#he shows up and nearly kicks Gil's door down

[softquietsteadylove]

Hiiii! I really loved your latest request with baby Druig being very protective of Thena!

Would you do another one where he still hasn’t forgiven Gil and would interfere between them and calling out loudly „PERSONAL SPACE!“?

Would be amazing!❤️❤️

"Hey, you're back," Gil smiled as the front door closed gently.

"Hey," Thena smiled as Druig kicked his shoes off and flung them so he could unpack his new toy.

They had decided a day with just her and Druig would be good for him. He was still a little sensitive after the whole 'crying' incident. He had been asked to forgive and forget, but it seemed that he had agreed before his mind could really grasp it completely.

"How is he?" Gil whispered, holding out his hand for Thena to come over to him.

"Better," she whispered back, sighing with relief now that they were no longer in a massive toy store or the mall or wherever else they had gone. She leaned against him, his hand on her back. "Although he's still a little clingy."

Gil just nodded. It made sense for Druig to be subconsciously hovering, even if he wasn't aware of it.

"Personal space!"

Gil sighed. This was exactly what they had been trying to work on. Even since they resolved his latent anxieties, he had still insisted on a certain amount of 'personal space' between his mother and Gil at all times.

But he accepted the boundary, lifting his hand from Thena's back and stepping away from her. "Hey, buddy, how was your day?"

Druig eyed him for just a moment, clinging to his plush toy. "Good."

"Good?" Gil repeated. He knew that Druig's trust wouldn't just get repaired overnight. Even if he wasn't actively thinking it, Druig was now wary of the person who was always by his mother's side. "What have you got there?"

"Darling?" Thena cooed, bending down and letting him run over to her. He rested his hand on her knee for support.

"Issa cheetah," he mumbled, still clinging to the seated plush in his arms.

"A cheetah, eh?" Gil grinned, "like Makkari's favourite animal?"

Druig nodded.

"I'll bet she'd love to see it," Gil suggested gently. "Maybe you can bring it for show and tell."

"Maybe," Druig mumbled.

Thena traded a look with Gil before picking Druig up in her arms. "And how was your day?"

"Pretty normal," he smiled at her. Just looking at her was a relief, really. "Got some grading done, there's chicken in the oven."

Druig kicked his feet a little, "is there one for me?"

"Yes, buddy, there's a plain one just for you," Gil promised. His immediate thought was to ruffle the boy's hair, but he held back. He wasn't sure how receptive to that Druig would be in his current state. "I was about to start the pasta. Would you like to help me?"

"Hm," Druig pursed his lips, making both parents smile at how much he looked like Thena when he did. "Yes."

"Okay, Darling," Thena acquiesced, kneeling again to set him down gently. She ran her hand through his hair, "and what do we have to do when we help in the kitchen?"

Druig glanced down at his cheetah. "Put away our toys."

"Very good," she whispered, accepting the cheetah from him for safe keeping, "and?"

"And wash our hands!" he nearly screamed, already running to the kitchen to do so.

Thena sighed, moving slower to follow him with his cheetah in hand. She looked up at Gil, "quick--while he's not looking?"

Gil grinned, wasting no time in leaning down to kiss his girlfriend. He kissed her fervently, his hand sliding up her back while the other held her hip. She whimpered into it, which he swallowed greedily.

"Mister Dad! I need my stool!!"

They broke apart with equal frustration and fondness. At least he hadn't regressed into calling him 'Mister Gil' again. Thena ran her hand over his arm, "you go. I'm going to get changed."

"Okay," he chuckled, kissing her cheek again before parting ways. He gave her a wink, "until tonight?"

She smiled, smoothing down her hair for the sake of it, "I'll look forward to it."

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

3 Times Elena Fell for Malcolm and the 1 Time He Fell for Her- Malcolm Bright x OC

Malcolm Bright x Elena Nadis

Description: Self explanatory.

Word Count: 3.9k

Elena, 1.

The situation was tense for everyone. There had been several murders of cops that the team was attempting to solve. They finally managed to track him using Malcolm’s profile. Unfortunately, the killer knew that they were coming and got the drop on them. The team walked into the large warehouse, guns drawn but lowered until they found the killer. Elena opened a nearby door that led to a dark room as quietly as she could, then let out a gasp of surprise when someone jumped out from the shadows and grabbed her gun. The killer held her tightly, chest pressed against her back with her own gun to her head. Immediately, all guns were lifted and pointed directly at him.

“James, you don’t want to do this,” Gil warned severely. The killer, James, shook his head.

“If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me,” he snapped defiantly.

“You can’t kill all of us,” Dani pointed out calmly, though her gun was still firmly pointed at his head.

“Maybe not,” the man shrugged, bumping the barrel of the gun against Elena’s temple. “But I can take her with me.” She attempted to keep herself calm, closing her eyes and taking a subtle deep breath so James wouldn’t know that she was actually scared by this point. When she opened them again, she noticed Malcolm’s eyes on her. They were the only things that showed that he was worried about her, the rest of his face remained stoic. His head lifted a bit to look at James.

“Tell us what happened to your brother, James,” he demanded, despite the fact that he already knew. “His name was Arthur, right?” The others glanced at him confused, but said nothing as they faced the killer in front of them. They were quick to notice the tears forming in James’ eyes.

“You put him in prison,” he hissed, adjusting his grip on Elena so his arm was wrapped around her throat. “He didn’t even do anything, but you all found him guilty. He was killed in prison! Beaten to death for something he didn’t do! They needed to pay! Every one of them!” Malcolm could tell that he was becoming unhinged, he needed to think quickly.

“James, look at the girl in front of you,” he instructed, voice softening a bit so he could diffuse the tension. James hesitated, but did as he was told. Elena looked up at him, a singular tear slipping down her cheek as she stared into his eyes pleadingly.

“Her name is Elena Nadis, she’s only 28 years old. She’s the kindest and sweetest person I’ve ever known. She always sees the good in people, even people like you. Hell, she was begging us to show you mercy just an hour ago. She wants nothing more than to help you, but if you kill her, you’ll end up just like your brother. Do you really want that? Or do you want her to vouch for you, the man who spared the cop so his actions could finally be justified?” His words made Elena’s heart melt and she glanced at him again. One look into his eyes, and she knew that he was being genuine.

She felt James’ arm loosen around her neck, giving her more space to breathe. Her gaze settled on him again, and she watched the gun in his hand lower until he finally dropped it to the floor. He let go of her, and she nearly fell over if it hadn’t been for Malcolm rushing forward to catch her. Gil also rushed forward and kicked the gun on the floor away, stepping behind James and pulling out his handcuffs. He began reading out the Miranda Rights, but all his words were muffled to Elena as she was sat down by Malcolm, who still held her in his arms.

“Are you okay?” He asked worriedly, cupping her cheek with one hand and moving some hair out of her face with his thumb. Those were the only words she could hear clearly, and she nodded as she looked at him.

“I guess all that time at the academy was a waste,” she half joked. “I knew what to do while being held at gunpoint, but I froze.” Malcolm shook his head.

“It happens, Lena,” he brushed off. “It’s a scary situation to be in, no matter how much training you go through.” She sighed, but was too weak to nod so she leaned her head on his arm. After sitting there for a minute, a thought came to her head.

“Did you really mean all that stuff you said about me?” She inquired softly, lifting her head once more to face him. Malcolm’s cheeks heated up and he shrugged shyly.

“I mean, none of it was a lie,” he answered vaguely. That was enough to make her heart soar and a small smile appear on her face. They weren’t together, not in the slightest. She knew that he and Dani were close, but this gave her a bit of hope.

Elena, 2.

A dull ache throbbed irritatingly in Elena’s shoulder. Yet again, they had been chasing after a suspect that ended with her being in danger. She and Malcolm were hot on the woman’s trail and they were gaining on her.

Finally, the woman ducked behind a large beam and began shooting at them. A shoot out broke out between everyone, but Elena was the only one to get hurt by it aside from the killer. The bullet landed on her shoulder, but she was thankfully wearing a bulletproof vest. All that remained on her skin was a nasty and painful bruise.

She was surprised when Malcolm said he wanted to stay with her while she was looked over by the paramedics, only leaving to go get her something to drink. As she sat in the back of the ambulance with an ice pack pressed to her shoulder, the man took a seat beside her, silently offering her a water bottle. She took it with a grateful smile.

“How’re you doing?” She inquired, which elicited a chuckle from him.

“You’re the one that got shot but you’re asking me how I am?” He shot back with an amused look on his face.

“Well, you seemed pretty worried about me when I fell. I just wanted to make sure you were good now that you know I’m okay,” she explained with a shrug, wincing afterwards.

“Careful,” Malcolm warned softly. “They said you shouldn’t be moving it a lot for the next few days unless you want to be in a lot of pain.”

“Good to know,” the girl sighed, looking down. His eyes softened and he rested his hand on her good shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” he offered.

“You don’t have to do that Malcolm,” Elena responded. “You should go home.”

“You just took some medicine that causes drowsiness,” the man pointed out. “I can’t let you drive yourself home in good conscience.” Elena wanted to argue further with him, but was stopped by a yawn, further proving his point.

“Let’s go.” He gave her no time to argue as he stood, helping her up. The girl shook her head at him, a small smile on her face, and followed him to his car dutifully. A blush settled on her face when he opened the door for her, and she thanked him as she got in. Though she attempted to hide it, she had a feeling that Malcolm noticed her rosy cheeks because he grinned cheekily as he closed the door.

Elena, 3.

Christmas had finally arrived in New York, and Elena could not be more excited. It was her absolute favorite holiday, she loved everything about it. She loved the atmosphere, movies, food, gifts, everything. The one thing she didn’t like, however, were parties. And that’s exactly what Malcolm’s mother Jessica, so graciously decided to do for the team. She decided to throw a party at her estate, saying that it would only be them.

Of course, that was an exaggeration. Jessica Whitly didn’t know how to keep things low-key. She said that she was just inviting the team, so naturally she invited all charities and society to share the holiday with them. Because Elena didn’t know about the woman’s extravagance, she dressed for a small get together. Luckily Malcolm’s sister Ainsley caught her and took her upstairs to get her a more suitable dress. Less than a half hour later Elena was led downstairs by the girl to be presented for everyone there, including Malcolm. He couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping at the sight of her. Her floor length dark red dress fit her form perfectly and sparkled under the lights of the Whitly mansion. Her makeup matched it perfectly, her lipstick matching the dress, and her hair was curled and flipped over her right shoulder. Eventually he forced himself to look away and start a conversation with Gil and JT.

After thanking Ainsley one last time, Elena walked away to grab a flute of champagne. As she drank, she looked around the room. It didn’t take her long to realize that she knew almost no one there. Aside from her team, she couldn’t recognize a single face that her eyes landed upon. It made her uncomfortable, she didn’t like this. She liked being around people that she knew. Not knowing what else to do, she decided to just stay by the wall and instead people watch as she continued to sip from her flute. Malcolm noticed the girl after leaving his conversation to walk around. His brows furrowed as he examined her demeanor.

Her shoulders were tense, though she attempted to make it seem like they weren’t. The hand that wasn’t holding her glass was clenching rhythmically, almost as if she was trying to keep herself calm. Though she tried to keep her face stoic, he could see the discomfort in her eyes. As her eyes scanned the room, her shoulders dropped a bit in disappointment. The room was full of investors and charity heads, none of which she knew or was acquainted with. Conclusion: Elena was uncomfortable in this environment, and she was very stressed.

Malcolm didn’t have to think about what to do. He wanted to help her out, and it had a very simple solution. As a waiter passed, he took two flutes from the tray then made his way over to the girl. Her eyes caught his as he reached her, and she subtly perked up.

“Want to get some air?” He inquired casually so she didn’t become even more uncomfortable about her situation being seen as delicate. She looked relieved that he asked, and nodded without delay. He nodded his head toward the back door then began walking towards it, hearing the girl follow him dutifully. Once they were outside, Malcolm handed the girl a flute. They were silent as they took a sip, then Elena spoke as she stared out over the backyard.

“I had no idea your mom was so...so…”

“Extra?” Malcolm finished with a knowing smile.

“I was going to say extravagant, but sure,” the girl giggled softly. That emitted a smile from the man beside her.

“Yes, well Mother comes from money, she has to keep up appearances. Hence why she invited all these people,” he explained. “I’m sorry that you weren’t warned beforehand.”

“I was just lucky that your sister was there to catch me before I embarrassed myself in front of all those respectable people.” Malcolm hummed, he wouldn’t call some of them respectable, but she didn’t need to know that.

They fell into a comfortable silence, then Malcolm noticed her shivering. He said nothing as he shed his coat, wrapping it around her shoulders. Elena opened her mouth to protest, but all words died in her throat when she noticed the way that he was looking at her. What was that in his eyes? Affection? Care? Fondness? Love? Her breath hitched as the last word entered her mind, but she didn’t notice or care as she realized how close they were. She barely processed that they were leaning closer together, until they jumped apart as the back door opened. They whipped around to see Dani standing there.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt,” she started awkwardly. “Uh, Jessica wanted to make a toast and she wanted everyone inside. I’ll just- uh, I’ll just leave you two be,” she concluded delicately before stepping back inside. Elena felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and she just barely glanced at the man beside her.

“We should get inside,” she muttered shyly.

“Uh, yeah,” Malcolm agreed in the same tone, opening the door for her. She thanked him as she walked inside then kept her gaze down as she walked to the main room, trying not to think of what would have happened if Dani hadn’t interrupted.

Malcolm, 1.

He had no time to process what happened. One moment Malcolm was looking at a murder in a rather decrepit hotel, next thing he knew he heard a crash then he blacked out.

“Malcolm, it’s time to wake up,” he heard a familiar voice speak gently shortly before small kisses were pressed to his face. His eyes didn’t open, but a small smile appeared on his face.

“I know you’re awake,” the same voice added with a giggle. That’s what made him finally open his eyes. Elena was leaning over him in all her glory, the sunlight behind her making her figure glow.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” she teased, only to gasp as Malcolm’s arms wrapped around her and pulled her on top of him.

“Good morning indeed,” he responded with a cheeky smile, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

“Malcolm Whitly, let me go. Your parents and sister are going to be here any minute,” she demanded, though her heart wasn’t in it. They both knew that she could never stay mad at him.

“But I’m so comfy,” he groaned dramatically, rolling over so she was now laying on the bed with his head laying on her chest. Her hands began running through his hair, which made his eyes fall closed.

“Baby, I love you, but if this is your attempt to get me up, I’m afraid it isn’t working,” he mumbled tiredly. That made her halt her movements and, with great strength, she sat up.

“Alright then, come on. I need you to get dressed then set the table. Let’s go.” She gave him no time to protest as she wiggled out of his grip and stood. She fixed her shirt then began walking to their bedroom door.

“Come on Captain Whitly,” she teased. “The NYPD’s best detective captain can’t be seen slacking off.” With that, she walked out to the kitchen, leaving Malcolm smiling in her wake. Just a few minutes later he was dressed and walking out. There were plates, cups and silverware set out on the kitchen’s island.

“Why not just go ahead and set the table if you went through the trouble of getting everything out?” He questioned teasingly. Elena, who was standing by the stove cooking scrambled eggs, shot him a playful glare over her shoulder.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” she responded without hesitation, looking back at the pan in front of her as he chuckled. He grinned widely then went to set the table. Just as he finished, a knock was heard at the front door.

“Come in,” he called, hearing the door open a moment later.

“Hey guys,” Martin greeted as he, Jessica and Ainsley appeared in the kitchen. “Hope we’re not too late because it smells good in here.” Elena giggled as she poured the eggs into a large bowl.

“Nope, you’re just in time.”

“Anything I can help you with, dear?” Jessica questioned as she walked over to the girl, receiving a no from her.

“It’s just about done, you guys take a seat,” she instructed. The Whitly family did as she said and she walked over with the last of the breakfast foods in her hand.

“Looks great Lena,” Ainsley complimented as everyone began filling their plates.

“Yeah, no thanks to this one,” Elena teased, nodding her head towards her husband. Malcolm put on an offended look, which made the others laugh.

“You know what?” He asked before flinging a piece of bacon at her. She gasped as it struck her shirt and caught it before it hit the ground.

“Malcolm!” She, Jessica and Ainsley exclaimed in unison. Jessica grabbed her napkin and bega dabbing at her shirt.

“Malcolm Thomas Whitly you better hope that this comes out or so help me god,” Elena started threateningly, only for Martin to cut her off with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry, it comes out with a very simple trick,” he answered in place of his son. Without another word he stood and walked into the kitchen, returning a moment later with dish soap.

“Now, just put some dish soap on it and rub the fabric together to work the soap into the grease and then let the clothing sit for about 10 minutes before washing,” he explained before grinning. “My mother taught me what one,” he added with a wink. Elena thanked him with a grateful smile before standing, smacking the back of Malcolm’s head gently as she walked to their shared bedroom. Ainsley tried not to snicker as she took a sip of her coffee. Just a minute later Elena walked out in a clean shirt with the dirty one in her hand.

“Worked like a charm Martin, thank you,” she spoke as she set the shirt down, taking a seat once more. Martin only hummed in response as he continued to eat. As everyone followed his lead, they conversed happily. They talked about a surgery Martin had later today, Ainsley complained that her patients have been rather boring lately, and Jessica talked about a charity event she was having later this week. After that they discussed a case that Malcolm’s team was working on until Elena looked at the time on her watch.

“We need to get going soon. Edrisa said she’d have the blood spatter report by-”

“Malcolm?” The man furrowed his brows and sat up suddenly. Did Elena just get cut off...by her own voice? He looked around. None of his family seemed to notice as they continued eating.

“What?” He looked at her. The Elena sitting in front of him didn’t look like she even noticed the second voice. In fact, she began speaking, but her voice sounded distant, echoey even.

“Malcolm, please wake up,” she begged, but her expression remained casual. “The team needs you, Gil needs you, I need you. You’re stronger than this, please just wake up. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please, I love you too much to lose you. Please, please please, just wake up.” What was going on here? Why was she-

He felt like someone shot him in the chest out of nowhere as memories came flooding back to him, hitting him like a freight train. This wasn’t his life. His father was a serial killer not a family man, his mother was a rich alcoholic not a stay at home wife, his sister was a journalist not a doctor. He was not the captain of his team, and his wife was not even his wife.

This was all a figment of his imagination, he was trapped in his own subconscious after the incident at the hotel. But, was that really a bad thing? After all this time, he finally understood what love was in the form of a loving wife and family. He felt complete. But that was Elena speaking to him, the real Elena. And she said she loved him. She loved him too much to lose him. Knowing this now, Malcolm couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her, especially like this. That was enough to make him want to wake up. The question was: how?

Elena desperately tried to stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks as she stared at the still asleep man in front of her. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that he was… She couldn’t even finish her thought, because it hurt too much to think that it could end up being a reality. She nearly jumped out of her seat when the door to Malcolm’s hospital room opened. Gil offered her empathetic smile as he stepped inside holding two cups of coffee.

“Any movement?” He inquired softly as he handed her a cup, receiving a head shake from the defeated girl. “Even after you talked to him?”

“I don’t know what else to do Gil,” she said, trying not to cry again.

“Go home,” he answered simply. “You’ve been here for hours. Malcolm would hate it if you didn’t get any sleep because of him.” Elena was about to protest until she heard Malcolm’s name, and she sighed softly.

“Okay,” she finally conceded, standing up. Gil smiled gratefully then began leading her to the door. Both froze mid-step when they heard a noise behind them. It sounded like someone was groaning. Their heads whipped around to Malcolm, immediately noticing his head turn to the side. Elena gasped excitedly, the thought of leaving straying from her mind instantly as she ran back over to him.

“Malcolm,” she called softly, resting her hands on the bars of his bed as she examined his face carefully. She nearly sobbed when his eyes slowly fluttered open.

“Oh my god,” Gil breathed out, a wide smile already on his face. “I’ll go get the doctor.” Without another word, he ran out, leaving the two alone. Malcolm’s eyes scanned the room weakly, eventually landing on the girl’s tearful face.

“Elena,” he started hoarsely, though he didn’t finish his statement.

“You’re okay,” she all but whimpered. “I’m so glad.” She leaned over and hugged him, feeling his arms wrap around her a moment later. He mumbled something that she couldn’t quite hear, so she pulled away to look at him.

“What did you say?”

“I-I…” he couldn’t seem to find his voice.

“Don’t tire yourself out, you just woke up,” Elena said, pulling the blanket higher up his torso. Once done, she patted his chest comfortingly, only for him to reach up and grab it.

“Malcolm, what are you-”

“I love you too,” he finally found his voice. His words made her eyes widen and she froze.

“You- uh... You heard that?” She asked shyly. A small smile formed on Malcolm’s face and he nodded.

“I’ve gotta say, I can’t think of a more romantic way for you to confess your love for me than when I’m in a coma,” he teased, which made her roll her eyes playfully.

“Oh shut up,” she responded, attempting to move her hand away. Malcolm kept a tight grip on it though, and he pulled her closer to him with a drowsy smile.

“What? I’m just trying to say that I feel the same way about you,” he muttered.

“And you did it in the most Malcolm way possible,” she retorted with a playful smile.

“My way is better than no way, right?” He shrugged, which earned a giggle from the girl as she shook her head.

“Definitely,” she answered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

[loadedmemory]

Prompt #3: Scale

Part II: I Will Come

She moved sinuously across the room, tail flicking up, then swaying side to side.  He barely noticed her presence, leaned over the pile of gil he’d poured out over the desk, counting each before stacking them up in columns in front of him.  

She leaned against the desk, picking one of them up to flip between her knuckles.  He finally looked up at her and narrowed his eyes, snatching it form her hand.  

Her smirk lilted, “Well aren’t we in a mood.”

“Not now, Sueya,” he snapped, adding the coin back atop the stack she’d plucked it from.

The smile vanished entirely and she bared her teeth at him, reaching out to swipe her arm across the desk and scatter all of his carefully placed coin stacks.  The sound of them bouncing off the floor and rolling filled the room, as did the scrape of his chair as he leapt to his feet.  

His hand raised as he grabbed her arm, his fingers closing around her flesh painfully.  Her ears flattened against her hair.  “Do it. Go on.”

Nostrils flared briefly, and for a heartbeat she wondered if he actually would this time.  But slowly his hand lowered.  She wrenched her arm free, her face sulking at him.  

Then he leaned over and slipped his arm around her waist, tugging her in for a demanding kiss.  She melted into him willingly.  This was the Loulleaux she loved. The one who gave into her every whim as the kept woman she demanded to be.

“Twelve damn you, woman,” he growled against her cheek.  She laughed as he let go and she twirled away from him, her feet kicking one of the coins.  It spun across the floor until he smacked into the wall and fell over.

Sinking back into his chair, he sighed, looking at the mess.  She, being the dutiful lover, began picking them up, one at a time, bringing handfuls back to the desk until all of them were accounted for.  His count began, anew.

Just as she considered pressing her luck by scattering the coins again, a knock at the door startled both of them. Loulleaux ‘s brows furrowed.  No one bothered him on his accounting days.  No one but Sueya. 

But the knocking continued, more urgent the second time. A muffled voice on the other side, “Sir, you have a visitor who demands an audience.”

“Show them in,” he growled, gesturing for Sueya to bring him one of his scales.  Whoever it was, they could talk fast while he counted.  

The door opened with an abject groan, held that way to grant egress to a small hyur woman.  Dressed in a plain tunic, and pants that didn’t quite reach her ankles.  The scarf wrapped around her throat nearly touched the bottom of her lips.   Strangely, in the light, her glasses reflected himself.  

Sueya set down the scale, and he pulled it to the center of his desk. She leaned against it, careful not to scatter any of the coins again.  Perhaps she could be so bold and playful in private, but she knew better than to do so when business was being conducted. 

The woman pushed her glasses up and smiled at both of them.  “Hello.  I’ve come to give you a glimpse of the future.”

Loulleaux opened a package of somnus in front of him, scooping it into a cup and placing it on the side opposite the coins. Sueya watched it sink, bobbing up and down until nearly equal to the coins.  He muttered something under his breath.  She barely heard, a curse she supposed, on the guard who allowed this woman inside to trouble him.

“The only future I foresee is you bleeding on my floor.”

She smiled.  Candlelight reflected in the lenses of her spectacles.  “I was counting on that.  But wouldn’t you prefer to at least hear your fortune before I die?”

“No.” 

Loulleaux reached under the desk, to the pistol Sueya knew he stored there.  She flinched as he pulled it out and fired it, the sound reverberating through the room loudly.  The strange woman crumpled, her scarf fanning out over the floor as her blood puddled.  From a pouch on her belt, a pack of gold foil cards tumbled, scattering.  

Sueya stared, all mirth drained out of her.  She stared at the cards in horror. “Loulleaux... what have you done.”

He sniffed, his attention returned to the gil and the powered somnus and the scale. “Have Paulenont clean up the floor.”  

Swallowing, she stepped over the woman’s body.  Her eyes fell upon one of the cards, the only one that had turned over.  A man slumped onto the ground, at least half a dozen swords piercing his flesh, if not more.

Sueya fled the counting room, raced through the commons, nearly knocked over one of Loulleaux ‘s foot soldiers as she threw upon the front door, and disappeared into the foliage of the Lavender Beds.   She didn’t dare stop running, not for some time. 

 In her heart she knew, there was no where on the Star she could really hide.

[izzisanauthor]

A Murderer's Cell

A Prodigal Son fanfic by IzzIsAnAuthor (izzygrace07)

References to memories discussed in 2x03 - "Alma Mater"

----------

Malcolm's fist pounds against the door as he hyperventilates, body trembling with fear. The closet walls suffocate him without moving an inch. It's such a familiar feeling, the exact one he felt during his time trapped in the janitor's closet at Remington Academy. His rational and irrational thoughts fight for dominance in his head, and right now, the nonsensical ones are winning and fill his mind with death.

It's not like anyone would hear his knocking; it's nearly midnight, and the precinct is empty. The murder case he is investigating is similar to one that went cold thirteen years prior, and he needed to grab those files and run them by their current information. Malcolm hadn't thought much of it when he walked into the closet of old case files and rummaged through a few boxes. He didn't know that the door would close on him, shrouding him in darkness.

Malcolm had frozen immediately, unable to comprehend the situation before him. When reaching blindly for the doorknob, he had been shocked to discover that the knob was missing, leaving only the rose behind. Pushing on the door did nothing, and he didn't have the space he would need to kick it open. With nobody left in the building and the doorknob missing, Malcolm was experiencing his biggest fear first-handed: alone in the darkness, trapped in a box with nobody around to hear his cries for help.

The Remington Incident hadn't been this bad. At the very least, there was minute light that helped him see. Yes, he was dangerously dehydrated, starving, and soaked in his sweat, tears, and urine, but Nicky had been merciful enough to let him see. Now, Malcolm can't help but imagine the same scenario; only now, he'd have to survive those three days with his vision inhibited. Dying in darkness, in pain and disgusted with himself, and with nobody around to find him for days was undoubtedly terrifying.

Eventually, Malcolm's sobs turn into silent tears. He leans his body against the door and continues to knock, not nearly as forceful as before, while his free hand trembles wildly at his side. The resignation takes over much faster than the last time he was stuck like this, taking only a few minutes instead of the first six hours of his Remington captivity. This feeling must be what defeatism is, the feeling of complete resignation. He doesn't experience this very often, only ever falling into it when a killer manages to elude him, manipulating the profile and taunting him as more victims get claimed. During those times, he had Gil, Ainsley, or even Dani talk him through it, reassuring him that everything would turn out fine, that profiling isn't an exact science; Malcolm isn't to blame.

Except he is, so his abusive mind tells him, and this is his punishment. He's let so many lives slip through his fingers because he wasn't good enough, fast enough, or intelligent enough to find the monsters responsible. If he had only said the right thing or noticed the essential details a little sooner, he wouldn't have to watch parents lose their children or kids become orphans. He's killed more people than the Surgeon, the man who he promised never to become. After his father's arrest, Malcolm refused to let himself go down the same path, dedicating his life to saving lives instead of taking them. With how much he's failed, he deserves to wither away in isolation, to rot in this cell, like the murderer he is.

Malcolm takes a couple of steps back and leans against the shelves of case files, sliding down to the floor. Every breath is shaky and laborious. He knows that the room walls are secure in the back of his mind, and he has plenty of oxygen. The precinct would open tomorrow, someone would come into the closet to look for files, and Malcolm would be free from his prison. It's not wishful thinking; it's a fact. Yet, at this moment, all he can see is the ceiling collapsing above him, ready to crush his body under the rubble. His breathing feels too heavy, wasting away his air supply. Worst of all, he imagines the precinct opening tomorrow and having plenty of people present, yet nobody notices that he's missing. Even if they did, it's not like anyone would care enough to look. He could bang on this door for hours and catch their attention; they might even figure out that he's in there. They could leave him locked in the closet like Nicky did, knowing fully well that he's suffering behind the door.

When the door opens and the room floods with light, Malcolm doesn't notice. Tears blur his vision, and all he can hear is his own hyperventilating. His fingernails dig into his wrist, desperate to stop his hand from shaking. Somewhere in the distance, he can make out words, but they're impossible to comprehend.

"Bright? Kid, what happened to you?" The voice is familiar, and Malcolm can almost put a name to its owner. "It's okay, Kid. You're okay. Come on, let's get you in the open. Malcolm, can you hear me?"

His first name is what shocks him back into reality. Nobody at the precinct calls him Malcolm except for two people, and only one of those two calls him Kid.

Malcolm blinks away the tears as much as he can, the blur fading from his sight. It isn't easy to see the man before him, the light from the hall making silhouettes out of his features. However, he can see the outline of facial scruff and well-maintained hair, and the recognition finally sets in.

"Gil," Malcolm breathes. A hand takes his own and gently pulls him to his feet. He staggers, his head spinning from the lightheadedness, and nearly falls over. When the throbbing of his head calms, he nods to show he's okay. Gil places a hand on the back of Malcolm's neck, guiding him out of the closet and into the light of the precinct.

He's led to a random desk nearby, practically throwing himself into the chair. The clean air that comes with the open space is heavenly, as if it is a gift from God himself. Gil grabs another chair and pulls it over to Malcolm, sitting across from him.

"So," Gil starts, "are you gonna tell me what happened, Bright?"

"There's not much to say," Malcolm mumbles, a slight waver to his voice. "I walked in the closet, and the door closed on me. That's it."

Gil sighs. "That's not what I mean."

When they found Malcolm in that closet at Remington, the shame erased any sense of relief. New York society already thinks that the Whitley family is dangerous, and that's just with Doctor Whitley's reputation hanging over his head. Malcolm should have known what Nicky would do, just like he should have known what his father was doing to those women. There are so many horrific things that Malcolm could have prevented, but he didn't because he wasn't good enough.

So, when Malcolm was found three days after Nicky trapped him, he told the doctors and police officers that the door shut on him. It was just a freak accident, and nobody was to blame but himself. With that story, nobody thinks of him as a failure or a weak man.

"...Do you remember when they found me at Remington?" Malcolm asks hesitantly.

Gil nods, his eyebrows furrowing. "You could have died in there," he laments. "I can't believe it took the police three days to find you. It was your damn school! We should have looked there first."

The guilt weighs heavy on Malcolm's shoulders. His disappearance worried so many people, and even now, it's obvious how blameworthy Gil feels about the whole thing. But it's not Gil's job to know that kind of information; that's what Malcolm is supposed to do.

He falls into silence upon hearing Gil's words. The worst thing he can do for Gil is to tell him the truth behind the incident.

"I knew you were claustrophobic," Gil continues, "but I didn't think it was that bad. I haven't seen you cry like that in a long time, Kid."

Malcolm lets out a soft chuckle and directs his gaze to the ground, wiping his palms against his slacks. "That was pretty embarrassing."

He jumps when Gil's hand rests on his knee, squeezing comfortingly. Malcolm glances up and finds Gil watching him with protective eyes. It nearly makes him shrink in his seat, overwhelmed by the sudden change in demeanour.

"Bright, you were traumatised," Gil states. "You were on your death bed. If that happened to me and I had been the one stuck in there, I would have freaked, too."

Malcolm gives a slight nod. He doesn't mean to, but he lets Gil's words go through one ear and out the other. They've been said before by anyone who has ever had the displeasure of seeing him in this state. It's bittersweet to have their sympathy when they have no idea why he's terrified.

"...Nicky Covington." He doesn't hear himself say the name, but he must have, seeing Gil's confused reaction.

"What about him?"

The trembling of Malcolm's hand worsens with the question, and he slams his stable hand over it, squeezing his wrist. Gil grabs both hands and pulls them apart, holding onto them both. It gives Malcolm a sense of security, keeping his mind down on Earth.

"It's okay," Gil says tenderly. "You can tell me, Malcolm." The earnestness in his words makes Malcolm's heart skip a beat. All these years, he's kept the truth behind the Remington incident quiet, choosing to exact revenge on Nicky in such a psychopathtic manner. He should have told Gil the truth back then; Gil would have been there to help him through the shock. He would have gotten Nicky put behind bars, unable to hurt another man.

Instead, he acted as his father would have and tried to kill him. Now, he's tired of having that skeleton in his closet.

"Nicky Covington, he..." Malcolm clears his throat. "The door didn't close on me. He locked me in there when he found out about my father." He looks down shamefully, refusing to meet Gil's eyes. "I lied to the police about the whole thing."

The silence is deafening and sends Malcolm's heart racing. He can feel his pulse clogging his throat, making it difficult to breathe. The usual berating voices he hears are abnormally quiet, waiting anxiously for Gil's reply.

"I know."

Malcolm blinks a few times and intelligently replies, "...What?"

"Kid, did you think I didn't investigate at Remington after they found you?" Gil says incredulously, shaking his head. "The janitor was bribed by the Covington family to lie about the locks. They didn't automatically lock like he said they did; an outside force would have to do it. They paid off the courts to keep quiet, of course, but at the very least, I got a good idea of what happened." He sighs, rubbing his thumbs over Malcolm's hands. "You know you're not The Surgeon, right?"

Malcolm nods halfheartedly. "I know. I do, really, but... Those women--"

Out of his peripheral, he sees Gil lean forward, trying to catch his eye. "You were a kid, Bright. No kid wants to believe their dad is a bad guy. It wasn't your job to catch him; it was ours, and we did."

When Malcolm opens his mouth to argue, Gil sticks up a finger, silencing him. "As a consultant for Major Crimes, you're bound to see people die. It's just a fact. But when you see people die, Malcolm, you want to catch the killer and lock them away. That's what makes you different from Martin Whitley; you do your job to protect people from criminals like him."

Malcolm feels a smile forming on his face. He squeezes Gil's hands. "Thanks, Gil."

Gil stands up, pulling Malcolm up with him. "It's late. We've got a case to work on tomorrow, so get some sleep, alright?"

"Never," Malcolm says, beaming. He may not believe Gil's words to the fullest, but at the very least, he can try to accept them: he isn't the Surgeon. He's Malcolm Bright, and he isn't to blame for what happened to him.

[c-rose2081]

Dragon Colds & Rose Petals

Love Like Dragons AU

Bevie | Huma (implied) | Gildry | Mal & Audrey BROTP

—

Evie Grimhilde was a happily married woman. She had been for nearly three months now, and it was marital bliss. But there was a small part of her that was still a lonely, single, Dragon mom. So when Ben walked in on her that day, struggling to keep the human thermometer in Mal’s mouth to take her temperature, he laughed.

Mal, her best friend and a five year old Isle Dragon, had been sick for the past two days. Evie wasn’t sure what brought it on, as Audrey - Ben’s Aurorian Dragon - didn’t seem to have anything. And of course that small, single, lonely dragon mom part of her reared it’s head. What if Mal was terminally ill? What if she died? What if Evie would wake up tomorrow and her best friend wouldn’t be there? It nearly sent her into hysterics. Coddling the cranky, tired spike menace was the only thing that could calm her.

Naturally, Mal hated it.

Ben, thankfully, was a level headed man, and he rescued poor Mal and quarantined her in another room. He then held Evie to his chest and quietly stroked her hair as she rattled off every possible dragon disease she found on the internet and their outcomes.

“I have a friend who’s a vet,” Ben told Evie when she had finally calmed down, holding her close as to keep her from spending the night with Mal - who was no doubt sleeping, “she comes and looks at Audrey every few months, I’m sure she’d be happy to give Mal a checkup,”

And so Evie agreed that a vet visit would be the best option, rather then trusting DragonMD. Of course, she wasn’t aware that Ben and this ‘vet’ were very close friends. Let alone that this ‘vet’ was a woman who he was apparently quite comfortable with. Uma was a pretty, muscly, dark skinned sort with long turquoise and white braids. She stood at least a head above Evie in height, and when she pictured a ‘vet’, Uma was quite far from what she was imagining.

“Uma!” Ben greeted with an open hug, “thanks for coming,”

“You’re lucky, Ben. I just got back into town,”

“Uma works in freight,” Ben explained to Evie, resting an arm around her waist as Uma pulled a rather large black duffle in behind her, “she travels a lot; it’s why you didn’t meet her at the wedding. Uma, this is my wife, Evie. I wrote to you about her,”

“Yeah; all good things thankfully. It’s nice to finally meet you,” Uma replied, Evie smiling in kind and taking her hand in a firm shake. The grip was incredibly strong, and the skin on her palms was callous, “Ben, I hope you don’t mind. But I brought Gil.”

“Who’s Gil?” Evie asked, brows popping up. She expected Gil to be a person, or perhaps a child. Having a large, horn-backed dragon wander in with a rose in his beak wasn’t what Evie expected at all. Like the day she had met Audrey, the girl yearned for her sketchbook, “oh my goodness,”

“I told you. Uma is great with dragons,” Ben laughed, “this is Gil,”

“My boyfriends dragon, actually,” Uma told Evie.

“I’ve never seen anything like him!” Evie exclaimed, jostling as ‘Gil’ nearly knocked her over when he came to bump the side of her leg with a wing.

“Sorry,” the sailor groaned, rolling her eyes as she grabbed the dragon by the back of the neck, “he’s really good with people, and gentle as they come. But he’s just so big,”

“What kind of dragon is he?” Evie asked, kneeling down to have a better look. Gil, unlike both Mal and Audrey, was built like a narrow turtle, and was armored like a tank. He had short legs with four toes each, and an articulated shell covering his nape, all the way down to his back legs. His tail was stubby, but sprouted four impressively long spikes, and his face was wide eye’d with a beak rather then a toothy maw. Gil’s wings, Evie noticed, folded inelegantly against the outside of his shell, a bit like messy accordion blinds. No doubt they were quite large in order to help such a bulky creature fly.

“Gil is a Coastal Dragon. They usually live out by the sea, in the sand,” Uma explained, heaving the creature to the side where he flopped to his belly unbothered, still holding the bright red flower in his beak, “Harry picked him up when he was traveling, and he’s been with us ever since. He’s a lazy beast,” Uma complained, tapping the creature’s shell with a boot, “doesn’t do jack-shit other then lay around all day,”

Evie couldn’t help but laugh at this, only to jump as Gil made a noise. It sounded almost like a tired, sad foghorn.

“He’s been crying like that all morning,”Uma drawled, “the minute he figured out I was coming here, he wouldn’t let me leave without him,”

“Why would he do that?” Evie asked, frowning slightly in confusion as Ben rubbed the back of his head and Uma glanced at him expectantly.

“Princess! Your boyfriend’s here!” Ben called out, his voice echoing through the tall vaulted ceiling of their house. Puzzled for a moment, Evie turned as Audrey’s birdsong reached her ear. It only took a second before the pink bullet - wings fully outstretched - glided into the room. Gil, who had previously been laying down, leapt up faster then Evie ever could’ve imagined for such a stocky beast. His accordion wings unfurled like a whip, and Uma tugged Evie backwards a step as he gave one powerful flap and was in the air.

“Sweet Merlin, he’s massive,” Evie breathed in wonder, watching as Gil captured Audrey in a mid-flight embrace, enfolding her between his arms and resting his large head on her crest, “are they...?”

“Together,” Ben confirmed with a nod, “it was a surprise to us to, once we figured it out,”

“Gil is romantic, the big lug,” Uma chuckled, placing her hands on her hips as Gil transferred the rose he’d been keeping to Audrey, who somehow managed to tuck it behind her ear flap in a very teenage-girl like manner, “he gets it from Harry, I think. Sorry about your rose bushes, Ben.” Uma admitted, grimacing slightly as Ben merely chuckled.

“It’s alright. The gardeners will take care of it,”

“Right then. So, you told me you had a sick dragon here?” Uma asked Evie, “and it’s clearly not Audrey,”

“My dragon, Mal, has been sick for a few days now,” Evie told the woman, returning to fretting over her best friend, “She’s really dull and tired, and even more cranky then usual,”

“Hm, that could be a number of things,” Uma pondered, heaving her black duffle up over one shoulder, “what breed is she?”

“An Isle Dragon. At least I think she is. I got the egg as a gift. Mom didn’t ever tell me where she got it from,”

“Well, let’s get to it then. I want out of here before Gil starts mimicking Audrey’s love songs,”

And so the trio left the foyer, heading upstairs into the large upper floor. Ben had made Mal her own special quarantine room. Audrey’s claw marks were all over the door’s painted exterior, showing where she’d been trying to get in earlier.

“I’ll have to talk to that girl,” Ben mumbled at reaching the door, ruffling his hair and groaning at the idea of having to fix the damage. Audrey wasn’t normally destructive, and Evie thought maybe she was coming down with something like Mal had. But Uma merely shook her head.

“It’s only natural,” she explained, opening the door and flicking on the light, “Audrey and Mal have probably already formed a family unit. It’s normal for one dragon to comfort another in times of pain or illness,”

“But Mal and Audrey quarrel constantly,” Evie complained, “they never get along,”

“Maybe so, but Dragons aren’t solitary in the wild. They build family units to survive. You did the right thing though, keeping Audrey out of here,” Uma admitted, kicking the door closed with a boot. Mal was laying in her basket, snoozing the day away unbothered by their entrance.

“I’m going to go call mom and dad,” Ben said to Evie quietly, “see if I can’t get someone down here to fix the door, and the bushes. You’ll be ok here with Uma?”

“Yeah. Love you,”

Sharing a quick kiss on the lips , Ben gave a half wave to Uma before skirting back out the door and vanishing.

“You two are good together,” Uma commented a little while later, removing a stethoscope from her bag and slinging it around her neck, “I was surprised when Ben said he was getting married,”

“Oh?”

Sinking down onto a low stool, Evie watched as Uma very carefully checked Mal’s heartbeat, “why do you say that?”

Uma switched the stethoscope for an ear tool as she began checking Mal’s ear holes.

“I dunno; it just never seemed like he could find the right fit. Hell, even we tried it out once,” Uma admitted with a laugh. This caused Evie’s stomach to drop like a rock. She didn’t mean for the green eye’d monster to make an appearance, but she couldn’t help it. After all, it had only been a few months, and she was nothing like Uma.

“Uh...why didn’t it work out? You and Ben?”

“Ah, we aren’t anything alike, really,” Uma said, satisfied with Mal’s ears and digging around in her bag for a moment, “I was always gone, you know? And of course Ben has his parents business to worry about. He needed someone who could keep up with him. Ah,” finding what she was looking for, Uma removed a small ‘T’ shaped device from the bag, “let’s just take the temperature,”

With a beep, Uma looked at the little digital screen and nodded. She put her tools away, removing a stuffed toy from inside her bag and tucking it under one of Mal’s fat arms.

“You, Evie, seem like just the right type for him,” Uma insisted with a sharp nod, rising from her place on the floor and wiping her hands on her jeans, “as for Mal, I suspect a cold is to blame for this. Where does she normally sleep?”

“Uh, up in the rafters above my bed. She used to sleep next to me, but I share a bed with Ben now. Audrey usually sleeps on her perch,”

“Ah. I suggest maybe installing a heat lamp up there, or building a nesting box. I think she’s getting to cold at night. Dragons are sensitive to that sort of thing,”

“I didn’t know,” Evie admitted, “thank you, Uma,”

“Anytime. I love Dragons, and Ben is still a great friend so I’ll help him out when I can. Anyway, Mal should be back to her normal self in a few days. Keep her warm and eating normally, and if anything changes, call me again and I’ll come back,”

“Can Audrey be allowed back in?” Evie asked, holding the door open for Uma to leave as the girl shook her head.

“No. Keep Mal in here and resting until she’s closer to her normal self. No need to risk Audrey catching whatever she has.”

“Ok. I can do that,” Evie nodded, following Uma back downstairs. Ben was standing in the yard out front, looking over the trampled rose bushes. Audrey and Gil were cuddled up within the broken branches, warm and content in a nest of prickly thorns and velvet petals.

“I think Gil might be more romantic then you, Ben,” Evie joked, looping her arm through her husbands as the man made an offended noise in his throat.

“So you want rose petals?” He asked, “I can do that,”

“Mhm, whatever you say,”

“So how’s Mal? Everything ok?”

“She’ll be just fine,” Uma restated, “Evie knows what needs to be done. As for you, Harry wants to get together at some point for a guys night.”

“Will do. I’ll call him and Jay when I have time,”

Bobbing her head in understanding, Uma gently prodded Gil with a toe through the nest, causing him to lift his head groggily.

“Alright, big fella. Kiss your girlfriend goodbye, we need to get going,”

Gil gave a sad little moan and Uma shook her head, “no complaints. I’m the captain here. Now kisses, and let’s go,”

Evie couldn’t help her little ‘awe’ as Gil reluctantly gave Audrey a little cheek nudge before standing and romping out of the bushes unhappily. Ben picked his own dragon up from the thorns, cradling her like a baby as she wailed dramatically.

“Do you cry like that every time I leave the house?” Evie asked as Uma hauled Gil into her Jeep, leaving poor Audrey heartbroken and hanging limply off Ben’s arm.

“No,” Ben insisted, using his free hand to grasp Evie’s as he gave it a squeeze, “I’m even worse.”

—

A/N: So...this is officially an AU! I’m calling it the Love Like Dragons AU. Basically Auradon is just a normal city (no prince and princesses, no pirates, ect.). Ben is the heir to his wealthy parents business rather then being a King. And the only ‘magical’ thing in Auradon is the dragons part of it. If you have any questions or suggestions for the AU, ping me :3

[notgonnarememberthis]

Through the Valley - Chapter 5

Finally managed to get this one out ugh. I really wanted to do this one but with vacation prepping I’ve been so fucking busy. We’re down to less than a month to go and I’m so fucking ready for it y’all have no idea. I hope y’all enjoy this update and I promise you the next one is coming much sooner (hint: it’s already written). Thank you all for the support!! It keeps me going.

Exhaustion feels like it’s seeping in her bones when she rises for the second time. The first had been early in the morning, with Gil’s gentle hand splayed across her back as she shivered from the remnants of the nightmare. She doubts he managed to sleep again with having to go back to work only an hour or two later. She hadn’t even felt him leave.

Yet she wakes up alone, the bliss of a dreamless sleep dares to pull her back under the covers until she peers at her phone, squinting from the light shining in her eyes. All the sleep leaves her body the second her eyes hit the time.

10:30.

She jumps out of the bed, her feet tangling in the blankets, nearly tripping her in the process. She overslept, she was supposed to be up an hour ago. Malcolm and Ainsley would be here soon. She practically begged them to come to lunch and she would be late in her own home.

She gets ready quickly, choosing simply makeup and running a brush through her hair. As she finishes up she can hear Malcolm and Ainsley bickering. Their words are too muffled to make out as she pushes through the halls. 

“You can’t.” Malcolm’s voice stands out as she gets closer, of course today of all days they decide to show up on time to lunch. She takes a deep breath, longing to press her fingers into her eyes to will her exhaustion out of her body. She wishes deeply that she had time for a coffee. She’ll just have to request one be brought out. It would already be prepared with Malcolm favoring the drink over tea.

Most days she feels the same.

She squares her shoulders, willing all evidence of the night she had away with a subtle shake. She stretches her fingers to stop the slight, yet present tremble. Malcolm and Ainsley are far too good at picking up the little details, they’d catch it as soon as she walked in and she’s not ready for those questions. She pushes the still lingering images to the back of her mind, knowing that they will just come to haunt her when she closes her eyes again. Finally she tilts her chin up with her signature smile.

She’s ready.

Pushing into the room she launches into the explanation she had prepared with ease, “I’m so sorry I’m late. Mr. Astor tried to negotiate out of our deal over the property I signed on and-” She stops noticing neither of her children are looking at her. Ainsley’s eyes are piercing at Malcolm, anger practically sparking from them. His are turned towards his phone, fingers flying in a text to who she assumes is one of his team. “Did I miss something?”

“Malcolm’s being a helicopter parent.” His head snaps up at that, rearing back in confusion.

“I wasn’t aware I became a grandmother.”

“Hilarious.” Malcolm deadpans before turning to her. “I told Ainsley she can’t investigate my case and now she’s throwing a fit.”

“I’m not throwing a fit! You’re blocking me from my biggest case yet.” She turns towards Jessica, as if looking for her to overrule Malcolm’s decision. “I am this close to head reporter. Watts has one foot out the door and I just need one really good story to seal the deal. Wesley Piers is poisoning his patients. He’s making them sick so he can cure them.”

“He’s too dangerous, Ains. I’m not letting you do this.”

“He’s a man in a suit. I’m not afraid of a man in a suit.”

“So was Endicott.” Jessica feels like the air has been punched out of her lungs at the mention of the name. Ainsley must hear it because her eyes flash over momentarily. Her face reading like an apology, He didn’t mean it. He’s just scared.

“I can handle myself.”

“Like you handled John Watkins?”

“Malcolm James Whitly!” Malcolm’s eyes drop, shoulders tensing with the last name. She hadn’t used it on him since he made the decision to change it. Yet watching Ainsley flinch like she’d been slapped was too much. His lips tremble before he pushes himself away from the table fleeing from the room.

She can taste the venom in the back of her throat but she takes a deep breath, swallowing the bubbling anger. Ainsley’s eyes are locked on the table, chewing on the inside of her lip the same way she’s seen a hundred times as her daughter tries to school her own emotions.

“Ainsley, baby.”

“I’m fine. Go talk to him. He’s been acting weird since he got here. I think he’s just lashing out.”

“You sure?” She walks over, placing her fingers beneath Ainsley’s chin to tilt up to meet her eyes.

“I’m ok mom.” Ainsley smiles, a forced one but there’s a genuine spark behind her eyes. Jessica smiles back leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“My sweet girl.” She drops her hand and takes another steadying breath, going to search for Malcolm.

She didn’t have to look far. He’s just in the other room, pacing from side to side as his eyes follow his path. It takes her clearing her throat for him to even realize that she’s in the room at all. Guilt floods his features, at least he’s cognizant enough to recognize that. “You know I was right.”

“I don’t care if you’re right.” Jessica levels him with her tone and he shrinks again. “You need to apologize to your sister. You were way out of line.”

“I’m not talking about Ainsley.” Malcolm rakes his hands through his hair. She can feel his frustration but she doesn’t understand why. “I was right.”

“About what?”

“About Van de Camp!” She draws a quick breath in, understanding finally what’s got him so upset. “I had a bad feeling about it. I thought maybe he’d get away.”

“He didn’t.”

“He was here. He could’ve killed you. I saw him charge at you.”

“Malcolm, he’s dead.”

“But you could’ve died!” Her face softens, hands reaching out to him. When he doesn’t move away she takes his hand in hers. “I knew something was wrong. And when I heard the shots I thought-”

“Sunshine.” She whispers and the tears begin spilling down his cheeks. “I’m ok. I wouldn’t have done it if I had any other choice.”

“I know.” He mutters. “Gil told me you were protecting Cricket.”

“Did he?”

“I almost didn’t believe him.” She furrows her brows but when she sees Malcolm’s lips twitch up into a smile she knows he’s joking. She shoves him lightly with a shake of her head.

“Be nice to your mother. I do have a heart, you know.”

“I know.” Malcolm’s smile fades before coming back again. “Just please don’t do that again.” 

“I won’t. I promise.” She wraps her arms around him giving him a gentle squeeze when he returned the hug. “Now, go apologize to your sister and we can begin lunch.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Jessica’s head lifts when she hears the bedroom door open. She was just settling down to read papers before falling asleep. On days like these Gil would get home so late he’d shower and join her in bed accidentally waking her in the process. She’s always thankful, though. Truthfully she sleeps better knowing that he’s safely next to her.

“Well this is a welcome surprise.” She croons, with a tilted smile. “I didn’t think you’d be home so early.” The words slip from her lips before she can catch them. She never really put it into thought but he had sort of moved in. All of his things were basically here, he rarely stayed at his apartment and if he did it was because she was on a short work trip. “Though I have been thinking about a back rub all night. I woke up late and the children fought. I just want to relax.”

He doesn’t move though. Nor does he meet her eyes. She feels her heart sink in her chest. Something is very wrong.

“Gil?” Her voice feels strained when it finally pulls from her throat. She’s begging him to prove her wrong. That all the drama from the day, that her nightmares, that her exhaustion were simply making her read far into things. He would walk in, smile, kiss her, and crawl into bed. It would only be for a few moments before she kicked him out of the freshly pressed warmth to go take a shower. Maybe she’d join him and the heat would melt away all of her panic.

But he doesn’t move. She watches him swallow before meeting her eyes. 

“Gil.” Another plea. She tries to stop him as tears build.

“Ainsley’s been taken.”

[atomicstrawbrys]

Sometimes Devils Aren’t That Bad

Warnings: Some cursing, brief mentions of death and alcohol abuse.

Summary: Arthur’s job as an angel is to help his human live a selfless life. Alfred’s job as a devil is to let his human be selfish. Though Arthur may be hesitant to admit it, sometimes being a little bit selfish is okay. 

Author’s Note: i wrote this a long time ago and never posted it lmao, but I’ve had a couple people request some angel/demon stuff and that reminded me that this fic exists. enjoy! let me know if you liked it! //

Morals. Standards. Conscience. A general sense of right and wrong. Every human being on earth has one- a code by which they live their lives, a line in the sand which they won’t cross. Whether they admit it or not, a person’s life is entirely based on how okay they are with stepping on others to get what they want. Some listen to that tiny angel on their shoulder and stay on that path of righteousness no matter what temptation comes their way. Some can justify looking out for themselves more than others, and indulge in the earthly pleasures whispered in their ear by their little devil.

Arthur’s job was to be that path of righteousness. Though he didn’t sit directly on his charge’s shoulder -that tidbit of information was misinformed at best- it was his job to help steer his mentee to do the right, honorable thing. He would try his best to put them in situations where they would be encouraged to do good and to collaborate with other angels to bring them into contact with holier, wiser influencers on earth. 

His...colleague...Alfred’s job was to do the opposite. Alfred, for all his charm, was a devil, one who thrived on encouraging nasty habits and trying to get their human involved with a bad crowd. Alfred was the perpetual thorn in Arthur’s side, made only worse by the fact that they spent nearly every moment together. If he was on one side of their human, Alfred was on the other, trying to get them to do the opposite of whatever Arthur encouraged. And the worst of it all was the fact that Alfred seemed to think it was so funny to get him worked up. Alfred never suggested the human do anything too bad, not really, but it was the little things that drove Arthur absolutely mad. 

This was one of those little things. Their charge, Matthew, was sitting on his bed, phone in his hands. He was a teenage boy, just sixteen, and thankfully had not had to make any of the tough moral decisions in life yet. He was a kind, gentle and soft-spoken boy who believed in being a good person, and for that Arthur was grateful. However...he was also a teenager, and teenagers were notorious for pushing their boundaries and sometimes putting a toe across that line in the sand, just to see what would happen. Arthur was not very grateful for that. 

“Come onnn!” Alfred whined, lying on his back on Matthew’s bedroom floor. “What’s the worst that could happen! Just text him back and say you’ll go!” Matthew, of course, could not see nor hear Alfred directly- instead, the essence of his words swirled in the back of his mind, nagging at him. Ultimately it was Matthew’s decision, but both his guardians had a gentle pull. Arthur sat in the chair at Matthew’s desk, turned to face the two of them. He lightly kicked Alfred’s side.

“Matthew has a history test tomorrow, and history is his worst subject! He needs to stay home and study, so he can get a good grade and have a future!” 

Alfred snorted, looking up at him with blue eyes that always gleamed with mischief. “So what? His life isn’t gonna be determined by one little test. Besides, he really likes Gilbert, why not jump at the chance to go out with him?”

Arthur rubbed his temples with a frustrated groan. “Because Gilbert is a bad influence. He skips school, he disrespects his teachers, he drinks and has parties every weekend, and he’s definitely not going to go to college…” He shook his head. “No. No, I won’t let him influence Matthew into throwing away his future.”

The devil only shrugged and shifted his gaze from the angel over to his charge. He grinned, a little. “Sorry, Babe. Looks like Matthew’s going out.” 

“Don’t ‘Babe’ me- wait, what?!” Arthur sat up quickly, feathers on his wings ruffling.

“Yep! Text has been sent, Gil’s probably already on his way,” Alfred teased lightly, sticking out his tongue. “Suck it, Artie. Matt’s having fun.” The smile on his lips was good-natured, but, Arthur wasn’t amused. He simply huffed, crossing his arms and glowering. 

“If you think for one second I am going to just stand by and let this happen!” He got up, pacing back and forth across the room. “Do you enjoy it? Destroying someone’s life before they even get a chance to live it? He’ll start drinking and partying like Gilbert and soon his grades will slip and he’ll drop out of school and he’ll work a dead-end job for the rest of his life until he tries to rob a bank and dies in the shootout!” Arthur’s chest heaved, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He retched, and the shit-eating grin on Alfred’s lips fell away into concern. 

“Woah. Woah- do you really think that’s what’s gonna happen?” Alfred stood, walking to him and placing a hand on his arm. “Arthur, relax. We’ll go with them, okay? We won’t interfere, we’ll just..keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid. I promise I won’t egg him on.” 

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping. “...Promise?” When Alfred nodded, he seemed to relax. Just a little. “Fine. But I’m doing all I can to get him out of there if things go wrong.” Alfred conceded to that.

Arthur did have to admit that, when Gilbert showed up to the door with flowers, it was...a sweet gesture. One that Matthew seemed to like quite a bit. And, well...Gilbert’s plans for the date seemed innocent enough, too. A trip to the park, a bite to eat, and home before nine. Though Arthur wasn’t sure Gilbert would stick to his ‘plan’ -it could all be a lure to get Matthew into the car- it did sound nice. 

As the group of four headed out to the car, Alfred plucked a rose from Matthew’s bouquet. Neither Matthew nor Gilbert noticed- the bouquet hadn’t changed, not for them. Alfred had simply conjured up a replica. He held it out to Arthur, and Arthur rolled his eyes. 

“A rose for my rose,” The demon cooed, tucking the flower behind Arthur’s ear. Arthur made all the appropriate protests and indignant squawks, but ultimately he didn’t take it out. He supposed he could humor Alfred, just for a bit. He liked flowers, after all. 

The two of them didn’t ride in the car with Matthew and Gilbert, but they did fly overhead. Gilbert was true to his word and drove them straight to the local park. It was a beautiful evening- The lights strung in the trees were on, the fountain was bubbling, and the afternoon crowd was gone. A few people walked up and down the paths and enjoyed the park's amenities, and Arthur found the atmosphere overall quite cozy. 

“See? The world isn’t falling apart yet.” Alfred teased lightly, as they watched Matthew and Gilbert embark on one of the nature trails. “They’re just kids, let them live a little.” 

Sighing, Arthur watched as Matthew disappeared into the park’s adjoining forest. He...he wouldn’t go. He’d let Matthew have some privacy -the walks only took ten or fifteen minutes anyway, they weren’t long- he’d be back soon. He’d be back soon. Arthur took a deep breath, and he sat down on one of the benches, head in his hands.

“Arthur, you’ve gotta learn to relax.” Alfred sighed as he sat down next to him, rubbing the angel’s shoulders. “We’re not his parents- we just give him a little nudge.” He shot Arthur a crooked smile. “We’re like his really, really distant uncles. I’m the cool one with the motorcycle, and you’re the lame, strict one who went to Yale.” 

Arthur peeked at Alfred through his fingers, and couldn’t help but give a little laugh. “Well. At least I went to Yale.” 

“Yeah! And you know, you could have, if we were human. You’re definitely smart enough.” Alfred playfully elbowed his side, reaching over and gently prying Arthur’s hands away from his face. Arthur was smiling underneath them, and Alfred’s breath caught. His cheeks flushed red, just the slightest bit, but before he could say anything more, the chime of a bell seemed to catch his attention. 

Alfred turned, and Arthur looked over his shoulder to see what it was. An ice cream cart rolled along the path, and Alfred grinned, letting go of Arthur’s hands. “Oho! It’s our lucky day, Art. What flavor do you like?” He asked, already halfway to the little stand. Arthur didn’t even get the chance to think of what he wanted before Alfred came back with two chocolate scoops on cones, the ice cream man none the wiser. Though Arthur supposed he should probably scold Alfred for leaving in the middle of conversations or for conjuring things whenever he wanted, he couldn’t find it in him. It wasn’t hurting anyone, and, hell, chocolate was his favorite. 

They sat together, talking and joking around until Gilbert and Matthew appeared at the other end of the nature walk, holding hands and laughing. Arthur jumped to his feet, throwing the rest of his ice cream in the trash. “They’re back!” He said with glee, turning back to the demon. Alfred nodded. 

“They’re back.” He replied, seeming oddly disappointed. “On to the next stop, I guess.” 

Though Alfred’s reaction confused him, Arthur didn’t have the time to worry about it. He fluttered back to his charge and breathed a sigh of relief when Matthew seemed happy and unharmed. 

“He’s okay!” Arthur called as Alfred flew over. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t he be?”

Arthur just rolled his eyes, falling in step behind the humans on the way back to Gilbert’s car. He noticed that Alfred wasn’t really following as closely, and, to his great surprise, that...upset him. He turned to face him and waved him over. The attention seemed to cheer him up, at least a little. 

Gilbert did not take Matthew anywhere fancy for dinner. It wasn’t fast food at least- instead, it was a cheap diner that specialized in an all-day breakfast. It was...a good choice. Gilbert and Matthew settled down in a booth, as did Alfred and Arthur, though they settled down on the other side so that the others would have space. 

Alfred sat down in front of Arthur and slid him a stack of pancakes over the table, having nicked a copy from another booth. He smiled, lopsided. “Well? Have you changed your mind? They seem happy.”

Arthur cut into his stack, looking over the restaurant at his charge. “I..suppose they haven’t dropped out of school and gotten matching face tattoos. Perhaps Gilbert...wasn’t as bad as I thought he was.”

Alfred smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “Of course he wasn’t. I wouldn’t let Matthew go out with him if he was. And..you know, Arthur..I’m not so bad, either. I know I’m a devil and all that, but I’m not trying to like, turn Matthew into a murderer or anything. I like the kid- I want what’s best for him. I just want him to have fun every once in a while, too. I want him to be able to loosen up.” Alfred gave Arthur a long look. “And he’s not the only one.”

Arthur paused, staring down at his food. His brow creased as he thought, his wings drooping. “Matthew...isn’t my first charge, you know. I’ve had other humans, before..the last one, she was a disaster.” He mumbled, glancing up at Alfred, who had leaned in to listen to him. 

“No matter what I did, she was cruel and mean-spirited. She was a bully and a cheat. She was manipulative and aggressive and...I still wanted what was best for her. I tried so, so hard.” His voice trailed off, softening into a whisper. Slowly, Alfred reached over the table and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Arthur didn’t pull away. 

“She died young. It was her own fault, really- she would often drink and drive, it’s just a relief she didn’t hurt anyone else when it finally caught up to her. But...I was a failure, Alfred. She was entrusted to me, I was supposed to make her into a good person, but I failed. She died alone, drunk and hated and it was my fault.” Tears dripped onto the cheap, yellowy wood of the tables, and only then Arthur realized he’d begun to cry. Alfred took a moment, to let the information sink in before he responded. 

“You know it isn’t your fault.” he sighed. “Deep down, I think you know. Sometimes people are just..like that. All we can do is try our best to help, but sometimes we get people who aren’t ever going to listen. You did everything you could, I know you did because you do now.” Smiling again, softer this time, Alfred laced their fingers together. “Seriously. You’re like a super-angel. I’ve never had to work this hard.” he chuckled, shaking his head. “She might have been determined not to accept help. She might have been awful, but Matthew isn’t. Look at him. He’s a good kid. You don’t have to worry about him.” 

Arthur gave a long sigh, looking over the restaurant at Matthew. He really was a good kid. Being kind was just in his nature- he wouldn’t fall down the moment Arthur removed his training wheels. He could..he could manage on his own, now.

“I...suppose you’re right. But..what do I do now, then? If I don’t have to watch him?”

Alfred leaned in a little more. “Let’s...back off.” He suggested, his thumb rubbing over Arthur’s knuckles. “We could kick back, watch Matthew grow up, get married, maybe have kids...our job is easy from here on out. Let’s just relax and let him be the good person he’s gonna be. And then, maybe we could start applying to jobs as a team instead of separately if you want to work together again. We could even hang out more, just us. More days like this, if you want. I’d..I’d really like that, personally.” Arthur met his eyes. Was Alfred blushing? 

“You had fun today,” His demon continued. “I know you did. We could have fun again.” 

Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times, words escaping him. He wiped his eyes, then finally nodded. “Okay.”

Alfred beamed. 

When they left the diner and headed back to Gilbert’s car, Gilbert announced that he had a surprise third destination for Matthew. He probably wouldn’t be home until ten or eleven if he agreed to go, but Gilbert insisted that he’d have fun and that it wasn’t anything weird. Matthew eventually agreed, and hopped into the passenger side, pressing a little kiss to his date’s cheek.

Arthur stood in the parking lot as the car pulled out, Alfred standing beside him and holding on to his hand. 

“You’re sure you don’t wanna go? You don’t want to know what the surprise is?”

Arthur smiled, a bit sadly, and shook his head. “I’m okay. He’s smart, he’ll manage on his own.” 

Alfred stepped closer then and wrapped an arm around his angel’s waist. He pressed a kiss to his hair. “He will. You ready to go home?

Nodding, Arthur turned and walked with Alfred, the tail lights of Gilbert’s car fading away behind them. 

[saltmageelliexiv]

Disclaimer: Story has soft mentions of blood, and descriptions of physical injuries. Please read with caution.

“Brothel is closed for tonight, boys and girls. How about someone provides us entertainment tonight.”

The message came early in the morning; the Madam had gathered everyone in the building before the doors would open. Recent events had left her desiring blood sport, and rather than get her own hands dirty, she’d elect to let others do it. A date was set, a fortnight later after the announcement, and a location was scouted; thanks to her connections with the Confederacy, she had an ideal spot, just outside Onokoro. A deep pit was dug out and built, fortified with sturdy lumber and rope, allowing bystanders to gaze from above, and a way for at least two bodies to easily fit inside. 

The nights had passed in a flash, and all had gathered to watch the show; a small group had already gathered, the sun was beginning to set, and torches were set to be lit. Makeshift seating was set, there were even bystanders taking bets. But for what? Before long, the Madam had arrived, dressed in elegant silks, a group of beautiful men and ladies followed suit, dressed in silks just as fine as their Madam.

“Madam, if I may ask, what is this? Why drag us here? It seems dangerous...” A young gentleman behind her whispered the query, ensuring that their voice didn’t breach past their own group.

The Madam let out a dark, soft chuckle, “Isn’t it obvious, dear? We’re here to watch some brutes fight for coin. Just sit and look pretty. Trust me...” She’d turn to gently grasp her young employee’s chin, lifting his head up. “I know what I am doing, and this will benefit us all.”

Turning her attention to the gathering group of bystanders, the Madam looked for the best ‘seat’ in the area, taking it before anyone else could, her working men and women following behind her like baby chicks with a mother hen. Taking her spot, she’d cross her legs gingerly, looking down to the pit below. The crowd already started to divide, as bets were made, some men stripped themselves of their armor and tunics, wrapping their fists in cloth. The Madam’s keen eye was scanning the crowd, like a hungry predator seeking fresh, vulnerable prey. While the show was being set up, she just sat and watched.

With the dust settling, and the moon beginning to rise, it was time for the festivities. Stepping in the center of the ring was a tall, dark-skinned gentleman, standing tall, donned in black and red. A series of yells and jeers echoed from the ring, in an attempt to rile the crowd up. His deep voice could shake the cliffs surrounding them, and even stir the sea.

“Thank you all for coming out! I know you all aren’t here to see some fancy dances, you’re here because you want to see blood!” His voice continued to fill the air, loud like cannon fire, that only stirred the crowd more. 

“You have come to see a clash of the strongest fighters in the Far East, and as you can all see, we have a special guest tonight, or rather, special guests!” Looking to the Madam’s direction, the highlander woman gave a coy smile, looking away slightly, feigning bashfulness. She knew how to play the part of the innocent Madam well, an act that had many men eating out of the palm of her hand before. “The lovely Madam Birch, and of course, the lovely men and women who also grace us with their presence!” The man gave a courteous bow towards the madam, proceeding to call down the first two fighters for the night, wasting no more time with introductions.

One by one, every round was the same; fists and blows were exchanged, the sound of jeers, cheers, the sounds of bones cracking and breaking. Grunts of pain and anger. With every fight, the Madam paid close attention for every little blow, every punch, making note of every slight hesitation with movement, every weak point she could find. No observation was missed, and then, in a blink of an eye, they were at the final fight. The prize was announced; a handsome fortune of gil.

Before the final fight, the host would once more step in the middle of the ring, kicking sand aside to cover the blood that stained it, rallying the crowd once more. “You’ve all witnessed it here tonight, and now, we’re in the final round! Take the time to place your bets! Soon, you will witness a fight beyond your wildest dreams! Winner take all!”

There was her cue.

The Madam stood from her seat, folding her arms delicately in front of her chest. “I have another proposal! Along with the prize money, I offer a prize of my own!” Bringing her hand to her hair, she’d tuck the left side of her hair behind her ear, that coy grin curling on her lips as she flicked her long black locks behind her shoulder. 

“I offer a night with any of my lovely courtesans to the winner! Any of your choosing, and they shall be yours for one night! Give them something worth fawning over.” She’d offer a sly wink to the crowd, her offer catching the attention of the two fighters in question. A large sum of money, and a night with a beautiful woman? The stakes were high, but now things had been made much more interesting. Taking her seat once more, the Madam looked on, the wheels in her head ever turning.

A woman among her employees slowly crept to her side, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Madam, what are you doing? Have you seen one of the competitors? An absolute brute...”

“Shhh...” The Madam urged the young woman to silence herself. “Do not fret. I have a plan.” The final fight for the evening was nearing; there was still time for bets, and conversation. Digging into her pockets, she’d pull out a sizable pouch, handing it to the young woman. “Give this to the man handling bets. Put it all on the smaller gentleman who is fighting in the last round. Do not question why. Just trust me...”

The young woman’s expression spoke of how confused she was at the unorthodox orders. But she had trusted the Madam, and if she had a plan, surely it would work. While one of her girls had gone to handle the task set for her, the ‘brute’ in question stepped before the woman, ready for a fight, bare of any injuries. The light of the torches caste soft shadows around the dense muscle around his arms and abdomen, his dark hair tied back away from his face, revealing a pair of dark brown eyes, and a face spared of any scars or bruises. He’d offer a polite bow, a confident grin splayed across his face.

“Madam Birch, I am sorry for approaching, but I wanted to approach and look for what my possible prize is...” Standing proudly once more, he’d look among those who remained in the ‘pack’, but his eyes settled for the Madam herself. The greedy glint in his eye said everything; he wouldn't be satisfied with just ANY of the girls, he had to have the best. “I am confident in my ability to win. My opponent is half my size, and can scarcely throw a punch. And when I win, I would hope that I can claim a night with you as my prize.”

‘Confidence, my ass... he’s cocky. Time to break this brute of his pride...’

Without missing a beat, the Madam stood from her seat, taking slow steps to the gentleman. Placing a hand softly on his cheek, what he wouldn’t see, is her hand glowing a dim crimson. Under the guise of lusts and desires for her, his vision would grow cloudy, his strength waning. “Of course, but give me a good show, and perhaps I will give you one in return.” A wink was all that was offered, before he’d slip off to the arena, his energy nearly all but depleted from a single touch. 

Now all that was left was to watch the show.

The two fighters had met in the pits; a young man, a good bit smaller in stature and size than his brutish opponent, though he had more life to him than the ‘beast’ he was against. The brutish man was seeing double, his vision deceiving him, his strength fading; almost as if he was drunk on the most intoxicating spirits. 

The call was made for the fight to begin, punches were thrown, all with haste, and none of them hitting the scrawnier of the fighters. But every fight made by the smaller man landed with the brute force his opponent normally doled out. With every missed hit from one side, the other would land one. Victory was simple, sweet, and more importantly, swift. The little bit of strength the brutish man had would fade away to near nothingness, a slug to his jaw being the breaking point, falling unconscious. The fight wasn’t as exciting as it was expected to be, but the excitement wasn’t what made it fun; it was the coin that was made from the bet that made it fun.

Once the crowd’s jeering had finally died, the winnings were dispensed; the winning fighter had gotten his gil, and the Madam had collected over ten times what she had bet, a majority of the crowd betting on the brute to win by sheer strength alone, unaware that a viper in the crowd had ‘bitten’ the champion. The Madam had rigged the fight for coin, the plan only realized when she had collected her earnings, trusting it to her employees to guard it until it could be divided among everyone evenly. 

Before they could take off, however, the Madam had a debt to pay; she had her own prize to divvy out, and she would, as she beckoned the winner to her side. A young, timid man he was outside of the ring, but merely a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A quick bout of exchanged words was made, and the young man was quickly swept away with the men and women, as they all made their way back to the brothel. He had earned a prize, and it was time for celebrations.

A night of blood shed, turned to a night of fortune earned. And surely it wouldn’t be the last.

[ego-driven-one-wing-angel]

1.2 DEMURE | Sephiroth

ego-driven-one-wing-angel 1.2 DEMURE | Sephiroth

A/N: Ahhh, finally. This thing is up and I apologize for the long wait! But now that I have everything scheduled for the next three weeks, we can get this show on the road! Which means you’ll officially be getting a chapter out every week as previously described! So have fun!

WARNING:  THIS BOOK IS RATED 18+, READER DISCRETION ADVISED. THERE WILL BE SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SCENES, SWEARING, ADULT THEMES SUCH AS PAST ABUSE, ALCOHOL, AND AGAIN SEXUAL SCENES, I CAN NOT REPEAT THIS ENOUGH. This is basically an erotica between OC Kalista Shir and Sephiroth.

PLEASE TAKE CAUTION.

CHAPTER 1 CAN BE FOUND HERE

1.2 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“She stood in the storm, and when the wind did not blow her away, she adjusted her sails.” - Elizabeth Edwards

[TRACK: Ancient Roman Music - Synaulia I]

(You can listen to the tracks in the background if you wish, these are just the songs that either inspire me/listen to while writing the chapter. Some of them are not in the taste of some readers, so it’s not necessary to listen to it. Anyway, enjoy!)

Kalista yawned as one of the other girls continued their fair share of stories. It was as per usual at the Poppy Circus Outlet. Where the workers gathered around in a circle, left in pillows and half-drunken champagne bottles, drowning out the Midgar noise with sweet music and their even sweeter voices of tales from the night before. Tradition they would call it, but that morning had them buzzing with more laughter and curiosity than ever before.

Adras, who had been labeled as floor two’s leading woman, kept a keen sight on Kalista as another eventful story filled their ears. It seemed their prized girl had no sleep the night before, with subtle black bags hanging from her eyelids, puffy cheeks, a lack in even participating besides slurping the champagne as if she had a better place to be. No surprise, she had been nicked with a knife. But that wasn’t what Adras was paying attention to. She had survived much worse, and still came out smiling. In other words, her usual chipper self was halted, and Adras had a flicker of an idea as to why.

“Well, didn’t you hear what happened last night?” Another one of the girl’s said quietly as if reading Adras’s thoughts, scooting over to Kal and barely grabbing at her thick black hair to call her attention. “A certain General was said to be seen walking out of Kalista’s room, quite scandalous don’t you agree?”

A hoard of laughter arose, and Kal took another sip of her champagne. “Nothing happened.”

Adras tried to keep a smile building on her angular features, a red eyebrow cocked. There was hardly a time where Kalista spilled her story with eager ears, but Sephiroth’s appearance had all the girl’s curious. Not a single one of them had met him before, what made Kalista so special? Special enough to receive an invite into her quarters late at night.

“Not what I heard.” Another said, almost insinuating details that were otherwise untrue. A sly smile, and it caused the other girls to nod and whisper as if they were small children.

“I promise you, it was as thrilling as watching paint dry. Nothing happened.”

Kalista tried not to let the wondering eyes burn, but it was hard keeping thirty girls occupied with fictional stories. Especially if it tarnished a name. Poppy Circus prided itself on secrecy, and if it ever got out that Shinra’s top notch poster boy was wandering in it’s halls, the secrecy would be no more.

But she tried not to imagine his hands running up and down her silk tapestries, so precise, so clean, no wonder he had a fan club built on hormonal young women. He was dripping sex appeal with the most mundane tasks, words, even making Kalista dream up dirty thoughts the moment he had left.

Adras popped open a new bottle, spilling it into her empty cup as she continued to stare, waiting for Kalista to give a few minute details. Anything would satisfy them all.

Kalista’s lips parted just as Daring’s signature knock rang against the wood doors, and all heads pointed until Daring popped in, his wide grin interrupting their storytime and mild interrogation.

Adras set her bottle down, as did the other girls to listen to today's news. The customer's, the rooms, the timeline on when and how they are presented and dressed for the upcoming day. If they were still on retainer, if they were removed, how much money they would be receiving and so forth. Important details every girl in the Poppy Circus kept their ears open for. Especially the ones who’s salary depended on the men who wandered through the doors.

“I have some very good news today,” Daring said, almost dancing as he clapped his hands together. His teeth were showing more than ever, his eyes nearly shut, and he let his voice run in a sing-song pattern. “We have one of our girl’s now set on an official retainer. Can you guess which one of you had captivated a man’s heart to the point of spending stupid amount of gil?”

A few of them shook their heads no.

Daring wandered over close to Kalista, pulling the champagne glass from her hands and sitting right beside her.

“Oh Kal,” he said as if he was on the brink of bursting into song, “can you guess? Just take a huge shot in the dark on which one of you has lured in a lucky lad.”

Kalista shrugged.

“Oh darling, it’s you!”

The other girls chorused into a wave of oohs, deliberately trying to come closer and listen further as Kalista sat up from her pillow, a little uneasy and wary of her future endeavors. Especially after the unfortunate customer she had dealt with previously, she was a bit terrified to hear what plans Daring had next. She could never be too cautious.

“What are you talking about?”

“Sephiroth.” He said as if it was obvious, handing her back her glass as he skittered off to the other side of the room. He was beyond proud, feet kicking as if dancing, twirling with the other girls, listening in on the music barely heard through the jukebox. “My little peach you, always seducing the best ones and you seemed to catch the biggest fish in the whole dang pond this time.”

Kalista let out a chuckle, taking a much needed sip of her now returned champagne. “You’re joking.”

“Why would I be joking?” And before she could ask anymore questions, he skipped back, placing a finger above her plump lips to shush her. “You must prepare to get ready, he’ll be back tonight”

Kalista fiddled with the pins in her hair, propping up a loose curl there, pulling her bangs from her face, letting them loose and raising them up as she couldn’t decide. Hair was never her specialty and she stared back at the mirror, focusing, watching as her hair turned from a solid black to a fire-crimson in a mere few seconds. She inspected her new look, trying to decide if red was too much, but the footsteps riding behind her door caused her hair to simmer back it’s raven flight.

Her stomach seemed to be lodged in her throat. There weren’t many men that sent her nerves haywire prior to her first appointment, but it seemed Sephiroth did. Maybe it was the major height difference, his voice, how he presented himself so well without even trying. She hardly met a man that could just waltz into her room with a set goal in mind, Daring was picky, and it meant she had to be on her best behavior if Sephiroth was graciously paying for her services.

But as she opened the door, Daring’s sweetened face popped back into view, the smile still evident, his teeth polished and primed with the faint smell of mint and alcohol.

“Oh, Kalista,” he said, pushing the door aside as he inspected his best showgirl. Hand underneath her chin, moving her head side-to-side to see the painted beauty of the Poppy Circus Outlet.

Lips like a rose, eyes lined with black, lashes set to a point with her natural rosy cheeks coming to view. With the candle-lit glow, he was quite pleased with how well she could present herself. One minute she was just a simple beauty, the next, a million-dollar prize. All dolled up in a silk robe.

“Beautiful as always,” he said, removing his hand and inspecting Kalista’s room next.

Compared to the other girls in the building, she always had a much cozier atmosphere. With thick blankets lining the windows and bed, tapestries with gold fringe and candles seeping out a sweet vanilla scent. Carpets so soft and fluffy, paintings and brushes hidden in corners, and Kal’s signature bottle of champagne always sitting at a table.

He always did appreciate Kal’s tactic on homely appeal.

“He’ll be here in the next hour,” Daring said, “Genesis and the other usual SOLDIER are already here, but I’m sure he wouldn’t want the attention to be brought unto him, you know, with his reputation and all.  So just be prepared when he does show, I won’t be there to break the ice.”

She nodded, “how much did he pay?”

“The usual. But I may or may not have taxed a bit more off him to pay the building off.”

“How much for me?”

“Seventy-percent, as always.”

Kalista couldn’t help but let the smile wander. “You always know what to say.”

“Of course I do, darling.” And he patted her on the shoulder, as he always did to wish her good luck. “If there’s any trouble like last night, please come to my office. Get one of the other girls. Don’t come back in here to hide out, alright?”

She gave a little kiss on the cheek, a red stain left on his tanned skin. “Always.”

One final pat and he shut the door behind him, leaving Kalista to her things. For a minute she believed Sephiroth was already there, but as the candles flickered and the other girl’s shut the doors to their bedrooms, she realized she was on her own for a while.

Within the hour. Daring’s voice popped back into her head, and she smacked her lips mindlessly as she fiddled with a stray curl. There was a lot to mentally prepare, and the only way to stop the anxiety from rising, and keep her stomach from releasing large amounts of alcohol, she turned to the one thing she knew.

Painting.

Kal hadn’t even pulled out all her brushes when another knock echoed on her door. The lump in her throat returned, and she couldn’t stop herself from staring blankly as another knock filled her eardrums. Her hands seemed to be shaking, and she couldn’t figure out why.

But with baited breath, she had made it to the door, opening it, and getting the fresh scent of honey and soap.

“You were downstairs in Daring’s private bar weren’t you?” She said matter-of-factly, letting Sephiroth in as she got another whiff of the honey infused wax they kept on in the bars downstairs. She could always tell when a customer would come crawling out the waiting room, it was usually very few, but those that had taken a minute or two waiting in Daring’s personal lounge always left with an engraved smell of sweet honey and tea leaves. Much different than the cigar smoke and hard liquor in level two’s free range bar.

The click of the door closing had her heart set on fire. Her mouth had gone dry. And a very low chuckle escaped her throat.

“What’s so funny?” Sephiroth asked, and Kalista tried not to speak as she shut the door completely, locking it as she always did in case curious souls decided to peek. Not the best in case she wanted to get out, but it was better than letting a pervert interrupt her most intimate moments.

“It’s nothing.” She finally said, turning back to find Sephiroth back in front of her paintings. He seemed to have a fascination with them, but she didn’t mind. She hadn’t met another person who appreciated the arts like she did. It felt different. Just to let someone take their view of her art, it was almost joy-ridden, and Kalista almost forgot the fear rising in her nerves.

Kalista placed her paintbrushes on the stand next to her, coming up behind Sephiroth just to peek at her own artwork too.

“Do you know who this is?” He curiously questioned, his eyebrows furrowed at the contrast of the blond woman holding a rose. So pristine, quaint, almost as if it was a snapshot of reality framed for the world to see.

Kalista shrugged, “she was this girl I met a long time ago. She used to work here. Never been painted, so I ought to change that.”

“And you kept it?”

“She never came back to get it.” She said quietly, almost as if the thought disappointed her. “I’ve had it ever since.”

He nodded at her answer, and for a moment the room was silent. Minus their low breathing and the wind picking up against the window.  They were beginning to hear the rest of the nightly cries of the other rooms, and Kalista tried not to think about it too much.

“Why did you put me on retainer?” She couldn’t help but say. Crossing her arms as if it was an interrogation scene and not a civil conversation. She was never supposed to ask, but Sephiroth was too weird not to question.

Most men who had paid her would already be taking their clothes off, kissing her, smearing her makeup as they drank too much champagne and vodka. Sephiroth only smelt like Darin’s honey, not a smidgen of alcohol left on his clothes or breath, nor even insinuating the concept of sex. Even last night, he hadn’t given a damn clue on what he really wanted from her. “How old are you, Kalista?”

He said her name so clearly, perfect enough to bottle every syllable.

“Twenty-two.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“Four years, but I’ve been with Daring much longer than that.”

“How long.”

“Does it really matter?”

“It does.”

She kept her mouth shut, brows furrowed as a slight smile appeared on Sephiroth’s lips. “Does it actually matter?” She repeated, and his blue eyes nearly burned through her, almost as if he was reading her every thought rather than just staring.

“I would like to know.”

“Hmm,” Kalista shook her head, stepping a few feet away as she lanced down at a near-extinguished candle. “Most people don’t ask for a full background. Let alone buy me before even having a single night with me. What do you really want, Sephiroth?”

And he let off another smile just by the sheer utter of his name. Kalista had a voice like velvet, smooth to the ears and capturing every word. She hadn’t said his name before, and it only added to the ideas circulating his mind.

[softquietsteadylove]

For the Maleficent AU:

Gil sneaks away to learn more about the humans who harmed Thena! And after he learns what happened and what kind of tradition is going on he decides to teach them a lesson 👀

"Why, thank you, dearie," the older woman smiled as Thena drifted down from the apple tree with a full bucket. The shorter, grey haired woman patted Thena's arm as she accepted the bounty picked for her. "So helpful."

Thena smiled at the woman as well, walking to her now-filled produce cart with her. "I am happy to lend my service."

She helped the woman push forward what was already in it, baskets of oranges and pears and grapes already picked. "You lot have all been very kind since you started showing up here."

Thena would be lying to say she wasn't relieved that the presence of fae like herself had been declared positive for the humans in the area. "I hope you'll let me continue to come and help."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be counting on it," the old woman laughed and batted at Thena's wings the way she might slap someone's arm. "You and that strong fella you bring with you are most welcome!"

Thena clasped her hands together, smiling at the ground. Gil had obliged her at every turn in her desire to spend more time with humans, often 'escorting' her further and further inland to do it.

"Where is that handsome specimen of yours?"

Thena frowned, looking around the field. A few other fae and humans were mulling about, but she was right; Gil was nowhere to be found. Thena adjusted her wings on her back, "hm."

"Oh, I'm sure it's fine, dearie," she offered as she moved towards the front of the cart. "My husband wanders off all the time, but he always finds his way home to me."

Thena smiled, helping the delicate woman ascend to the cart's front seat. "Thank you; I shall see you on our next flight from the nest."

"You fly safe, now!"

Thena laughed faintly, waving at the woman until she was turned around and guiding the horses pulling her into the city paths leading to the market. Once she was turned, Thena stretched her wings out.

It wasn't like Gilgamesh to drift away from his flock, even under the most peaceful of circumstances. In all the times they had flown to the mainland, he rarely strayed from her side at all.

She kept her eyes on the ground as she flew in wide circles, trying to survey the area through the treetops of the forest. It wasn't nearly as thick as the mystical Moors with their thorn walls, but it still wasn't easy to navigate.

She swerved towards a fairly solitary little house on the outskirts of the village nearest the city walls. She listened past the sound of the wind bending around her, her feathers rustling and the woods below.

The house was clattering from within.

She startled as two humans tumbled out of it, the door coming clean off as someone inside kicked it down. They scrambled in the dirt to escape but two massive wings with black feathers walked out behind them.

Thena dove.

"Please!" the older human - barely a man of twenty, by the looks of it - held out his hand. "Please, I'm sorry!" We didn't-"

Thena skidded in the dirt to land between the pathetic little humans and their predator. "Gilgamesh!"

"Thena," he frowned, not looking all that surprised to have been caught terrorising a couple measly mortals. "What are you doing here?"

"The farmers noticed you had slipped off," she clarified, still standing in front of the humans on the ground. She looked over her shoulder, "what in all spirits' name are you-"

The older one had a length of cord around his neck, holding a pendant of sorts. It was paler than ivory and larger than the fang of any beast. It was curved and pointed, although clearly aged.

Thena blinked, "is that-?"

Gil nodded, walking past her and leaning down to the snivelling boys. He pulled the cord right off the older one, "I asked around. A few pixies told me that they knew of some humans who told stories of their grandfather fighting in a great war in the Southern Isles."

Thena accepted the tip of her horn from him, shaved down and bound in the leather cord to be worn like a good luck charm.

Gil glared down at them, "maybe I should fashion something similar out of your teeth--see how you like it."

"Gil, stop it."

All three of them looked at her as she rolled her eyes as if they were young boys tousling for fun. Gilgamesh balked at her, "they were wearing your horn as a trinket, Thena."

"After their grandfather broke it," Thena finished, no latent trauma surrounding such an old injury. She met Gilgamesh's eyes, "more than a century ago."

"Y-Yes!--yes, exactly!" the younger one attempted to speak now that his brother's words had left him. "I-It was passed down to us, but we didn't-"

"I was told you parade it around proudly," Gil leaned down to glare at the younger boy in all his intimidating might. His wings bristled, "you stand in the town square and regale the people about how your grandfather felled a faerie and made off with this as his prize."

Thena sighed, pulling the boy back and away from Gil's snarling. She picked him up by the back of his tunic, although he wasn't entirely ready to stand on his own legs again. "Boys are showoffs when they're young. Ikaris used to ask people to dare him to see how far down he could swim before his wings became too heavy to resurface."

"Thena," Gilgamesh crossed his - massive - arms at her.

"Gilgamesh," she said much more gently, nudging the older one behind her as well. She tipped her chin up faintly, "I know they're wrong for it. I'm not saying I'm happy to know what they've done. But the crime isn't theirs."

Gil eyed the piece of horn in her hand. He shuddered, "it's detestable."

"That, it is," she sighed, looking down at it as if it were just some trinket and hadn't once been a part of her. "But it won't do anyone any good if you hold them responsible for the crimes of someone else's past."

Gilgamesh wilted, and she smiled at the resurfacing of that gentle heart he had. He was a strict guard and a valiant fighter, but she had come to learn that he was very sweet in nature. He stepped closer to her, "are you sure about this?"

"Quite," she promised, not moving in the slightest as he bent his face close to hers. Her eyes flicked up to his to prove her resolve. He had nice eyes.

Gil just barely moved his eyes from hers to the humans behind her, huddled down behind the protective veil of her wings. Gil took the liberty of moving them so he could glare at the boys unobstructed. "You're lucky. If she weren't here I'd be flying you out over the cliffs and dropping you in the sea."

The humans didn't need any more reason to turn and flee, their family heirloom all but forgotten.

Thena resettled her wings, giving him a reproachful smile, "you'll undo all of our hard work to improve our reputation in the area."

Gil sniffed, still watching the human boys run for their lives. He rolled his shoulders and his wings before chuckling, "that's not true. The humans here love you. If they need to think me a beast, then let them."

Thena shook her head with a smile. She moved behind him, finding his wings ruffled from the tussle of earlier. Her hands moved delicately, righting his feathers for him. "You are not a beast."

"No?" he asked over his shoulder as he let her preen his wings for him. He sounded humoured. "You don't find me scary?--even a little?"

"Please," she let out a tiny laugh as she moved her fingers over his shimmering black feathers with their earthy undertones. They were beautiful. "You are no more frightening than Druig thinks he is."

He hissed as if she had struck him, and her hands flinched back for a second, worried she had plucked something the wrong way. He laughed again, though, "comparing me to your brother? And the younger one, at that?"

Her laughter joined his, "only in that you might think yourself frightening, but I know for a fact that your heart is quite magnanimous."

With her hands done their work on his wings, he turned to face her again. His wings flexed behind him, refreshed. They really were beautiful; Thena clasped her hands behind her. He grinned at her, "know my heart well, do you?"

Thena gulped as he stepped closer. Her wings reflexively twitched, but she had them pinned against her back for exactly this reason. Their eyes danced around each other's faces. "I think I know it better than most."

It seemed her answer had succeeded in charming him--humouring him, at the very least. He reached out, and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her cheek. But his hand continued to the bone of her wing, smoothing out some of the small, downy feathers he had touched when he moved her wing before.

She shivered; no one had ever touched her wings like this before. Was this what it felt like when she had preened him?

He pulled his hand back and looked as if nothing had happened at all, "ready?"

"Hm?" she blinked, having lost all previous trains of thought.

"Ready to head back?" he asked with a nod of his head, and another smirk threatening to spread over his face.

Thena just nodded, offering a smile she hoped didn't look ruffled. He took off first, his wings spreading and lifting him into the air in one strong motion. They were really were beautiful wings.

[malcolmwhitly-bright]

A Midol to Heal Your Wounds

(Brightwell, warnings: shameless whump, mentions past abusive relationships, assault, violence)

He’s getting worse.

“Malcolm!

”It’s not his father that wakes him tonight. The girl in the box is nowhere in sight. It’s Dani. Her eyes big, full of tears as she’s thrown off the bed. Their bed. His chest heaves and when he looks back over, she’s gone. Her voice echos in his ears, screaming his name. Begging him to stop. The bruise from his hand across her face. He’ll kill her.

He hurt her.

He knows better than to try to go back to sleep, not after that. He pulls on a pair of sweat pants and his jacket. His walk is short, he really only needed to go around the block once to calm himself down. He shouldn’t have run into anyone. "H-Hey, guys."  Malcolm tries to smile at the officers, waving a trembling hand at them. "I'm just walking home, nothing to worry about." He’s never feared cops. Never had a reason to. Gil is the cops. They’re a strangely comforting presence. 

“You piece of shit!” The batton taste like justice as it comes across his face. Daggers up his elbows as he falls to the ground and he knows he deserves this. Well placed boots knock the air out of his lungs, a fist steals the vision from his right eye. The pain rains down and he can’t differentiate their sources. He succumbs to the pain, allowing it to swallow him. It’s what he deserves. They shout words with their blows, aiming their actions at any part of his moving body.

“Don’t come into work tomorrow,” a deep voice over his head threatens, the treads of boots pressing into his cheek as it presses his head into the cement. “Nah,” the voice spits hot venom on his cheek. “I don’t want you showing up at all.” He’s released with one last kick. “Ever.”

They leave him there. The street light burns his eyes. His blood runs down his face, drying in his hair. He pulls his right arm under his body, gasping as his left shoulder rolls out of the joint. Tears squeeze out of the corners of his eyes, flames of raw pain licking up his sides. “Ahh!” His left arm gives out underneath him. Sending him back to the ground, whimpering as the air is knocked out of his lungs. 

His right arm trembles as he sits back up, ribs screaming. He gets his knees underneath him, stomach threatening to revolt. He gags, blood from his nose running off his lips. Pennies. He tastes pennies and hot acid spews from his mouth. It nearly sends him back to the ground.

His ragged breathing is loud, wrong. He stands quickly, locking his knees. The world spins, his stomach twists painfully. He gags, nothing comes up. He can taste his blood on his tongue, he spits it out. 

Slowly, he takes a step forward. Three houses. Breathing is excruciating. Moving feels like he’s grating glass into his skin. He can’t lift his left leg from the ground, just drags it behind him. Three houses, he reminds himself as black creeps into the corner of his eye. Three.

Two. It takes so long to pass the second, somehow drawn out too far. He stumbles over the uneven pavement. He groans, gritting his teeth. He throws his right arm out, catching nothing but air. He nearly falls but it’s just two more houses. 

He chokes on a cough, a strangled gasp of agony on his lips. He blows a breath out, steadying for himself despite his right hand trembling so unsteadily he couldn’t catch himself now if he does fall.

Standing in front of the door, he gets a splitting migraine. He manages to force his right hand to form a fist, twisting the door handle. There’s a flight of steps in front of him. The last thing he sees before he goes boneless.

“Malcolm!”

He’s sorry. So sorry. 

“Malcolm!”

He opens his eyes and Dani’s right in front of him. Shaking his shoulder, lips moving but no words making their way to his ears.

“Malcolm, thank God.” Tears are streaming down her cheeks, she’s touching him. Her hands in his hair, on his face. She’s crying but he doesn’t see the bruise. He draws in a shakey breathe and his eye rolls into the back of his head.

“Malcolm! Wake up!” Cold hands, Dani’s cold hands. He blinks awake, her face morphing into the girls. Cold hands wrap around his throat. Squeezing. He fights to getaway. He scrambles, it’s just a dream. She’s so cold. Right, over-top him she squeezes his throat halting his breathing. “Malcolm!”

His fist connects with solid flesh. The cold is gone. Slowly, each deep inhale bringing closer to the surface he sees her. “D-Dani?” One of her cold hands is on her cheek, fingers unable to completely cover the rapidly bruising skin. She’s on the floor. “O-Oh fuck.” He stands on trembling legs, adrenaline coursing through him.

“Malcolm!” She stands quickly, throwing a hand up to stop him. “Stop. You didn’t mean it. It’s okay.” 

He trips over his feet, trembling limbs no good. 

“Malcolm, you were asleep.”

They stare at each other. Her tears of pain and fear. God, fear. That’s his fault. Is she afraid he’ll hit her again? “Dani, I hurt you.” This was never a good idea. She’s too good for this, for him. He should have steered her towards someone who deserves her. A man who can eat nasty take-out pizza and sleep through the night.

She steps forward, quickly stopping when he takes two back. “Okay, okay.” She lowers her hands. A tear slides down her cheek,” but you didn’t mean to, Malcolm. I forgive you.” She’s doesn’t care about the pizza, though. She wants grilled cheese nights and learning to make countless types of soup. She wants him dancing in nothing but boxers and his apron… or just the apron.

He shakes his head, tears streaming. “I hit you,” he pleads for her to see how wrong this is. “You deserve better than that.”

She’s been with abusive men. Narcissist. Never once did she get hit by a man and he didn’t immediately spin it to being her fault. Abusive men are like that. They give you gifts so you keep your mouth shut, buying your love with twisted apologies. 

Malcolm Bright is not an abusive man. 

“Malcolm,” she frowns at him,” I am a grown woman.” Malcolm bought her love with his actions, his thoughtfulness. Not with cheap roses and apologies that he doesn’t mean. “I know what I deserve and I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” She needs him to understand,” you were asleep, I tried to wake you up. That’s on me-”

“No!” He steps forward,” that’s me.” His finger pokes his skin harshly,” me, Dani! I hit you. You’re the victim and I’m the-” His voice cracks,” I’m the monster.”

“Oh, Malcolm-”

“N-No,” he shakes his head. “You have to leave. You have to leave me.”

“I can’t-”

“Go!” He’s still trembling, crying. “Please.” He lowers his voice, nearly a whisper,” Dani, please.”

“Malcolm-”

“Malcolm.”

He blinks slowly, clearing his vision as well as he can. His right eye is nearly swollen shut but he can see her okay. “Dani,” he’s breathless, melted into her lap. He only knows because he’s sitting up slightly, her cold hand on his face.

She’s crying. “I’m so sorry.” She did her best to hide the bruise but the guys at the precinct know her tricks too well. They’ve seen her struggle through an abusive relationship. She didn’t think anything of them looking at her for a moment too long. Not until this morning when Frank came by her desk.

“You don’t have to worry about that asshole anymore.” His hand was too heavy. His implications… wrong. She knew. She just couldn’t imagine the damage they’d inflict until she could see it with her own eyes. 

"You need to go to the hospital."

Malcolm manages a small gasp, shaking his head. She opens her mouth to argue but he squeezes her hand, tears in his eyes.

She can’t tell him no. Not when he’s looking at her with those big sad eyes. “Okay but I’m calling Edrisa.” She swallows thickly,” let’s get you to bed.” She’ll call Gil and JT, too. She doesn’t want Frank or any of the others to get in trouble, they were looking out for her but...

She helps Malcolm stands up, his right knee giving out from underneath him. His shoulder hits the wall closest to him, hard. Dani pulls him up, against her instead of the cold, hard wall. Malcolm shouts out in pain.

He bites back the worst of it, attempting to hide some of the bruises with a well-placed arm across his chest. He stumbles over the slight incline at the door, enough to pitch his chest forward. His shirt reveals enough. Dani sees his red, inflamed skin. The dark bruises forming over his ribs. 

“Easy,” she keeps him steady as he forces his feet to move, to walk. “Let me get the door.” His apartment is the same as when she left two days previously. She shakes her head and keeps him walking, afraid his legs will give out beneath him before they get to the bed. “Almost there.”

He whimpers as he sits, trembling as she guides his head to the pillow. 

“Stay right here, I’m going to check for some pain medicine.” His cabinets are predictably bare. She sighs, running her hand over her face. He needs something. She goes back to the door where she dropped her purse when they got there. She finds Midol.

“Here,” she helps him sit up and swallow the pill. “I’m not sure how good it’s going to be but you don’t have Tylenol or Advil so it’ll have to do.” He coughs on the water, grimacing and his body going rigid as he writhes. She puts the cup on his nightstand and hopes it does something until Edrisa and the others can get here.

He looks up at her, blood running down his chin. He smiles softly, flashing teeth coated in crimson,” I guess we’re even now, huh?”

How he could equate a night terror gone wrong to him getting the shit beat out of him is beyond her. It infuriated her to no end so she shakes her head. She doesn’t mean to get so heated but she does anyway. “No. We’re not even. Even isn’t how relationships work, Malcolm.” She calms herself with a long breath,” it’s giving and taking. Not for sake of score but because what’s mine is yours and your’s mine, except neither of us, ever have to say that.” She squats down by the bed,” don’t you understand that?”

She strokes a tuft of hair from his face,” our relationship is… it’s everything to me. Did you know, the first night I ever spent over here I sat in the bathroom for five minutes googling what I should do, for you, if you had a nightmare. I have a whole journal of ideas I wanted to tell you about. To help you.” She wipes a tear from her face with the back of her hand,” and you. You make me grilled cheese and Earl Grey when I’m sad but I never had to tell you I’m sad. You listen and you care.”

She smiles as more tears run down her face,” I’ve had bad boyfriends, Malcolm. One time one of them hit me because I looked at his boss for too long at the faculty picnic.” She cups his cheek,” you, you are nothing like them. You’re good and kind.” She looks into his eyes,” and I… I love you, Malcolm. I love you so much it hurts me and I don’t ever want to stop.”

His right-hand rises slowly, trembling as he places it over her hand. “I love you too.”

She leans down and kisses him. He tastes like blood and he looks like shit but he’s still Malcolm. “Good,” she sighs,” get some sleep. When Edrisa gets here, it’s not going to be fun.”

His eyes are already sliding shut. His body sinking into the mattress,” ok.”

She sits by his bed, holding his hand. It won’t be easy, it never will be, but Dani’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

Love Uncercover - Ch 7

Title: Love Undercover

Fandom: CSI: Las Vegas

Pairing: Greg Sanders x Nick Stokes

Rating: Mature

Summary:  In part one of this series, Nick and Greg get sent on a special undercover mission by Grissom and Brass, an undercover mission as a couple at an all exclusive couples resort. Their mission is to find their targets and keep them safe while maintaining the illusion that they are a happily married couple, but they may end up finding more then they bargained for while at Lovers Lane Resort.

AO3

Masterlist 

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! Please and thanks!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter seven

     “Nick!” Greg moaned out his name as his head fell back against the floor of the cabin, back arched into Nick, and chest heaving. 

     Nick was laying on top of him, his chest heaving in time with Greg’s beneath him. He ran his hand down Greg’s leg that was lazily wrapped over him, “That was amazing.”

     Greg chuckled, “I will never get enough of this, Nicky.”

     “I don't think I’m ever going to get enough of you calling me Nicky,” he shifted slightly off of Greg to hover over his face and kiss him, “you know, we could just stay in the cabin today,” he moved his lips to his neck, “mess up the bed some more,” another kiss, “keep our clothes off all day.”

     Greg moaned and squirmed under Nick, tightening his fingers in his hair as he continued kissing him all over, “As much as I would love to do that, we can't,” he sighed as Nick’s lips ghosted over his belly button, “we need to stick close to Oliver and James.”

     “Yeah I know,” he licked a trail from Greg’s belly button up to his lips and kissed him again, “but maybe when we get back and have some time off, we can spend a full day at my place, you and me, no clothes…”

     Nick wiggled his brows at Greg with a smirk and he wrapped his arms around his neck, “That sounds like a fantastic day, but for now,” he pulled Nick in and kissed him soundly. 

     The two started to get heated again as they rolled around on the floor, kissing like their lives depended on it, clinging to each other. They were starting to get hard again, starting up a slow grind, when, “Breakfast!”

     The knock on the door of the cabin sparked them both into a panic. Nick looked down at Greg with impossibly wide eyes, “It's the lady from the front desk!”

     “Answer it!”

     Nick scoffed at Greg as he shuffled out from under him and stood up, “Why me?! I’m naked!”

     “So am I,” he laughed, grabbing the robe off the floor and holding it over his chest, “hurry, she's gunna wonder what's going on.”

     He shook his head and turned to answer the door as she knocked again, and opened it part way, slightly hiding behind it. “Good morning,” she chirped.

     “Uh… g-good morning.”

     A shuffling behind Nick and a light giggle had her shifting her eyes behind him just in time to see the completely naked backside of Greg ducking into the bedroom. She just smiled and handed Nick the tray who muttered a quick thanks, and before he shut the door she added, “Sorry for interrupting, but I just wanted to let you know that if y’all are late for the first round of activities this morning, it's totally fine. This is a place for couples to come and unwind, so we completely understand. You wouldn't be the first and you certainly won't be the last.”

     She flashed him a quick wink and walked back down the porch to continue her rounds, leaving Nick to stand wide eyed in the doorway, while Greg was nearly in tears behind him.

     He snapped himself out of it and quickly closed the door then placed the tray on the table. Greg was still laughing in the bedroom, laying on the bed with his arms over his eyes, so Nick ran inside and jumped on the bed. He crawled over Greg and straddled him, removing his arms from his face and laughing himself. “She knew!”

     He only continued to laugh as he said, “Yes, but she also said that this is a place where couples come to unwind….” He then rolled over and pushed back, rubbing his ass against Nick’s growing cock, pulling a moan from him, “So I say we take her advice and do just that.”

     Nick grabbed his hips, rutting slowly up against him as Greg reached for another condom and passed it back. Nick ripped the package open and rolled it on, lining himself up with Greg’s still loose hole. “How are you still ready to go after all the sex we’ve had since last night?”

     Greg rubbed his ass against Nick again and tilted his head, “I could ask you the same.”

     He leaned into Greg, running his tongue along his back and up to that sweet spot on the back of his neck he loved so much. He closed his eyes as he felt his cock twitch when Nick sucked on it and whispered in a husky voice, “You just drive me so wild, darlin, I can't help it.”

     In one swift movement he pushed all the way into Greg, both boys throwing their heads back with a sultry moan of the others name.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Grissom sorted through the papers in his hands as he walked through the halls. He breezed past lab techs as he marched the maze he had memorized in his head, all the way into a familiar office.

     Without knocking he walked in and sat down, placing the papers on the desk, and a hand over his eyes. 

     “Anything?” 

     “No, Jim, I've got nothing.”

     Jim sighed and turned away from his computer, folding his hands over the table and leaning towards Grissom as he spoke. “I just got off the phone with Judge Howard. Another letter showed up on his porch this morning, again threatening James, I put a rush on it. But I don't know where to go with this Gil. We've got no leads so far, Judge Howard has no idea which ex con he put away could be behind this. Has trace gotten anything yet?”

     “Not that I've heard yet,” he shook his head, “something’s gotta give, Jim. We can't keep this up forever.”

     “I know, and I'm sure Nicky and Greg wanna come back and get back in the field.”

     “Yeah,” he grumbled and leaned on the arm of the chair, “hopefully something will come up on the letter you sent to trace and we can bring them home.”

     A knock at the door gained their attention and they both turned to find Hodges.

     “Yes, Hodges?” 

     “So, I processed that letter from Judge Howard's house that came in this morning, and I got a partial which kicked back a match on codis,” he walked in and placed a file on the table between Grissom and Brass. 

     Grissom leaned over the file on the table and read back the name, “Tyler Watkins. Ex con with a rap for petty theft and escalating to armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon.”

     “Yes,'' Hodges nodded as he took the seat next to Grissom, “but I did some checking and he has zero ties to Judge Howard. In fact, the judge that put Mr. Watkins behind bars was Judge O’leary. Judge Howard never came within three feet of this guy's cases.”

     “So how does that help us, Hodges?” Grissom held a questioning hand out to him.

     “It doesn't,” he smirked, “but it at the very least gives you a starting point, right?”

     “It gives us reason to warrant his arrest and holding.” He turned then to Jim with a look, and he just nodded as he reached for the phone.

     “I'll have him brought in,” he placed the phone to his ear and dialed, “yeah, I need a Tyler Watkins brought in for questioning on the Judge Howard case, immediately.”

     He hung up and met Grissom’s expectant eyes. “I'll meet you in interrogation in twenty minutes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “So, Tyler,” Jim drawled, leaning across to the brunette sitting across from him, “you're a convicted felon, charged with armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon, but I didn't think someone with as impressive of a rap sheet as you would stoop as low as idle threats.”

     “What are you talking about?! I didn't threaten nobody.”

     “Mr. Watkins, do you know a man named Bruce Howard?” Grissom tried this time. Sitting casually at the table, legs crossed and arm resting loosely across them.     “Never heard of him.”

     “Thats funny,” Grissom opened the file in front of him and tossed a bag with the letter across, “because we found your prints on this envelope that was delivered to Judge Howard’s house this morning. A letter that threatens the life of his son, James Howard. So tell me, if you don't know Bruce Howard then how did your prints end up on this envelope?”

     Tyler stared at the envelope on the table in front of him for a moment before punching the air in front of him. “Man, I didn't do anything!”

     “Then how did your prints end up on this envelope!” Jim leaned further across the table as he shouted, “If you don't tell us, the evidence will rat you out, and I will take personal pleasure in making sure you end up right back in your old cell block. I'll even throw away the key myself, cuz you see, Judge Howard is a personal friend of mine.”

     “Look, all I did was deliver the letter,” he raised his hands in surrender, “I don't know the guy, didn't even know the name of the guy who lived there. I was just handed an envelope and an address and told to deliver it before nine this morning.”

     “That's it? Just a hand off?”

     Tyler leaned into Brass with a curled lip and growled. “I owed money to some bad news, this was my way out alive. I deliver the letter, my debts free and clear.”

     “Did you deliver any other envelopes to this address?” 

     He looked to Grissom this time, still sat back in his casual position, and shook his head. “Naw, just the one.”

     “And who was it that asked you to deliver this envelope to the Judge’s house?”

     “I don't know his name.”

     “Convenient,” Brass chirped.

     Tyler smacked his fists on the table and stood, hovering over Brass, “I don't know the guy’s name, alright!” The guards stationed at the door moved forwards to intervene but Grissom raised a hand to stop them.

     “Mr. Watkins, is there anything you can tell us about the man who gave you this letter?”

     He looked over to Grissom, calmed, and sat back down. “He had a green hat with a logo on it. That thing the lucky charms guy has on the commercials.”

     “A four leaf clover?” Grissom asked with a raised brow.

     “Yeah,” he pointed at Grissom, “that's the thing. And he wasn't no man either, he was a kid, maybe twenty-five at most. But that's it. I was in and out, grabbed the letter and delivered it in no less than fifteen minutes. Now can I go?”

     Jim just waved a hand at him and the officers at the door escorted him out.

     It was silent for a minute before Brass asked, “So that's it? That’s all we've got to go on here? A kid with a lucky charms hat?”

     “Four leaf clover, Jim, not lucky charms,” he eyed Jim, then turned to him fully, “he said he was in and out in fifteen minutes right? So let's get a search going starting at Judge Howard's house, anything within a fifteen minutes drive, and see if we can't find a store with this logo.”

     “Alright,” he nodded as he stood, “i'll get some uniforms on it, I'll call you if they find anything.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “Nick, Greg!”     The two boys turned in the direction of their names being called and found James and Oliver waving them down. They ran over, hand in hand, and stood with the boys.

     “Sorry we’re late guys,” Nick drawled, trying not to smirk.

     “Well it seems like you had good reason,” Oliver reached out and pulled Greg’s slightly unbuttoned shirt to reveal the skin underneath and laughed, “showing off some love bites there, Greg?”

     Greg smirked, not even bothering to try and hide his smugness unlike Nick.

     “Not just some,” James chuckled, turning then to Nick, “I uh, think you missed a spot there, boss.”

     “Did I?'' Nick turned Greg in his arms and pretended to examine his purposefully exposed chest. “Look at that, partner, you're right. Guess I'll have to fix that.”

     Greg giggled as he pulled him in closer, flush against him, and started kissing his neck. After a few moments of letting Nick have his fun, and some awes from James and Oliver, he pushed Nick away and said, “Alright, alright, let's get going, we should pick an activity and get a move on. We can continue this later.”

     “Mmm,” Nick hummed, finding his way up to Greg’s lips and kissing them, “you know we will.”

     Greg laughed against his lips and kissed him once more before turning to James and Oliver, both staring at them fondly. “So, what are the plans for today?”

     James grabbed the itinerary out of his pocket and handed it to Nick, “We were hoping you guys would be down for the pottery class this morning, and there's a baking class after lunch.”

     “Right,” Greg nodded, wrapping an arm around Nick, “and didn't you say there was also a bonfire tonight?”

     “Yes!” Oliver jumped over to stand beside Greg, “And pottery class is going to be starting in five minutes so we better hurry or there might not be any seats left.”

     As Oliver started hopping away he latched onto Greg’s arm and started pulling him slightly ahead of the others, though it took quite a bit of effort to pull him out of Nick's tight hold so he could whisper to him.

     “So,” he drawled, “seems like the talk went very well last night.”

     He wiggled his brows at Greg and he just chuckled. “It did go very well.”

     “Well do I get any details, or are you gunna hold out on me?” 

     Greg leaned in a little, looking back over his shoulder at Nick and James chatting behind them, then turned into Oliver, “Let’s just say that I didn't know that man could move his hips the way he did last night!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

     They made it to the pottery class just in time and managed to get seats beside each other near the front. Everything they needed was already set up, clay, water, carving tools, and of course one wheel and two stools.     Nick led them over and sat Greg in the stool closest to the wheel and sat on the stool behind him, immediately leaning over his shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist. James and Oliver sat beside them and shortly after, the instructor walked in and to the front of the class. 

     “Alright, I am Emily, nice to meet everyone, and welcome to pottery class.” She looked once around the room then sat behind her own wheel at the front. “Today we’re going to start small with some bowls, so first thing’s first, let's turn on the wheel.”

     She showed them where the power button was and Greg reached over to turn it on.

     “Alright, now that you’ve  gotten past step one, step two is to make sure you have a decent amount of water on your clay and then, very slowly, push your foot down on the peddle and start turning your clay.”

     Greg wet the clay and then turned back to Nick, “Wanna work the peddle?”

     “I got it,” and he pushed down… way too hard.

     The wheel spun into overdrive, shooting sludge all over Greg and Nick. He took his foot off the peddle in a panic and in the silence of the room Greg started howling with laughter and Nick soon followed, the sound completely contagious.

     “Lightly, Nicky, lightly,'' Greg chuckled as he wiped the mud off his cheeks.

     “Okay, let me try again.” 

     Greg braced himself but thankfully Nick managed to press light enough this time that it didn't shoot mud all over them. Then the instructor went on with the lesson.

     “Now, start in the middle of the clay using your thumbs to press down in the center, and cup your hands around the outside to shape the bowl.” Nick and Greg watched her intently before they decided to attempt it.

     “Okay, Nicky, let's do this!”

     “Go ahead, darlin’, i'll follow your lead.”

     Greg slowly reached his hands forwards and started to form the bowl… kind of, then tilted his head back to Nick. “Get in here, Nicky, I know how much you like to get your hands dirty.”

     Nick hummed and slowly ran his hands down Greg’s thighs, then back up towards his crotch whispering in his ear, “I’d much rather be using my hands for other things right now.”

     Greg sucked in a tight breath then turned his head towards Nick’s who started devouring his lips. Greg lifted a hand up to Nick’s neck to pull him in closer, and Nick didn't even care that Greg's hand was covering his neck in thick sludge from the clay as they continued to makeout.     A smack of clay hit Nick in the cheek and he pulled off Greg’s lips with a smack and a laugh turning to the couple beside them. “Get a room!” Oliver laughed as he hucked another piece of clay at them.     “I’m pretty tempted,” Nick wiggled his brows at Greg and he laughed and turned back to the work.

     “First things first, Nicky, let’s finish our bowl,” then he leaned back into Nick's neck again to whisper, “but hold onto those other thoughts for later.”

     Nick moaned softly into Greg’s neck then leaned in to help him mould the clay bowl. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “It's beautiful.”

     “A piece of artwork if I do say so myself,” Nick nodded along with Greg as they both gazed upon their finished piece. 

     They both broke into uncontrollable laughter unable to hold it back any longer or keep a serious face. It was the worst excuse for a bowl they had ever seen. It was uneven, tilting to one side, and at some point Nick’s hands had found their way back to Greg’s crotch and what was supposed to be smooth sides ended up looking more like pleats. 

    James and Oliver's bowl looked significantly better than theirs, it was actually round for starters.

     “That's uh…” James stifled a laugh as they came to stand beside Nick and Greg, “that's pretty good guys.”

     “It's terrible,” Greg laughed, running a hand down his face, “maybe we can put our keys in it or something.”

     He leaned back into Nick's arms and Nick's head instantly nestled into the crook of his neck, arms around his waist. They laughed over their failed bowl for a few more minutes before Nick glanced at his watch and looked over to Oliver and James. “It's just about lunch, y'all ready to head over to the food hall?”

     “If you guys don't mind, i think I’d like to go back to the cabin and change first,” Oliver laughed reaching a hand up to Nick’s collar where Greg's hand had smothered it in clay, “I think you guys could use for a clean up too.”

     “You're probably right,” Greg nodded, taking Nick's hand and walking out of the pottery class with their bowl, “we still have about forty minutes until lunch. How about we shower and meet then?”

     “Sounds like a plan, we'll meet you guys at the food hall.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

     A clay covered shirt was flung across the cabin, hitting the wall with a smack as Nick pushed Greg backwards into their room. He whipped his own shirt off as Greg’s legs hit the bed and he fell backwards, his hands quickly undoing his pants as Nick climbed on top of him and started sucking on all the bruises from last night.

     Greg arched his back and wrapped his legs around Nick's waist as he ground hard down into him, making him throw his head back with a moan. “Nicky, we shouldn't be doing this right now, we…” He moaned as Nick ground down again, “We have to be with James and Oliver. And lunch is in half an hour.”

     “It'll be fine,” he licked a trail up from Greg’s ear to his lips, dipping his tongue into his mouth then pulled back to whisper against his lips, “We’ll make it fast, shower, then be back in time for lunch.”

     “Oh,” he wrapped his hands around Nick's neck and tilted his head with a smirk, “can you make it fast, Nicky?”

     “I really don't want to,” he leaned down to nibble on Greg’s ear, “I’d much rather take you torturously slow,” he moved his lips to his neck, “take my time and make tender, tender love to you.”

     “Mmm,” he hummed into Nick’s mouth as he took his lips again, “you don't know how much I want that right now, but,” he moved his hands from Nick’s neck down to his pants and started undoing them, “we now have twenty-five minutes and still have to shower in that time. So let's get a move on here.”

     Nick laughed and kissed him once more before kicking his pants off while Greg did the same, then climbed back on top of him. “How about a quick hand job before we shower then?”

     “Oh, yes!”

     Nick laughed, “We haven't even started yet, Greg,” he slowly slid his hand down between them, taking both of their hard and leaking cocks in his hand and stroked once. The friction had both of them groaning, Greg's chest flexing under Nick’s touches. “Oh, Greg,” Nick continued to stroke them together, picking up the pace, “god you make me so crazy.”

     “Nicky,” Greg moaned, wrapping his legs tighter around Nick's back to get better leverage to thrust into his hand in time with his strokes, Nick doing the same thing. “I love you so much.”

     “I love you too, darlin’,” Nick leaned down to kiss him again and sucked in his moans as he stroked them harder, faster. 

     Both of them were so close to the edge, their thrusts becoming frantic and scattered, moans and groans mixing as their tongues tangled. Nick’s hips stuttered as he leaned heavier on Greg, “I'm gonna come, Greg.”

     “Me-ah,” he threw his head back as Nick squeezed, “me too.”

     And before either of them could say another word they were covering their chests. Nick collapsed onto Greg's chest and laid there for a few minutes while Greg ran one hand through his hair, and the other up and down his back. 

     He leaned in to place a soft kiss on Nick's head, “We should get going.”

     He hummed as he lifted himself up, their chests sticking together as he lifted Greg with him. “How much time do we have to shower?”

     Greg glanced over at the clock on the wall then back to Nick, “Maybe five minutes before they'll be expecting us at the food hall.”

     He shrugged as he scooped Greg up into his arms and walked them towards the shower, “It was worth it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

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Tags: @panchostokes @greggonpancho @cadenceh2o

[a-writing-bear]

[AmeriPan] Chapter 2: The ‘Hell on Earth’ Task Agency

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13286367/chapters/31876020

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’ But it is not formatted as well as the AO3 version.

Previous Chapter     Next Chapter

Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing:  Alfred F. Jones & Kiku Honda (America & Japan)

AU:   Demon AU/HellTaskAgency!AU - Demon!America & Businessman!Japan

Age Rating/Mature:  Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings:  None in this chapter (Future addiction and other themes such as crime, murder, corruption etc.) A bit more PruCan in here

Organised as ever, Alfred should have expected this kind of planning from his handler. They knew that HETA had placed Matthew and him close to their targets, although the jean cladded boy didn’t assume he would be residing this close to his goal. The man in question was quite...adorable to say the least. Coffee-brown eyes paired with a 5’5ft stature was the least intimidating figure, his suit didn’t make the guy look any scarier either. To say the least, it was strange to believe that a cute being like that would be capable of the destruction of an entire company. Then again, Kiku had this weird aura that came off as unnerving and as Alfred had focused in on his soul (or as much as he could within the 30 seconds of the meeting) he recognised a bitterness within him. Slightly stunned and already geared in the mood to pester his new client he strode into the apartment whistling. The sibling glared at him suspiciously,

“Al. You have your fangs out and you smile looks like the time you started a riot.”Matthew noted with peculiar intrigue, eyes going wide as the tanner man explained that his client lived right next door. Alfred tucked his fangs away distractedly, realising that he needed to get used to the unfamiliar blunter teeth.

“But I thought you had to go for that fake job interview thing on Monday?” Nodding, Alfred was slightly puzzled too. His new alias already gave him an excuse to be near this Kiku guy as a personal assistant, somewhere he would be able to meet the man every day. Arthur was probably tryna make it easier for him. Fuck that guy. He didn’t need help adjusting to a human life! He could manipulate that soul easier than a kid using a finger puppet. First order of business, he had concluded, would be to get certain of their surroundings. They decided to get out into the streets and explore the cityscape of New York City. fumbling with his hands they walked out into the streets looking quite clueless to the world, however, they could sense all the different souls whizzing past them, locked within humans who knew nothing of how bright and blinding their souls could be. Noting with interest he recalled that Kiki’s soul had been a cool blue that greyed out ever so slightly, while the woman who had walked past was a dazzling bright red (Too kind-hearted for his liking).

His partner had already started moving down the street in the cold air, clearly in search of something interesting to find. The street lights marked their pathway as they strolled through the cool breeze, every now and again enamoured with any particularly bright soul that puttered nearby. A dainty bell dinged as they entered a quaint cafe a few minutes away. As his Mattie fumbled with a wallet and order on behalf of the two, Alfred occupied a vacant table before hearing a very loud voice which seemed to override any chatter from the other customers. He turned ready to give the stink-eye to the ruder patron but as he came to view a body whole obviously carried no human soul he was left speechless. The culprit in question had looked up sensing Alfred’s aura strongly- pale skin and red eyes all in return with a heavy amused laugh following. Could this be..? The figure partially revealed his wings using his cloaking (which was against HETA guidelines!) and winked before murmuring to whatever company this obvious demon had attracted.

Making his way the man was drabbed in a black zip-up hoodie, left unzipped showing off the thin white t-shirt and his tight black ripped jeans. The demon strolled towards Alfred pleasantly as if making a way to an old friend,

“Hey, there kiddo! New to town- Although I think I know you?” His hands dug further into his pocket as this mysterious thing stuck out his human hand to shake.

The figure tutted as Al failed to respond, “Jeez, at least pretend you’re a real human ma-”

“Are you Gilbert?” Blurting out, Alfred felt embarrassed as there was a pause- worried that he had gotten mixed up - heck for all he knew this wasn’t a demon he even knew! Yeah, those black wings looked quite similar to the description Arthur had given….

“I’m not surprised you recognise me...but uh.I don’t think we’ve ever met in the underworld...you remind me of someone... Am I still talked about?” The American noted that Gilbert’s human form had been given a very distinct German accent and judging from the appearance was residing under the cover of a recent art graduate, his silver-white hair matched with a young face seemed weird but somehow exaggerated the rough and rowdy aesthetic the man held. Recalling the tales and exploits that his former mentor, Francis, bragged about he already could imagine meeting the so-called prodigy demon Gil- the one that had set off many huge chaos points that he had to be put on suspension. If anything, Alfred was jealous that this demon was so highly skilled….and yet he was amazed.

“Yes! Oh but I don’t think we have actually met-I’m Arthur’s mentee. Formerly Francis’...” He had not noticed a sudden peak in Gilbert’s interest, those red eyes flickered with some sort of curiosity and familiarity. “I didn’t think we’d run into another employee this soon...we just got stationed to HETA literally yesterday.” the white-haired man eyes grew wide before bellowing even louder attracting the attention of Matthew who had just arrived with their drinks and those red eyes trailed Matthew’s human form. Did he know Matthew?

“‘We? Are you relate-’”

Suddenly as he came to introduce his partner to Gilbert, his brother stopped before the older demon, lowering his hands- seemingly nervous and suspicious. Gilbert took very little time to appreciate Matthew, that was clear as day as those blood red eyes grew vivid and his smirk faltered into a slight gasp. The two exchanged glances that even Alfred could not decipher, it was just like when he asked about Francis and Arthur’s gave would morph into a mixture of so many emotions that seem to override many others. Okay, he must have met Mattie befor-

“You’re not supposed to cloak your wings. Not even have them out, that’s breaking article 7.” Matthew hissed disapprovingly at the cocky looking demon, disregarding the clear as day brilliance of the veteran demon in front of them. Smooth. His brother obviously was not a seducer, so much for a demon right?

Surprisingly, Gilbert only smiled with gritted teeth, a low growl in his throat as he barked out a reply with feigned hurt: “Ouch, I’m so hurt, although you little thing... aren’t you aware I’m exempt from nearly all commandments and articles?” Alfred got anxious...had he just found himself stuck in a quarrel though Matthew’s aura of awkward annoyance died down and melted easily in the atmosphere as they continued. Alright. they knew each other, he concluded. No One would be caught dead calling Matthew ‘Little thing’ - they would be drop-kicked all the way to Heaven and down to hell in a fury of pain.

“Fuck off man, What ARE you doing here Gilbert?”

“Last time you were happy to find me, Not so excited to see me anymore Little birdie? I think you forget this is my turf this time.” Alfred cringed, God how DID these 2 know each other and why the fuck did Matthew never introduce the legend to him before???

“I meant this cafe! Not the district Gil, I’m not that unprofessional..”

Alfred kept staring at the squabble, The two look back at him embarrassed as they recognised he was still present watching them. Matthew flushed before sitting down at a nearby table, tugging on Alfred to join him- attempting to avoid the gaze of the older being. He huffed dignified, obviously trying not to be pleased that Gilbert had sneaked and sat beside the two twins. Alfred sent Matthew a questioning glare and his brother wavered for a minute before sighing as Gilbert leant closer next to him.

“We met at a directors meeting, Francis brought me to intern that morning-” the pale man had already started fumbling with a lock of Matthew’s hair absentmindedly as if it was a normal thing to do.

Alfred was even more confused “How come I wasn’t invited?!” Again Matthew huffed but this time more peeved than ever but replied firmly and calmly- this interested Gilbert obviously and the older demon grinned focusing on Matthew’s voice.

“Arthur invited you, but you forgot you fuck. I had to take notes for you remember? Too busy seducing some harlets…” His brother’s voice trailed off and an awkward silence fell upon the table. Their drinks were left untouched as Gilbert decided to ask about their missions and who stationed them here. He snickered as they hung their heads in shame when they told him it was because Alfred screwed them both.Gilbert had been in this section of town since the project started, and in fact was the district’s advisor (Matthew proceeded to tell him off considering all of these facts were given in their job file).

*Ding*

A jingle sounded through the small cafe and suddenly Matthew turned to look at his watch before turning to Alfred whispering about how their targets were about to enter simultaneously. Punctual and precise, Matthew was correct as a trio entered through the door, 2 short men dressed in fancy business suits, one was undoubtedly Kiku- Alfred Narrowed his eyes taking close attention to the man’s change in soul aura: It had been bluish gray this morning but now it had morphed to a dull rather very pitiful dark gray, there was a tinge of deep blue but it seemed much more complex than just the first tone from before. Besides him, a slightly taller and more...Germanic(?) Looking lad had a grumpy look on his face and fiddled with a briefcase in hand- to this person’s side was a young girl, her face too gleeful and innocent to be garbed in such professional pencil skirts and a jacket that fit her a bit too snuggly. The rounds of her face and her tiny nose mirrored that of the blonde man- obviously they were siblings or some sort of relatives and she seemed to follow the man closely like a doe infatuated by its mother dear. Hold no doubt though this little lady was not as innocent as she came closer.  Her cheery bright yellow soul had a very deep red core- not the dazzling passionate kindness he would have expected. it was the exact shade as the blonde man’s: an almost wine red, too close to blood and the black fog between the two connected souls obviously hinted to something sinister. The only difference between the assumed brother and siblings was that the man had a green tint instead of amber- this man was greedy. At that moment Alfred once again cursed the fact his brother got a double case, so unfair, these siblings looked like a fun case. They watched carefully as the tallest of the 3 told the girl something and pointed towards the Cafe cashier, they parted as she went to take an order and the 2 men moved for some seats.

Alfred knew Kiku would be naturally drawn to him, so it wasn’t peculiar to see Kiku suddenly perk up confused and look around before spotting him. The perks of being a hell-giver hah. Selfishly he mouthed a ‘hey there’ trying to seem casual and welcoming- yikes he really wasn’t used to his new body but at least he knew his smile was good since Kiku was actually quick to bring his guest towards their table. Thank the devil he didn’t accidentally use his fangs, he still hated these blunt biters. Kiku looked unsure but it was too late as his swiss accented partner had already ask who got him in such a rush and to “Not leave Lili confused as to where we are!”

“I must apologize to my new neighbours, please hold on Mr Zwingli.” That Asian meek voice still seemed so devoid of any evil. Mr Zwingli’s eyes twitched and his brow furrowed, he had seen the Japanese man apologize before but never quite so eager for supposedly the young men that were sitting near this table.

“Yo, Mysterious no-name neighbour! This is Matthew, he’s also in our apartment like I said before and that’s just a friend of ours”He pointed to Gilbert before jutting out a friendly handshake and Kiku obliged before giving his name (Alfred laughed internally, he knew more about Kiku than the man could ever assume, he didn't need an introduction- silly humans) Matthew nodded but took more interest in the man with the Swiss flag lapel pin.

“Pardon me, but are you the Mr Zwingli of Germanian Banking?” The man flinched before looking suspicious but Matthew’s smile was so disarming and seemingly too precious was able to be stop any detection of malice from the blonde man, he coughed before answering shyly.

“Formerly of Germanian Banking, I’ve gone independent now- working in finance with multiple new companies and clients on contracts, Mr Honda’s company is one of them in fact. Excuse my bluntness but...How do you know me? no offence but you look some college kid who woke up without coffee before a midterm…” Alfred could tell Matthew wanted to go hostile but his ass knew it would ruin the job, besides he was a professional even if it meant biting his tongue after insults.

“Finance and Econ.Grad,” his brother spoke, Alfred could only laugh, in the underworld, Matthew was the equivalent to a high ranking lawyer- not some shitty recent grad, what an awful cover-up they were given on earth.

Matthew’s voice carried on, ignoring Alfred’s scoff “In fact I’m looking for some internship work..got any space?” wolfishly Matthew smiled knowing full well his request was undeniable- charms always worked well on the less-socially inclined, and he had studied his case file well enough to know Vash Zwingli was not a social man at heart. In a way Alfred pitied him as he watched Matthew strategically manipulate, humans were too easy he supposed and he hope he was never cursed to be reincarnated as one- Devil have mercy if he was ever stuck with Matthew as one. Alfred’s own target had left quickly to assist the girl who had been stumbling and meekly making her way with 3 coffees on a tray, a balancing act as she navigated the closely knit tables. Her soul was so wild and strange but lightened even more as she arrived next to the banker, she felt more comfortable around him and only as Kiku stood behind her did her light aura flicker once more.

“Grüezi mitenand….” Her voice trailed off after looking at the rest of the crowd.

// (From Lili) [Swiss German] - Hello (to a group, formal) //

Vash huffed before quickly mumbling to his sister “Setzen Sie es auf einen anderen Tisch, wir werden nicht mit diesen ... Zeitverschwendern sitzen. Lassen Sie Herrn Honda einige persönliche Dinge tun. Hämmer kafi?”

// (From Vash) [German] - “Put it on another table, we will not sit with these ... time wasters. Let Mr. Honda do some personal things.” (From Vash) [Swiss German] - ‘“Do we have Coffee?”//

As the two shuffled to another table Kiku continued to stare at the twins, Alfred noted his calculating eyes and how his soul was tinting to an intrigued purple the longer he stared. This was going to be great.

For the first time ever his new human voice came out with an almost southern drawl- one that even the demon himself was surprised to hear come out of his mouth; none the less the new accent definitely caused the Japanese man to snap out of his long stare

“You ‘kay there Mr Kiku?”

God again those bright red cheeks, Al was pleased to know for the next few years he will be able to be the source of those blushes.

[2am-euphoria]

Butterflies Out of Reach: 1.

- “Boogeymen don’t come after kids like you, not when they see that their parents are cops. The bad guys are scared of the good guys.” Her mind strangled itself each time she remembered this. What a “new mom” thing to say. What an “oblivious cop” thing to say. What a “new cop mom who needed a reality kick to the jaw” thing to say. She’d spend the rest of her life wishing could take that back. -

CW: Child abduction, grief and loss, some language 

Click “Keep Reading” to access the story.

-49 Hours Gone- 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. She recounts the 5 worst nights of her life, but already knows that tonight, running alone in the forest, is the worst. She never realized that wet mud makes a sound similar to that of a suction cup until she heard the noises it made against her shoes as she ran. Never realized how even in the dead of night, and with only a Dollar Store flashlight to guide her, she could still see so many bugs flying around her face. Never realized how the sounds-or lack thereof-in the clearing made the hair on the nape of her neck stand up more than the John Carpenter movies her brother forced her to watch when they were kids. Dani was a proud New York City girl. She listened to the musings of others who claimed they “didn’t want to live and die on the same corner of the earth they grew up on” with one ear, and let it drift out the other. The history, culture, and personalities changed with each neighborhood she found herself in. That, to her, felt like she was moving to a different corner of the earth each time she turned a street corner. But her pride didn’t mean she’d never left NYC- she’d been to Long Island once or twice, and to the Adirondacks a handful of times with her mother and siblings. Supposedly had been to Connecticut and Vermont too, though she knew this only because her grandmother recalled those trips, ones that Dani didn’t remember. ___ One of her favorite stories to tell her coworkers (and Malcolm) was the last time she went up into the mountains with her family. Four year old Dani was so worried at the thought of a bear sneaking up on their campsite that she screamed and cried all night. Well, almost all night, that is, until her mother finally packed them all up at 2am and drove back to the city. They made it home sometime after 7am, scaring their father, who’d stayed behind and didn’t expect them home for another day. Dani’s older brother proudly explained “Mama took us home early because Dani was so afraid of bears that she screamed really, really loud, so we almost got eaten by one. So we left. Can I watch TV with breakfast?” ___ The fear of the unknown drove Dani out of the forest as a child. And now, decades later, it was a similar fear that made her simultaneously terrified and emboldened to keep going. This time she not only feared the unknown of the forest, but also feared the unknown of what might be happening to her daughter out here as well. 7 hours ago, they received a call at the station from a New Hampshire police officer, who told them about a trucker who spotted a young girl with drenched curly hair along the side of Route 112, in an area known as the Kancamagnus highway. She was standing next to a boy with blonde hair, who looked older and unrelated to her, and both stood next to an adult who was grabbing something out of a trunk of a car. The trucker who called in was also a hunter, and claimed that he decided to call the police because these children stood frozen in fear with their eyes on the adult, like “a deer staring in the direction of a gun.” Gil had immediately tried to dismiss the trucker’s claims, stating that he couldn’t have gathered that kind of information even if he was going 20 mph and purposely looking at these children instead of the road. But after hearing of the way the trucker described these two young children looking at an adult in fear, as if they were this person’s prey, her stomach sank into her gut and she knew. She excused herself to the bathroom while Malcolm, Gil and JT debated the trucker’s reliability, and snuck out the back door of the station. She came home to her and Malcolm’s apartment, packed a bag that was more suitable for an overnight at a motel than a camping trip, and set her sights-and her GPS-on New Hampshire. And now here she was, running through a clearing deep in the woods surrounding the highway, her adrenaline sustaining her after that cup of convenience store coffee had finally worn off. Chasing two sets of footprints along the tire marks on the ground, one of which belonged to a child small enough to be her daughter’s, the other belonging to what her anxious thoughts believed to be that of the young boy the trucker had seen. No sets of adult footprints. Good, Dani thought, good thinking. Run far away from that bastard. Someone’ll get them later. Her flashlight’s beams showed her that she was almost halfway through the clearing, and after that she’d need to enter the woods. Her heart hitched at this realization, and she felt a twinge of that childhood fear of the forest resurface, so she tried to bury it under thoughts of her daughter being out there. If Dani was scared, she had no doubt that her four-year-old would be frightened too. And unlike four-year-old Dani, scared out in the woods during a camping trip, her little girl couldn’t immediately seek comfort in her mother. She cussed under her breath at the sinking mud beneath her feet, and tried to run faster. Moments later, though, Dani cussed at herself for running quicker, because the footprints disappeared. Initially she wondered if she’d begun stepping in them, becoming careless in her attempt to speed up. Ten steps backward and ten steps forward, however, discredited that idea. The footprints dropped from two sets to one-those of what was likely the older child-about 6 steps behind (Dani had counted and re-counted repeatedly), and then took a sharp turn off the tire track path and into the tall grass. Her flashlight, its glow dancing from the shaking of her hand, showed another path where the grass had been trampled, leading up a small hill and into the thickness of the dark woods. The beams of the flashlight shook even harder. Dani grabbed her trembling hand, realizing she had instinctively done what Malcolm did whenever his psychogenic tremor plagued him. Her breaths, shallow from the effort of running, turned into wheezes as she started to hyperventilate. Her whole body shook as she folded in on herself like a lawn chair, nearly crouching against the earth. Her daughter was missing. She was out in the forest, ALONE, and she hadn’t told Malcolm. Her daughter was missing. Her phone battery was nearly dead from trying to use the GPS while wandering off the road into the forest (“bad idea, idiot,” she thinks to herself). Her daughter was missing. Her daughter was missing.  “A-Alea,” Dani wheezed. Just saying her name out loud was enough to pull her from confusion into a certain panic. “Alea!” ____________ As the patrol car glided along the curves of Route 112, Malcolm thinks of Maura Murray. The 21-year-old UMass Amherst nursing student wrote to her professors that she was taking time off from school due to the death of a family member, packed up half her belongings into her worn-down car, and headed north to a destination unknown. Later that same night she would get into a car accident, and after declining help from a bus driver who had noticed her situation, she disappeared into the woods, never to be seen or heard from again. He closes his eyes, and remembers how he had discussed her case with Dani years ago. ___ One of their favorite down-time activities involved looking up old cold and controversial cases and sharing their perspectives on what happened: her coming from the perspective of a cop, his from that of a profiler. Malcolm believed that she had somehow been murdered, her body hidden initially beneath the February snow and eventually by time. Dani, who was typically the realist during these conversations, echoed a theory proposed by an author who covered the case: Murray willingly left with someone else, perhaps to start a new life after a run-in with the law during her junior year. “She was a runner in college, right?” Dani had called to him from her usual spot on the couch. “Sometimes people run for sport, and sometimes they run from their pasts.” “True,” he had mumbled in response. Dani laughed about how she was thinking with his imagination and symbolism for once, while he’d sided on the idea of it being an open-and-shut case. “Well…moving on,” Malcolm huffed from the kitchen; out of sight Dani giggled, knowing she’d stumped him at his own game. “What about Casey Anthony?” “Malcolm,” Dani barked back, her voice stern. He saw his wife’s head perk up from the couch, her eyes glaring daggers in his direction. “Gross. That’s in poor taste, considering everything we have now.” She’d been using this tone since she became pregnant 3 months earlier. Normally there was a hint of teasing in her voice when she chastised him, but not so much anymore. Part of him wondered if it was hormones making her more quick to anger; part of him wondered if she’d picked up on the tone his mother used with him when she was stern and was testing it out, either for their soon-to-be daughter or him (or both). He left his spot at the island and treaded over to her, somewhat cautious in his steps. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He leaned over the back of the couch to where she lay sprawled out under a blanket, her hands on her growing stomach. “Sure you are,” Dani muttered, leaning up to kiss him. She reached back and pulled one of his hands off the couch to rest it on top of the knit quilt and the life they’d created just underneath it. Malcolm smiled against her lips, and she did the same. -“Bright-“ His blue eyes snapped back open, icecaps staring back at hazel. “I mean it!” he said, pulling away and glancing towards the kitchen. Her grilled cheese was nearly finished, judging by the sizzling it made on the stovetop. 

-“Hey, Bright-“ Dani rolled her eyes and stifled a laugh. ___ “Bright, have you checked your phone yet? Come on. I thought you didn’t sleep.” JT shoved Malcolm’s arm in annoyance. Malcolm returned from his reverie, noticing JT and Gil staring at him in concern; from the rearview mirror, he could also see the New Hampshire cop who was  driving giving him a weary look as well. “Um, no….No, nothing. As in nothing, she’s sent me nothing. Look,” he stammered, and flashed his lock screen, devoid of notifications, at the officers around him. JT sinks back against his seat with a huff. Gil sighs. The cop flicks his eyes back onto the road. “You’re certainly right though, kid, she’s gotta be out here.” Gil had pulled down the passenger rearview mirror to make eye contact with him. His eyes were full of concern. When Malcolm and the others noticed Dani was no longer at the station earlier that afternoon, Malcolm had raced home to search for her. She was nowhere to be found, but judging by the state of her belongings strewn about the room, Malcolm could tell she had a hunch, and no one was going to stop her from following through on it. He had phoned Gil to tell the senior detective to call the New Hampshire state police immediately, and prepare for a long drive. They were now driving along Route 112, hoping that they’d spot her car parked along a breakdown lane. Malcolm felt that deep down, Dani would know well enough to leave clues as to where she was, and wouldn’t completely conceal her location. Yet he had no idea what he or the team would do if they never found her car. He didn’t want to think about it. Suddenly, his phone vibrated against the sweaty palms of his clasped hands. He unlocked it. I knew you wouldn’t leave me hanging, he thought when he saw who it was from. “She just shared her location with me; I know where she is!” ____ Four miles up the road from where they were when Malcolm got a text, Dani’s car was pulled over alongside a breakdown lane. One of the New Hampshire cops balked when he noticed the car was unlocked, thinking she may have been taken; Malcolm reassured him that it was a sign. His wife, despite seeming completely organized in comparison to him, had a bad habit of leaving their car doors unlocked. Malcolm, ever the tease, started keeping tallies of every time she’d do it within a month. In the spirit of playing games with him, Dani told him that she’d learned her lesson, but that from then on she’d only leave their car doors unlocked to send him a message: “I’m aware that I’m not supposed to be doing something, but I’m doing it anyway.” Malcolm tossed one of the New Hampshire state troopers two items, each in their own plastic bag:  a satin hair tie Dani used often, and a pair of Alea’s socks. “Let’s find them.” Within minutes the dogs were straining against their leashes, yearning to course down the ravine that lead into the forest. Edrisa met up with the rest of the team from an accompanying patrol car, with a bag full of equipment making all sorts of clanging noises as she hastily joked over to meet them. She flashed them all an anxious smile. She had a pair of non-latex gloves on. Malcolm swallowed hard at the sight of them. She put gloves on when investigating a crime scene, with the idea that she needed more than a tissue covering her hand to lift up evidence. She wore gloves when she thought she’d be handling bodies. Author’s Notes: -I want to clarify that I’m writing/editing this after having a crappy week and going out for dinner/drinks with a grad school friend BECAUSE of said crappy week so I’m typing and editing with hard cider eroding my brain. My apologies. I will happily edit this if need be. -I looked up the approximate travel times for a random mountain in the Adirondacks to the Bronx, as well as the travel times between NYC and the Kancamagnus, but I’m not a New Yorker and have no idea what I’m doing so DON’T COME FOR ME -Thanks for letting me get a little side-tracked about Maura Murray. She was attending the college I’m now an alumni of, and her case has haunted me ever since I heard about it. Apparently her car is still out there somewhere along the highway, never having been towed home. I hope that her and her family can someday find peace after all these years. -Hopefully will have chapter 2 up soon! Thanks to all of you who read this!

[thiscattygenius]

So. @girlgeniusevents held a rarepair challenge. Write a Martellus/Agatha one-shot in a day.

It took me slightly more than a day and it’s roughly 4k words long and I don’t know why this was so much fun but here it is. No, I don’t ship this. Yes, I hope you will when you’ve finished reading this.

It might eventually end up on Ao3 but idk when. Enjoy.

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

“Agatha! Oh, thank the heavens. What happened?”

She turns just in time to see Tarvek skid through the doorway, his shoulders dropping in relief.

Jabbing her thumb up at Martellus, she says, “He happened.”

Then Gil also comes crashing through the doorway, nearly bowling Tarvek over. “What happened? Oh. Him.”

He looks… he looks like Gil again. Almost like no time has passed since Mechanisburg.

“Did you…?” she asks Tarvek.

And Tarvek grins. “We did!”

“Did what? Oh!” Gil says, and then he’s grinning too, hands in the air in celebration. “He fixed it!”

She’s already running, throwing herself into his arms, throwing her lips against his so hard and fast she’s probably going to bruise, but she doesn’t care because he’s here and he’s fine and she’s missed him.

After an amount of time unfortunately closer to a moment than an eternity, her feet drop back to the floor.

Everyone’s staring. Well, she’s not ashamed.

Tarvek is looking a little off balance, though, fond, happy, a little closed-off and, she thinks, a little uncertain.

She doesn’t want to make him feel left-out, so she reaches out, grabs a fistful of the front of his shirt, and pulls him in for a kiss of his own.

It’s gentler than the first one. He’s surprised but not complaining, and Gil’s arm is still around her waist, and… and this is not the time for this.

She breaks the kiss and pulls away from both of them, just enough to compose herself. “Good. That’s great!” she says.

Zeetha wolf-whistles somewhere behind her and she valiantly does not turn around.

She does turn back to point accusingly at Martellus. “You’re not getting one.”

He huffs like a disgruntled cat and adjusts the lapels on a jacket he’s gotten from somewhere. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Um, Agatha?” Gil asks.

“Why is he here?” Tarvek finishes.

“Remember the touch of the king thing he put on me?” she asks. “Apparently it works both ways.”

Tarvek barks a laugh, and Gil looks vindicated enough that he must have been filled in on the details.

“So why is he still alive?” Tarvek asks.

Martellus bristles something that starts with, “Why you useless…” but she ignores that.

“We’re not killing him,” she says, then she adds, “Yet,” under her breath so only the boys, and probably the jägers, can hear it. “He’s promised to help undo the thing, and either way he’s more useful dead than alive right now.”

“I’ll still shoot him for you if you want,” Gil mutters.

“Gil,” she says, admonishing. “I can kill him myself if I need to.”

“I… well yes, of course,” he says, stumbling over his words just slightly.

“Either way, she’s right,” Tarvek says. “He can be useful, and we should really get back to the lab.”

There’s general agreement at that, and the room starts moving, everyone heading for the door to get back to the lab they were in.

Agatha gets a glimpse of Martellus’s face as he’s swept along with the flow, looking nicely confused.

“Did I interrupt something?”

There are a few huffs of laughter, but no one seems inclined to answer, so after a minute or so, she takes pity on him. “We were just about to remove my mother from my head,” she says.

To his credit, he loses the confusion immediately. “I actually am sorry I got in the way of that,” he says, stepping up beside her. “Anything I can do to help?”

She looks to Tarvek, who looks to Gil, who looks back at her. Her mouth opens to say something, and she snaps it shut again.

After breathing for a long ten seconds, she says, “I couldn’t say.”

Both her boys look concerned now.

“Is she pushing again?” Tarvek asks.

Agatha nods and says nothing. Then she keeps her mouth shut until they reach the lab.

Martellus stays by her side, and Zeetha comes up on her other, a silent guarantee that she won’t be running away, and the boys catch Martellus up on the plans.

He listens intently and even compliments the elegance of the suggested procedure. It’s a brusque, pragmatic sort of compliment, but she’ll call it what it is. He questions the decision to give Lucrezia an independent body, but doesn’t contest it once he hears it’s on Albia’s request.

Then he starts suggesting improvements.

Agatha can’t join in. She can’t be entirely sure right now that her suggestions would be coming from the right place, and either way she’s already contributed everything she needs to this process. Instead, she sits back, focuses on staying herself, and watches the boys make adjustments.

She finds her eyes drawn to Martellus. She can tell he’s restraining himself, which is a welcome surprise. He’s doing so on several levels, even. Purely socially, while the animosity between him and her boys is almost tangible, he’s holding himself back from being openly antagonistic, focusing on the task at hand, and they in turn stay focused too.

On a more technical level, she can tell he wants to make large changes in their setup. Of course he does. He’s a spark, after all, and a strong one. He wants to take the whole thing apart and rebuild it, better! Stronger! More effective! …but he doesn’t. He holds himself in check and defers to their groundwork, works within that, offering improvements up, through his teeth, yes, but for consideration, not as a demand.

He’s not here to submit to them, no, but he knows how to pick his battles.

She supposes that’s a quality he’s had since the beginning. Once he reads a situation correctly, he can be ruthlessly rational. He knows when to give in and when to keep fighting, and in effect, he might be one of the strongest people she’s ever met.

She doesn’t care for ever calling him her king, but she has to admit he’ll probably be good at it.

A rough hand on her arm drags her off her train of thought, and she looks up to see Zeetha grinning down at her. “You still Agatha in there?”

“Yes, I’m good,” Agatha says. “I can hold her back.”

“Good,” Zeetha says. “Seeing as we’re almost ready.”

Agatha looks back at the boys and sees to her surprise that Zeetha is correct. The final adjustments are just being done.

“You weren’t paying attention?” Zeetha asks, leaning down, and Agatha doesn’t like the sound of her grin.

“I’m concentrating!”

“Suuuure you are,” Zeetha says, looking pointedly at Martellus. “You were also appreciating the nice new view.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Agatha says, hoping her blush doesn’t show. “He’s an ass.”

“Sure is,” Zeetha says. “You’ve got a nice view of it from here, don’t you?”

“Zeetha,” Agatha complains, hiding her face in her hands. “Why would I even want to get close to him?”

“It’s not like I’m saying to listen to a word he says. Just, you know…” Zeetha has a hand on each of Agatha’s elbows, swinging suggestively. “You already have two, so why not collect them all? Keep him in a little room in your castle and bring him out when you feel like having a spicy piece of…”

“Zeetha!” Agatha laughs, scandalized.

Mostly scandalized. Partially too used to Zeetha to be surprised. Partially trying not to show that the image is… interesting.

Suddenly, she’s yanked up by her elbows and shoved into a chair, and Violetta is securing straps around her arms.

“Wha… huh?”

“Distraction~,” Zeetha singsongs.

“Was that what that was!?”

Zeetha’s smile shifts from mischievous into firm and reassuring as she steps up and puts her hands on Agatha’s locket. “Needed to keep your mind elsewhere. Ready?”

Agatha takes a deep breath, and nods. “Ready.”

---

With the Lady Heterodyne securely strapped in, it’s all Martellus can do to step back and let his annoying little cousin take the controls. It is his project, after all, important as it is. His and Wulfenbach’s.

At least Martellus doesn’t have to worry about anyone subverting the instruments for their own purposes. Even without Wulfenbach’s careful eye on everything, it seems the Lady wasn’t wrong after all. Tarvek does genuinely seem to care.

It’s a surprise just how much he’s changed. Martellus doesn’t know when it happened, but he thinks he knows how. It can only be her doing.

He looks as the Lady Heterodyne’s body fights against her restraints, snarling and screaming, until she falls still as the process takes.

Every damn time he sees her, he wants to put his past self in a headlock even more. Every time, he underestimates her. Every time, she impresses him more.

She’s as frustrating as she is fascinating. Wily and obstinate and impossible to control, every time he tries to get an upper hand, she kicks him further down, but she’s strong, so strong. Fantastically intelligent, alluringly rational when it counts, and altogether disturbingly attractive.

It shouldn’t be surprising that Tarvek is fond of her, or that she has Wulfenbach wrapped around her little finger, or that any of these people are following her, because why wouldn’t they? Already he knows a life with anyone else would be nothing more than a disappointment, but he doesn’t think he’ll like what it’d take to have her.

He doesn’t know if it’s possible to have her. Not without breaking her.

If she was the kind of person who would tolerate being had, he doesn’t think she’d be half as enticing.

It’s worse than frustrating. If this was what Andronicus felt for Euphrosynia, Martellus can almost understand why it went the way it did. If this is what Heterodynes are like, he understands why they’re spoken of the way they are.

There are books that claim the Heterodynes are to other sparks what other sparks are to peasants. He never understood what that meant until he met her. He thought he knew how to swim, how to stay on top of any situation, but he had only ever swum in lakes, and she came down like a river.

He wants her more than he’s ever wanted anyone, but he’s not stupid. He’s not. He knows it’s not that easy. She doesn’t like him. She’s pragmatic enough to tolerate him, but she certainly doesn’t need him, and she already has not one but two men she does like falling at her feet to please her.

He’s not about to give up. A future where he just lets her go and settles for someone else is… well, he doesn’t like thinking about how pathetically unbearable that would be.

He does know his chances are small. He knows trying to push now would only push her away. He knows he can’t afford that. Not until the Other is gone for good.

The screaming of the machines settles down. The Lady Heterodyne slumps back in the chair.

The green-haired woman, Zeetha, he thinks, plucks the helmet from her head, and she blinks blearily up at them.

Then she sits up straight and starts laughing. “Guys!” she says. “It worked!”

The weight of tension melts away from the whole room.

He smiles too as most of her entourage descends upon her, somehow gets her out of the restraints and everyone starts chattering at once.

It worked! She’s free. Another instance of the Other is more or less taken care off, and the Lady Heterodyne is gloriously free, stretching her neck with relish and laughing in relief. She’s free, the way she always should have been, glowing and gorgeous. She smiles like sunlight.

There’s only one leash left on her now, and he’s the one feeling the lash of it.

That thought stings unexpectedly hard, and once again he has the wild urge to go back in time to smack himself. How could he ever have thought controlling her was possible? That taking her down and holding her under his wing was something he was even close to good enough to accomplish?

She’s a river. A whirlpool. Every second he spends in her presence pulls him further in.

He steps into the circle they’ve formed around her and draws her attention.

“Right, there’s still the other thing,” she says. “Let’s go take care of that.” She sweeps past him without a second glance and settles by a worktable. “Come here.”

He doesn’t stand for being ordered around.

Usually.

This isn’t orders, anyway. It’s what he meant for her to do.

He comes to her.

“Ah, Agatha?” Wulfenbach says, stepping after him.

“Gil,” she says, with a honey-soft undertone that she’s never had when addressing Martellus. “I think the two of us can handle this. It’s more important for you to help ensure nothing goes wrong with the Otherbox.”

“Are you sure?” Wulfenbach asks, his eyes flicking to Martellus.

“I can handle it,” she says. “Go.”

And he goes. Of course he goes. She owns him.

Martellus huffs, turning towards the worktable and taking a quick inventory of the tools they have at hand. “We’ll have to take some readings.”

He never made this effect with the intention of undoing it, and he was under considerable stress at the time. They’ll need far more detailed readings of both her and himself, individually and while in contact, to know what they’ll have to change, probably several times.

At least the work goes fast. Far faster than if he was working on his own. Faster than with any other possible assistant. He never has to tell her what’s needed, because she knows already, every step of the way. He starts adjusting a piece of their setup to make it more efficient, and by the time he’s halfway, she’s already redone the other half even better.

He doesn’t talk much, just outlines the basic idea of what they need to begin. She doesn’t talk at all, but she hums, that same strange hum she had while screwing his temporary hand onto his arm in her sleep.

He always assumed heterodyning would be musical. Relaxing, maybe. Instead, it keeps him on edge, constantly aware that if he loses his grip, he’ll be taken by the rapids.

He could learn to live on that edge, if he had to.

They get her readings done in record time, and she nods at the readout, presumably double-checking it against whatever readings she must have taken of herself earlier that day. Then they do his, which are for the most part where he expected them.

Then she grabs onto his newly stitched wrist so hard it hurts, and she stops humming as they watch the readouts show the biological reaction to the touch.

“That’s the best we’ll get, for now,” he says, watching the chemical changes take place. “We’ll have to take it in stages, but we should be able to reverse the process, and then we’ll be clear.”

“Good,” she says, releasing her hold and going to pull the chemicals they’ll need out of various closets.

He watches her while he rubs his aching wrist. Watches the tilt of her head, the tension in her arms, the swoop of her waist.

“Look,” he says, standing up straight so he can get the height advantage. She stands too, staring right up at him, and it doesn’t feel like an advantage at all. “You’re right,” he says. “I wouldn’t have been sorry if it hadn’t gone wrong for me, but it always would’ve gone wrong, against you, and I am sorry.”

“That’s not an excuse,” she says. “You’re still sorry because you made a mistake, not because you did anything wrong.”

“That’s… true.” Here it is again. Like his height means nothing, like his status is a joke, her piercing stare deflates him like bursting a balloon. “But, I mean…”

She glares at him for another moment before she sighs. “What is it?”

“I can’t be nice,” he tries again. “I can’t go around and be considerate of everyone. Not if I want to be what Europa needs right now, or ever. But, what I did to you was pointless and stupid and caused more problems than it solved.”

“To say the least,” she mutters, and he can’t argue.

“What I mean is that I shouldn’t have tried. You obviously can’t be controlled, and I am, actually, sorry I tried. I was an idiot the first time around, but I do learn, and even if it would’ve worked if I did it a second time, I wouldn’t want to try it.”

He doesn’t know it’s true until he says it. He doesn’t know why it’s true, now that he has.

If he could have her, really have her, wouldn’t he want to?

But he can’t, that’s the thing. He can’t have that, and he can’t afford to get caught up in dreams and fairy tales.

She holds his gaze for a long moment, and he’s the one who has to break away.

“Apology accepted,” she says. Then she turns back to the table with the chemicals and leaves him blinking in the dust.

He settles next to her again, and when she starts humming this time, it feels different. He’s still on the edge of falling to it, still a moment from losing control, but it feels, now, like the fall would be softer.

She stops to talk now, too. Not much, but every now and then, she pauses the humming to explain what she’s thinking, or to suggest a solution to an issue. It’s short, to the point, and oh so clever. He has to force himself not to smile every time she talks to him.

He has the vague suspicion that he’s acting like a boy with a crush, but that’s a thought he refuses to acknowledge.

And then they’ve finished the first stage of the process, swallowed the necessary chemicals and applied the appropriate electric shocks, and they need to take the readings again, and this time she reaches up distractedly and puts her hand against his cheek.

And he freezes.

He can barely see the new readings flashing past, too distracted by his breath leaving him. Her hand is warm against his face, soft, despite the callouses from a life of holding tools, gentle. He wants to lean into it, wants to put his own hand over hers and close his eyes, holding her there forever.

“Oh, that’s much better,” she says, and in an instant her hand is gone again, pulled away so she can leaf through the new numbers.

It leaves a cold handprint on his face.

“Martellus? Are you listening?”

Cursing himself, he shakes his head and looks through what she’s holding. “Yes, of course,” he says. Then, “Two or three more rounds like that and we’ll be cleared out, I think.”

She nods and starts picking through the chemicals again.

Two more rounds, two more touches until she again keeps him at an arm’s length, possibly forever. He hates how much that matters to him. Doesn’t know if he wants to drag it out or get it done.

“You were right about Tarvek,” he says, because he likes the way she looks at him when he admits she’s better than him at anything.

She looks up from where she’s measuring out distilled water for the solution. “What do you mean?”

“I thought he was only using you,” he says while keeping his eyes on the heating plate. “But it seems you were right that he honestly cares for you. I still don’t understand how you managed to do that.”

He expects her to get angry. Instead, she’s quiet for a while, and then she says, “Trying to survive Castle Heterodyne together didn’t hurt. Unlike some people I could mention, he’s actually a decent person once he stops trying to scheme so hard.”

“Hah,” Martellus says. “He’s also hopelessly in love with you.”

“There is also that, yes,” she says.

They fall back into silence and disharmonious humming, and Martellus is only halfway present, mentally. The phrase ‘hopelessly in love’ keeps bouncing around in his brain, because at this point, he thinks it might apply to himself as well.

He doesn’t like that. Tarvek is the hopeless romantic, not him. He wanted to marry her for the political weight the marriage would come with, not because he’s in any way hopeless.

But that was then, and this is now, and he can’t get it out of his head.

“Do you want to marry him?” he asks, eventually.

Now she actually does look angry. “I might!” she says, defiantly. “It’s hardly my priority right now, and I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

He considers that for a moment before he decides that the last part is safe to ignore. “And what about Wulfenbach?”

She huffs, nose in the air and, it warms him to see, lightly blushing. “Well. I am the Heterodyne. I have no reason to limit myself!”

The suggestion is so delightfully outrageous he has to laugh. It really is true that Heterodynes never do anything conventionally. She doesn’t laugh with him, but she does smile, and that alone feels like a victory.

They finish round two of the procedure and do the individual readings, and then he reaches out a hand towards her for the necessary contact. “May I?”

She steps closer and lets him hook his arm with hers, and he delights in the touch for those precious few seconds it takes for the readings to finish.

They’re almost pressed together to read the numbers at the same time, her side brushing up against his, and he’s hyperaware of every movement.

The readings are as good as they could’ve hoped. Just one more round of the procedure should be necessary to put them both back to normal, and he should be happy about that.

He should be, but he knows why he’s not.

“We’ll be working together for a while after this,” she says while they’re putting the last few doses together, measuring up salts and acids against each other.

“That was the hope,” he says. “It’s the one common goal I think we can all agree on.”

She holds her current solution up against the light to check if everything is properly dissolved. “Mmhm, of course. I hope you three can behave yourselves, then.”

Martellus pauses. He doesn’t know what to think about the way she says, ‘you three’. He didn’t know there was any context at all in which she thought of him as belonging to the same category as, well, her boys. He has no idea how to react.

“Of course!” he says instead. “I’m going to avoid being antagonistic to my own allies, if they let me.”

“And that will include me?” she asks.

“I never meant to be antagonistic to you.”

“You know what I mean,” she says, and he does.

“I won’t underestimate you again,” he says. “We’ll be equals. At least for now.”

She considers him with one raised eyebrow. “Will be?”

“Are,” he corrects. “There’s no one else I’d rather work with. No one else is half as good.”

She smiles, and goes back to work, humming.

He clings onto the edge of her fugue and settles in beside her, not sure what it is that hangs between them now, but liking it much better than he did before.

It takes them well over an hour of quiet work to finish, too many small details to tweak, too many things that are too important to be careless with. It’s not hard, it’s just very exact work, and by now they’re well into the flow of it.

It takes him almost by surprise when he’s standing there with the last few wires for the readings hanging off his arms, and they’re done.

She stretches her arms above her head and cracks her neck and looks for all the world like she’s just mildly tired after a long day. “Only one thing left now,” she says.

“Oh?” he says, surprised, because he can’t think of what.

“Well, we have to make sure it all went well,” she says.

“Oh, right,” he says, because that had honestly not come to mind. They’re both of them powerful sparks, and with the readings so readily available, it wasn’t even difficult work. He’d taken it for granted that there haven’t been mistakes.

“In all seriousness, I don’t think I’m going to get married,” she says out of the blue, piercing him with a look.

“That’s… an interesting decision. Politically,” he says.

“It’s easier,” she says. “It leaves me undisputed power over Mechanisburg and the freedom to make or break alliances with fewer assumptions of bias.”

“I can see the appeal,” he says, and then he has to ask, “Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Just needed to make sure that was clear,” she says.

Then she steps close, puts her hand on the back of his neck and pulls him down and then. Her lips. Meet his.

He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t move for the first few seconds.

Then he reacts, putting his arms around her and hugging her close, kissing her back, because he doesn’t know why this is happening but he won’t complain, will never complain about this.

Beneath the soft exterior, she’s made of muscle, silk-covered steel mashing against him, dragging him down, and he can’t get enough. He can’t have her, but maybe he can have this, just for a moment, just for right now, she takes a hold of him and drags him down the rapids.

Then it ends, and she pulls away like nothing happened, looks at the readings from their instruments and smiles.

“Great!” she says. “Then that’s over.”

He doesn’t want it to be over.

“The king’s touch thing, idiot,” she says, and throws the readouts at him. “It worked. I’m going to go check on the boys.”

And again she leaves him in the dust, his hands full of paper proving they are once again untethered from each other, and his eyes glued to her retreating form.

He can’t have her, never could, but now she has him, and from here on out, he thinks, she always will.

[keeper-of-the-lilacs]

Come for Planting Season

Gelert's training was finished for the winter, and with spring sweeping across Coerthas he was finally allowed to return home to his father for spring. Back to Lavandiere manor, back to fields of lavender breaking through where the ice and snow had covered… 

…and back to finding Cinthie at a window in the library, nose buried in a book. Gelert made sure to put himself in clean, simple clothes from his da's cottage before he entered the manor, and sure enough, his friend was there. Hyacinth was picking out her own dresses now, though it still had to be made by a tailor who made the trip from Ishgard and worn only at home; she was in a pink frock today, long brown hair braided over her shoulder with a ribbon to match. Gelert smiled to himself as he crept on quiet feet, waiting until he was just before the oblivious bookworm before he tugged on his favorite feature of her, the shock of white at her brow that fell into the bangs over her eyes. 

Hyacinth startled and dropped her book, hands clasping the top of her head in surprise. He grinned as wide purple eyes peered up at him; he couldn't, however, keep the rapscallion cast to his features when those eyes warmed in recognition, affection gushing free from the thirteen year old like a bubbling spring. 

"You're here," breathed Hyacinth, gleeful. 

Before Gelert could give a laugh or say a word, arms were wrapped around him, holding him close as Hyacinth stood up and smothered him in the smell of flowers and fresh laundry. He was stunned, face heating; Hyacinth had grown since he had last seen her. Not yet the towering height of a proper Elezen, she was still a whole head taller than the young hyur. And gods, he realized, she’d only shoot up in height after that. He had been hoping she’d stay smaller than him forever.

"H-Hi Cinthie," he muttered, trapped in the warm embrace of his childhood friend and not immediately wanting to pull away. Mentally, Gelert kicked himself for getting tongue-tied, feeling even his ears turning red. What was wrong with him? He cleared his throat and pushed down his sudden want to spin Cinthie about, to make her shriek with laughter in the middle of the oppressively quiet manor. His hands found hers and gently unclasped them from around his neck, trying for a benign smile, "Ye know, uh, since yer a lady and all…ye can't exactly go around and be huggin' me like old times. Ain't you learnin' lady lessons from Violet now?" 

As Gelert held Hyacinth's hands, the Elezen girl blinked her down-turned eyes between them. And then she lifted her head and her brow wrinkled, cheeks puffing out as she pouted. "It's just Gelert. Nobody should mind."

Gelert bit back a laugh, shaking his head as he let go. A finger was wagged at her playfully, which she shrank from with a scrunched up face. "Yer a 'missus', so you can't be huggin' dirty squires like me. Ye'll make them fat noblewomen wit' them ropes of jewels around their necks 'ave faintin' spells."

Hyacinth paused for a spell. Then a sardonic smile briefly touched her lips, before she glanced away. Gelert nearly took whatever he had said back, just to get her to pout and huff at him again, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. 

Purple eyes bounced back to his face, while pale white hands touched their fingers together in excitement. "How is being a knight?" 

"Pffp," Gelert said, chest unclenching as he leaned against a nearby bookcase. "Not a knight yet. All I do is brush and polish the armor of the other knights. Chores before the break of dawn, then gruel and a cot six bells before I do it again."

"Still?" 

"Yea, still!" He looked at her. A fond smile appeared at those eyes swallowing him in, fascinated at what she couldn't know, what path she wasn't forced to be anymore. "Takes until I'm sixteen, ye know, until I'm allowed to do anything else. One more year, that's all."

Cinthie rubbed at her arm, looking out the window. "...will you be gone all the time after that? No more coming back for planting season?" 

"Oh, I'll make time, Cinthie--see if ye can get rid of me so easy." Hyacinth turned her head back with a snort, eyeing him from beneath her lashes while he grinned wide. He jutted his chin at the book she was reading; it seemed thicker and older than any novel he typically saw her nose in. "What's that, then, a dictionary?" He paused. "Or them spellbooks from ya letters?" 

Hyacinth looked from him to the tome in question, and when she whipped around to beam a grin so bright it could melt the snow outside, he knew he had guessed correctly. She lifted it with her tiny stick arms and held it up, eager to show something titled 'An Arcanist's Account'. "D-Do you remember how I wrote that I had run into a Roegadyn mage in the bookstores of Gridania?" 

Gelert quickly caught the book when the clumsy girl nearly had it tumble out of her hands. It opened in the middle, baring pages upon pages of strange geometric shapes and symbols. "Uh-huh?" 

Hyacinth rapidly clapped her hands, before peering with Gelert over the book: like one of their treasure maps they had made as children with parchment and charcoal, except this gibberish clearly meant more to Hyacinth than it did the inept-feeling Gelert. 

Her slender fingers traced over the specially-inked signs, continuing brightly as she stumbled over her words, "Well, he, uhm, he…he wrote to father a few months afterwards, and he, uhm, he's my teacher now." Hyacinth's brilliant smile was turned on Gelert. When Gelert didn't say anything for a beat too long, she breathed, "I am learning arcanum! Oh, and look, he sent a stone to summon a carbuncle, uhm--" 

Hyacinth fumbled with the high collar of her dress, unbuttoning the top two to pull free a stone around her neck--a ruby, cut with multiple facets that each held a series of complicated etchings. 

Gelert gave a low whistle, ogling it with a tilted head. "That'd make for a pretty gil at the second-hand shop."

"Oh, Gelert!" Clearly, the first thing that had come to Gelert's mind was not what Hyacinth had wanted to hear. She clasped the stone to her chest, cheeks back to being puffed out. Gelert laughed. 

"Aw, Cinthie, c'mon--ye know I'm teasin'. So, what, are ye tryin' to be a little mage now? " He cocked a smile, with a finger coming up to poke an air-filled cheek. "Thought ye were gonna grow up t'be a princess!"

Hyacinth's cheeks deflated. She gave a bap to his hand and fought a smile: "At, at six…!"

"Yea, and I was yer shinin' knight in armor." At that, Gelert pushed himself off the bookshelf, giving a gallant bow. It must have been good enough for a noble, for Hyacinth gave a snort-filled laugh. A faux look of affront crossed his features as he raised an eyebrow at her. "Am I to look for other princesses held up in castles wit' evil dragons to slay? Do ye know of any?" 

Now Hyacinth laughed outright, closing the book and gently wapping his shoulder with it. He feigned a grave injury, flopping back against the bookshelf while Hyacinth tried to catch a breath to speak. 

"I…I could slay dragons with you." She tilted up her chin with a smile, eyes bright with a challenging look. 

"Oh could you?" He bared teeth in his own grin in response. "With a fearsome carbuncle to gnaw at their ankles?" 

"Oh, arcanum is much more than that," breathed she, clasping the book to her front in excitement. "And it needn't be just that. Why, in a few years after this, I could learn conjury. Or, or thaumaturgy, really I…I could learn everything--!" 

"Everything? That's quite a lot. Have ye the time?" 

Another brief cheek puff, before she laughed. Gelert shook his head; Cinthie was learning magic now. It seemed she liked it better than her sword lessons, at least. He, however, had to admit he'd never understand anyone's fascination with them books and that stick-twirling. 

Yet he was happy that Cinthie was happy. And gods was she smart. She could do it. 

"Did I miss anythin' else since I was gone?" 

Well, bugger. There went that smile. It fled like a startled bird in the brush, disappearing as her purple eyes rounded. After a moment to where the light in the air dimmed to a grave silence, she opened her mouth. 

And the Viscount Lavandiere answered from the library door, striding in as if he had been there all along: "I see you have made a safe return from Steel Vigil, son. It is good to see you again."

Gelert ceased leaning on the books as if the case was a hot stovetop, standing straight as a rod and clasping his cap in his hand. He bowed. "Milord."

Lavandiere's lord of the manor looked much like Hyacinth and his three daughters--pale-skinned and ash brown hair under his feathered hat. He smiled kindly and it showed in his light blue eyes; he nodded his head to Gelert as he stood, gracing an affectionate glance at his daughter. "Pray forgive me if I am interrupting."

Hyacinth and Gelert both rushed to offer the contrary, Gelert fiddling with his hat and Hyacinth tucking a piece of loose hair behind her hair while she looked to the ground. Mysteriously, that seemed to make his lordship beam more. 

"It is good to see you both still getting along as good friends. I was just telling your father--ah, Dallan! Dallan, I've just found your son and here I find you. Over here, my good man!" 

Sure enough, the shuffle of the familiar thick boots of his da could be heard out in the hall behind the door, a moment before dirt-brown hair appeared under a cap and the hyur man appeared. His freckled skin matched Gelert's, as did his wide smile. The man began to talk in the doorway, two mild souls who had gotten along famously for years, before their children and wives. 

Gelert and Hyacinth shared a glance with each other. The squire gave a pointed look to the other door of the library and Hyacinth crept a small smile on her face. 

They snuck out into the garden while the two gentlemen got lost in one of their usual long-winded conversations.