dinner. He’ll tell the neighbourhood walking group the next day that Larry simply cooked too many burgers and invited his closest neighbour in proximity over for a casual meal to eliminate food waste.

They play loud music - Larry’s favourite band is Nickelback, to Jake’s horror - to allow them to talk somewhat more freely than they do outside while in the confines of the kitchen, though Holt still insists on using their fake personas to help them “stay in character.”

“How are you doing?” Holt asks, taking a sip of his soda. Greg drinks soda. Holt does not.

“I’m fine.”

“I can tell that something’s bothering you, Larry,” he insists, looking Jake in the eye. “Is it…girl trouble?”

Jake deciphers his code immediately, understanding what he’s really trying to ask is do you miss Amy?

He nods. “Yeah. Girl trouble.”

There’s a pause, and he can feel Holt’s eyes on him, analyzing his pained expression.

“Perhaps I can offer some advice,” Holt says with a casual wave of his hand. “One heterosexual man to another.”

Jake turns up the dial on the speaker to drown out his words and speaks softly, barely loud enough for Holt to hear him.

“I miss her so much,” he admits. “And I can’t stand not being able to talk to her or the Nine-Nine or my mom and not - not know if she’s okay-“

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Holt pulls him into a firm hug, steadying him, and his laboured breathing slows marginally.

“She’s okay,” Holt murmurs. “She’ll be okay as long as you stay alive long enough to come home to her.”

They stay like that for a few moments until Holt releases him, finishes his beverage and excuses himself for the night.

Before he retires to his own bungalow next door, Holt pats him on the shoulder in the doorway and offers his best attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Thank you for dinner, Larry,” he says. “And if it’s any consolation, I also miss my…wife.”

It does help, barely, to know that they’re in this horrible situation together. That every night Jake lies awake drinking and fiddling with the thermostat - the house is always way too hot - and thinking about his girlfriend, Captain Holt is a few dozen yards away thinking of his husband.

Mostly, this realization fuels his burning desire to get the two of them home - to Brooklyn, to the precinct, to the people waiting for them.

-

Halfway through month five, he decides to stop waiting for the FBI to figure it out.

He knows they’re professionals and everything, but he’s a damn good detective and he thinks that what he lacks in resources, he may be able to make up for in motivation.

(His motivation, to be precise, is a picture of Amy that he printed at Staples on the wall of a storage unit he rents.)

He doesn’t tell Holt about it - he knows he won’t approve and he’s learned by now that it’s easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. He’s pretty sure the captain will forgive him with ease once Figgis is behind bars.

The late nights and early mornings spent drinking diluted iced coffee from 7-Eleven and combing through files on the internet are difficult, yet so, so much better than doing nothing. He feels like a cop again, he feels like Jake again, and he’s getting a little bit closer to all of that legally being true every single day.

There’s one night, or maybe two, where he hits a dead end and wants to give up, but he doesn’t.

There’s too much at stake.

-

Jimmy Figgis finds them before they find him.

It’s a plan of their own invention, a plan that they only have hours to assemble, and a plan that there is no reason they shouldn’t be able to execute perfectly.

It’s also, unfortunately, a plan that doesn’t account for Coral Palms PD showing up and foiling their operation.

Jake doesn’t realize how royally screwed he is until he feels Figgis’ gun pressed to his head and - at the exact same time - sees Amy.

He sees her in the literal sense that she’s standing right in front of him, gun drawn, her composure steady despite the evident fear in her eyes. For the fourth or fifth time today (and therefore the fourth or fifth time in six months) she is in front of him, in the flesh, and he’s still trying to process that she’s really here in Florida and not just a hallucination.

But, he also sees her in a different way, a way that only a man with a gun pressed to his temple could.

He sees her kissing him victoriously, wrapping her arms around his neck for the first time in half a year; her dark hair hanging down and the silhouette of her body over his as they remember how to move as one; her head against his chest while she drifts off into a peaceful sleep.

He sees them walking up the stairs to her apartment and collapsing on the couch in front of the TV; waking up at eight o’clock in the evening and ordering so much Chinese food that he feels a little sick afterwards; staying up until the early hours of the morning talking and catching up on every little detail of their lives.

He sees her across the desk at work, eyes glued to the computer screen, perfectly unaware of the fact that he’s gazing at her like she’s the sun, the stars, the entire damn universe.

He sees her in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards him while their friends and family watch with wide smiles; her with a small bump under her shirt that isn’t part of an undercover disguise to infiltrate a prison; her with streaks of grey in her hair that match his.

He sees an entire future that could slip away if Figgis pulls the trigger.

So he nods at her, and hopes that she understands that it means he wants her to do whatever she has to do to ensure that they get that future.

The next few moments are a blur - the sound of a gunshot, unspeakable pain in his right leg, Amy running after Figgis, sirens in the distance. The minutes that follow are similarly hectic, between watching his worst enemy get cuffed and shoved into the back of a squad car and trying not to curse in pain as first responders treat his bullet wound.

Things don’t slow down at all, really, until Amy kisses him and says she loves him, effectively drowning out all of their surroundings.

-

Two hours, one brief surgery, dozens of stitches, a lot of drugs and too many cups of bad hospital coffee to count later, the Nine-Nine is once again reunited.

They’re all gathered around Jake’s hospital room, and his eyes scan the room like he’s doing a mental roll call:

Peralta, sitting up against the headboard, one hand holding a cup of blue Jell-O and the other on Amy’s back;

Santiago, curled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and pressing occasional kisses to his jaw and cheek;

Diaz, leaning up against the wall with a barely-restrained smile and crossed arms;

Boyle, hovering near Jake and searching for the best photos of his new son Nikolaj on his phone, shoving the screen in Jake’s face every time he finds a good one;

Jeffords, occupying one of the chairs next to his bed, eating a ham sandwich;

Holt, in the chair next to Terry with an ice pack on his injured limb and a new record for the biggest smile Jake’s ever seen on his face after a lengthy phone call with Kevin;

Hitchcock and Scully - well, they were there, but they left in search of the vending machines about fifteen minutes ago and have yet to return;

Finally, Gina, sitting at the foot of the bed and loudly catching him up on the details of her personal life, which Jake tries to follow.

“Wait, so Natasha said she would bring you to the Rihanna concert-”

“She promised.”

“But instead she took her new boyfriend Brad.”

“It’s Ben, Jake,” Gina sighs, shaking her head. “God, keep up, man.”

“Sorry,” Jake says with a small yawn, “it’s been a long day.”

It’s been a long six months, really, but the past few days on the run with Holt and the hours that followed of trying to catch Figgis once and for all haven’t been particularly restful. He’s also still a little lethargic from the anesthesia he was under while a surgeon quickly repaired his leg, and he’s only stayed awake this long because he missed this - all of them together, talking and bickering and laughing - so much.

“We should let Jake and Amy get some rest,” Terry suggests, getting to his feet and tossing the wrapper from his second sandwich of the hour (“post-adrenaline Terry is a hungry Terry!”) into the trash can.

Amy nods gratefully in Terry’s direction before returning her head to Jake’s shoulder. There are some whines of protest - they all come from Charles - but eventually all members of the squad bid the couple goodnight and filter out of the small room.

It’s finally just the two of them, in complete and total silence.

He puts down the Jell-O cup and shifts his body down on the bed to a much more reclined and comfortable position, pulling her along with him.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, rubbing his chest lightly with the palm of her hand.

“Uh, amazing,” he says with complete seriousness. “I’m in bed, on drugs, with the most beautiful girl in the world.”

He looks down just in time to see her cheeks begin to redden before she tucks her head into his neck to hide her face and reconnect her lips with his warm skin.

“I missed you so much,” she says, and her voice trembles, her composure wavering now that they’re alone.

“I know, babe,” he whispers, running a hand through her hair, “I missed you too.”

Jake tilts her chin up to kiss her - he hasn’t had a free moment to kiss her since the ambulance - and her lips respond impatiently. She deepens the kiss right away, and her hand swiftly moves from his chest to the back of his head, pulling him closer and stroking his hair simultaneously.

“Love you,” he mumbles against her lips. She only sighs - a high-pitched, dreamy sigh - in response before sliding her tongue back into his mouth and relaxing all of her weight onto his body.

“Can you believe not one vending machine in this entire hospital has Cheetos?”

Amy jerks away from him, her teeth catching on his lip and making him wince slightly, as Hitchcock and Scully come barging in with arms full of junk food.

“Where did everyone else go?” Scully asks cluelessly, munching on a bag of beef jerky.

Amy sighs with exasperation, and Jake would be a little more mad about the whole situation if she wasn’t so darn cute when she’s annoyed.

“They’re trying to boink, Scully,” Hitchcock chimes in with a smirk.

“I - we are not boinking in a hospital!” Amy exclaims. “I was just kissing my boyfriend who I haven’t seen in six freaking-“

“Oo-kay, Ames,” Jake says slowly in an attempt to calm her down, then turning his head to the two men in the doorway. “You two. Out. Now.”

They respond to Jake’s stern expression by hastily walking back out into the hallway and shutting the door behind them.

“Where were we?” Jake raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Jake,” she narrows her eyes. “You know we’re not boinking in the hospital, right?”

“I mean…one quick boink wouldn’t hurt-and it’s been six months, Ames, you know it’s gonna be quick-“

“As two adults who have had sex with each other many times, we should really stop using the word ‘boink’.”

“Fair point,” Jake concedes, patting her arm. “So should we…um, make love-“

“Oh my god, Jake, no.”

He frowns and settles back into the soft pillows, huffing dramatically.

“Your doctor said in a few days we’ll be able to engage in ‘light to moderate sexual activity’,” she states, sliding her arm around his torso. “But for now, you need to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Burying his face in her hair and hugging her closer to himself with both arms, he finds it remarkably easy to fall into a deep, serene sleep.

-

Jake is discharged from the hospital at eight the next morning, and by nine-thirty they’re boarding the first plane back to New York. He doesn’t bother to get any of Larry’s belongings from the house - he really never wants to go back there again, nor does he want to return to Coral Palms or Florida in general. He’s much more concerned with getting back to Jake’s stuff - leather jackets and hoodies and his DVD collection and mixtapes full of Taylor Swift songs.

He sleeps through the flight, because seven hours really wasn’t enough to make up for all the sleep he lost, and wakes up to Amy kissing his forehead and a view of the Manhattan skyline. It’s perfect.

He figured they would go to her apartment - he hasn’t asked, but he assumes his is no longer his after six months away - but, once she hauls their bags into a taxi, helps him into the car with his crutches and slides in beside him, she gives the driver his address.

“Your mom paid your rent while you were gone,” Amy explains, reaching for his hand. She’s kept some form of physical contact with him since he woke up this morning. “I know we said we would move in together, but I thought you should adjust to being back before we worry about that.”

“Thanks, babe.” He squeezes her fingers and thinks about how incredibly lucky he is. “Is my mom-“

“She’s already there, and no, your dad isn’t coming. Karen and I agreed you wouldn’t want to see him quite yet.”

Jake nods and squeezes her hand twice more, interlocking their fingers.

When they pull up outside his apartment building, he takes a moment to breathe in the somewhat gross (Florida stunk too, but way worse) but gloriously familiar smell of his neighbourhood. It’s a hot day, but still cool enough for the airport sweatpants and t-shirt (they both read I Love Florida, which he absolutely does not) that he’s wearing. He’s had enough of shorts and tank tops for a long, long time.

His mom pulls him into a bone-crushing hug the moment they open the front door, making him drop his crutches, which Amy retrieves as she drags the bags past the threshold and begins organizing his stuff.

“Oh, it is so good to have you home, honey,” Karen says loudly, affectionately, as she continues to squeeze her son.

Jake looks over her shoulder at Amy as she moves through his studio apartment, which is decidedly much cleaner than he left it. It’s completely spotless, actually, except for a couple of stray hoodies of his - one on the couch, one on a chair in the kitchen. He wonders how much time she spent here - honestly, if he had the option to wallow in an entire room full of Amy’s belongings and clothes and things that smelled and felt and reminded him of her, he would’ve taken it every chance he got.

“Good to be home, Mom.”

As soon as his mother releases him and helps him hobble to the couch, Amy strides over to give Karen a quick hug and Jake a quick kiss before heading to the pharmacy to pick up his pain meds and the pizza place around the corner to pick up an extra-large meat supreme and a salad, because he “really needs to start thinking about his health.”

Man, it is so good to be home.

-

In bed that night, after Karen is gone and Charles comes over to check on Jake again and they eat a lot of pizza, they finally catch up.

Jake tells her about everything - the WITSEC process, the hot tub burritos, his job at the ATV dealership - and, in turn, Amy fills him on everything he missed.

She talks about work, sparing no details from some of her juicier cases, and he listens with eager anticipation and tries to guess how she solved them before she finishes the story.

She tells him about how she got a lot closer with his mom and went over there for dinner a few times to check in on her, which Jake appreciates immensely.

While he holds her and strokes her hair gently, she talks about the nights she spent at Rosa’s watching Nancy Meyers films, eating ice cream and crying because she missed him so much. His heart breaks a little, but he makes a mental note to thank Rosa for taking care of her despite her policy regarding the discussion of feelings.

“Never again,” Jake mumbles against her hair sometime after midnight. “I’m never gonna leave you again.”

In the moment, he really believes it’s true.

[slow-smiles]

Canon-compliant post 6x07 smut (at least I’m pretty sure it’s canon compliant? I never watched s6.) Later that night, Emma’s hand won’t stop shaking. A bit of praise kink. My second entry for @cscocktoberfest​ (Only a little bit late this time! Yay!) ~4.7k words. No major trigger warnings apply.

Read on AO3.

give and take.

When they leave the Charming’s apartment that night, it’s not without copious complaining beforehand. Emma hadn’t wanted to leave the apartment where her father lay comatose in bed as Snow cuddled and tried to soothe a baby Neal whose crying had picked up when he realized his father wouldn’t respond to the pokes to the chest.

(Killian realized with a pang that it was a game Dave played with his son. Neal poking him would provoke a reaction, dramatic and giggle-inducing, that could entertain Neal for hours on end.)

(Now he just slept on, dead to the world.)

(All around, not a particularly banner day in Storybrooke.)

Regina and Emma had been trying to help, suggesting possible solutions or attempting to take Neal from Snow’s very resolute grasp, and Henry was buzzing about the kitchen trying to do something, but Killian could see Snow starting to fray at the edges. 

Their night had ended when Snow had finally set Neal down in his bassinet, and all but shouted, “None of you are doing anything useful!” The commotion in the apartment immediately ceased, save Neal’s heart-rending whimpers. “It is almost midnight, and I am exhausted. My son is not going to stop crying because you all are being too loud, and I am not going to get to sleep tonight knowing that my husband is under a sleeping curse. So please, all of you, just leave and come back tomorrow.”

Killian quietly suspected that she’d very much like to break down but was unwilling to do so in front of company, even if the company was family. He can certainly relate to that.

Emma murmured to Snow, “I can stay upstairs, in case...” but Snow was already shaking her head.

She took her daughter’s shoulders in hand and inhaled shakily before saying, “Go home with Killian. We will be all right.” Her eyes were watering, so it didn’t lend much credence to her words. She’d sniffled then before putting on a smile. “We’ll figure this out tomorrow, and at least some of us need to be well-rested for it.”

Killian looks down and notices that Emma’s hand is shaking, and she clearly wants to hide it from her mother as she quickly moves to hug Snow and keeps her shaking hand far away from her.

Soon, Henry and Regina are off to their home, and Emma and Killian are off to theirs.

He stops her before she gets into the bug, taking her shaking hand in his and bringing it up to his chest. He runs his thumb along hers, but it doesn’t stop the quaking.

She looks lost and broken and it hurts his heart to see her like this. His story time had apparently not been as effective as he’d hoped.

“I’m sorry, love, I thought today helped,” he offers.

She softens at that, but her hand is still shaking. “It did,” she says, “It really did, but that was...” She swallows. “That was before we failed and forced my parents to hand their hearts over to the Evil Queen.”

He sighs, “Emma, no one’s failed yet. They’re still alive, and that means they can be saved. I told you that you can overcome anything and I meant that.”

“I want to believe that too,” she says.

She leans into him, tucking her head beneath his chin and keeping her hands curled against his chest. He can still feel the one shaking, and he closes his eyes against his disappointment in himself. He should be able to help her.

“Let’s get you home, love.” He leans back enough to catch her eyes, “Do you think you can drive? We can walk if you can’t.”

She nods. “Yeah, I can drive.”

He holds her hand all the way home.

When they arrive home, she’s still shaking. “God, this is pretty freaking annoying when it doesn’t stop,” she says, trying to make a joke but her heart is clearly not in it.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” he suggests, only letting go of her hand as long as it takes him to get out of the car and back to her side.

They get inside and trudge straight up the stairs, not bothering to remove their shoes by the door.

Inside the room, Emma’s hand is still shaking. She pulls away from him and sits at the foot of the bed, her hands curled loosely in her lap. “I don’t know how to stop this.” She looks up at him, desperation and sadness in her eyes. “I don’t know how to stop anything.”

He kneels in front of her, not taking his eyes from hers. “I know you’re scared. I know we might not know how to save your parents right now, but we can figure it out. We always do.”

“But if I can’t stop the Evil Queen, then how am I supposed to stop the hooded figure in my visions? If I can’t save my parents, how am I going to save myself?”

He leans up to kiss her and disrupt her speech, and Emma leans into him, a move that makes his chest hurt in the best of ways.

He pulls away, but only just. His forehead still rests against hers, their noses brushing with every other breath. “This moment, Emma,” he says. “We don’t know what will happen tomorrow or the next day, so I want you to focus on right here, right now.” He stands fully, gently guiding her to lay back on the bed. “There’s nothing outside of this bedroom,” he continues as she settles back into the sheets. “Just us,” he finishes as he settles beside her, propping himself up on his left elbow so he can look down at her.

Her attention is rapt, but he wants to make the worry disappear from her eyes, wants to smooth the creases between them with kisses until the dimples from her smile light up her face.

“You deserve a moment of peace, yeah? Just a moment where you don’t have to worry about anything. Let this be that moment, love.”

His right hand plucks at the hem of her shirt, just barely grazing the smooth skin of her lower abdomen with the backs of his fingers.

“Will you let me help you?” he asks, aware of the grittiness in his voice. He knows she likes it, so he doesn’t hesitate to play it up for her, let the rasp of his voice wash across the skin of her neck just below her ear.

The breath she lets out is soft, a caress, a gentle statement of pleasure and desire, but he wants to hear her say it. Her hips cant upwards, pressing towards his gently questing fingers, but he refuses to press harder or push deeper beneath her shirt. A sharp breath now, one of frustration and wanting.

“Say it,” he prods, breaking eye contact to lay his lips against her pulse point. He care barely feel it beat against his lips and gives a teasing lick up her jaw before pulling back.

She’s staring up at the ceiling, her expression hard to decipher. She closes her eyes and nearly whispers, “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

That pulls a little laugh from her, prompting his own smile in turn.

He knows he’s being a little difficult, but he has a feeling being a little difficult is going to be the only way he can get through to her. Her hand is still shaking, and he needs to make it stop. This is the only way he knows how.

“Helping with the... the moment of peace,” she says, and finally tilts her head to look at him. “The here and now.”

“Anything for you, darling,” he says, and rewards her with a heavy stroke upwards with his palm, not bothering to tease before he takes one of her breasts in hand. They’re both still fully clothed, so the soft fabric denies him the skin to skin contact, but he presses the flesh up, cups her in his hand, draws his thumb across her hardening nipple.

Emma reaches for the back of his neck, and to his consternation he can still feel it shaking as she pulls him down to her lips. As their lips part and their tongues move in a wet slide, Emma shifts, pulling him fully on top of her and tangling their legs in such a way that puts one of his thighs between hers.

The way she starts to gently grind her hips into him sends a shot of such unfettered arousal through him he can’t help but moan into the kiss and then break away. His hand is still at her breast, plucking her nipple as he tells her, “That’s a good girl. Take what you need. I’m yours.”

Another sharp pant from Emma as she pulls back abruptly, flinging her shirt and bra off at a record-breaking pace. She disentangles their legs, depriving him of her delightful thrusts and reaches for the zippers for her boots. “You better be getting naked too, buddy.”

He chuckles, sneaking a quick look at her hand. No tremors. If his arousal was intoxicating, the sight of her still hand was impossibly immense relief. “Aye aye, Captain,” he answers.

He shucks his jacket, vest, and shirt in quick succession, ignoring the small voice of protest when he simply flings them to the floor, going to remove the brace that holds his hook in place, the contraption pulling away from the well-worn callouses across his shoulders and down his arm.

They hit the floor with a muted thud against the carpet, but they don’t drown out Emma’s quiet, “Damn it,” that he hears from behind him.

He quickly turns towards her. She’s laid back on the bed, boots now gone along with her shirt and bra. Shirtless Emma is a sight to behold, for certain, but his eyes are drawn away from her pale skin, coral-pink nipples, and down to where her hand rests over the button of her jeans.

It’s shaking again.

His heart falls.

“Oh, Emma.”

His heart falls even further when he sees her frustration pooling in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she croaks, her opposite hand coming up to cover her eyes.

He sighs. He lays back down and rolls across the bed. He nuzzles against the fingers across her face. “Let’s see that beautiful face, love. Come on.”

It takes a few moments for her to drag her hand from her face, revealing red-rimmed eyes but no tears have fallen.

“There she is,” he says softly.

That pulls a smile from her, watery, but brilliant. She gives him a short, choked laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he assures her, brushing her hair away from her face with gentle motions.

“Can we just--” She rolls onto her side to face him again. “Can we just do this?”

He strokes a hand through her hair. “We can do whatever you’d like--”

Emma surprises him with a kiss, aggressive, wet and fast and intense. She pushes him onto his back with ease, and he moans into her mouth. He quite likes it when she seizes control. She moves on from his lips, sloppily moving across his cheek and down his neck. “Gods, love,” he manages, “Love you. So much.”

She starts grinding down on him in earnest, seemingly trying to fuck him through the layers between them. His hand and wrist fall to her hips, encouraging and eager.

His cock is straining against the fabric, and he wants nothing between them--wants to tear their clothing off, throw her down on the bed and show her just how much she loves her. Truly fuck it into her, make her understand with each forceful thrust of his hips that he cherishes every piece of her, will cherish every piece of her as long as he can.

“Emma,” he says, “Emma, love, just let me--” He reaches down to where her hips still rock roughly against his, going for the button on his jeans.

She catches his hand in hers. “No, let me.” Her hand is completely steady. 

Killian grins. “By all means,” he replies, going so far as to tuck his hands behind his head to show her that she’s in control.

Emma gives him a small smile, rolling off him, but only just so that she can shuck her remaining clothing. Before Killian can make a move to remove the last of his garments, Emma is doing it for him, wordlessly encouraging his hips up and dragging his pants down in one motion. He’s already half hard, and Emma crawling back astride him means that it won’t take him long to get all the way there.

His hand and wrist find their way to her thighs, and he lets out a strangled sigh when she lowers her wet core against him. “Gods,” he gasps. “You’re so wet. So beautiful and wet for me.”

She begins to grind herself down on him, and Killian gasps, tilting his head back against the pillow at the feel of her against him.

“Gods, I wish you could see yourself,” he murmurs, running his hand up to a breast. He draws his finger along the underside, just barely brushing her nipple.

Despite her soft moans and the flood of arousal coating his length, Killian still notices something is not quite right. Her hand is still trembling (less now, at least) and her eyes are closed tightly, and her brow is furrowed, like she’s retreating into herself.

That just won’t do, because as strong as Emma is, he knows that she has a deep need that she rarely voices, or even acknowledges, that craves affection, craves adoration and love. And as rarely as she admits it to herself, she admits it even less often to others.

Killian sits up, startling her from her spiral into herself, and wraps his arms around her waist. “Don’t do that,” he says, kissing her softly once.

“Do what?”

“Hide yourself away like that.”

She pauses, confusion clouding her face a moment before it clears in understanding. When it does, her entire body relaxes into him, her chest pressing into his, allowing his arms to pull her closer. She leans her head down to her shoulder.

“It’s okay to want to let go for a little while,” he says.

She doesn’t answer for a moment, but her fingers tickling along the skin of his back and shoulders tells him she’s listening.

He turns his head so that his lips are in her hair, and he presses a small kiss to her scalp. “I’ll take care of you. You deserve it, love.” He pulls away from her a little, prompting her to lift her head away from his shoulder and meet his gaze. “Can I, Emma?”

Her cheeks go bright red as she nods, revealing one of her deepest, most intimate desires leaving her feeling exposed. raw.

Well that simply won’t do, and Killian leans in to kiss her, trying to pour every ounce of emotion he has into the kiss. It’s reminiscent of their second kiss outside Granny’s, years ago now, hundreds of kisses ago, but he remembers it like yesterday.

He urges her to the side and onto her back. She goes easily, opening her legs to let him settle between.

He’s completely hard for her, can feel the heat of her sex against his cock, but he holds himself back. There will be plenty of time for that in a moment. His lips venture away from her mouth, trailing across her jawline and down her neck. He devotes himself to reddening her collarbones, with lips and tongue and teeth, and she is positively writhing beneath him now, making small, impatient noises as her hips press up towards his.

“That’s it, love,” he says, “I love how much your body craves mine. It’s bloody incredible, that you want me as much as I want you.”

He travels down to her nipples, pinked up and stiffened in the cool air of their bedroom. He laves a tongue across one and lets his breath stiffen it further under his mouth. “Love your breasts,” he murmurs as he drags his lips sloppily in the valley between them. “The way you flush red all the way down,” he continues before covering the other nipple with his lips, sucking it firmly.

“Please,” Emma gasps, her hips moving a little more insistently.

His only response to her plea is to release her nipple and continue his lips’ path down her stomach.

When he reaches the place she’s wet and wanting, he looks up at her; her gaze is wild with lust, but under that there’s something else. There’s love and trust and no longer that guarded edge he’d seen earlier.

Her hands are both still. One moves to cover her own breast, kneading and tweaking slowly, and the other goes to Killian’s head, smoothing through his hair and scraping lightly along his scalp.

“What do you want, darling?” he asks, already knowing he answer and easing a thigh over his shoulder in preparation.

“I want your mouth on me,” she says, a bit breathless, and Killian is struck with a swell of pride in his chest because he remembers the early days in their relationship when it was so difficult for her to reveal her physical desires to him, let alone her emotional secrets that she’d barely begun to share.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and lowers his lips to her cunt.

He barely hears Emma’s moan over the sound of his own. Her salty slickness on his tongue is addictive, the sounds she makes as he begins to eat her out even more so.

Her thigh on his shoulder helps open her up, so he has free access to her clit to swipe across with his tongue a few teasing times as he makes a show of fully exploring her. He dips into her opening a few times before venturing back up to her clit.

He pushes her harder now, focusing his efforts on her clit and begins to suck and lick with more vigor. Her hand tightens in his hair, and he grins. “Love the way you hold tight when I taste you,” he murmurs. “I love the way your hips start to move against me when you’re getting close.”

“Killian,” she whines as he draws her clit into his mouth again. Her hips press up in time with the pulsating sucks, and he has to grind his hips down into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure building in his groin.

Her hand trails from his hair to his cheek, urging him to look up at her. He does so with a parting, firm suck to her clit that has Emma gasping.

“I want you inside me when I come,” she pants.

He grins. “Oh, gladly.”

He rises quicker than a blink and his mouth hovers over hers. “Do you want to know how you taste, Emma?” Her mouth chases his, but he backs off, keeping his lips just out of reach. “Imagine,” he rasps, “how I feel when I look at that pretty cunt of yours and I can see it’s positively dripping with how much you want me. Imagine it. Can you feel it love?” He dips his mouth closer to hers, teasing her before pulling away once more. “Can you feel how much I want you? How I ache to taste the heaven in your skin, how I yearn for the warmth of your body and your heart?”

Emma nods frantically. “I can feel it. God, I feel it.”

He dips down and kisses her then, sloppy and messy and soft, letting her steal the vestiges of her arousal from his lips. It’s a fair trade for the sensation of her moaning against him, for the feeling of her wrapping her legs around his waist and pushing her hips into his, grinding her core against his cock.

“Gods,” Killian gasps. “I love you so much. I want you to feel it when I fuck you into this bloody mattress.” He reaches for the head of the bed, grabbing one of their plumper pillows for the task he has in mind.

He taps on her hip, silently signaling her to lift up, and he positions the pillow under her hips.

“I want you to feel how much I love you,” he says again, “I want you to listen to every word I say when I’m inside you.” He gives her a last, parting kiss before he pushes back onto his knees. He takes one of her ankles in his hand and pushes it outward, using his wrist to do the same with the other, leaving her completely spread and vulnerable to him.

When he presses inside, he nearly comes when he feels how tight she is, her wet heat squeezing delightfully at this angle. He doesn’t move yet; he knows that once he does, much of his coherence will fly out the window, and he wants her to understand him.

“You’re not just the Savior, not just the product of True Love,” he tells her, leaning down to press a kiss to her sternum. “You’re Emma Swan. You’ve the most resilient heart I’ve ever known. You forgive, you see the best in those around you, no matter what they’ve done to wrong you.” He steals a glance up at her to find her watching him intently, her gaze following his every move. He trails his lips to the left and tenderly licks over her nipple. “You managed to bring a man who was a hundred shades of terrible back from the brink of self destruction just by virtue of being you.” He smooths his hand up and down her leg, relishing the trembling he feels there, and ventures over to her other breast, giving it the same treatment as the last before he looks up. “I didn’t fall in love with an infallible Savior, I fell in love with an amazing woman who keeps getting back up when she’s knocked down. She inspires greatness in others because she herself is great.”

He presses up to brush a kiss over her lips. He lets go of her ankle for a moment to brush an escaped tear off her cheek.

“You give so much of yourself to others,” he continues, and begins to move his hips. Small movements, but they make the suffused pleasure begin to spark. “I can at least try to give you back even a fraction of the love you give me.”

Emma looks shocked in the best of ways, her mouth slightly slack and tenderness in her eyes. No more tears fall, but it’s a near thing.

He leans back once more, gaining a firmer hold of her ankle with his hand, and balancing the other with his wrist. His pace increases, the next step in a steady build. Emma’s eyes fall closed, her mouth gaping wider in a silent gasp of pleasure. Her fingers grasp feebly against the sheets. Her chest rises and falls in rapid pants.

Gods, he feels like he has so much else to say to her, so many more words he could use to attempt to make her understand the depth of his feeling for her. It goes so much deeper than romantic love. Before he loved her, he respected her as an adversary. Then, he respected her as an ally. He admired her as a leader. Everything about her seemed worthy of note, worthy of attention and care and praise, and yet somehow she always seemed to be starved for those very things.

Killian was only too happy to fill that void.

He picks up his pace again incrementally, pulling out further and pushing in harder with each stroke. With this angle, he hits that place inside her that has her moaning for him in no time.

“Fuck, Killian,” Emma gasps when his strokes pass from steady into hard.

With her legs spread as they are, she cannot fuck her hips back into his. She has no choice but to lay back and take him. Despite her usual preference to be an active participant in their lovemaking, she’s certainly not complaining now.

Her moans are deeper now. He knows that she was close when he was eating her out before, so she’s only been climbing higher since then. She usually needs some stimulation on her clit before she can fall over that edge. One of her hands tweaks and massages a breast. The other begins its descent downwards.

Much as he likes to watch her touch herself, he lets go of her ankle to catch her hand before it reaches its destination.

“Let me,” he says. He quickly hooks his arm around her knee, drawing her leg in towards his chest so that he can maintain the deep penetration and still reach her clit.

He runs his fingers along her swollen labia before running down to feel where his cock pushes into her. It’s a self-indulgent moment, but it allows him to gather some wetness before he trails back up to her clit and starts rubbing over it in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck,” Emma says, high-pitched and breathy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“That’s it, beautiful,” he encourages. “Come for me. Let me take care of you.”

“I’m--” Emma cuts herself off, breath catching in her throat and hips twitching. He can feel her starting to clench within. Not long now, he knows.

He’s been staving off his own orgasm, wanting to watch her fall first, too focused on her pleasure to worry too much about his own. But with her little, high-pitched gasps and bitten off sentences signaling her impending orgasm, he can feel his own building.

“Come on, love,” he encourages, swiping against her clit harder with each pass.

She’s a treasure to behold in the throes of ecstasy. Her golden hair spread on a pillow and mussed from their motion. Her hands molding her breasts, pink nipples peeking out from between her fingers. A slight glimmer of sweat across her belly. The quivering thighs, protesting being held open for so long when he knows she wants to clamp down and ride out her orgasm with him held tight against her.

And he desperately wants to feel her skin against his. As much as this position allows him to go deep inside her, he misses her chest against his. Misses feeling connected at every point.

When she finally comes, she does so with a sharp wail, her eyes wide open and affixed to his face.

It’s her watching him that finally breaks his resolve. He drops her legs and collapses his torso against hers. He kisses her because he can’t help himself. She kisses him back fervently, and he does his best to maintain a steady enough rhythm to help her ride out her orgasm. His steady pace falters when she ruthlessly squeezes her internal muscles, and breaths in his ear, “Come for me, Killian,” in a voice that’s husky with sex. It finally does him in, and he comes, pressing as deeply into her as he can get.

He manages to thrust a handful more times as he rides out the last sparks of pleasure. They fall still. Emma wiggles and extracts the pillow from where it lay beneath her and wraps her arms around him, encouraging him to put his full weight on her. He obliges gratefully and relaxes into the cradle of her hips, resting his head against her collarbone.

There are a few seconds of quiet before Emma says, “I love you so much.” She twists so that she can kiss his forehead. “Thank you.”

He feels the pull of sleep starting to nibble at the edge of his awareness, so he pulls out of her. He rolls onto his back, but doesn’t look away from her.

“I love you, too,” he replies. “And we should rest while we can.”

Her answering smile is soft. “I think I’ll be able to now.”

Killian smiles back in kind. “Good.”

[fidgemimic]

Anyway Beau fucking hates the new wizards for like the first month or two. Also this gets rambly and fic-layout-y as hell. i am very tired and have a headache so bls forgive me

Beau hates both of these new Zemnian assholes to be entirely honest, but she’s willing to give them an iota of a chance after everything finally goes down and the immediate ramifications of turning the Empire’s greatest war mages/archmages into traitors are done with.

She’s absolutely not the only one that doesn’t trust them - fuck not even Caleb trusts them completely and he’s the reason they even bothered to defect in the first place. But the gang at this point is willing to put enough trust into them that they won’t just straight up slaughter them all in a heartbeat.

It doesn’t help that they’re both disgustingly proper.

Backs still ramrod straight, hands folded neatly in their lap or attentively behind their backs. They make eye contact with anyone who dares to speak no matter who it’s too. They’re attentive and quiet - and the nein can see them calculating scenarios and escape routes and weaknesses in their heads any time someone dares to move.

Eodwulf, to everyone’s benefit, seems to easily swap between the cold persona into one that’s a little too competent socially to not be forced and practiced to perfection over the years. He can easily hold a conversation with Fjord and Clay, even drawing laughter from Jester at his quips and playing along with her strange stories; Though not the ones about the Traveller. 

(The first time she mentions him, things suddenly go horribly, terribly wrong. He doesn’t hurt her, of course, but they can feel the air change. He snaps into another personality entirely - disgusted and enraged at the concept that he’s sitting with a heretic of all people. It’s like something cruel has taken over him, drawing curses and cruelty from his lips that bring Jester to tears before anyone even fully realizes the situation. It’s not the first time it happens, but it startles everyone - Eodwulf included. Jester doesn’t receive an apology until much later, once Caleb pulls him away from the group and speaks to him quietly. No one cares to ask what was said - not until Jester grows curious a few days later and asks Wulf. Beauregard only barely overhears it - glaring daggers at the half elf all the same. 

“He said that it was.... it was hard to relearn what should be - what is - acceptable. Hard to relearn what it is normal people see as being non-issues. It’s no excuse for my horrid behavior, but it is... difficult... to know after so long.”

Beauregard.... hates him a little less for that. He’s dangerous, and she keeps an eye on him, but it’s easier to remember that he’s not the first or only person who’s had these issues before. If she speaks to Caleb later about what to expect, it’s for the safety of the group - obviously. She needs to know what she needs to look out for so that she can swoop in and roundhouse kick a bitch in the throat if push comes to shove. But if she manages to catch the hints - the sudden stillness, the tightening of his jaw, the impulsive twitch of fingers as if readying a spell - she jumps in and distracts him with a flourish and desperate ease that would’ve made Molly proud. Eodwulf is easy to decipher once you know what the signs are.

Astrid, however, is not.

She radiates an air of authority that would make Beau sick if it wasn’t from a woman that was just so fucking hot. Where Eodwulf finds a place to integrate himself socially, Astrid sits back and watches from just far enough away that it’s obvious she’s not really part of the team.

It’s intentional - and she’s said as much to the rest when they ask her about it.

“I have little reason to trust that the lot of you won’t kill me tonight. I am fine here. Thank you.”

Beau can tell that Caleb is torn with this information. He’s been torn since the two of them arrived - all three of them have been desperately trying to figure out where they stand with each other in a way that The Nein would find hilarious if it wasn’t a rom-com script stitched together with trauma and guilt and all of the disgusting waste the empire had tried to shove down their throats.

Caleb and Eodwulf are the only two willing to approach her for conversation with positive results. Fjord had tried and given up after two weeks of clipped answers and obvious disinterest. Clay wanders over from time to time with his teapot and empty stories to try and ensure she doesn’t feel left out. She never drinks his tea - not even pretending to in the way that Clay often pretends to drink liquor - but he hardly seems to mind.

No one knows what it is that causes the outburst. One moment, they’re surrounding the fire, chatting aimlessly while Clay’s slow drawl acts as white noise in the background. Then the loud crash of ceramic shattering against the ground bring everyone to silence. Their eyes are drawn to the duo behind them, where Clay sits as calm as ever - his eyes only marginally wider to indicate the barest hint of shock. His teapot lay in pieces on the ground between them.

Astrid raises from her spot, cup still cradled in her hands before she deliberately allows that to slip and shatter on the ground as well.

“Oh, how unfortunate. Clumsy me.” 

When she wanders off, it’s Eodwulf that followers behind her, with Caleb nervously trailing close behind.

Beauregard approaches Clay as he works from his place on the ground, carefully picking up shards of what used to be beautifully painted ceramic.

“It’s no issue, Ms Beauregard. Simply an oversight on my part - I must have upset her and not noticed. It can be fixed easily, no harm done.”

The three wizards return not 10 minutes later. Astrid is silent, as are Eodwulf and Caleb. There is no apology, no attempt to speak to her, only the same carefully blank expression that’s been on her face since the day they found her. Something about the simple lack of remorse or empathy makes Beau’s skin crawl.

Beauregard hates Astrid.

And she makes damn sure that she shows it. 

Beauregard grants this woman none of the ‘pleasantries’ she gives her friends - drudging up every ounce of malice that she has and directing it solely towards this woman. Astrid is everything she hates wrapped into a package in just the right manner that she doesn’t want to tear her limb from limb immediately. She’s the embodiment of the empire, of everything wrong with it and what it does to people. She’s cruel and calculating and Beau can’t help but imagine how quickly and easily this woman could end all of their lives. Poison their food stores while she keeps a small sachel of her own rations close.How easy it would be for her to slip close enough to Caleb to slit his throat with a hiss of ‘traitor’ on her lips even after all he’s done to get them to safety.

She feels predictable and not all at once. It throws Beau for a loop when Astrid finally - finally - responds to her constsant prodding. Not with anger, but with a smile.

The woman is quick-witted and cold. Her words are like daggers being driven into every weak spot Beauregard has and it’s a show of power that drives her fucking insane with how easily the quips come to her. The only thing keeping The Mighty Nein from tearing them apart is the reactions that the fight seems to garner from Eodwulf and Caleb of all people. 

The two of them are huddled together, muttering and chuckling in Zemnian. They commentate with small gasps and giggles and muttered ‘oh, sheisse’s that - through the anger and annoyance - remind Beau of the catty assholes she used to go to school with as a young girl. It doesn’t help that Astrid seems to feed off of their strange new relationship, and in the midst of it all Beauregard realizes something:

This, the woman that’s tearing into her with abandon and thriving off of the attention of her two best friends, the woman who’s catty and self-assured - not because she knows she has power and statusadn training - but because she knows she’s clever enough to out-shittalk someone, is the closest they’ve gotten to seeing who she is.

She’s not sure why she decided to keep it going after that. She found what she was looking for - a small note that Astrid wasn’t just some hollowed out war machine. Something that showed her that there was still a person in there. Hell, she found the tattered remains of Something in all three of them that she hardly expected. 

But Astrid was quick to leave them again - back ramrod straight and shoulder squared. Face carefully neutral. Beau, in all of her horrible terrible no good very bad wisdom, continued the fight for as long as she could, as often as she could.

It was slow going, and every so often Astrid would fall completely silent and unresponsive to Beauregard’s jabs in a way that was uncomfortably familiar, but over time it didn’t even take Beau’s stupid attempts at fighting for Astrid to make quips and clever comments to other members of the team.

It felt like a miracle at that point.

As much as Beau wanted to continue hating Astrid after that point - as much as she wanted to still hold that bone-deep distrust that made sure she had a hand around her staff any time either of those fuckers get closer to one of her friends, she found that she couldn’t. Not really. They were doing better, and if she ever admitted to the fact that she was a little bit proud and a little bit protective of them at this point, she would have to throw herself off a cliff or something.

They were the ghosts of people, slowly but surely remembering who they could have been if everything hadn’t gone so fucking horribly. If she noticed the way that Caleb’s nervous half-smiles turned into stupid childish grins any time Eodwulf or Astrid said anything in Zemnian, or if she noticed how they slowly started to lay their bedrolls out next to each other with less and less space between them each night - that’s not her fuckin problem. That’s not her bullshit garbage ‘friends-to-lovers’ ‘hurt/comfort’ drama novel plot, and she could frankly care less so long as it was a decision that they got to make themselves.

[cebinaruavin]

Aftermath

((Co-written with @thefugitivemango / @brent-sunborn ))

~*~*~

March 30th ~ Silithus

‘She’s close… I can feel it…’

Brent stalked through the shadows cast by the monolithic remnant structures of the Qiraji Empire. He couldn’t help but wonder how marvelous and grand the structures looked in their prime; perhaps someday, they would be restored. But that day seemed to slip further away with every setback the Coterie, and Twilight’s Hammer as a whole, faced. Most recently, the death of Michiel Voidstrider weighed heavily on his mind. He was poised to unite the fractured cultists from around Azeroth, until his untimely demise at the hands of the Phoenix Guard. Now, scattered once more, the Twilight’s Hammer struggled in finding the organization they so desperately needed.

He moved quietly through the ruins, drawn to a familiar presence. The shadows guided him, through their shared connection, to Cebina. Like the other cultists who gathered in Silithus under Michiel’s camp, Brent had expected she’d run off - or worse… been killed. Either way, he feared he would never see her again. But that fear dissipated as he felt the faint connection they’d formed draw him back to Silithus. She was alive, he knew she was! Now, all he had to do was find her. She’d told him of her path to the Void, gaining strength and power from it on levels he’d never thought possible without dire side effects. And it became clear to him that if the Coterie was to survive, they needed that strength; hers, and their own. Not only that… he had developed a fondness for Cebina. He delved deeper into the ruins, feeling her presence stronger and stronger with every step. She was close…

~*~*~

Cebina had learned how to survive on her own. She had been able to do it in a cave in Northrend and it was even easier to do in the ruins of the Qiraji Empire. There were many places to hide behind traps and walls. She’d managed to ensnare the mind of an orc to gather supplies for her; rations and such. His body was left to feed the silithids once he’d outlived his usefulness. While the Phoenix Guard had killed Michiel, disrupted the ritual and destroyed the obelisks, the Twilight camp had not been razed, allowing her and other survivors to gather what was left before they scattered.

However, Michiel has been the glue holding the camp together. Cebina had considered fighting alongside him against the Guard, but she wasn’t stupid. She was skilled in killing, but her style was picking people off from the shadows, not facing a skilled military group head on. The best she could do was help Michiel hide and cover his trail, but he wanted none of that.

Stupid human…

Still, she’d managed to make herself a comfortable little nest while she considered her different contacts and where to go next.

Her ear twitched as she sensed something familiar in the shadows. She cursed to herself as she recognized Brent’s presence. If she could sense him, then he could sense her. How foolish of her! She hadn’t considered what repercussions that one evening would have. Looking back, it -had- been their shadows that had pushed them together more than anything else…

Cebina left what remained of her precious belongings and made her way through the cover of the ruins. Her shadows enveloped her, even though she knew it would lead him to her faster. She wasn’t sure what to expect from the Pathfinder. He had initially presented himself as a fellow cultist, answering Michiel’s call. The next time she saw him, he was revealed to be part of the Phoenix Guard, but his loyalties rested with the Twilight… or so she thought. Now, as he stalked her through the ruins, she wondered what side he was really on.

“What are you looking for this time, Sweetie?” She asked from the shadows. He was close enough now, she knew he could hear her, “A friend or an enemy?”

Brent’s ear twitched, hearing the melodious sound of a familiar voice.The shadows conveyed the distrust; he hadn’t considered it before, but it made sense now considering his affiliation with the very people who killed Michiel. Her words all but confirmed it. Carefully, he looked around for a moment, reaching out through the shadows to gain an awareness of his surroundings. He knew Cebina was close… it was other entities he worried about. But as far as he could tell, he wasn’t followed. He stepped out of the shadows, into a clearing - daggers sheathed.

“Still used to me coming to you with a black eye and broken nose, yeah?” he replied, eyes scanning the landscape cautiously. “Either way… came looking for my friend.”

Cebina watched his movements carefully as he stepped into the clearing, and used her shadows to scan the area. She wanted to be certain he was alone, despite his words. Her ears twitched, but after a moment she seemed satisfied, not sensing anyone else in the area. They were alone.

“I suppose, it’s a sign you didn’t fight against us,” she finally answered.

The Priestess moved into the clearing, the shadows surrounding her clearing away. She looked good, considering her predicament. There were no signs of struggle or injury. She wore a nice red and golden robe, her hair was combed and the emerald adorned necklace sparkled in the desert sunlight. She had no visible weapon. Of course, her strongest weapon was always a part of her. She kept her eyes on his, only taking them away to give him a quick look over, keeping her distance.

She stood tall and proud, despite her predicament.

“Where were you?” She demanded.

Brent’s ears wilted, as his shoulders shrunk. He sighed, eyes flicking over Cebina. Thankfully, she appeared unharmed.

“... I didn’t find out until it was too late, or I would’ve tried to stop it.” he said. “And, for the moment… my cover’s intact with them. But we’ll be changing that soon - we’re striking back.”

He approached Cebina slowly, keeping his hands in plain sight as he did. As precarious as the situation was, he didn’t want to make any wrong moves that would drive her away; after all, he didn’t just come find her to see if she was alright.

“... Come with us.” he offered, as he tugged his mask from his face. “Scattering is what they want us to do; we have to stay united. The Coterie could use you to get revenge for Voidstrider. And I’m quite certain you could use us, as well.”

It was difficult to tell if she believed his words or not. Cebina’s expression remained guarded in a frown as he spoke. Internally, she debated. She’d made a few miscalculations in the recent months that landed her in her current predicament. She absolutely did not want to make another.

Brent knew how powerful she was. What if he was hunting her? Was he sent to lure her into a trap? Or was he trying to get close to her again so that he could backstab her? She was a traitor to Quel’Thalas. Certainly, bringing her in would earn him a pretty penny. She narrowed her eyes as he approached, not moving back, but not letting her guard down either.

Then again, it would have been easier for him to take her out while the Guard had moved in on Michiel… back when he had her trust. Fel! He could have tried to kill her the very evening they had fucked!

Her ear twitched as she considered her options. His mentioning The Coterie piqued her curiosity.

“And where exactly do you plan on taking me?” She asked, “I can’t exactly stroll in to Quel’Thalas, much less Sun’s Reach.”

Brent sensed her hesitance; not undeserved. He knew that if their positions were reversed, he’d have the same concerns. He continued to hold his hands in plain view, stopping short of her. It was a precarious situation, indeed - telling her more could prove his sincerity. But if he failed to bring her with him, that would put The Coterie at risk. They both had a lot to lose… but a lot more to gain.

“We have a base hidden in the Ghostlands.” he revealed, after a moment of brief hesitation. “Our Speaker has a run-down estate there; right under Quel’Thalas’ nose.”

Slowly, he lowered his hands, and took another step towards Cebina. He reached out to her, through their shadow link, hoping to convey his sincerity, and let her know he was telling the truth. He calmed his mind, trying to set aside his own distrust so not to make her feel more vulnerable.

“Well, doesn’t that sound convenient…” She answered, sounding more than a little suspicious, “I suppose I only have your word to go by as proof of your sincerity?”

Cebina brought a hand up to rest on her hip, her eyes never leaving Brent’s as he approached her. She showed no sign of looking to flee, allowing him to walk right up to her, even touch her. Her shadows brushed his, reading them and the intentions she could gleam off of them. They confirmed his sincerity, which quelled some of her anxieties. A person could easily lie, but Cebina knew the shadows well enough… she could read them to glean and decipher truth and lies. She didn’t hide was she was doing. If he was being honest with her he wouldn’t resist as she pulled at his mind.

“Let me learn more about The Coterie, Sweetie. Then, and only then, will I decided to accept your request or not.”

Brent had felt such mental probings before… they didn’t go well. A Pathfinder was worth little if he couldn’t keep his secrets. Over time he’d learned to shield his mind from such infiltrations, protecting his thoughts from outsiders. Cebina would feel his mind closed off, defended… at first. He sighed, before nodding slowly.

“... Very well. For you… I’m an open book.”

He closed his eyes, as his shadows reached out to hers once more. They connected, opening his thoughts to her freely. He thought about The Coterie; how he’d come to join them with Thea through Kai’eka all those years ago in Gadgetzan. He thought of his time with the Blackened Blades, carrying out the will of the Masters by taking down targets of value from the shadows. He thought of his gift - the Black Veil, bestowed upon him through his connection to C’Thun. He thought of Blackrock Mountain. He thought of Jedoga Shadowseeker, and the call of Yogg-Saron… He thought of the Cataclysm. He thought of his attempt on the former Warchief… and subsequently, the end of the Blackened Blades. He thought of the Heart of Y’shaarj in Pandaria, and his work in picking up pieces of Garrosh’s failed attempt to embrace it.

All of it, everything he’d ever done with and for the Twilight’s Hammer, laid open to Cebina, free to read and observe as she pleased. He hid nothing from her; his dedication to the cause was unfaltering. He wanted her to see that. To know he could be trusted. His eyes opened, and peered back into Cebina’s, feeling her shadows wash over his thoughts and memories.

Cebina had expected resistance, so her eyes widened in surprise as Brent’s memories came flooding into her through their linked shadows. Her ears moved and twitched as she scanned through. The Priestess was well versed in mentalisme, sorting through what she needed, ignoring the rest, staying alert for any purposefully hidden compartments, traps or other tricks.

Once she confirmed his sincerity and loyalty to the Old Gods, she looked through what The Coterie entailed; What they were about, how they functioned, what their goals were.

Satisfied, she gently severed the connection, finally allowing herself to relax, her hands reached out to rest on his belt, her shadows beginning to give in and caress his like they had back at her tent. She leaned in to press her lips to his cheek. In that moment, her guard dropped. Brent would feel it through the shadows; a large wave of relief. He had her full trust.

“Won’t be a problem, I hope, me living with your girlfriend…” she gave him a wicked grin, accepting his request.

He was relieved, feeling the aura of trust between them again. Brent knew Cebina would be a powerful ally, providing The Coterie with greater knowledge of the Void, as well as another faithful servant to their ancient Masters. As she drew near, he brought a hand to her shoulder, allowing his shadows to play at hers as before. He leaned in to the cheek kiss, smiling at not only the sign of acceptance, but the affection that came with it. He let her in close.

That all changed immediately as she mentioned Thea.

The hand on her shoulder stiffened, pushing her off at arm’s length from him. He looked her dead in the eyes, expression severe; even his shadows seemed to push hers back with a certain firmness.

“Nepen’thea Dusksinger is the Speaker of The Coterie, Cebina.” he stated, simply. “We’ve grown close over the years, long before either of us heard and heeded the call of the Old Ones. You’ve felt my devotion to the cause, yeah? Well, my devotion to Thea is stronger than that. Tenfold.”

The shadows around him began pressing hers further back, conveying the strong emotions his stern face wasn’t in that moment. His gaze grew intense; despite the void in her eyes, he seemed to stare through it all into her very core. They flared green… burning.

“Our relationship and trust are unparalleled. We both take up others’ company, in something of an open arrangement. But regardless of where we turn for such pleasures and delights, we’re committed to each other wholly and fully.” he explained further. “She may even proposition you, if she feels so inclined. There’s no jealousy between us in such things; she knows no one means near as much to me as she does, and vice-versa.”

His hand dropped from Cebina’s shoulder, allowing her to step closer if she wished; but his aura turned a tinge more hostile, no longer concerned or caring about scaring her away. Such was the severity of his emotions and feelings for Thea.

“You’d absolutely be welcomed in her home. Any servant to the Old Gods as faithful as you are is family, there.” he informed her. “But make no mistake - and feel free to read my mind on this if you doubt me - if you do anything to slight, hurt, or otherwise exhibit ill intent towards Thea…I will kill you.”

Again, he did little to block out his feelings or thoughts, allowing Cebina to feel the truth behind his words. He stared her down, as his shadows connected to hers - aggressively at first, before slowly subsiding.

“We understand each other now, yeah?”

The more severe Brent got while talking about Thea, the wider Cebina grinned. That fierce, protective side he was showing towards their Speaker was insanely attractive.

“I’d expect nothing less from a Blackened Blade,” she said, “And you have nothing to worry about. You’ll find I’m extremely loyal to my friends and my cause.”

She remained where she was, accepting the distance he had put between them, though her shadows continued to play at his.

“I have to say, I’m not into women, however, I’m not opposed to it if it earns me favour and pretty trinkets.”

She gave him a wink, before moving closer to him, clearing her throat.

“Listen, Sweetie…” she said, finally taking on a serious tone, “I don’t ever do this with anyone, but… You put my mind at ease. Let me do the same for you.”

She reached out her hands and placed them on his temples, locking her gaze with his as she opened up her mind and connected to him through the shadows once more. Instead of peering into his mind, he was allowed to peer into hers. There were no tricks and no barriers, allowing him to see and feel her sincerity and unwavering loyalty to him and Nepen’thea. The connection confirmed what he already knew of her. An assassin and informant using her body and intelligence as a means to accomplish her goals. She didn’t have much history with the Twilight Hammer, however, there was no mistaking her loyalty to the Old Gods.

Unfortunately, allowing him to see that also gave him a glimpse into her life before freedom. Her body had been owned by many, forced to serve one master after another before finding favour with the Old Gods in that cave in Northrend and fighting her way to freedom. There was no shame to be felt; Cebina had been hardened a long time ago, and used that life to grow stronger and become who she was now.

After giving him sufficient time to search her, the connection faded. One hand remained at his temple, the other fell to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re my friend now, Sweetie. No way around it.”

The connection was strong - very strong. Brent wasn’t prepared for such a fast and heavy influx of memories and feelings, none of which being his own. As it subsided, he continued to gaze into Cebina’s eyes, allowing the information to process in his mind before moving or speaking again. She’d endured so much; been used, and abused by so many… and found the strength in the Old Gods to give her control of her own destiny.  He stood, staring into her eyes for a long moment, unsure of what to do or say. His mind settled on one thing - a rare display of emotion. He brought his hands up around her back, and pulled her in flush against him in an embrace. He sighed, sorrowfully.

“... The Coterie takes care of its own.” he said, voice slightly faltering. “No one will hurt you like that again.”

As quickly as he pulled her in for the hug, he released her and stepped back - face once again stern and unreadable, no evidence of the sorrow plastered across it mere seconds ago during their embrace. He nodded once, before extending a hand.

“Friends, then.” he affirmed. “We know plenty about each other now - no going back from it.”

The embrace caught her by surprise, but she didn’t try to push him away. Her ears lowered at his words. It felt awkward… it was the first time she had opened up her mind to allow someone to see into it. She was a very guarded person when it came to her mind, especially of her memories. She suddenly felt very vulnerable… But after being allowed into confirm Brent’s sincerity, it was something she could live with. Her ears had returned to their rightful place before he released her.

“Agreed,” she nodded to his words, “And, Sweetie… About what you saw? I’m alright. I’m no damsel that needs saving.”

“--No, I…” Brent cleared his throat, and shook his head. “I… I know that. I was just…”

He grew flustered, struggling to form a coherent sentence. There wasn’t much he could do to dispel it, after the hug, and the words he said following it. He felt foolish, coddling her as if she were some helpless thing - especially despite seeing very clearly she wasn’t. She’d saved herself. Carved out her own fate, free of the bonds of others. How belittling and insulting he must’ve seemed, embracing her like some scared child! His ears pinned back, as he cast his gaze towards the sand. Slowly he turned from her, shoulders slumped.

“... You’re right.” he muttered. “I’m… sorry.”

Cebina shifted awkwardly as Brent turned away and apologized. There was a reason she didn’t let anyone into her head and this was it. She didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her. She didn’t want pity. She wasn’t ashamed of what happened to her, she was proud to have survived it, to have freed herself from it, to have made herself stronger because of it.

“Sweetie…” she sighed, closing the distance between them and linking her arm with is, “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re fine. Now take me to meet the lovely Thea! I can think of some fun ways for the three of us to get acquainted…”

Brent cleared his throat, as he straightened up once more. He turned to Cebina, arm linked with hers, and smiled - weakly, but intently. He nodded once.

“It’ll be a bit of a trip.” he warned her. “All the way back to Quel’Thalas. But on the bright side… it’ll be easier to sneak you those finer things you like. Thea likes them, too - you two will get along well, I think.”

His weak smile strengthened, turning to a full fledged grin, as he led Cebina off towards the entrance of the Ruins.

(( @pariker / for @nepenthea character mention ))

[perfectly-balanced]

👀 What do you dislike most about each member of your cult?

I assume you are referring to my Black Order? This is a very difficult question to answer and one that has required careful consideration. That being said, I have come to a conclusion, but keep in mind that if any of these issues bothered me enough to overshadow their benefits and good qualities, they would not be my servants. For the most part, these are simply minor nitpicks.

I will begin with Pravus Nox. You may not know of Pravus, as he was more well known among his adversaries by the title of ‘The Other’. Unfortunately he is no longer alive to serve under me, but that will not prevent me from discussing his flaws here just the same. One of the main problems I faced with Pravus was that he was incredibly exhausting to be around. Even though he was a servant, he was incredibly loud and would try to get my full attention any time he was around me. There was certainly nothing subtle about him, and he would rarely leave me alone in peace. Another gripe I had with him is that he was not only hostile to enemies, but also to allies. And not only temporary allies, like Loki or Ronan. His rude and bossy demeanor did not make him very popular among the rest of the Order either, so I’ve heard, and he is rarely included in their ranks quite possibly by his own desire. He did not like them, and they did not like him, the Maw in particular. Pravus, for all his uses, was not a team player, but he was still technically a member of the Black Order.  

In the case of Cull Obsidian, it is important to understand that he places a high value on loyalty, which by itself is certainly a good thing. But because he is the more responsible brother to Corvus, who I will get into in a moment, he has had to become very responsible. This has led to him being overly protective of the rest of the Order, to the point where he takes far too much nonsense from them without standing up for himself properly. Don’t get me wrong, he is very stubborn, which in itself is a bit of an issue for me, but despite his size and strength he is actually one of the least aggressive members of my Order. I would like to see him learn to assert himself more in their presence, and perhaps also to be less trusting and more self-reliant. I’ve also noticed that he can be incredibly literal in his comprehension of what I say, I appreciate when people get directly to the point, but he sometimes has trouble deciphering anything I say that isn’t a direct order. He is very practical, even more so than I, and metaphors are often lost on him.

It took longer for Proxima Midnight’s faults to become apparent to me, and that in part is due to the nature of some of those flaws. She is very secretive, so it takes a more substantial period of time to get to know her than I am used to, and I’ve learned that most of who she truly is isn’t expressed on the outside. I don’t know if she is even capable of letting her guard down or being entirely emotionally invested in anything, I’ve only ever seen her react to emotional obstacles in one of two ways. The first is the most common, and it is driven by her extremely spiteful temper. It is a cold burning that only her enemies will ever see, and when she is in this state no mercy can be expected. However, when she is faced with a similar situation that involves myself or an ally, she will react with avoidance and detachment, which makes it incredibly hard to solve anything. Because of this, she can often come off as arrogant and it has been known to rub people the wrong way. This combined with her controlling nature has certainly caused some problems within the Order.

I have to say, I have had a hard time pinpointing any of Ebony Maw’s imperfections right away because they normally seem nonexistent and I had to think more critically in order to find an answer. But in doing so, it occurred to me that the fact that it is so difficult to speak ill of him could be a symptom of a flaw all on its own. The Maw is such a perfectionist that often times his expectations for himself and those around him far surpass my own. He is just so incredibly cerebral and analytical that not even his own self is spared from that shrewd judgment. Of course, I appreciate his high standards in my service, but there does come a point where it actually becomes counterproductive to fuss over details that really aren’t important, and it can get a little taxing trying to reassure his insecurities about himself and his work that are otherwise perfect. He really should be more confident in himself, he has never failed to deliver or please before so there is really no precedent for such paranoia. Another small issue relates to the fact that while I trust in Ebony to be completely honest with me at all times, he is also not someone I would go to if I needed an entirely objective and unbiased opinion about myself. He is seemingly incapable of critiquing anything I do or could do and will likely just agree with anything I say, not out of dishonesty but simply because he is so eager to please and can’t see me objectively, whereas I could ask Proxima for an outside opinion and expect her to be blunt and get straight to the point, offering me a new perspective and insight while still respecting my authority as Ebony does. Some might also consider Ebony’s clinginess to be a flaw of sorts, and I suppose it could be to some, but it really doesn’t bother me because his presence does not suffocate me in the way that Pravus’ did, I rather enjoy and am endeared to it. Even though he would likely never admit it, I can tell that he is saddened when my attention is drawn elsewhere, but I do not mind giving him as much of it as I am reasonably able to. It may also be worth mentioning that out of all my disciples, Ebony is definitely the most vicious to my enemies and even just in general. If I did not control it and harness that power to be directed at the right targets, he could very well know no limits in his cruelty.

Corvus Glaive, on the other hand…..I have plenty to say about him. Every issue I’ve ever had and likely will ever have with Corvus can be summed up by the fact that he is such a wild card. It’s hard to know what to expect from him from one day to the next, and I often can’t predict which Corvus I will face at any given time, the extremely cunning, strategic and effective war genius whose prowess cannot be denied, or the annoying troublemaker who can at times almost border on insolence and whose puzzling sense of humor sows conflict in even the most stable and peaceful scenarios. Is is the subject of almost all complaints I receive from other members, and even after all this time he is still quite resistant to changing his ways. That is not to say he is disloyal in the slightest, if that were the case he would not be in my Order, let alone the general in command of my armies and one of my most trusted right hand men. But unfortunately, his personality is just set up in such a way where he can be a real pest even when he is not meaning to be and has the best intentions. I suspect his personal issues including his penchant for guzzling large amounts of alcohol play a significant role in this as well, so i am willing to look past his transgressions in order to focus on what he can offer me to make it worth my while putting up with his shenanigans.

There is also Onyx Inferna, who is merely a member in training to take on Pravus’ former role as my personal assistant. I will not go into too much detail regarding her as I have not known her for very long just yet so to judge her qualities in depth would be rather premature as I have not had a good window of context to study her behavioral patterns and shortcomings. However, I do know that so far she is quite volatile and unrestrained, and also appears to have a severe abandonment complex. Nothing that can’t be solved with my guidance, though.

This may sound like a lot to complain about after having just mentioned that it was hard for me to critique anything, but let me just reiterate that these issues are really not present the majority of the time in most cases, and that a lot of these flaws have positive aspects to them that outweigh the negatives. All in all, I am quite proud of my Black Order and I care about them dearly, imperfections included. 

[katsuragi-yako]

majin tantei nougami neuro week day six: motive

notes: Here's the drabble for the sixth prompt: "Motive"! I'm actually pretty happy with how this one turned out, even though I was having trouble focusing while writing it lmao. Also, if this is too hard to read on my blog and you don’t have “Read More Now” for x-kit, all of my drabbles are getting posted onto AO3 as well!

    There's two large bouquets in her arms and a demon at her side as she walks through the rows of graves.

    Why Neuro's decided to accompany her, she hasn't the slightest idea. He generally avoids most everything to do with human mourning traditions ( or, well, most traditions in general ) unless it's to keep up appearances somehow. Years prior, he had attended Sasazuka's funeral, but beyond that hasn't ever bothered to come with her when she visits his grave. The same goes for her father—that she knows of, he's never even seen his grave, despite being the one to solve his murder in the first place.

    So, the fact that he's walking behind her, not offering even a single explanation to his presence is strange. Oh, she'd definitely tried to get one. Yako's expression in response to noticing him walking out the door of the office with her had likely been one of absolute bewilderment. And when she had asked what he was doing, the demon had merely said something along the lines of, “it's none of your concern what I choose to do, slug.” Continued attempts to pry any sort of clue or bit of information out of him had been met with neck-twists or other forms of “torture”. And though she doesn't necessarily like it, she can take a hint; she's not getting an answer no matter how she tries. At least, not yet. For whatever reason, he's following her, and that's that.

    The click of her heels against the pavement finally slows to a stop and she turns to face the first grave that she's decided to visit during their trip: Sasazuka's.

    Her frame is still, brown eyes simply staring at his name for a few moments while she tries not to think too hard about the day he had been killed. She's there to remember times with him that didn't have to do with his death, not to brood or be sad. And though it's a little difficult not to think about that day while she stands right in front of his resting place, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in through her nose, then out of her mouth. She can't forget his death, of course—“to forget is to cease to evolve”—but there's a difference between forgetting something and choosing not to focus too heavily upon it. And she's choosing to do just that by letting memories of his calm demeanor, deep voice, and ever watchful gaze fill her mind instead.

    The grip she has upon the flowers in her hands tightens suddenly before she opens her eyes again and kneels down to the ground to begin unwrapping the paper from around one of the bouquets. And as she does so, she looks over his grave once more, taking in the details rather than focusing only on his surname staring her in the face. It's been extremely well kept; while there aren't any flowers in the vase at the moment, everything else still looks about as nice as it had the day of the funeral itself. And, unsurprisingly, there's a fresh cigarette sitting where incense should be, making a soft smile spread across her lips. Usui has been there. Within the past couple of days, if she's to take a guess. Though he would likely never admit it, especially to her, she's suspected for quite some time that he makes frequent visits to Sasazuka's grave. There hasn't ever been a time she's visited it that a cigarette hasn't also placed there in his memory.

    Gathering the stems in her hands once they're free from the paper, she begins to place the lilies into the vase in front of her a few at a time, adjusting their arrangement as she goes. And once she's finished, Yako finds that her vision is starting to blur ever so slightly. She pauses, a bit taken aback at the abrupt and unexpected sensation of her eyes tearing up; it's actually been a long time since she's cried about the detective's passing. Blinking in rapid succession, she brings a hand up to quickly rub the corners of her eyes free of anything that had managed to slip out. Then, she stands, grabbing the second bouquet off of the ground as she goes, and gives her handiwork one last look.

        “—I miss you, Sasazuka-san,” she finally lets herself say, completely forgetting that Neuro is standing right behind her. Though even when she turns around and is instantly reminded, he doesn't speak a single word. The demon merely looks at her curiously with his arms crossed, not moving a muscle. As though he's waiting for her to do something.

    She can only stare back dumbly for a few moments before her brain feels like it's rebooted and she can remember what she's in the middle of. Turning on her heel to the left, she starts to walk once more, making her way towards their second destination. The sound of her heels almost covers up the sound of her partner's loafers falling in step right behind her, but not quite. And again, it's strange—both the fact that he's with her on such a trip and the fact that he's following her, not walking right beside her or dragging her along by the head.

    However, her thoughts regarding Neuro's abnormal behavior are put on hold a second time as her feet eventually find the spot she's seeking: her father's grave.

    It's been some time since she's been there last, cases and her own individual work keeping her quite busy in her day to day life. But despite that, Seiichi's resting place isn't neglected or forgotten about, it seems. While not as well kept as Sasazuka's, it's still actually rather clean, with evidence that flowers and incense have been placed there fairly recently, even if they're now wilted and burned out from the passage of time. She suspects her mother might have made a visit within the past month, and a somewhat melancholy smile tugs at her lips. Perhaps the two of them would be able to visit together rather than separately next time.

    With less time spent hesitating than before, she kneels down again, and sets the bouquet in her hands on the ground so that she can clean out the old flowers. It's not a complicated or long process, but she doesn't work with any sense of urgency—it gives her time to really think about her father and remember the good times that she had with him before his life had been cruelly snuffed out. All of the times that he had took the time to help her with her homework, trying to make her understand even if he found it incredibly easy. All of the times that he had sneaked out with her to have a proper dinner after Haruka had been cooking, letting her get her favorites and even dessert afterwards. All of the times he had been there for her in small ways that she hadn't even noticed or realized until he was gone that she desperately wishes she could have back.

    Her hands waver as they move to unwrap the second bouquet, the realization of how long it has truly been since his death suddenly hitting her. Somehow, the time that's passed since Sasazuka's death seems right and natural, no matter how much she does miss him. But the time since her father's? It seems wrong somehow. Wrong that it has been that long since she's heard his voice, seen his smile, or felt his arms around her. And she realizes how much she really does miss him, even though on any average day, she isn't reminded of it much. But kneeling in front of his grave with flowers in her hands? For some reason, the loss almost feels fresh again in a way that Yako hasn't felt since it actually had been. On the day of his funeral—the day that she had met Neuro.

    And while she knows that it had been the mystery of his death that had initially drawn the demon to her in the first place, she suddenly feels a twinge of regret that they had to meet the way that they did. Because she wishes that Seiichi could have been there to watch her change, watch her grow, watch her evolve. In so many ways, she's an entirely different person than the aimless teenager that her father had known her to be. She wonders what he would say if he could see her now, a famous “detective” known all across the world; if he'd be surprised or even able to believe it. She wonders what he would think of Neuro; if he'd be fooled by his facade just as easily as most other people are. She wonders what he would tell her about the outrageous cases she's solved; if he'd be worried about her safety or proud of her for doing what she does.

    She can wonder, but she'll never know. And while she understands it's impossible and not even something worth fantasizing or thinking about, Yako still wishes that she could have her father back, but also have her current life with Neuro. It's so very human to want to have the cake and eat it too, and she is doing exactly that: wanting what was taken from her, even if it had put her where she happily is today.

    Because Takeda had taken a parent from her without a second thought over something so pointless, so minuscule, so nonsensical. She's dealt with countless murders and motives over the years, and some of them have had the most bizarre and off the wall motives that could ever be imagined. But if given enough time, she can usually get at least a semblance, a shred of understanding to register in her mind, because that is her forte: deciphering the “why”. Even Sicks, as much as she still loathes him even after death, had a motive that she can comprehend. But Takeda? She isn't sure she'll ever be able to wrap her mind around why he did what he did, regardless of the fact that she's dealt with other criminals with motivations eerily similar to his own. He remains an enigma to her, and it doesn't exactly bother her, because she knows it's likely due to the fact that he took her father from her.

    And for some reason, she feels like telling her partner this.

        “To this day I don't understand why Takeda did it,” she says, realizing that she has tears in her eyes again. Shutting her lids, she breathes deeply a few times before continuing. “I've learned to understand and sniff out some of the most bizarre motives for cases anyone's ever heard, but I still can't wrap my mind around this. And I don't know that I ever will.”

    Neuro is silent behind her; she can't even hear him breathing. But she can feel his eyes drilling into the back of her head, and if she had to guess, their demonic nature is on full display. Green, bright, and glowing, even in the middle of the day. And, most of the time, when she can physically feel his gaze baring down on her, it can be nerve wracking. But somehow, as she holds back tears and places lilies in a vase at Seiichi's grave, it's comforting in a way that she can't accurately describe. Like an anchor on a ship, keeping her in place while a storm rages around her.

        “—I miss him,” she adds, and she swears she can feel the demon's gaze intensify just the slightest bit.

    Once she had finished arranging the flowers, he had followed her the entire way back to her apartment, but hadn't accompanied her inside. Which, she was actually a little bit grateful for. It gave her time to cry what few tears she could bring herself to shed before completely collecting herself again. And as she's standing in front of her stove making herself dinner, she hears her window unlatch and his loafers land on her carpet. How like him to show up at just the right time, as though he somehow knows that she's back to her old self again.

    Turning around, Yako smiles at him. He still hasn't told her why he'd come with her to visit the graves, and she doesn't even have a guess that she can make herself. But whether or not he ever tells her, she finds she doesn't care that much.

    She's just glad he'd been there at all.

[beaglesinbowties]

The last angsty ficlet was received so well that I decided to reward you all with more angst! Follow-up to In the Morning.

When Kim stirs again, the all-consuming pain from her first waking has faded slightly—enough so that she can manage to string two thoughts together, at least. She keeps her eyes squeezed shut for the first few minutes, knowing the familiar bed she’s on isn’t her own. Or Tommy’s.

The apartment is eerily silent, with no other breathing than her own present.

Right, Trini will have gone to class.

Kim slowly peels a single eye open to check the time. She’s in danger of missing her own first class.

Instead of standing, she tugs Trini’s comforter more snugly around herself. With a start, she realizes she’s cuddling Trini’s pillow to her chest. She doesn’t move.

Last night is a blur past when she and Tommy had first hit one of the many cheap bars around campus, fake IDs in hand. She remembers arguing and—oh, right.

Her hand slaps around for her phone, finally digging it out from under her own pillow. She squints at the too-bright screen but manages to pull her messages up. She presses lightly over Tommy’s name.

‘Babe, I’m so sorry about last night. I don’t know what came over me. I never should have hit that guy. Call me soon, please?’

Kim’s face twists into a grimace as more memories from the night begin to return. She’d gotten jealous first, she remembers, but Tommy had been the one to hit a guy she’d accidentally spilled some of her drink on. The guy had been a good sport about the entire thing, and Kim had only been trying to apologize.

Things have been getting like that between them lately, far too often. Kim isn’t sure what makes her insides twist up and feel so ugly when she sees Tommy talking to another girl, but she knows he must be feeling poisoned by the same thing.

She sends a mental apology to the innocent bystanders of last night’s scuffle.

They never used to be like this. They’d been happy, simpatico at one time. They used to make each other better.

Kind of like—Kim cuts the thought off. Her body betrays her anyway, her face subtly nudging closer to Trini’s pillow. The scent soothes her, and the acid twisting in her gut eases just slightly.

She sighs when she realizes what’s happened.

Kim can remember the first time she’d met Tommy Oliver. It had been in detention Sophomore year, and Tommy had barely been at Angel Grove for a week.

His wide smile had drawn her attention first.

The way he looked her in the eye instead of checking her out had kept her attention.

They’d been sixteen when they’d fallen in love; then, Kim had been sure that she and Tommy would be together forever.

She’d never known how difficult the changes from sixteen to twenty would be. She’d never known that sometimes too much passion was just too much.

She’d never known Trini.

Her face burns when she recalls one last important thing about the previous night. She wishes she could forget, just like she wishes she could forget all the other times.

“No. Trini, I love you.”

The vacant look on Trini’s face makes Kim’s stomach queasy.

“You’re drunk,” Trini retorts flatly.

“I mean it,” Kim whispers, eyes stinging.

Trini studies her for a long moment, her face solemn. “Tell me in the morning.”

Kim’s shame burns so fiercely in her stomach she wonders if she’ll be sick. God, she’d gotten sick last night too. At least she hadn’t gotten Trini this time.

Her throat works as she buries her face entirely in the bedcovers. “I’m a mess.”

The words are muffled but no one’s around to hear them anyway.

She’s got to stop doing this to Trini. And Tommy.

She and Tommy have been together too long to just give up now. They have years together, history. She owes it to what they’ve had to keep trying, to figure out what’s been going wrong. Relationships take work, and she won’t abandon Tommy—not the way her dad had abandoned her mom.

All she needs to do is… is…

Trini is her friend. Her best friend. She’s just got to remember that. She loves Tommy.

With her head still a mass of pounding pain, she sits up and rests her back against the headboard. Still clutching Trini’s pillow, Kim presses the call button under Tommy’s name.

“Hey,” comes his soft, contrite voice.

Kim closes her eyes and pictures Tommy of Sophomore year and his crooked smile, the baggy jeans he’d favored in high school. That Tommy would have never hit a guy for talking to Kim.

“Hey,” she returns just as softly.

The silence extends long enough for Kim to half-bury her face against the pillow.

“What’s going on with us, Kim? Something’s not right. This isn’t us.”

When Kim’s eyes sting she tells herself it’s because of the pain in her head—not the relief she’s feeling that Tommy’s said it first.

“I don’t know, Tommy,” she says as she tries desperately not to think of Trini.

For a moment they only listen to each other’s breathing. Trini’s is always slow and steady when she sleeps. Tommy’s isn’t anything like that right now, and neither is Kim’s.

“I’m scared.” Tommy’s voice is small.

Kim takes a shuddering breath as she struggles not to cry. “Me too.”

“You’re supposed to be in class,” Tommy finally says in something like a normal voice.

“Too hungover,” Kim explains. Her lips twitch; Trini’s class will be ending soon. If Kim doesn’t move, she’ll still be here when Trini returns—and though Trini won’t lecture her, Kim can picture the soft disappointment in Trini’s eyes when she realizes that Kim’s skipped class. Again.

“Maybe we should stop going out so much. I know you said it wouldn’t be an issue with class, but it’s obvious that’s not true.”

Kim purses her lips. Several months ago she and Tommy had had a huge fight. Between her increased course load and his work, they hadn’t had much time for each other. They’d sworn to make time, and that’s what she’s been attempting to do.

“I’m trying, Tommy.” Her voice has risen, an almost natural reaction these days when they speak. She stops and silently counts to ten.

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, Kim. I just…”

A trickle of fear sweeps down Kim’s spine. The silences never used to be so terrifying.

“Let’s talk later when we’re not hungover,” she chokes out when it feels like she’ll suffocate.

Tommy sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

They say their goodbyes and then Kim’s laying back down.

She doesn’t let go of Trini’s pillow, or move until she hears the sound of the front door unlocking.

The worry that’s had her curled up into a ball since the phone call dissipates almost instantly. The sound of Trini moving around the apartment settles her in a way she can’t explain; she’s no longer alone and it’s Trini that’s here.

When the bedroom door opens Kim forces herself to look right at Trini.

Emotions pass too quickly over Trini’s face for Kim to properly decipher them, but then Trini’s offering her a half-smile.

“You’re still here, huh,” Trini says more than asks.

“Yeah.” Kim bites the inside of her cheek. Should she have left?

“Aspirin?” Trini offers when Kim doesn’t say more.

Kim nods, and a minute later Trini’s back with a tall glass of water and much-needed aspirin.

The pills go down easily, though Kim’s careful to take the water in slowly and carefully.

“You okay?”

Kim looks up. She’s seen so many different expressions on Trini’s face. She remembers the anger and hurt from last night, but that’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, Trini’s face is calm and accepting. It makes Kim’s chest ache.

She feels terrible. She should go.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Trini mumbles with drooping eyes.

Kim’s guilt grows heavier. It’d been her fault Trini hadn’t gotten enough sleep.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” Trini yawns as she kicks off her shoes and flops down on the bed. “Where’s my pillow?”

“I, uh, sorry.” Kim blushes and passes back the wrinkled pillow, her stomach fluttering at the indecipherable look Trini sends her.

Trini accepts the pillow back without a word. After a moment she reaches out toward Kim.

Kim rolls toward her without thinking, settling comfortably against Trini’s shoulder.

“Um, you were… I just wanted some of the blanket.”

Kim’s face feels like it’s on fire. “Oh, right,” she mutters as she begins to pull away.

Trini’s arms settle around her before she can get far. “This is okay, too.”

Kim should really go.

“Yeah,” she says instead as she tugs the comforter around Trini. Best friends cuddle, she reminds herself as her head settles alongside Trini’s.

All her worries are gone again as she rests next to Trini, and Kim has to swallow down the words that tickle up her throat and threaten to break their peace.

She just needs to rest. Then things will be clear again.

“Sleep well,” she whispers as she studies the relaxed features of Trini’s already-sleeping face.

She closes her eyes.