#i am in a strangely calm emotional state at the prospect

[adozentothedawn]

After 2 days of sitting around the hospital for 8 hours and sporadically doing a few tests they finally did the one test I went there for (a spinal tap). Tbh it wasn’t as bad as I was afraid of but damn I am really starting to feel my lower back. I am definitely not dealing with homework today. Hopefully it’ll be better tomorrow cause I still need to buy a christmas gift and I want to go to the christmas market and drink some punch.👀 Maybe get a new fancy hat. We’ll see, but I think I deserve to spoil myself a little.

[stories-by-rie]

Chapter 5 - Heart of Silver

In the present, still in the dead granny’s house, Evelyn and Ariel search the cellar for clues and slowly start to understand the curse better.

words: 2614 || masterlist

The air in the cellar was strangely musky. From all the dust and cobwebs, it was clear that the old granny hadn’t gone down into the cellar for any longer than she had avoided going upstairs. It was hard to breathe, probably due to mold growing on the walls, mold they couldn’t see because none of the lamps were working.

    “This feels like a deliberate attack on my person. That old lady knew I was going to end up here with the uneasiness that creeps over me in the darkness. Disgusting.” Ariel had flipped their phone open but it was only a little light to help them see. Evelyn had turned on the flash-light on her phone, but the battery icon was blinking red already, so it was only of little help for the time being.

    No new notifications.

    With the sparse light of their phones, even combined, it was hard to make anything out in the cramped place. Whatever use the four rooms must have had, they all seemed to be storerooms now. It was impossible to make out every single detail, but the amount of Easter rabbit decorations was concerning, to say the least.

    “Maybe she was really into bunnies. I, personally, would never judge anyone for what they collect.” Ariel put their hand down on a pink rabbit with fake feathers on its neck.

    “As you shouldn’t,” Evelyn replied at the thought of the amount of- well, everything in their flat.

    It wasn’t just tasteless holiday decoration, though. From the little that was recognizable, they could find dysfunctional vacuum cleaners, stacks of old garden magazines and old workout gear.

    “Was that granny ripped?” Ariel asked at the sight of an old ergometer.

    “She was a granny!” Evelyn said and shook her head, both as an answer and as a general reaction to Ariel.

    “Old people can work-out too, Evelyn! Oh, look! A cursed mirror!” they exclaimed and jumped into a corner where a big wall mirror hung. Evelyn could hardly follow their words, least of all their movements in the dark space. 

    So she just reacted and yelled, “Don’t touch it!” -- idiotically, of course. Because Ariel was a curse broker and knew not to touch cursed objects, and also they weren’t a child and Evelyn not their mother. For some reason, despite those three facts, Ariel still touched it.

    “No worries, no worries. This one only activates on full moons. You can see it on the symbol in the corner, see?” They held their phone so that Evelyn could just make out some lines that had to be the symbol Ariel had spoken about. She didn’t understand them, it was not her forte after all, and she was too pumped on stress and anxiety to really care.

    “Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m a bit on edge and-”

    “No need to apologize. Thank you, for looking out for me,” Ariel replied with their soft voice that felt so much more stern than any other. Evelyn couldn’t help but believe them. She smiled, forced but in a way that would have been honest, had her emotional state allowed her as much.

    Ariel’s eyes widened. First horror, then understanding, and then excitement ran over their face, leaving them with a crooked grin.

    “What-” As Evelyn turned around, the white light of her flash-light hit a high figure, a dusty blanket covering it completely. The fabric’s folds gave the hint of a human statue, enough to let Evelyn’s blood run cold. For some reason, she didn’t have to uncover it to know what was beneath it. In the end, it was Ariel who clenched their fist around a drape, hesitating despite their obvious curiosity. With a flick of their hand, the fabric slid off the statue, their lights letting the heavy dust shimmer in the darkness; then reflecting off the silver boy in front of them.

    In contrast to the pictures Evelyn had seen in Ariel’s books, this boy looked nearly calm. Maybe there was some sadness in his eyes that could not compare with the smile on his lips. He looked nearly peaceful.

    “That would explain why she seemed so invested in curses and the supernatural,” Evelyn whispered, not trusting her own voice to speak louder. “I think it might be the ghost I saw in the study before.”

“Seems very likely, I agree,” Ariel said.

 It was hard to bring the chaos in her head to a stop, to grasp a single thought. When she was eventually successful, the only thing she could fathom was the feeling of hope. If this kid had looked content in his death, then maybe it would not hurt after all. If it wasn’t as painful as previous pictures had made it look, then maybe she would manage that part.

    “This child got hit by it quite young. All this time the fork was the curse medium and they did nothing about it? This case never made it to the books, I really wonder why?” Ariel mumbled and as they stepped closer to look at the kid better, Evelyn’s phone battery gave a last warning sound and then died in her hands.

    Ariel gave a huffed sigh of annoyance and held up their old phone closer, even if the light was multiple times worse, not to say completely useless.

    “Maybe it was her son? If she had told the authorities about it, his body would have been taken away, no? With such a high ranking curse, it would have.”

    “No one is allowed to take a cursed body away, even if it’s a high-ranking curse,” Ariel corrected, and then, quieter, added, “Though, of course, just because authorities aren’t allowed doesn’t mean that they don’t do it.”

    “Mother could not bear to part with me,” a thin voice behind them said and as they turned around, the boy from before stood right in front of them again.

    His next words were hard to hear over the loudly pounding heart in Evelyn’s chest, “No curse-broker wanted to take my case, they said it would be hopeless. There were more urgent ones.”

    In the near total darkness, his shape looked much more solid than most ghosts Evelyn had seen before, the faint shimmer of death old, the ash to his feet already thick. Probably subconsciously, Ariel stepped a bit closer to her, took their glasses off.

    “Do you know how to break the curse?” Evelyn had the mind to ask, not that it was really her decision, but at least the question was put out there. Yet, the ghost did not answer.

    “My mother tried so hard to save me. But the curse moved too quickly. I was gone within three days.”

    Evelyn could not gasp or cry. She just stared at the teenager, the hollow thing that was left of him, and listened to the words that promised her doom, to the constant trickle of the ash at his feet. Only distantly, she heard Ariel typing on their phone furiously.

    “What cursed you?” Ariel then asked, looking up from behind their phone.

    “I wish I would have had a few more days. Maybe one day would have made a difference.”

    “Have you gained insight of the curse through your death?” Ariel pressed again while Evelyn could only stare at the flimsy figure.

    “I think I will go soon. Mother has been gone for so many days now. I am all alone.”

    “Why aren’t you answering my questions? What’s wrong with you?” Ariel did not yell, Evelyn was certain they never did. But at this moment they seemed as close to it as possible. Still, the ghost looked completely out of it, staring between their heads at his own silver statue.

    “I am very tired. I think I really want to go now.”

    “It’s fine. You can rest now,” Evelyn said with nearly no voice at all, and carefully put her fingers down to his forehead. A human touch, to remind him of death. Under it, he crumbled. In a matter of seconds, all that was left of him was ghostly ash (not real ash at all), that seemingly fell through the ground – or perhaps became one with it. Soon, she might find out as well.

    “What the fuck, Evelyn?” There was even more anger in Ariel’s voice now, “This was our one chance to get answers to save your life and you just sent him off? He might have said something useful! Now we’re back at nothing!”

    Only then, Evelyn truly realized the extent of her actions. Sorry, however, she was not. 

    “You know that there was no information about the curse we could have gotten from him. He was already way too far gone, I have seen it often enough. If you had continued questioning him, then all we would have achieved is to torture him in this loneliness. It might have driven him even more insane, nothing else.”

    There was just another curse for an answer, and then they turned around and stalked out of the cellar, as well as that was possible. Some items toppled down their stacks, and just as clumsily, Evelyn followed. It was not until they returned to the ground floor, that Ariel stopped.

    “I really dislike darkness. I can’t see when it is completely dark,” they said, as if they needed some sort of explanation to walk out on Evelyn after such a disaster.

    “It’s fine. There was nothing more we could have found down there.”

    “How late is it?” Ariel asked, only to check on their own phone. “Nearly two am,” they muttered and then looked around the floor to the entry door.

    “We can go if you don’t need to look around any further,” Evelyn suggested. Even if the prospect of leaving alone made her anxious. If there were any clues to a cure, wouldn’t it be here? Shouldn’t they stay until they found something – or at least searched everything until they could be certain that there was nothing to be found? If the boy had died within three days, then she only had two more days to live as well. Could a curse even be dealt with so quickly? Even if it was Ariel who worked on it. Really, the best would be if she just would get her affairs in order and-

    She reached for her phone, forgetting that it had died. There wouldn’t be anything new anyway.

    “Well, we still haven’t found out what caused the noises before. Not that I have a great desire to do so. But even if we don’t keep looking for it, we should stay a bit longer.” Ariel turned to her with a look that was impossible for Evelyn to read. It could not be a good look. She wanted to ask about the implications, but her breath came too fast and too shallow to really form words in her mouth. “That’s the point where we tackle more drastic measures. I do have some nolly-powder with me, so if you happen to have some face masks, we could give in and try the powder search to find the medium’s traces?” The longer they talked and stared at Evelyn, though, the more the furrow between their eyebrows increased. “Evelyn? Are you o-” They stopped short.

    Evelyn wanted to reply that she was not really that okay, that it got hard to breathe and, if she really listened to her own body, that she felt like the silver was weighing her down so much that taking another step seemed just impossible.

    But what she eventually said was, “I have face-masks in my car.”

    Ariel eyed her with a suspicious look, but whatever they were thinking did not make it out of their mouth, so Evelyn decided to ignore it.

    Rain dripped down, even if just lightly now, and it still coated Evelyn’s skin in a thin veil. If she turned into a silver statue outside, rain would probably make louder dripping sounds on her body. In winter, the snow and rain would drape her in a layer of ice. Like a true piece of art. 

    With shaking fingers, she got the face-masks out of the glove compartment and walked back inside where Ariel was working on plastic bags with their powders. For a while they worked in silence. She handed them a mask, put her own on too and watched as Ariel committed to the chemistry before them in ways that simply were beyond her. For all the caffeine they ingested at most random times, they had incredibly steady hands. With those steady hands they kept at it until a dark red light glowed up for a few seconds.

    “So, in the worst case, which also might be the best case, this powder will tell us for once and all what the curse medium is. Except for about seven percent of the cases where nolly-powder doesn’t work, then we will be absolutely fucked.”

    “Let’s just do this,” Evelyn muttered and gave them a nod.

    With a sigh they filled the powder in their hands and then simply threw it up into the air. As if out of nowhere, wind twirled it through the whole floor, let the particles dance in their search for something to hold on to. It could have barely been a minute. Short enough for Evelyn to hold her breath and wait with tension in her shoulders.

    Then, all at once, the powder turned, nearly grew in its ferocity, and shot straight at her. Before it could wrap around her completely, though, Ariel gave a sharp order that cut right through it. At once, it dropped down to the ground, mingled with the dust of time and ghosts.

    “Are you okay?” they yelled once they reached her, a hand reaching out for her arm before they thought better of it.

    Evelyn was shaken by sneezes and didn’t even manage a gesture.

    “This horrid sneezing. I am so sorry. It’s really so pesky. People are working on a better powder if that helps? Let’s get you out of here, okay? I will fix you a cup of tea to rinse most of it out-” A sneeze broke them off, and a single touch made them freeze. Evelyn followed their gaze down to where they had reached out for her hand, and only found silver.

    To her great dismay, time did not stand still. Even if she stared at it so still as if a statue already, she could clearly follow the silver spreading. Along with it, her heartbeat increased as panic kicked in. Evelyn looked up as Ariel’s hand travelled up her arm where she could still feel their skin and warmth.

    “I can only imagine how it feels. But I do know that it is not yet too late. Let me fix you.”

    Tears came hot in her eyes, her throat aching once she spoke, “Please. Help me? I really don’t want to die yet.”

    Ariel smirked and pointed towards the door. They sneezed a few times. “Of course I will! I’m really looking forward to being the greatest curse-broker of this century. Nonsense! The greatest curse-broker to have ever been and ever will be. You’ll see how quickly you’ll be rid of this curse. But first I will make you drink copious amounts of nettle tea to- oh shit. I am out of nettle tea.” They sneezed.

    “I have nettle tea at home,” Evelyn pushed out between multiple sneezes.

previous chapter || WIP intro || masterlist || next chapter

    “That’s good. Then your place first. But I am driving.” Ariel held out their hand for the key, and considering how weak Evelyn was in her knees, the matter left no room for protest.

_____

[mskatesharma]

she only smiles, i laugh

Anthony is in his study, sitting at his desk reading over invoices that have been marked for his attention, his eyes struggling to take in the numbers he is supposed to be adding. He wonders for a moment why his mind seems stuck on the numbers, unable to properly take them in, before he shakes his head and tries to move on. It’s only once he has finally finished reviewing the particular details of this one invoice that he realises his lack of concentration is due to him feeling restless. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, hoping it will focus him, when his mind, quite without his permission, wanders back to two days ago. He had been keeping Kate company while she lay in bed, her injured leg propped up on a small mound of cushions. It had been the most pleasant interlude, his head resting in his wife’s lap, her fingers idly stroking through his hair while she read from a novel Edwina had left that morning.

ao3 link or under the cut

He can’t recall the title of the book, but he remembers how he had closed his eyes, relaxing further and further into a state of glorious idleness with every press of his wife’s fingers against his scalp; her voice dulcet and hypnotising as she curled her tongue around the words in front of her. Something unfamiliar, yet wholly marvelous had sparked in his spine, tingling up until it had burst and he had felt it throughout his body, each stroke of Kate’s fingers further etching the feeling to his body. 

There had been one passage in particular, Kate’s fingers had migrated to his earlobe, massaging the soft flesh, that had made Anthony snap open his eyes and ask his wife to repeat the last sentence. She had looked down at him, brows raised quizzically, and she had smiled at his quiet “please” as he had taken the hand that had been preoccupied with his ear and pressed a kiss to her fingers. 

“I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice. I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh.” As Kate’s voice had washed over him, he had been immediately struck by the truth of the words, and how they very much applied to him and his life. 

“You look a little dazed my dear, is there something I can help you with?” His wife had worn a teasing glint as her voice whispered through his thoughts, and before Anthony could reply, she continued. “Has Miss Austen’s writing affected you in a peculiar manner?”

His stifled smile had felt petulant as he muttered “no” under his breath, unable to maintain a frown when Kate had snorted, as though she was quite right in not believing what he was saying. Which she was, of course, but Anthony didn’t have to tell her that.

“Are you sure? I can read the passage for a third time if it would help your current confusion?” Her smile had been wide, as her voice had taken an officious tone. “One must share with their wife, especially when unable to decipher a deeply felt emotion. I can help you find the words to best describe the feeling that has you smiling so wonderfully.” 

“I have no doubt that you could help, dearest Kate, but I have no need for a dictionary at this moment. Unless you require use of one?”

“I have an inkling of why exactly you have been affected so. If you like, I would be happy to enlighten you on…” Her voice trailed off as Anthony had flipped himself onto his stomach, and he was certain that he must have done a poor job hiding the devilish glint in his eyes. “What are you doing?” His hands had begun to gently bunch her dress up her legs, careful of her leg, his mouth ghosting kisses where the material had sat a moment ago.

“What do you think I am doing?”

“I think my hus-..husband is trying to distract me.”

A muffled “don’t know what you’re talking abou-” was all Anthony could say. He heard a soft thud on the bed as Kate had dropped the book. A gentle bite to the soft flesh of her thigh, and he allows himself to smirk against her skin as a hand tangles itself in his hair. 

“I will remember..you haven’t...you haven’t won... ”

Anthony’s “of course not” are the last words spoken for quite some time. 

But as he sits at his desk, two days later, he remembers again why he had been struck by that sentence, why it had seemingly affected him so much. He merely needs to think of Kate for the same wonderfully strange feeling to burst in his body. But as he thinks on it some more, there is still something he cannot not quite place…

He can’t help but smile as he remembers how pleasant the rest of that afternoon had turned out to be. He had quite forgotten about his temporary foolishness; the uncharacteristic shyness he had felt in the moment, feeling so overcome, so reticent in fact he had hesitated and had been unable to share with Kate. Distraction once again proving the only way to quiet her enquiries. At least for the afternoon.

But as he looks around his study, his gaze settles on something just right of the window, and he thinks that maybe now that he knows why he was hesitant, his mind will not rest until he recalls a particular word. 

He stands and makes his way to the small pile of books by the window, leftover from earlier in the week, when Hyacinth had called in with his mother and demanded his assistance in compiling a list of uncommon and unusual words. He picks up a notebook she had left behind, and flicks through until he lands on the page he is looking for; a list of words Colin has collected so far on his travels. 

His eyes scan until he finds the word he is looking for. There is a slight clench of his heart as he recalls Hyacinth recollecting what Colin had told her, and how he came to know the word. The roll of his eyes is involuntary as the grin spreads across his face. But of course.

~~

He walks into the drawing room, having just bid goodbye to Eloise and Edwina, and sees Kate leisurely leafing through the same book as their pleasant interlude from two days earlier. 

She sits with her legs atop the settee, a cushion under her healing one. Her face lights up at him, and Anthony is positive his face reciprocates in kind; he knows his heart certainly does. He will never tire of her smile; where he may have once resented the feelings it inspired in him, now it is all he can do to revel in it.

He makes his way to Kate’s side, and sits impossibly close to her, his head resting on her shoulder. He spies Newton, his purred snores drifting up from beneath the table. His eyes move to the pages in his wife’s hands, following the words on the page. 

He feels Kate’s head rest on his, and realises the restlessness he had been experiencing a moment ago in his study has disappeared. He will never cease to be in awe at how simply his wife’s presence is the most soothing balm. Anthony feels himself sigh when Kate speaks. 

“Tell me my Lord Bridgerton, do you now feel comfortable telling me what had you so enthralled when I read to you the other day? My current disposition finds me most generous, and I may grant you a boon if you choose to share with me.” He lifts his head, which forces Kate to do the same, and he shifts his body to face her. 

“Hm, that is a most tempting prospect, but I do find myself hesitating to accept.”

She scoffs. “I find that hard to believe.” Before she can question him further, Anthony stands, and as gently as he can, lifts Kate’s legs before he sits on the sofa, and carefully places her legs over his thighs. 

“Is that so? Would it pacify you to know that you inspired the feeling that caused me to be overcome by a sudden bashfulness?” He shuffles closer still, until Kate is sitting on his lap, her legs stretched out on the rest of the settee.

“That, my lord, appeared most obvious.” 

“Really?” His hand begins to make its way under her dress, his fingers tracing circles on her skin.

“Hmm, yes.”

“Should I tell you, then, the thought caused my shyness the other day?”

“As my husband, it is your duty to share with me the emotional burdens you face.”

“And what will you grant me in return?”

“Well, what would you like to be granted?”

“For what I have to say? A kiss would be an appropriate boon.”

“I think that could be arranged.”

He leans his face closer to hers, his lips brushing against hers as he murmurs “my most sincere thanks.” Just as he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, Kate pulls back.

“For shame my lord; I will grant you your boon only after you tell me what was on your mind.”

Anthony clears his throat. “My apologies, but you inspire the most forceful distraction in me.” Kate simply rolls her eyes in response, but the beaming smile that breaks over her face tells Anthony all that he needs to know. “Tell me, dear wife, do you know of the word ataraxia?”

Anthony nuzzles his wife’s neck, pressing light kisses against the skin, breathing in the ever present soap and lillies. “Hmm, not that I can immediately recall.”

“Would you be interested to know that it is a Greek word.” His mouth finds her earlobe.

“Oh, how fascinating.”

“Indeed. Would you like to know it’s definition?” He tugs her lobe between his teeth, pulling softly.

“Well you have certainly piqued my intrigue.”

Anthony pulls back slightly. “According to Colin, it means a state of serene and blissful calmness.”

“How interesting.”

“I think so.” His other hand finds its way to her hair, gently tugging some of it free from her simple coiffure. 

“And what, praytell, does this have to do with your sudden bashfulness?”

“Do you really not know?” He wraps the strands around his fingers. 

“I find myself needing you to tell me explicitly.” He smiles against her neck.

“Well, let me make myself clear. You, my dearest Kate, and being with you, inspire a state of serene and blissful calmness that I never thought possible.” He pulls back slightly, wanting to see her face, and he’s unsurprised by the warmth infused in her face, or the tears pooling in her eyes.

“Oh.” Her voice catches on the word, and something blooms ever brighter in Anthony’s chest. “You’re the same for me, you know.” The words are quiet, but they light something quite fierce within him. 

He lowers his voice. “Do you give me permission to claim my promised boon now?”

“If you have need of that question, maybe I should reconsid-'' He doesn’t let her finish as his lips descend on hers, and Anthony feels her smile against him.

And really, he knows it’s a game of push and pull that they play, and that she is the only opponent he ever wishes to face in such a fight. He knows that they both win when their respective battles end with one of his hands tangled in his wife’s hair and the other up the skirt of her dress. 

And while he’s also certain of the fact that he will never experience another bliss quite like this one, he knows it is more than he ever could have hoped for. 

ataraxia (greek, noun.): the state of serene and blissful calmness

[sierraraeck]

Dancing, Drugs, and Lies (Pt.1)

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

(This is my gif so please give credit if used)

Summary: Morgan’s cousin is in danger. Aundreya decides to use some of her ‘special talents’ to help the team find her. Story seven.

Category: Working a case with the team. A bit angsty, I guess.

Warnings: Cussing. Drugs. Implied drug abuse. Normal CM gore and situations.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: Just a reminder that this is all fiction and I don’t actually know about drugs or exotic dancers. Also, I didn’t want this to be 3 parts, but Tumblr told me that I can’t have more than 250 text blocks so … here we are.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

It was 3am. Three. Fricking. AM. And I was getting a call. I had finally gotten my brain to shut off for the best quality sleep of which I was capable not even two hours earlier, and I was getting a damn phone call.

“What?” I answered, my voice groggy and annoyed.

“We need you here, right now. Morgan’s cousin is missing.”

That was all I needed to snap me right out of my complainey mood. I was already out of bed and felt wide awake when answering, “I’m on my way.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

When I got to the office, everyone except for JJ and Rossi were there waiting.

“Aundreya,” Penelope said.

“Hi, I came as quickly as possible, what’s happening?”

“Morgan’s sister came to him saying that his cousin never returned home last night. She went to check her apartment and called her several times and nothing.”

“What about her phone? Can you track it?”

“I already tried but it was left at her apartment.”

“And there are no other places around that she spends a lot of time at?” I asked.

“No. If there are, no one knows about them,” Penelope answered. I saw Morgan standing a few feet away and I walked over to him.

No one wants to be asked how they’re doing, so I opted for, “Hey, we’re going to do everything we can to find her, okay.” He was clearly distressed, a hand on his head and he was slouching, something our big brave Morgan hardly ever did.

He met my eyes. “I don’t know what to do. Sarah and I split up and looked for her, Garcia tracked her phone, and none of us know where she was or should have been, or what she was doing.” He was trying to keep it together, but I could hear the panicked undertone.

“Okay, good to know what we can rule out. Do we have a picture of her that we can put out?”

“Yes,” JJ interjected. She and Rossi had just arrived. “I’m going to have Garcia get one out.” I nodded.

I placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder and looked straight into his eyes, “We’re going to find her.” That was a promise I intended to keep. No matter what. I walked back toward the rest of the group to see if there was any new information.

“Hey, how’d you get here so fast?” Rossi asked.

“I came as quickly as possible.”

“You live farther away from here than I do.”

“I said I came as quickly as possible.” I shrugged and he raised his eyebrows at me.

“I’m letting this go, only because we have more pressing issues.”

“I think that’s a good plan,” I agreed. I love Rossi, but sometimes he felt like a parole officer. Leave it to him to put together that I sped about 30 over to get here in under 10.

“Okay, we sent out a picture of her to the media as a missing person,” JJ said, rushing back into the room. I checked my phone and all the air inside me abruptly escaped once I saw the picture. I know her.

“I know her. I literally saw her last night,” I blurted before I could even think about what I was saying.

“Wait what? You saw my cousin last night?” Derek asked, chiming into the conversation.

“Yeah. Morgan, what does your cousin do for a living?” I wanted to be sure that this was the same person before I let on any more.

He looked perplexed, but answered anyway. “She’s a finance consultant.”

“During the day,” I mumbled.

“What? What are you saying?” Derek was on a short fuse and I was going to have to remember that.

“I’m saying that at night, she works in a strip club.” Everyone’s faces contorted around me into a variety of different emotions.

“How do you know that?” Emily asked.

“I went out for a walk last night-”

“Last night as in 24 hours ago, or tonight as in 5 hours ago?”

“Last night. I went for a walk because I couldn’t sleep and needed some fresh air. I walked by a strip club and saw her exiting it in a nice robe and I could tell she was wearing some dancing outfit underneath,” I said. It actually sounded like a pretty plausible story, but I still got skeptical looks from people.

“That had to have been just before she went missing,” JJ said.

“How do you even know it was her?” Morgan asked.

I held up my phone with her picture as if that was the answer. He was looking for more, though, so I simply stated, “I recognized her photo.”

“So if she’s been working at a strip club, that makes her a higher risk victim,” Prentiss said.

“Sure, but there are specific rules outlined for dancers. They do what they get paid for, and only what they get paid for. I don’t know a single dancer that would allow herself to go home with a customer,” I said. I gained more weary looks.

“So you don’t think there is any chance that she got abducted from the club or from outside of it maybe?” JJ asked.

“It’s highly unlikely.”

“But it’s possible?” Morgan asked.

“Yes. It’s possible. But if that is the case, this guy is super sophisticated. He’d have to get around all of the security cameras,” I answered.

“I’ll go check those now. What club?” Penelope asked.

“The Camelot,” I answered. She nodded and rushed as fast as she could in her nearly six inch heels to her bat cave.

“I can’t believe this,” Morgan said. It was Rossi’s turn to console, and I turned to follow Garcia to see if there was any way I could help her go through the footage. On my way, a familiar hand grabbed my arm and spun me around.

“You weren’t on a walk,” Spencer stated, confusion and, even a bit of anger, in his voice.

“Yes, I was.”

“What time did you leave?”

“11:25ish.”

“How far did you walk?”

“Down a few blocks and back.”

“What time did you get home?”

I did some quick math. “12:10.”

He studied my body language, trying to spot anything that would indicate otherwise.

“Why would you go walking by yourself at midnight?”

“I told you. I couldn’t sleep and needed some fresh air. Don’t worry, I had my gun with me,” I said. That part wasn’t a lie. I did in fact bring my gun.

“Fine.” He released my arm and stood there staring at me. I returned his gaze for a couple of moments before continuing my path to Garcia. Of course Spencer would decide to fact check my story for any inconsistencies.

The FBI hired me, which was great and all, but it wasn’t exactly like they were paying me. Kind of, but not really. I was as close to a volunteer as the FBI could manage. However, I needed extra money, just a little something that I could have for a rainy day. The best way I could think to achieve that goal, was to revert back to my old ways. My really old ways. Before I was thrown in prison, while I was in the gang and running the ring, I was dancing. I had been since the moment I landed on the streets. My stage name, and the one the ring came to call me by, was Alionth. I became one of the most well known dancers in the entire Chicago area, and even got prospects from clubs all around the nation. Once I got out of prison, it wasn’t that difficult for me to persuade the owners of certain clubs to let me ‘guest star’ here and there when I was available. One of those clubs was the Camelot. They allowed me to pop in on short notice (since I never knew when we’d close a case), and shift around their dance schedule. Of course, having me back drew more attention to that club, but my sketchy schedule actually worked in their favor. The manager said that they had more guys coming in, hoping to land on the right night that I’d be there. It kept customers in suspense and coming back for more. And they paid me really well.

Morgan’s cousin, Cinthia, or Thia as we knew her, was one of the girls that I worked with. She was there the night before and I saw her walk into a private showing room. After that, I don’t remember seeing her. I assumed she had just finished the dance and went home. Based on what Garcia found, or more like what she didn’t find, that wasn’t the case.

“Riiiiiight … there! Did you see it?” she asked me. There was a portion of the outside security footage that started over. The scene barely faltered, but with someone as good as Garcia, barely wasn’t enough to protect them.

“Yeah, I do,” I said. “This is not good.”

I returned to the rest of the team to give them the information.

“So this guy is sophisticated enough to hack into the feed and set it on a loop before he abducts the women,” Emily confirmed.

“Or worse. Someone on the inside is helping him change the footage,” I offered. Neither one was a good scenario.

“Chambers, Prentiss, why don’t you go down there and see if you can get anyone to talk,” Hotch ordered. Prentiss nodded at me and I followed her lead out to the elevator. Hopefully, without my wig and elaborate outfits, the girls wouldn’t recognize me.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

We entered the club and it was strange being there at 4am. I was usually out of there at 2 or 2:30 at the latest, so I never knew how it looked when it was more calm. There were about a third of the people there than during the busy hours, but luckily I still saw some girls that we could talk to. We approached them and I recognized them immediately. They were the two new girls who unfortunately had to work the crappy hours until they moved up the ranks. Steph had huge, curly blonde hair and Heidi had short black waves.

“Hi, I’m Emily and this is Aundreya. Could we speak with you for a moment?” Preniss asked. I was definitely going to let her take the lead on this one. I wanted to stay as inconspicuous to both parties as possible.

“What for?” Steph asked.

“We were just wanting to ask you about a woman who works here, Cindi Burns?” Prentiss held out the photo to them.

“I don’t know a Cindi, but the girl you’re showing me is Thia. She works here,” Heidi answered.

“Okay, well have you seen Thia recently?” Prentiss pressed.

They both just shook their heads. “Why?”

“She’s been reported missing.”

“Missing? By who, I thought Thia didn’t have anyone,” Heidi asked.

“Her cousin.”

“Oh damn. We didn’t see her last night. Sorry,” Steph said. Both of them turned to walk away and that’s how I knew something was up. Most of us stuck together, and were concerned when we heard about something happening to one of us. Not only because we cared, but because we knew there was a likelihood that we could be next.

“Was she with someone?” I asked.

They slowly turned around to look at me, sizing me up.

“Don’t think so. Sorry, we don’t know anything.” Lies, more lies. I shot Emily a look. She’d caught it too. I tilted my head in the opposite direction of the girls, asking her to let me talk to them alone. She arched an eyebrow.

“Trust me,” I said. She complied and walked away. I chased after the girls.

“Please,” I called after them, “She is in trouble and I know you know what’s going on.”

They ignored me.

“Look, we don’t have a problem but we could depending on if and how you answer these next questions,” I threatened. That’s when they heard it. The sass in my voice that was always more amplified when I was here, playing my character.

Both of their heads whipped around. “There’s no way.”

“Steph, Heidi-”

“Alionth?” they screeched and tossed their arms around me.

“It’s me,” I confirmed.

“What the hell are you doing with the police?” Steph asked.

“I know the cousin who reported Thia missing. Somehow I never put together that they were related,” I said, avoiding their real question.

“Oh wow. Small world,” Heidi said.

“Yeah. So she didn’t show last night?”

“No. She was supposed to, but she never came,” Heidi answered.

“Do you have any idea what happened to her?”

“I mean, I saw her go into the private room with that guy, but after that, nothing.”

“Have you ever seen that man before? Could you describe him?”

“Not really. It was dark,” Heidi said.

“No, but I’ve seen him before. Well, I didn’t recognize his face, but he was wearing a long trench coat that I’ve seen before,” Steph said.

I was about to ask if there was anything about the coat that stood out when a girl came stumbling out of the bathroom. “Help,” she croaked.

Prentiss and I rushed over to her.

“I tried to stop it,” she said. Her breathing was labored and she didn’t look familiar.

“Tried to stop what?” I asked.

“I tried. I tried. He did it again.” She wasn’t making any sense and she looked high.

“Who? Who’s he?” I pushed.

“The guy in the coat.” She started coughing, then collapsed.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

She woke up in the hospital dazed and confused. I stayed with her while Prentiss went back to report to the team and assist them with whatever else they needed.

“What happened?” she asked.

“You collapsed after we found you in the Camelot. You were high,” I told her. Once we got her to the hospital and she was stable, we looked through her clothes and found a small bag full of a white powder. The lab was running it to figure out what it was. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Amanda. I dance at the gentlemen’s club a few blocks away. Who are you?”

“I’m Agent Chambers-”

“Agent?”

“Yes. We are investigating the disappearance of-”

“Multiple women in the area?” she finished eagerly.

“No, actually. Just the disappearance of Cindi Burns, also known as Thia.”

“What? No,” she quickly became irritated. “This has been happening to exotic dancers all over the city.”

“What? How do you know this?”

“I’ve been tracking it. I bounce around a lot between clubs, and that’s when I realized that I kept seeing the same man. That doesn’t seem like a big deal, men go to multiple clubs, right? But it is weird if he wears the same exact coat each time he comes, and each time, he asks for a private dance with one of our girls, and then that very same girl goes missing the next day.” I was impressed at how observant she was. There’s a lot going on in a club, so most girls just tune it out and only focus on what they’re doing.

“Wow. How long has this been going on?”

“Probably four or five months. No one is looking for these girls because most of them don’t have people who are looking out for them. I tried telling the police but they brushed them off as run-aways.” She was very passionate, and I respected her dedication.

“Do you want to do something in law enforcement when you graduate?” I asked. Her eyes went wide and I knew I was right.

“Yes. How did you know that?” she asked in wonder.

“I’m with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. It’s part of my job,” I smiled. These girls didn’t hear it enough that needing financial help to get them through college was acceptable, that what they were doing was an acceptable form of secondary income to get them a higher education. “You seem like you’d be a great addition to the system.”

“Thanks. You’re literally my age, how is it possible that you are already working in a top unit of the FBI?” Her excitement quickly diminished. “You’re probably looking at me and wondering what in the hell I’m doing.”

“No, actually. I’ve been where you are. Actually, I still am where you are. I dance at the Camelot occasionally.” Amanda looked at me bewildered, but it brought light to her eyes.

“You work for the FBI and dance?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Must be. What are you going to do about this?”

“Can I ask you a few more questions?”

“Absolutely. What do you need to know?” It gave me hope that this woman was so invested in helping.

“Walk me through what happened and what you remember.”

She told me that she’d gone for a ‘smoke break’ around midnight because that’s when the man usually showed up at the club. She looked around for him but never saw him. Amanda had only ever seen him at three of the five clubs she worked at, so she called the other two to ask them if a man like that was there. When the Camelot told her that someone there matched her description of him, she hailed a cab and drove over. When she arrived, she went straight to the private rooms, and found him forcing a girl to take drugs. When he saw her, he panicked and yanked her into the room and forced her to take the drugs as well. They immediately kicked in, she recalled, but she had enough wits about her to keep hold of the bag because the drug was nothing she recognized. She finally came-to in the bathroom, but by then, Thia was already gone and Prentiss and I had arrived.

I called Aaron and relayed the information.

“She messed up his routine and he panicked, causing him to get sloppy,” he told me.

“Yeah, but that means he might accelerate, which means …” I didn’t want to say it.

“I know. Hopefully we’ll get the toxicology report back soon so we can narrow down our search based on whatever drugs are in that bag,” he said, still trying to stay positive, even though deep down he knew this didn’t look good.

“How’s Morgan?”

“As expected. See if Amanda remembers anything else, then head back here.”

“Will do.”

Part 2

[amalthea9]

Classic Doctor Who Fanfic: Minerva and Salamander

OKAY SO this took MONTHS to write because I struggle to write these days and put ideas into words but it was still a fun thing because I haven’t ever written anything concerning my Doctor Who OC interacting with the Who Universe. This fic is regarding the Second Doctor’s serial The Enemy of the World, where the Doctor is a look alike to a dictator called Salamander. Salamander is the villian in the serial, but my thirsty ass finds him sexy as all get out because it’s Patrick Troughton playing a more sinister character. So this short fic will feature Minerva’s encounter with Salamander during the serial. I hope some fellow Whovians can enjoy this.

Minerva is an alien species that have ‘healers’ with telepathic powers that are able to both read and induce emotions and she is a romantic interest for the Doctor from his Second to Sixth incarnations. If you’d like to see artwork of her and her bio, feel free to visit my deviantart gallery here: https://www.deviantart.com/thelastunicorn1985/art/DoctorWhoOC-Minerva-433564132

***Her bio will be updated asap since I have now moved her beginning to the Second Doctor’s run instead of starting her at the Fourth Doctor***

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

Part One This wasn't the original plan but it also hadn't really surprised Minerva. She stood out like a sore thumb amidst humans with her golden eyes and white hair. 

The original plan was to stay with Victoria and serve in the kitchen. But as soon as Ramon Salamander saw her, that was abandoned. He had told Fariah that Minerva would no longer be needed in the kitchen.

"She is needed elsewhere," Salamander had said, his dark eyes locked with Minerva's. 

Minerva had smiled a charming smile, coming to him when he beckoned her. Both Jamie and Victoria felt immediate fear at this occurrence, but Minerva wasn't afraid.

She had half expected something to happen, for Salamander to be intrigued by her appearance. The alien saw no reason to resist him either. That would threaten the success Jamie or Victoria might have in gathering information about Salamander. 

In fact, this could be an advantage if Minerva could relay to Jamie what Salamander might share behind bedroom doors.

Minerva knew Salamander's intentions from the moment she locked eyes with him. 

It was even more obvious when she stood in front of him and could sense the desire in him. So she continued to smile, curtsey, and ask in her soft voice.

"How may I serve you, my lord?"

Salamander smiled a dashing smile at the woman, his eyes glinting with delight at being called 'lord'.

"You flatter me, my dear with such a title," he chuckles. "What is your name?"

"Minerva," the woman replies, her eyes falling to the floor in shyness. 

She wasn't afraid of Salamander, but his gaze was intense. There was power behind them, a ferocity, much like a predator stares at his prey.  It was alluring too if she was honest with herself.

He had the Doctor's face but his eyes were completely different from the Doctor's. 

Salamander brought his index finger to Minerva's chin and gently lifted her head so that she would meet his eyes again.

"No need to be shy, Minerva," he said softly. "And you can serve me by being at my side. I am a lonely man, you see. It comes with the great power I possess. Your beauty would be a comfort to me. What do you say?"

He kept his dashing smile on, and Minerva knew what he was really saying. So did Jamie and Victoria.

He wanted an escort. A female companion to adorn his arm and be shown off. And if he so wished it, sexual favors.

Was this surprising? Hardly. What else does a man of power do with an exotic woman? 

Minerva saw this coming, she just wished that Jamie and Victoria hadn't been present for it. 

She also knew there was only one answer she could give.

She smiled softly and took his hand into her own.

"I am at your service, Salamander," she replied kindly.

Jamie stepped forward on instinct, but knew there was nothing to be done. He knew he just had to grit his teeth and hope that this mission ended quickly so they could all go back to the Tardis. And forget about anything that transpired…

Salamander grinned and kissed Minerva's hand. He turned then to Fariah.

"Fariah, have the most beautiful gowns brought to my chambers. As well as the finest  jewelry. I have a princess to adorn."

With those words, Salamander headed to his chambers, Minerva on his arm.

Fariah nodded and left the room, gesturing for Jamie and Victoria to follow her. They reluctantly did so. When they were walking down the hall, Victoria grabbed Jamie's arm and squeezed it tight. 

"Oh, Jamie!" She whispered in panic. "What will we do?! Minerva shouldn't have to do this!"

Jamie placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed it.

"We can't do anything right now," Jamie replied, his voice low and sad. "Minerva is a strong lass. I'm afraid for her too but...she would ask us to trust her as we always have, aye?" 

He looked down at Victoria to meet her eyes with his own. Victoria nodded, knowing he was right.

"Do not be concerned for your friend," Fariah said suddenly but without facing them. 

Jamie and Victoria looked at her in surprise.

"Salamander is many things," Ferah continued, face forward. "But an abuser of women he is not."

Victoria and Jamie looked to each other and hoped that Fariah was right.

Minerva felt strangely calm. She didn't fear being used for sex by Salamander, and that surprised her to a degree. Her culture never said that women should submit to men, and she hated the fact that almost all of earth felt that way. She didn't feel used though. That was the concerning part for her. She didn't care if she was forced to have sex with Salamander. Deep down, she felt a twinge of excitement at the prospect.

Was it because he was identical to the Doctor? His aura was completely different from the Doctor's, but there was no trace of malice in him towards her. She only felt the lustful desire from him. 

Minerva knew the Doctor did not love her in the way she loved him. No emotions other than friendship emitted from him. It had hurt to come to terms with that, but Minerva was wise enough to know that sometimes love is not mutual. And as much as it hurt, she also did not let it destroy her. The Doctor loved her in his own way. And that would have to be enough.

Salamander looked almost identical to the Doctor, so perhaps sex with him would help ease the pain a little. Salamander obviously didn't love her either, so there was no harm to him. It wouldn't heal her heartache, but it would give a sliver of relief.

Minerva let these thoughts run through her mind, she wasn't sure she would be able to do it when the time came. It was a pathetic attempt at healing and she knew it...but…

"You are very quiet, my dear."

Minerva blinked as she awoke from her thoughts and looked up to Salamander.

"Oh!" She exclaimed. "Forgive me, Salamander. I was just… just thinking."

"Thinking, eh?" Salamander inquired. "About what?"

Minerva had to think of something quick to say.

"Of...how unworthy I feel of your favor," she replied, smiling sweetly.

Salamander chuckled deeply, a throaty sound that made Minerva blush a bit. 

"Now now," he says, bringing her hand up to his lips. "You are a beauty. I have never seen a woman like you before. I could not resist you."

Minerva smiled at him and quietly chuckled.

"You flatter me, Salamander," she replies.

"And I shall continue to do so, my dear," he chuckles in reply.

They arrive at his chambers and Minerva can see Salamander spares no expense when it comes to decorating.

It is a large room, with furnishings of dark oak. The curtains are shades of red and orange, with elaborate embroidery on them. There is a very large canopy bed at the far end of the room, it's curtains are also red and orange. The sheets are red and appear to be satin. There are balcony doors, a small table with two chairs, and a large desk. Several dressers and shelves with books, and a beautifully carved loveseat.

"Here we are, my dear," Salamander stated as he leads her to the love seat.

Minerva nods. "It is the grandest room I have ever seen."

"Ah good," Salamander grins as they sit down. "I aim to impress."

Minerva chuckles and tries to ease her nerves. While she doesn't feel he means her harm, she still feels the unease as she struggles with her own thoughts.

"I need to keep him busy," she thought to herself as her thoughts quickly shifted to Jamie and Victoria. 

But also the idea of keeping Salamander busy brought a little sense of enjoyment with it. This man, like all men in power, was just slowly reeling her in, as is a fish on the line. However, she was a fish that was willing to be caught. As much as she could feel his desire, she could feel her own desire slowly growing inside herself. T

This man, a man of cruelty, wore the face of a man she loved and desired; but who could never be hers. If for one night she could look into that face... and her heart's deepest desires come true... then she would take that night. As much as he thinks he is going to use her, she is going to use him just as much.

"You do not need to be afraid, Minerva," Salamander says, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Minerva looks up to him in surprise, not expecting him to speak in such a way. 

"I have asked for your company, but I will not force myself upon you. I have seen too many women in my old country treated in such a way and I despise it."

Salamander takes one of Minerva's hands and brings his lips to it, once more kissing it gently.

Minerva smiles at him, feeling her cheeks blush golden.

Salamander sees that her cheeks flush gold and not pink and it makes him stare at her in wonder.

"Where do you come from? You look to me as a goddess of old."

Minerva often forgets about her blood color. And realizes she may not be able to explain it away, or the matter of how her hair grows halfway down her spine. With a gracious smile, she can think of nothing else to say except.

“I am from a very far away place, the last of my kind in fact. My people were an unusual race, our blood has a golden tint to it, and, as you might have noticed, our hair grows halfway down our spines. I believe it was some sort of genetic anomaly, but we were all like this.”

It was the best she could think of on the spot, and Salamander seemed to accept it. He nodded thoughtfully and smiled.

“A woman of mystery, eh? How exciting,” he mused.

 Minerva chuckled at that.

“You enjoy excitement, don’t you, Salamander?”

Salamander leaned forward at this moment, his face only inches from hers.

“Ramon,” he whispered against her lips. “I wish you to call me Ramon.”

Minerva’s cheeks flushed a deeper hue, taken off guard by his sudden closeness. His dark eyes roamed her face, and rested at her lips. Minerva knew what he wanted, and...in spite of herself...she wanted it too.

“Ramon,” she whispered, her golden eyes shimmering, and she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

They felt rougher than she expected, but still inviting. He brought his hands up to cup her face, his touch gentle. She heard him breathe sharply through his nose as he deepened the kiss, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. 

Was this what it would have been like to kiss the Doctor?

She could pretend at least.

After a moment, he broke the kiss, smiling with contentment.

“Your lips are more heavenly than I imagined, my dear,” he cooed, his fingers playing with a few strands of her hair.

“Thank you, Ramon,” Minerva shyly replied.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Salamander’s head turned sharply to the door and inquired who it was with annoyance.

“Fariah, Sir,” was the reply. “With the garments and jewelry you requested.”

Salamander’s annoyance immediately dissipated as he turned to Minerva with a sauve grin.

“Come, Minerva,” he says, taking her hand in his. “Allow me to adorn you as a princess.”

Minerva nods and smiles, her heart beat still faster than usual.

Salamander instructs Fariah to enter, and Minerva sees a clothing rack full of all sorts of shimmering gowns. The colors are varied, all brilliant and obviously expensive. Following the rack, another servant carries a wooden box made of polished oak. She assumes that it is full of expensive jewelry.

Fariah instructs the servant to place the box on the small table, then with a bow to Salamander, leaves with the other servant. Salamander looks almost boyishly excited as he brings Minerva over to the rack of dresses.

“These are all made by the finest tailors in the districts. Embroidered with patterns of suns, various flowers, and even stars. Now,” he begins, turning to Minerva. “What are your favorite colors, my princess?”

Minerva can’t help the flattered giggle she emits at being called ‘princess’, and she replies that her favorite colors are purples and greens in all shades.

“Ah of course,” Salamander nods thoughtfully. “Lavender is what you are wearing right now, and it is a perfect color for you,” he grins.

Minerva nods her head with a smile of thanks at the compliment and proceeds to look through the gowns. Each of them feel like silk or a similar fabric. Some have long sleeves made of sheen fabric, some have layers in the skirt for dancing. She runs her fingers over the embroideries, amazed at the skill. After a few minutes, she comes to a gown of deep shades of blue. It has sheen sleeves, with golden embroidery on the end of the sleeves. It is layered, lighter blues underneath the initial layer of dark blue. Salamander sees how she admires this dress, and steps up behind her.

“Does this one please you?” he asks, his voice low and close to her ear.

Minerva shivers at the sensation of his husky voice in her ear and his closeness, but keeps her composure.

“Yes,” she whispers in reply. “It reminds me of the night, a time of serenity.”

“Then try it on, my darling,” Salamander replies, his voice still low and laced with lust.

Minerva is still for a second. She lets herself take in Salamander's rush of lust, and she knows he would happily have her undress right there. But she wants to remain mysterious for as long as she can. Lead him on for as long as she can to buy time for the others. 

She turns her head so that their faces are once again inches apart. She smiles a teasing smile at him as she whispers, "Is there somewhere I can change?"

Salamander grins and chuckles in the back of his throat. He knows she isn't going to show him everything so soon. He enjoys the game, makes the reward more satisfying.

"Yes," he replies in a low voice. 

He hovers over her for a second more, then slowly turns his head to the far left corner of the room.

Minerva follows his gaze and sees a 3 panel changing wall. She looks back to Salamander, her smile still coy.

"Thank you," she whispers, and heads to the changing wall.

She changes as fast she can, and is grateful that this dress has a low enough back for her hair. As she emerges from behind the wall, Salamander smiles wide.

"A vision," he states, gesturing to Minerva to make a full turn about. 

She chuckles and does so as Salamander comes up to her.

"It is the perfect dress for you, my princess," he says as he lifts her hand to his lips. 

Minerva smiles kindly at the compliment as Salamander gestures to the jewelry box.

"Now for the finishing touches," he grins as he opens the box.

Minerva gasps in awe at the contents. There are necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. Both silver and gold, many different gem stones crafted into the various pieces. 

Salamander watches her as she reaches for a gold necklace with a small pendant. The pendant has a purple stone in it's center, Minerva would guess it could be amethyst. She smiles and Salamander knows she's made her selection.

He takes the necklace from her with a smile as he says, "Allow me."

Minerva obliges him, letting him clasp the necklace in a parting of her hair. He makes his way back around to face her and smiles with satisfaction.

"I must confess," Minerva begins with a worried expression. "I really don't feel I need any other piece of jewelry. I am quite content with only a necklace."

Salamander shakes his head dismissively.

"No need for apologies, my dear. You have already enchanted me in the dress alone."

Minerva's expresses relief as she smiles and nods her head in gratitude. 

There is a knock at the door, and Salamander beckons them in. The servant says that dinner is almost ready but that Salamander has a few things to see to first. Salamander turns back to Minerva and takes her hands to kiss them.

"Please excuse me, my dear," he apologizes. "But feel free to visit the kitchens or wherever else you fancy before dinner. I will send someone for you when it is ready."

Minerva nods in thanks and smiles graciously to him and Salamander leaves. Minerva decides to start exploring.

[strwbrryeos]

My Blood, Your Tears 04

summary; Two rival factions vie for control over the city and the government: the Min family and the Kim family. Generations of feuds fuel the struggle for power. In the new generation, Kim Namjoon continues his father’s battle, unaware of the Min family’s secret weapon.

genre; mafia au, series, angst, smut, fluff

pairing; mafia leader!namjoon x mafia member!reader

contains; really short chapter, ANGST, sad Namjoon hours :(, you’re a disappointment, Jimin is kinda smart, everything is starting to go wrong yay

previous | next

Ah, what a rookie mistake.

Maybe you got a little bit too bold, thinking you’d somehow become indestructible here. You were having so much fun you might’ve forgotten who you were dealing with.

Yes, Kim Namjoon is surprisingly sweet behind that brooding exterior, and he’s ridiculously charming, but to the core he’s a Kim, and the Kims are ruthless. Namjoon is a Kim, through and through.

You lean your head back in the chair, your eyes blinking at the ceiling. Two men stand facing you, guarding the door, your only exit. They’re a little unnerved at how calm you appear, staring at the walls like you’re lost in a daydream despite being strapped to an ugly wooden chair.

Eh, you’ve been in worse.

Outside, Namjoon is fucking panicking because you were not supposed to walk downstairs and this is not supposed to be happening. He’s pacing in front of the door, unsure of his next move. He’s literally never been unsure of anything before. Jimin’s leg bounces nervously as he watches, leaning over to his boyfriend to whisper, “He’s making me nervous.”

Hoseok can only nod in agreement. “Uh, Joon,” he says quietly, causing Namjoon to snap his head up expectantly. “You should probably go in there.”

“Yeah I know but what do I even say I mean―”

“Honestly, anything would be good right now. You literally tied her to a chair. At least it’s not the interrogation room. Kinda fucked up to put her in your bedroom, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, just…” Namjoon paces a couple more times before his fist flies into the wall, leaving a nice little hole. “Fuck! Okay. Okay, okay. I’m going.”

“Do you want us to come in with you?” Jimin asks, though he and Hoseok stands, planning to go in anyway.

When they enter, Hoseok is fully expecting you to be fucking screaming or crying or anything else right now, so he’s a tad bit unsettled to find you reclining into the chair, eyes closed, as if inclined to take a nap. Jimin and Namjoon look equally as confused. There’s not even a tear on your cheek.

You notice their presence immediately, but you figure you’re not in a bargaining position, so you make no sound, make no movement. Your ears wait for Namjoon to speak first, but all it hears is heaving breathing on his part. The guards shuffle nervously on their feet, the tension in the room enough to choke anyone.

Jimin trots towards them, asking quietly, “She say anything?”

“Not a word.”

“Odd.”

Namjoon finally decides to speak up. “Y/N, I―”

Upon hearing your name, you look at him, your eyes meeting his in a way that it never has before. Right now, he’s all business, and your eyes don’t meet as lovers. He looks at you with the cold steel of a Kim’s eyes, and you stare right back, Min blood coursing through you in full force.

To be honest, Namjoon’s a little taken aback. He’s never had someone on that end―in the chair―meet his gaze like that. He’s starting to feel as if he’s the one tied up.

“Y/N,” he starts again, “I’m really sorry, I just―”

“You gonna keep me tied up like this all day or?” you ask nonchalantly, not particularly in the mood to hear his excuses. “It’s hurting my wrists and they didn’t tie it right.”

“I… I mean yeah I wouldn’t―”

“If that’s a yes, then untie me, Namjoon.”

He falters before agreeing, quickly beckoning his friends, and Hoseok and Jimin rush to untie your restraints. You rub your sore wrists, cringing at the new marks they’ve made on your skin. You shake your head, trying to get yourself into the right headspace. Your instincts are screaming at you to do what you know best: analyze the situation and find an exit without a scratch. Out of habit you search the room, scanning your options and looking for weapons and trying to figure out how outnumbered you really are.

But you can’t. The job comes first.

You stand behind the chair, your entire demeanor switching. Jimin’s eyes observe you owlishly.

Namjoon takes a step and you immediately take one back, afraid, or at least, you appear to be. You’re still only in a t-shirt and barely-there panties, and your wrists really do hurt. Your eyes dart back and forth between the men in front of you as you rub your wrists nervously.

“Don’t be afraid,” Namjoon says, holding his hands up. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Yeah, well that’s more believable when you don’t have me tied up. Who even are you?” you ask, your voice growing a bit more hysterical.

“Okay, um…” Namjoon pauses, looking at his friends desperately for help. Hoseok gives him a sorry look, but Jimin can only shrug. “Okay, uh, give me some space, will you?”

The other four men see themselves out, and Jimin throws one last passing glance over his shoulder. He shakes his head sadly as he exits, as if he has something to say but he’s not quite sure what.

You look at Namjoon expectantly, wondering how he’s going to bullshit his way out of this one. He surprises you, however, when he doesn’t. He doesn’t at all. In fact, he approaches you very gently, but when he sees you backing away from him, he turns the chair around and takes a seat, facing you. You sit softly on the bed, avoiding his gaze.

“I’m not,” he starts, “who you think I am.” He twiddles his fingers, looking at you nervously. “I mean, I know you’re not dumb, for starters. You went to that club the first night we met. You knew where you were, right?”

“As in…”

“You knew what part of the city you were in, right?”

You pause. You could lie, but he’s right, you’re too smart for that. He would know.

“Yes. I knew.”

“So you knew the type of people you could run into.”

“I did.”

“So you know what type of person I am?”

“I thought I did.”

He swallows. Ouch. “Okay but, I guess you can theorize that I’m…”

“The tattoo,” you state, causing Namjoon’s eyebrows to furrow.

“Huh?”

“The tattoo,” you say again, gesturing to his neck. He touches it before his eyes light up in realization. “The moon. Not exactly a secret when everyone has one. It’s like, symbol of the moonchild, or something, right?”

Namjoon can only stare at you for a second, eyes wide. “S-So you’ve always known?”

“Known that you were a Kim? Yeah sorta.” A lie. “Known that you were the Kim. Kinda new, not really though.” Another lie.

“And you didn’t leave?”

“I didn’t have a reason to.”

“Is it okay if I come over there?” he asks, rising from his chair. You nod, making space for him beside you.

“I would never, ever hurt you. You know that, right?” Namjoon slides next to you, looking deeply into your eyes. You can see the sincerity on his face, and it’s strange because fuck despite everything that you know to be true, you just want to trust him. You do trust him.

And you might be just a little bit fucked.

“Baby,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and cupping your face gently. “...I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“You… what?”

Your eyes are locked in some intense tug-of-war, and you’re searching those dark orbs for the off possibility that he’s lying to you. That this isn’t happening.

But it is.

He tenderly intertwines your hand with his, and you can feel him shaking. Head leaning forward, his lips ghost yours, breath real and hot on your face.

Oh, god.

“I’m falling in love with you,” he breathes out before he puts his lips on yours. His kisses you gently at first then more eagerly, pulling you close to him in a desperate bid to make you stay. He pours his soul into that kiss, leaving every emotion he’s been hiding in it.

Your tongues touch and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips. Your hands are on him, itching to have him in every way possible.

And then it hits you.

I thought you said you wouldn’t disappoint me. Feelings are weak, Y/N. You are weak.

You break away from Namjoon immediately. This is wrong. You’re not supposed to be here, not like this. He wasn’t supposed to be able to break you like this. You’re better. You have to be better.

“Namjoon I’m sorry I―”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, standing up alongside you, nervous at the urgency in your voice.

“I made a mistake I―”

“C’mon, deep breaths. Talk to me. What happened?”

I fell in love with you.

“This is wrong, and I have to go.” You clamber around, trying to find your things. Your phone lies untouched on the bedside table, and you look at it to find too many missed calls and text. Fuck. Unprofessional. Namjoon is chasing after you as you bolt down the stairs. He catches your arm before you reach the door, tears beginning to prick his eyes at the prospect of the one good thing in his life running out.

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry,” you say as you wrench yourself out of his grip. “But this isn’t going to work.”

And for the first time in his life Namjoon understands what a heartbreak is, though as he watches you run away he thinks heartbreak is such an understatement. It’s more like a shattering. Like a million things going wrong as everything crumbles around you. Like you’re watching glass crack before your very eyes.

His eyes are glassy as he stares into the darkness. “Come back,” he thinks. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

[katlyn1948]

Only Human: Part 7 “The Stag and The Fawn”

So this is it! This is the last part....well not technically, I am writing an epilogue. This fic turned out longer than I anticipated and I even added extra parts to it, because I didn’t want to part with it. But alas, it is time. I am glad that I wrote this, I need to focus on another story from “An Unexpected Journey” to help get my creative juices flowing. I am about half way through with writing part 12 for AUJ and I hope to have it up by next weekend...fingers crossed. It just sucks because I work full time and by the time I get home, it’s already 8 at night and I have to get ready for the next day...so like the only time I have to write is the weekend or during my lunch break. Anyway...I’m getting WAY too personal..lol. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I will try to have the epilogue up by Sunday EST. Enjoy and always, happy reading!

The Stag and the Fawn

Gendry stared at the two women in front of him, his mouth agape. When the cook’s boy Harold had told him Mya was entertaining a guest in his solar, he hadn’t expected Arya Stark to be sitting in front of her. He was sure that it would be another prospect for marriage that Lord Estermont had recommended. Mya, with her sick sense of humor, would have brought the girl up just to see his face wrinkle in disgust. But instead of a prissy high born lady in some gods awful dress, sat Arya Stark with a babe strapped to her chest.

There were so many questions running through his head, but none seemed to escape his lips. All he could do was stare at the woman who left him nearly a year prior. He truly believed that he would never see her in the flesh again. All he had were his memories that would plague him every night about the woman he loved.

Mya cleared her throat and Gendry’s gaze tore from Arya, landing on his sister who sat just opposite of her.

“Wolf got your tongue, brother?” She teased.

Gendry glared at her; his eyes shining with fury. Mya had known that look all too well; she got nearly every day. Whenever she would do something to annoy him or embarrass him, he would direct a look towards her that screamed Ours is The Fury. Under normal circumstances, she would jokingly press the matter, knowing he would not and could not do anything harming to her, but her common sense had warned her to think otherwise.

Mya rose from her chair and straightened her leather vest, pulling it down ever so slightly to put in place, “Right, I have to go…check the kitchens. If you will excuse me.”

She gave a slight bow to Arya and threw Gendry a glance that said, don’t fuck it up.

Gendry opened the door for her, letting her slip out of the solar with ease. The door clicked behind her and she heard the lock latch from behind it. She shifted her weight slightly, as to not make a floor board creak and leaned her ear against the smooth surface, trying to listen to any part of their conversation.

Mya had always been a curios woman, and a locked door was not going to stop her from eavesdropping, no matter how private the conversation was. This was her brother; her newfound family. She had to make sure that Arya wasn’t going to break his heart, not like she had the last time. She may have been a wolf, but Mya was a stag and she stayed true to her family words.

Gendry knew Mya was listening right outside of his solar. She always listened to his private conversations and he hadn’t minded because she would catch something he didn’t hear. But this time was different. He wanted complete privacy. Without a single word, he stride towards Arya, grabbed her hand and pulled her into has bed chambers, closing the door behind him. At that moment, he was grateful for the dual rooms and the separation between the solar and bed chambers.

He latched the lock, for added measure, and lead Arya to the small table placed in front of the large fireplace adorning his chambers. She took a seat without hesitation and brought Bella closer to her chest; the babe still sleeping soundlessly.

Gendry began to pace the room. His thoughts going ever where all at once. He wasn’t sure what to say to the girl in front of him or even how to form a proper sentence without sound stupid. It didn’t take much to render the man speechless, so the shock of his former lover with a babe in her arms may have snatched his tongue straight from his mouth.

Arya’s irritation began to grow. First she had a Baratheon that would not shut up, now she has a Baratheon that won’t speak a single word. Aside from their looks, Arya couldn’t see how those two were related. It reminded her of her relationship with Sansa; they were sisters, but couldn’t be more opposite from the other.

Mya seemed quick witted, while Gendry took things at a slower pace. The one thing they did share in common was their stubbornness and Gods help her if she had to deal with the both of them.

Arya sighed, “Well, are you going to say something or just pace the floor the rest of the night?”

Gendry stopped and brought his eyes to meet hers.

Arya could see all the emotions in the swirl of his irises. Each was a potent as the next. Love, angry, passion, confusion, hurt, curiosity. Arya wasn’t sure which one she should tackle first. She knew he would want answers and she would give them to him, but perhaps it was best if she tried to diffuse the situation.

Arya rose from her seat and cross the room to Gendry. She was just a foot from him; their space becoming intertwined. She gently untied the long cloth that held Bella to her and pulled the sleeping babe to cradle in her arms.

Gendry had never seen Arya so gentle before. In all the time he knew her, she had always been a fierce warrior girl, who would push him down to the ground every change she got. The strange tenderness she had shown was a surprising quality he wish he had known sooner.

He looked down at the babe and really saw her for the first time. He hadn’t the chance to acknowledge her before, for he was too preoccupied with the presence of Arya. He knew she held a babe to her chest, but he didn’t know that it would be his.

And she was his; he knew immediately. She had his dark black hair and her hands looked similar to his. His heart swelled to the point of bursting. He though he would never feel this type of love in his life; a love that he wished he had as a child. The love of a father.

“Can I-I hold her?” He voice was nothing more than a whisper and his nerves were beginning to take over.

Arya smiled, “Of course you can.”

She laid the babe in his arms; being careful to not wake her. He was gentle in receiving her and he smiled at the way his arms seemed to fit perfectly around her sleeping form.

He had never held a babe before and wasn’t sure if he was holding her properly, but with Arya’s guidance he hoped to learn.

His eyes remained on the babe and he began to feel himself ease. His nerves calming; so much so, he was unafraid to question her mother before them.

“What is her name?” He wanted to know more than anything.

“Bella Cassandra Baratheon.” Arya stated, her voice slightly shaking.

Gendry tore his eyes from his child and stared at the Gray ones in front of him, “You gave her my name?”

“You’re her father, of course I gave her your name.” Arya said matter of fact.

Gendry knew that Bella was his, but the validation from Arya made it all more real.

It was hard for him to contain the anger that was boiling inside of him. If it weren’t for the child in his arms, he would be screaming and yelling, demanding answers. He hated how stoic Arya seemed by the whole situation; it drove him mad. How could she keep this child from him? How could she not tell him?

Arya could see the bubbling anger form in Gendry’s eyes. It was a type of anger that she had only seem once before during the long night.

Gendry moved to the bed and placed Bella on the soft feather surface. He knew the conversation that Arya and he had to have, and he preferred to not do it in Bella’s presence.

Arya was the one to unlatch his chamber door and walk out to his solar. Gendry followed and gently closed the door behind him. The both moved to sit at the large oak table, each taking a goblet of wine. For a moment they sat in silence; taking small sips from their goblets. It wasn’t until Gendry let out a long, deep sigh that he didn’t know he was holding and ran his fingers through his grown out hair.

“Did you know?” He asked her.

Arya stared at him, taking another sip of wine. “Know what?”

“Don’t play those games with me, Arya. Not now.” He took a breath. “Did you know you were carrying before you left King’s Landing?”

Arya quickly inhaled, “Yes. I knew.”

Gendry burst from his chair, standing to tower over her; his voice now raising, “And you didn’t think to tell me! I had a right to know!”

“I didn’t want you to know!” She yelled back at him. She too, was now standing.

“And why not!?”

“Because-” She hesitated. Drudging up those memories from when she found out were disappointing. She hated every inch of her being for ever thinking that she would get rid of her babe.

She sighed, her voice softening, “Because I wanted to get rid of her. I thought about drinking moon tea or taking my sword and driving it into my belly. If I knew that I wouldn’t die in the process, I probably would have done it and I would have never forgiven myself.”

Gendy’s eyes went soft; his anger melting away. He could see the hurt in her eyes and they way those thoughts plagued her being. He moved closer to her then, engulfing her into a bear of a hug. His arms snaked around her waist, pressing her into his chest. She didn’t protest. She gripped him hard and breathed in his familiar scent. She could hear his heartbeat underneath his jerkin. It was beating with all the strength and pace of a racing horse. She found comfort in his embrace; a type of comfort she hadn’t felt in a long time.

They remained in each other’s arms for a time. Neither one wanting to let go, but Arya had to tell him. She had to let him know what happened and why she took so long to come back.

She pulled from him and brought a hand to his face, cupping it gently. She leaned forward, using the tips of her toes to reach his lips and brushed a soft kiss across them. It was short and gentle and convey a thousand words that never needed to be said aloud.

“I need to tell you everything. But most importantly why I came back.” She whispered.

Gendry nodded and they returned to their seats at the table. They filled their wine goblets and Arya began to recount her story to him. She told him of an endless sea filled with summer heats. She told him of the near mutiny on her ship and of her dear friends that helped her a longer her journey. She told him how terrified she was when she first felt Bella stir inside her and she even confessed that she wanted to give Bella to any woman that would take her. It was a story filled with tears and laughter and strife.

“She was born in a storm. Only a true Baratheon could muster that.” Arya chuckled.

“And is she? A Baratheon through and through?” Gendry inquired.

Arya nodded, a smile adorning her face. “She is just as stubborn as you, if not more. And she can truly sleep through anything, just like her father. And her eyes!”

“What about them?” Gendry asked, a slight panic setting in his voice.

“They are blue, like yours. Like Mya’s. Truly the Baratheon blue that everyone talks about.” Arya mused.

Gendry couldn’t help but crack a joke, “The seed is strong then.”

Arya shoved his shoulder, the smile never leaving her lips.

They talked for hours and Gendry couldn’t help but wonder if Mya was still listening. For her sake, he hoped that she wasn’t.

There was a silent pause between them and Gendry cleared his throat, mustering the courage to ask the question he wanted so desperately to know the answer to.

“Why did you come back? And don’t say it was because of Bella. You and I both know there is more to it than that.”

Arya sighed and finished her wine. She took a deep breathe and began to give him his answer.

“At first, it was because of Bella. I didn’t want her to grow up not know who her father was. I know what it’s like to not have my father there anymore, and I couldn’t bare the thought of her going through that. But then I started to feel this emptiness inside of me that not even Bella could fill. It’s like all those things that made me the old Arya Stark, the one before Braavos, came rushing back like flood. I didn’t know how to stop it, and if I’m being honest, I didn’t want it to stop.” Arya paused. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and said, “I guess I was tired of running.”

“What are you going to do now?” Gendry asked.

Arya looked up at his deep blue eyes. She was looking for any indication that he didn’t want her there and she couldn’t see it.

“If it is okay with you, I’d very much like to stay and maybe be your family?” The last part came out as a whisper, but Gendry heard it nonetheless.

A smile spread across his face and he crashed his lips onto hers. He hadn’t remembered getting up from his chair that sat across from her. All he could think about was to hold her close and never let her go. He missed the way she tasted against his lips. The familiar taste of sea salt and wine washed over his tongue and it only made him deepen the kiss even more.

Arya missed this. She missed him and was grateful that she finally listened to her heart for once in her life. She knew this made her happy and she never wanted it to end.

But a tiny babe had other ideas.

A cry from the bed chamber broke the two apart. Arya and Gendry turned their heads to the door and chuckled. Of course their child would have terrible timing.

Arya began to make her way to the bed chamber, Gendry close behind.

Bella was fussing in the bed, wiggling against the light furs. She wanted to be coddled, so a Gendry complied. He lifted her from the bed and held her in his arms, cooing to calm her. Bella stared up at the strange man and began to giggle. Arya was surprised by the reaction, considering Gendry was a new face for her to learn.

Arya couldn’t help but feel nothing but pure happiness as she saw the pair in front of her. Gendry was looking at Bella the way her father used to look at her. It was a sight to behold and a sight that brought tears to Arya’s eyes. She knew that her Stag would love and protect their fawn with his entire being.

This is home. This is where I want to be.

[impracticaldemon]

The Road to Tokyo

Hakuouki fanfiction by impracticaldemon

Words: ~ 3200  Read also on:  FFN | AO3

Author's Note:

I decided to add some more to last year's story about Chizuru reuniting with Saitou after being told that he'd died in Aizu during the war (see “The Ghost” and “Reassurance”). The story is technically an AU, as it doesn't follow any of the canon good or bad endings for Saitou's route in the game. I note that, unlike in real life, I have had Saitou keep the name he had with the Shinsengumi post-imprisonment.

This is, in part, a promo-teaser-trailer for the upcoming SaiChi & Friends event that I'm co-hosting on tumblr. I hope you enjoy it!

~ Imp

The Road to Tokyo (or, Chapter 3 of "The Ghost")

Saitō stayed with Matsumoto-sensei and his wife for a week. Chizuru knew that he would have preferred not to impose on their hospitality for so long, but it wouldn't have been fair of her to leave without at least a few days' notice, and she was determined not to let Saitō leave without her. She'd found it difficult to sleep the night of his arrival—and every night since—for fear that he'd have vanished in the morning. Her emotions were still very near the surface, despite her best efforts, and she hated the way they seemed to swing from joy to fear almost at random.

Her conversation with Matsumoto-sensei about her decision to travel to Tokyo had gone better than she'd expected. She'd worried that the doctor might be upset, or even insulted, that she would choose to leave the security of life at the clinic for the uncertainty of travelling to the new capital without knowing what awaited. She'd also worried that he might—in her best interests—insist that Saitō's protection would be insufficient, or even improper. After all, it was a long trip to undertake with a man that she hadn't seen in two years, especially one who was neither relative, nor husband.

Her fears had proven largely unfounded, to a large extent because Saitō had evidently already considered the situation and decided on a course of action. The day after his arrival, Chizuru had found him in the kitchen preparing tea, even though it was very early, and Chizuru had been there to start breakfast. In retrospect, she realized he'd been waiting for her, although how he'd known she'd be there was unclear.

It had been an awkward moment, since Saitō had gone silent after the first polite greetings, and Chizuru had been forced to turn away to conceal tears of relief that he wasn't just some kind of delusion. That's when Chizuru had discovered that the tea was almost ready, and for some reason she'd frozen completely, unable to think coherently, or move. Saitō had gently turned her to face him at that point, although he'd remained mute for several more seconds before voicing—or at least introducing—his proposal.

"Yukimura-san, are you still of the same mind—that is, will you still accompany me to Tokyo?"

"Yes… yes, of course, Saitō-san. And please—please use my first name. I would prefer it." She hadn't thought to mention it the day before, when there'd been so much else to think and feel.

"…Chizuru-san?" She'd indicated no, that still wasn't quite right, and he'd finally managed, "Chizuru?" The extreme hesitation in his voice had made her want to laugh, but amusement had been immediately doused by sadness. She still mourned those who had used her name almost from the beginning: Heisuke-kun, of the bright smile and kind heart, and Harada-san, who had comforted and protected her, and Okita-san, who had mocked her, and pushed her—in good ways and bad—and needed her care. Fortunately, Saitō had continued almost at once.

"Would it be acceptable to you—do you think we might—for now—make a promise to marry?" He'd been visibly embarrassed, which was unlike him, and his voice had been almost too quiet to hear by the end. When she'd stared at him, bereft of speech, his colour had deepened even further, and he'd hurried to explain his sudden question. "I wouldn't ask—I know it's much too soon—except that it might make things easier with Matsumoto-sensei, and… in general. With officials, and others. For travelling, and so on."

Chizuru had been flustered, and undoubtedly just as red-faced as Saitō, but her answer hadn't been in doubt. She'd tried to make up for her initial stunned reaction.

"Yes! I mean, yes it would be—more than acceptable—but… are you sure you don't mind?" Then she'd cringed inwardly at herself. Of course he didn't mind, since he'd asked. Saitō wouldn't say something like that if he didn't mean it. Would he?

"I don't mind… That is—thank you for agreeing." He'd seemed genuinely pleased, and Chizuru had marvelled that after all the time apart, and so much grief, neither of them had had a change of heart.

It had probably been comical, from the outside—two awkward individuals, trying to express happiness at the prospect of being engaged. They'd done better after that, though. Saitō had managed a rueful smile—but a smile!—and then they'd been in each other's arms, the tea-making forgotten while they held each other. It was a balm and a blessing that Saitō seemed less aloof now than before—Aizu had changed him, a little, or maybe he'd just had long enough to think it all through. Fortunately, nobody had walked in, or if they had, Chizuru hadn't noticed.

Chizuru had spoken with Matsumoto-sensei after breakfast. He'd expressed surprise over the engagement, and genuine regret that Chizuru would be leaving the clinic, but on the whole, he'd taken it very well.

"It's the first time I've seen you smile in a very long time, Chizuru-chan," he'd told her seriously. "And besides, I've gotten to know you rather well over the past two years. I wish I knew Saitō-san better, so that I could be sure that he would take care of you, but I'm certain that you'd ignore any warnings or admonitions I might give you at this point regardless, so I might as well be gracious about it. This way, I know you'll write to me, both while travelling, and when you reach Edo." Matsumoto-sensei hated referring to the new capital as Tokyo.

He'd teased Chizuru a little after that, but kindly, and he'd assured her that he'd help in case there was any dispute over the house. Best of all—and Chizuru had been overwhelmed with gratitude—he'd promised to write letters of introduction to two colleagues in Tokyo, certifying that Chizuru had worked with him and had solid skills in basic medicine, including familiarity with both herbal remedies and Western medicine. Between that, and possible contacts among her father's former patients, Chizuru now felt more at ease about not being a burden on Saitō once they got to Tokyo.

For his part, Saitō had said very little to Chizuru about his subsequent, rather lengthy conversation with the doctor. If it had bothered him to answer questions about his intentions toward Chizuru, as well as personal questions about the true state of his health and fortune, he hadn't let it show. Truth be told, Matsumoto-sensei had found him a little difficult to fathom. In the end, he could only hope that the impassive young man cared about Chizuru as much as the girl evidently cared about him.

On the day of their departure, Chizuru rose early enough to make breakfast for the doctor and his wife. They'd given her a home for two years, and she was grateful. She assured them that she would write whenever she could, and that she would pray for the safe homecoming of various relatives still held in custody by the Meiji government. Saitō thanked them as well, his formal bow expressing not only his personal gratitude, but the gratitude of the now vanished Shinsengumi. Matsumoto-sensei had been a loyal friend.

Eventually, Chizuru found herself passing through the gate at which Saitō had appeared just a week before. She was assailed by a feeling of unreality, and not long after, she found herself reaching for the back of Saitō's coat. He must have sensed her movement, because he turned immediately, looking concerned.

"Is there a problem, Chizuru?" He'd become better about using her name now, although it was still new enough to make her at once warm and a little shy.

"No, Saitō-san." When his blue eyes continued to search her face, she decided it would be best to be honest. "I am just… very happy to be here with you. Sometimes it still feels like a dream, and I get anxious that you might go away and not come back." Again.

"I see." His face revealed very little of what he was thinking, but after a moment, he held out his hand. "There won't be many travellers on the roads, given the time of year. If you wish, I will hold your hand, so that you know I am with you."

Chizuru blushed at the unexpected offer. Tentatively, she took Saitō's hand. It was warm, despite the chilly air, and still noticeably calloused from so many years of using a sword. "Thank you, Saitō-san. I'm sorry for being so, um, strange about this."

"Īe. It is fine." He looked down at her, and she was reassured by the lack of either impatience or annoyance in his calm expression.

In the end, they held hands for most of the morning. It was so pleasant, and so reassuring, that Chizuru found herself tensing when they finally came across other travellers. To her surprise, Saitō kept his fingers firmly around hers, and showed no sign of letting ago. The older couple in the small ox-cart nodded politely to them, and if the man's eyes narrowed suspiciously upon making out the just-visible hilt of Saitō's sword, the woman smiled warmly at Chizuru, who immediately found herself smiling in return. She blushed when the woman winked at her, though.

Once the cart had gone by, and was slowly fading from sight behind them, she glanced up at Saitō, to find him looking pensive.

"Saitō-san?"

"…I believe that I will worry people less, now that I am travelling with you." Seeing that she didn't quite follow his train of thought, he added: "The roads are not very safe at the moment, as many were displaced by the war, and the northeast is still short of food. Also, the Imperial Army was large, and had its share of deserters; some of those men would not be welcome if they returned home." Chizuru sensed no particular contempt in Saitō's words, merely blunt assessment, but it was hard to know for sure what he thought.

"I had heard that there have been bandits on the road to Edo," she said cautiously.

"Tokyo," Saitō corrected gently. "The difficulty is that I look like I could be such a person."

Chizuru was immediately indignant. "No you don't! And besides, you would never stoop to—to—robbing people! It's just—obvious!" She came to a full stop, in order to emphasize her point.

Saitō looked at her in mild astonishment, then smiled. "I had… forgotten. How you perceive things." He cleared his throat, as though trying not to laugh. "My appearance has improved over the past week, thanks to your care, and that of Matsumoto-sensei and his wife; however, I believe that a more, ah, a more nervous observer would find my age, attire, and weapon of concern."

Chizuru frowned. Thinking about it more calmly, she could see his point, although she felt that a person would have to be very nervous not to appreciate Saitō's true nature. His clothes might be a little worn, but they were neat—not to mention clean and mended now!—and perfectly tidy. As for general appearances, surely nobody could find fault with his features, which were rather elegant—if a little thin—and in no way like a ruffian's. Perhaps she should have worked up the courage to ask to trim his hair—

"Yukimura? Ah—Chizuru?"

She blinked back to full awareness with a slight start, and was embarrassed to discover that she was staring fixedly at Saitō, her hands clenched into determined fists at her sides. Saitō was looking self-conscious, and a hint of red in his cheeks suggested that some part of her thoughts must have been visible on her face. Her own cheeks started to burn, and that probably would have made things even worse, but just then there was a faint cry for help from somewhere behind them, and they turned in unison, Saitō's hand falling automatically to the hilt of his sword.

It was late morning—surely an unusual time for banditry—but with the cold, and the absence of other travelers, perhaps the ox cart had made a tempting target. More likely, it was an accident with the beast drawing the cart, or with one of the wheels. Either way, Chizuru began to hurry back the way they’d come. Saitō immediately caught her shoulder.

"I will go first. Stay back, and be cautious."

"Hai!" Chizuru reached unconsciously to touch the hilt of a sword that she wasn't wearing, and had to remind herself that she was no longer a page with the Shinsengumi. Saitō's hand remained on her shoulder for a moment longer, and then he was past her, moving so quickly that she wondered if he had retained some measure of his powers as a rasetsu. Not that she'd be able to keep up either way, hampered as she was by her woman's clothing. At least she'd altered this kimono for travel, and wore leggings underneath against the cold.

It turned out that bandits could and did attack in daylight, when the roads were empty, and pickings were slim. Chizuru arrived in time to see one man holding a rifle, while a second stood guard over the ox-cart's owners with a drawn sword, and the third tossed items from the cart onto the road. The scene dissolved moments later, with Saitō's arrival.

They must have somehow missed his approach, she thought, as he effortlessly rid the swordsman of his weapon, knocked him sprawling, and put throwing knives—he was carrying knives?—through the hand and leg of the man with the rifle. He then closed with the third man, who appeared to be reaching for a weapon—whether a sword or a firearm, Chizuru couldn't make out.

Forgetting Saitō's command to stay back, she rushed to the couple kneeling at the side of the road, noting with dismay that the man was badly injured. He had a gash on his head, and his arm appeared to be broken, but he was still conscious, and looking murderous, rather than panic-stricken. His wife was clearly in shock, and had been roughly handled; Chizuru saw a bruise starting to darken under one eye. Tears in her clothing, and bleeding scrapes, suggested that she'd been dragged from the cart with far more force than necessary, and Chizuru felt a surge of anger.

"Knew your man for a soldier, miss, but damned if I expected a hero." The injured man was still surprisingly calm, although the sweat on his forehead betrayed significant pain.

She dove hastily into her bag for first aid supplies, but a shriek from the trembling woman beside her brought her eyes back up anxiously to check on Saitō. The former Shinsengumi captain was fine—unlike his opponent—but the bandit that he'd first disarmed had drawn a long knife, and was rapidly closing on Chizuru.

"Saw you two earlier," he growled, "an' I reckon your man would prefer ta keep ya in one piece."

"You're a fool to even try it," spat the ox-cart owner. "You're just going to get yourself killed."

"Shut it, you!" The bandit's hand had closed on Chizuru's collar, but he foolishly paused to aim a kick at the man taunting him.

Furious at the threat to use her against Saitō, and by the violence used against the cart owners, Chizuru snatched her scissors from the open medical supplies kit, and drove them as hard as she could into the bandit's closest leg. His agonized scream was cut off an instant later by a blow to the back of the head.

"Saitō-san!"

"Yukimura! Are you injured?"

They stared at each other over the bandit's unconscious figure. Blood was flowing freely down the man's leg, although Chizuru's blow didn't appear to have hit the artery, or any other significant blood vessel.

"She's fine, young bushi—though she's a lot more dangerous than she looks, it seems."

Chizuru immediately turned to the man and his wife in concern. "Oh! I'm so sorry—please, allow me to assist you! Your arm, and head—"

"What's she apologizing for?" the man asked Saitō, who gave a tiny shrug and turned away, his blue eyes not reflecting the calm he pretended. Chizuru might not realize it, but the blade in his hand had been aimed with killing intent. He'd changed his attack at the very last instant, and only because Chizuru had caused her assailant to stumble heavily. She'd saved the man's life—from Saitō, at least.

Eventually, they left the cart owner with his arm splinted, and his head bandaged, and the woman with the worst of her scrapes seen to, and recovering from her shock. She'd thanked Chizuru repeatedly for her care, and praised her courage. She'd completed the younger woman's discomfiture by adding that Chizuru had obviously chosen a strong, useful sort of man, who should be up to producing fine children. Meanwhile, Saitō had held a low-voiced conversation with the woman's husband that covered such topics as not wanting to delay their journey to Tokyo in order to look after formalities and paperwork related to the captured bandits. Saitō had made it clear that he'd gladly forfeit any bounty for the sake of remaining anonymous and free to travel.

Once back on the road, Saitō had taken the opportunity to regain Chizuru's hand—and to express his disapproval.

"You should not have gotten so close," he told her flatly. "I was in no danger."

"Gomenasai, Saitō-san." Chizuru hung her head. Now that the incident was over, she was feeling slightly sick—it had been a long time since she'd been in that kind of situation, and on top of that, she'd stabbed somebody. At the same time… if she hadn't been there, would the bandit have inflicted more harm on the nice couple before Saitō could subdue him? He must have been quite strong to recover as fast as he had from Saitō's initial attack.

They walked in silence for a bit, and then Chizuru was pulled abruptly from her thoughts when Saitō jerked her roughly into his arms and against his chest. It wasn't like him, and conveyed a great deal.

"…I should not blame you for my failure," he murmured against her hair. "It has been too long since I tried to fight without killing, and I misjudged. Gomenasai, Chizuru—he should never have been able to threaten you."

Chizuru couldn't respond; she was being held too tightly against Saitō's dark coat. But it pained her to hear the self-directed anger in his voice, so she finally made the effort to free herself—at least a little.

"You were wonderful, Saitō-san! You rescued everyone! Please—please don't be upset with yourself. I'll be more careful next time." When Saitō's embrace loosened enough for her to look up at him, she made the effort to smile. "Thank you for not killing anyone. I know they probably deserved it, and I know that they might end up dying anyway – as criminals. But thank you."

Saitō studied her carefully, then released his hold. Chizuru shivered involuntarily at the lack of his warmth, but she could hear other travellers approaching, and she knew that Saitō would be embarrassed to be caught in such an intimate pose—they both would, although privately she thought it might be worth it.

"Are you ready to go, Chizuru?"

"Hai!"

"…We are no longer with the Shinsengumi; nor are we with the army."

"I know. But you're still Saitō-san. I can't help it." This time her smile was unforced.

Saitō took her hand again, even though the other travellers were now in sight. "Let's go, Chizuru."

[END]

A/Note: Thank you for reading! I'm looking forward to SaiChi & Friends 2019 on tumblr from February 16 to 19, 2019. :) Also, please let me know if you'd be interested in seeing more of this particular "ghost" story

Tags:  @shell-senji @eliz1369 @nalufever @canadiangaap @rainylune @sabinasanfanfic @kondo-hijikata @hidetheremote @petri808 @hakuouki-or-hakuoki @soujthings   @iba-hime @moon-faced-pear-shaped @hakuyamazakisensei @nollatooru  @kurokiorya @ladyshiranui

@writer-appreciation

Note:  please let me know if you’d like to be added to, or dropped from, this list; my tag list is out-of-date, and I apologize in advance for omissions / extra adds.

[call-of-the-v0id]

The Days After

Warnings: Fluff | Shimadacest Pairings: Genji/Hanzo Summary: There had been no holiday spirit in the Shimada residence, not with all the work Hanzo has been issued. However, Genji is not defeated yet; he aspires to set things straight and give Hanzo the break he deserve, and even more so, to spend some quality time with him. Author’s Note: This is a short drabble I had originally written as Hanzo’s birthday. But I felt like the story deserved more to it and decided to alter and revise it a bit for the upcoming holidays. I haven’t written anything like this in a long time, so please go easy on me!

Days mingled into one another, seasons slipped by unnoticed, and soon the holidays had been upon them only to pass on, bringing in the new year. With it, the prospects of business only surmounted, piles of paperwork and scribbled numbers of associates to contact littered Hanzo’s desk. That’s where Genji had found himself this afternoon, lucky to find a sliver of space to set down a piece of blank paper. He settled into the elder’s leather chair and slid the small lamp towards him to focus the beam of light on his writing, taking his time to articulate each word to assure the perfect message.

They had missed an important day for him, a tradition he’d been keen to follow since they were kids. It hadn’t been the act of gifting, or celebrating Christmas itself, but on that day Hanzo never had been as stressed as he typically always would appear, lax even in his composure. And when Genji would be the first to wake him, first to offer him company, and first to give him something he made or found, Hanzo’s face would light up like it had never done before. That had been the moment the younger had missed, and he wouldn’t let another day escape them without reclaiming it. Today he had sent his brother away, the elder’s only day off by the Genji’s insistence, and suggested he see a play he had bought him a ticket for. What he hadn’t expected had been to hear his brother coming home so early, prompting him to scramble from his office and attempt to climb through the window behind him. The cool air nipped at his skin, but he could hardly be bothered by it, his adrenaline pushing him forward. He skirted around the building to his room, quietly shoving open the window and pulling himself through. However, he had only gotten partially inside when his attention had been drawn to the elder hovering in the doorway. They both gawked at each other simultaneously and quietly, the archer’s pensive eyes inspecting Genji halfway through the threshold of the window, trying to assess the situation.

“Genji,” Hanzo greeted simply, his tone holding a certain questioning resonance to it. He folded his arms slowly as he continued to stand there, giving the ninja a chance to crawl onto the floor, and gather himself to his feet.

“You’re home early, how did the play go?” Genji replied lightly, stepping closer to stand before his brother. There had been no doubt in his mind Hanzo knew he had been up to something, and avoiding the scrutiny in his stare had been near impossible. The elder breathed in and let out a calm exhale, the length in his loose hair falling over the front of his shoulder as he tried to relax them.

“Indignant, it was a mockery to the art. Any man who parades around- I left early,” he answered as a vein throbbed in his forehead, holding back his judgement in favor of keeping the attention directed on Genji. It hadn’t been that terrible, but something had been nagging him since the moment he left. Coming home to see his younger brother flailing halfway through a window hadn’t help to calm his nerves.

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. I had thought you’d really enjoy it,” Genji’s smile remained partially hopeful as he spoke. “Maybe I could get you a ticket to another one, something you’d really enjoy,” he offered, more than ready to take on the task.

“Ticket? I thought you liked them as well, why not get two, we will go together,” Hanzo had been speaking before he could control what he had even been saying, his words accompanied by a tight twist in his stomach, something he hadn’t felt in a while. It had started as an ache, then a tiny voice in his head, ‘eat them, devour everything. Control your emotions.’ But instead of swallowing, he said it aloud, much to his own surprise. Genji’s jaw had been slacking before he remembered himself, still trying to maintain what semblance of a smile he had left.

“Ah, I can’t! I have some business to handle, but I should be back by the time you are home,” Genji had to say though it slightly pained him to have to witness the flash of disappointment across Hanzo’s face. The older lowered his eyes to the ground, silently brooding over the rejection. “Hanzo?” Genji questioned, but the other had shaken his head and had begun to turn away.

“I will spend my day here, it’s fine Genji,” his voice sounded soft, yet resolved. He had only meant to spend some time with him for a few hours in the least, it was rare he had that opportunity. He still had many responsibilities to fulfill, holidays amiss or not. The pressure wasn’t going to alleviate itself just because he had been coerced by his younger brother to indulge himself on a day off.

“Hanzo, wait!” Genji called out, darting past him and standing in his way. Hanzo let his arms fall to his side, furrowing his brows at the onyx haired boy, a bit taken aback by his sudden obstruction. However, now that Genji had his attention he hadn’t been sure what he was supposed to say. “Why don’t you stay here, in my room, I believe they are cleaning yours,” Genji propositioned in haste, raising his hands to the elder’s shoulders as if to usher him. Hanzo, however, didn’t budge, and started to brush past him when instead he hesitated at the strange offer.

“While you’re away? You would want me in your room alone?” He asked curiously, a slight quirk of his brow as he watched the younger curiously. Genji stammered a moment then nodded, but Hanzo hadn’t the patience to give him enough time to answer before he had been trying to move forward again. Genji once again intersected him, his smile faltering to the point of vanishing altogether. Hanzo halted once more, an irritated scowl crossing his features.

“That’s it, Genji. Enough. What is going on? You won’t come with me to a play but you’ll have me spend the day in your room alone? This.. it was your idea I did anything at all, but I’m through, step aside,” Hanzo demanded in clear annoyance, fed up with whatever game Genji had been playing. The ninja frowned and slumped his shoulders, running out of ways to stall the older without escalating the entire situation. He couldn’t very well expose his surprise, but he could at least coerce him with just enough sprinkle of details to pique his interest into cooperating.

“It is not like that,” he tried to explain, attempting to find the best way to convey what he needed without giving too much away. “I will tell you, but please, stay in here until I return,” he insisted, again putting his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders and gently nudging him back in the direction of his room. Hanzo decided to comply this time, intrigued by the promise of getting in on Genji’s scheme. Once they were both inside he turned back to face him, not sure how they had ended up standing so close. He swallowed quietly as he pressed his back against the door to close it, feeling the weight of the elder’s gaze watching him.

“Okay, now tell me,” Hanzo said simply, narrowing his eyes to Genji who gave a small, agreeable nod. He didn’t have to divulge the entire plan, but he could at least assure Hanzo it’d benefit him in the end, even if it hadn’t been part of the tradition to tell someone you got them a gift. All he needed had been a few things from in town. Today had been the only day he had been able to get out without Hanzo’s knowledge, and he hadn’t wanted to miss this opportunity. The only problem now had been he hadn’t anticipated how intimidating his brother would have been in order to get information out of him, and under those piercing eyes he finally broke.

“I am making something for you, but I don’t have everything I need. I wanted it to be a surprise and give it to you when you got back, but- I hope this will be okay. I just need a little more time.” At least his explanation remained vague enough. He hadn’t like the fact part of the surprise had been ruined, but it hadn’t seem to matter once he witnessed Hanzo smile, those sharp features lighting up admirably.

“Oh? Then, perhaps I should wait here,” Hanzo replied, his acceptance of the situation only serving to bolster Genji’s confidence. The younger felt rejuvenated in his venture, shoulders perking up and his eyes widening in his renewed jubilance.

“I will be back! Do not go anywhere,” Genji stated excitedly, turning on his heel to push the door open and vacate the room as hurriedly as he could. He made his his way to Hanzo’s office first. There on the desk had been a black and red colored card, opened with a few strokes of the beginning of a small letter he had been writing before he had to dart away. He had been grateful Hanzo hadn’t come upon it before he was able to hand it to him himself. Now, onto the city to collect his material and wrap his present. Only the best would do.

Hanzo sat by the window Genji had previously dangled from, staring into the distance at the dojo across the yard. He had felt half the present had already been given to him; Genji bad been going out if his way to do something for him, just for him. It felt special, and even more important coming from Genji. No one else in the residence had the kind of relationship with Hanzo that Genji maintained with him, and though he questioned just how much he truly deserved this boy’s kindness and appreciation, he truly felt the more Genji offered, the more he seemed to invite in. Lingering by the window with absent thoughts of his younger brother, he only had to wait an hour, which he spent meticulously anxious upon the younger’s arrival. He could hear the soft pitter patter of his feet rushing to the door, then silence followed by a gentle knock. Hanzo couldn’t help but smirk at the gesture -- Genji hadn’t needed permission to enter his room but Hanzo played along anyway.

“Enter,” he said, rising to his feet to greet his brother at the door, though there hadn’t been any move from the door. He turned the knob himself and opened it, and as soon as he had there had been a bag held out to him. Genji had been grasping it before he seemed to realize something, pulling it back to set the bag down, and reaching inside it. He pulled out a small box, holding it carefully in both hands as he presented it to Hanzo.

He stood straight and confident, proud of his handiwork. He had put a lot of time and thought into it, and wanted the moment to be just right. Hanzo eyes fell onto the beautifully wrapped box. He hadn’t seen a gift like it, nor had ever been given anything like this. The soft green furoshiki cloth had been elaborate and intricately folded, thin blue chords had been tied neatly around the box’s frame, and the overall presentation had been stunning. It had definitely been over the top, and Hanzo knew he couldn’t accept it.

“It’s remarkable, but I can not take it,” Hanzo refused, looking to Genji who only shook his head and kept the present held out, hardly taking no for answer. His heart thrummed in his chest, both excited and anxious over this chance to do something special for his brother.

“It’s for you, take it!” Genji insisted but again Hanzo shook his head this time, silent and uncertain. “I worked really hard on it, please?” He pushed, but Hanzo declined, though this time had been hesitant. So Genji tried one last time, his smile and demeanor even sweeter than before. “You’re the only one I want to have this, even if it is just a silly gift,” he told him, moving it closer out to Hanzo, who finally gave in and retrieved it. The ninja couldn’t hide his excitement, both grateful and still taken aback by the fact Hanzo had allowed him to do this for him. “Go ahead, open it!”

“Here?” Hanzo asked in returned, feeling a bit embarrassed having to open it in front of him, but Genji had been his closest friend, and brother, and he’d be lying if he didn’t think the gesture had been entirely too kind of Genji in the first place. Lately they hadn’t treated each other like brothers or friends at all, and despite the rift Genji still sought to do something this special for him. It warmed his chest, and flushed his cheeks, his eyes lingering on the sweet smile Genji held on his lips. He had almost forgotten the gift, and was hugging Genji tight to him, squeezing as if he hadn’t held him in years before he knew what he was doing.

“Thank you, Genji,” he turned to whisper in his ear, hugging him again more tightly. Genji arms wrapped around him as well just as securely, happy to hear those words. Hanzo drew away first, touching the wrapped gift delicately as if to not ruin it. He hadn’t wanted to touch such perfection, but if he wanted to see inside, he’d have to unwrap it eventually. Genji waited patiently as Hanzo opened it, his heart still racing from the sudden show of affection. The elder took one last look up at his brother, fingers tracing over the wrapping before he pulled on the chord and gently began to pull back the cloth to reveal the translucent glass box hidden under it.

“It’s - a chocolate dragon. Genji you fool,” Hanzo chuckled at the handsome chubby chocolate dragon, inspecting it and wondering just where Genji could have gotten such a thing. “It’s perfect, thank you,” he added, reaching up a hand to stroke Genji’s cheek lovingly, appreciatively without thought, only acting on impulse.

“You-you like it?” Genji asked, smiling into the gesture even as Hanzo drew his hand away. He had almost forgotten what Hanzo’s touch had felt like, especially at times like these. It had been encouraging, so he dug into his shirt and pulled out the card he made earlier.

“There is one more thing - for you,” he said as he swallowed a nervous lump, holding the paper out now. Hanzo had been content with the gift he had already been given, but the way Genji’s demeanor shifted made him more curious of this. He eyed the card, the colors, and it’s simplicity, looking up to Genji quietly for a few seconds before he opened it and read it. The curl of his smile diminished as he read, which made Genji even more apprehensive. The longer they remained in this shared silence, the worse his anxiety had gotten for him until Hanzo finally did something - he laughed, but it hadn’t been an amused laugh, or mocking laugh, it had been genuine.

“We haven’t said this to each other since we were children,” Hanzo reminisced, reading over the words again while he smiled down at them. Though he understand the true implication of their meaning now, an entirely different connotation which he felt deeply, and truly. He eyes continued from the paper to Genji, and he stepped forward, placing a hand on the others chin and guiding his lips to his own. The younger had been frozen in time, breath caught in his throat, but matched Hanzo’s pressure, his eyes slipping closed as they stood there like that for several long seconds.

“Yes I will go,” Hanzo said, being the first to move away and smooth his hand down the ninja’s neck. Genji’s knees were weak at that point, but he managed a smile, drunk on Hanzo’s tenderness. He hadn’t expected him to even accept his gift, and neither did the other, but it had felt nice to indulge for a day, even just an ordinary day like today.

“Merry Christmas, Hanzo, I love you. Will you go to dinner with me tonight?” - the letter read

[imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch]

I Love You, You Pay My Rent: Chapter 12

First Chapter (Prologue)

Previous Chapter (Chapter Eleven)

Nico had been living with Will for long enough to have dreamt up quite a few scenarios in which Will professed his love. He hadn’t been prepared for that to become a reality, for Will to actually admit that he liked him. After so long dreaming up similar scenarios in which Percy was the one confessing, Nico had thought that Will would be a similar painful and enduring fantasy. A dream. Nothing more.

And yet here they were.

The kiss was over too quickly and Nico found himself brought back to reality, aware they were blocking a pavement, aware the world was cold and dark. But Will was still close. And if Nico wanted he could kiss him again. 

He could kiss him again.

Will was his now. That was amazing and terrifying and scary. What happened now? He’d never thought they’d get this far. Were they now a real thing? What happened next?

Will touched his cheek gently.

“Nico? You okay?”

Nico blinked.

“I knew I was a good kisser,” Will teased. “But I didn’t think I was hypnotising…”

“Shut up Solace,” Nico said, a knee jerk reflex.

“I was thinking,” he added, slightly defensively.

“Overthinking more like,” Will said, but he seemed slightly nervous. “Are we okay? Was I not supposed to kiss –?”

“No!” Nico said, a little louder than he’d intended in his sudden panic and need to divert Will from that line of thought. “We’re good. This is good.”

Will’s smile flickered, bright and happy and then extinguished again in a moment.

“Good,” he said. “So then can we go home? Someone stole my jacket and I’m freezing.”

Nico shoved his shoulder gently as Will smirked.

“Wait though,” Nico said.

Will looked a little puzzled. Nico just gave him a slightly nervous smile, and then stood up on tiptoes and kissed him, just to prove to himself he could. Will’s smile when he pulled back was blinding.

When they got home Nico hung around in the kitchen while Will went on ahead, trying to make getting a glass of water last as long as possible. He suddenly felt awkward in his own home. Did Will expect him to act different now they were dating? He still wasn’t entirely sure they were dating.

Will didn’t look any more at ease. He smiled seemed worried as he sat himself down on the edge of the sofa, tapping his fingers against his knees.

“So?” Nico asked when the silence became unbearable. “What now?”

Will looked up at him and gave half a smile.

“I need to go,” Will said.

Nico’s expression must have shown how he felt about that because Will raised his hands quickly.

“I promise I’ll explain everything in the morning. I don’t really deserve your trust but can you hold out one more night?”

Nico still wasn’t sure what Will thought he’d done that was so bad, which seemed kind of ironic since he’d gone into this whole sharing an apartment thing thinking Will might be a murderer. So he shrugged.

“I told you I trust you. I meant it. And for the record the last time you told me Octavian was right about you it turned out you felt guilty about volunteering at a children’s’ hospital. You’re not exactly the godfather.”

Will’s smile was a little too pale to be real but it was nice he made the effort.

“Okay well hold onto that thought?” he said. It sounded like a question.

“I’ll prepare myself for the worst,” Nico said with a slight eye roll that brought Will’s smile flickering back.

“Promise you’ll be okay?” Nico said. He felt vulnerable asking it, revealing how much he’d come to care about Will in the few weeks he’d known him. It wasn’t like him, and it felt strange, but at the same time it was oddly comforting to reveal his vulnerability and to see Will soften in response. His (real!?) boyfriend came towards him and gently cupped his cheek.

“I am pretty sure I’ll be okay,” Will said, though Nico noticed it wasn’t quite a promise.

“It’s like one in the morning Will,” Nico pointed out. “Who knows what maniacs might be out –“

“You mean like us ten minutes ago?”

Nico gave him a look.

“Do you really have to go?”

He didn’t know why he was being so reluctant. Will had gone out plenty of times at odd hours and he’d never cared before other than to wonder what on earth he was doing. And he didn’t particularly want to be the clingy boyfriend, especially when he’d only been the boyfriend for a grand total of approximately fifteen minutes.

But something felt off. Will had been acting strangely all night, and Nico had never seen him so jumpy about his phone before. The universe had a habit of taking away the people that Nico cared about in new and inventive ways and it would be just typical for the world to sabotage his first relationship minutes after it came into being.

Besides Will looked frightened. Really, truly frightened. Nico didn’t want Will to be frightened. He didn’t want Will anywhere near anything that would frighten him.

“I’ll be back,” Will promised. “I will.”

Nico had to be content with that and let him go.

Nico put off going to bed. The logical part of his mind told him that sleep would fill the hours between now and Will being back better than endless worrying and other filler tasks could. But he knew he was too jittery to even get close to slumber. It wasn’t just the fact he wasn’t completely sure what his stupid boyfriend was up to that made him so jittery. There was also the fact he had a stupid boyfriend at all.

He hadn’t had much time to process the events of the evening. Will had been up and down and all over the place and during the party Nico had felt a million different emotions. It had been a rollercoaster and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d got off yet.

The apartment was tidy, the tv was boring in the dead of night and putting on a dvd didn’t feel right without Will. There was nothing he could do that distract him from his thoughts and so he alternated between pacing in front of the tv, watching the clock tick by in what felt like slow motion, and lying on his bed straining to hear the sounds of Will’s key in the lock that never came.

By the time the sun came streaming through the windows he was starting to feel desperate. Whenever Will had snuck out before he was usually back way before Nico woke. He tried eating breakfast to settle his nerves but gave up after two bites. He couldn’t tell of he was hungover or sick with worry or both but even the dry toast made him want to run to the nearest toilet.

He crashed out at about ten o clock when, despite the horrible clawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, his eyes grew too heavy and he lost the battle with sleep. He slept fitfully, and dreamt dreams he couldn’t recall when he opened his eyes.

Though aching, tired and generally in a worse state than when he’d fallen asleep, he got up so fast he nearly fell, crashing out into the living room. He was fully expecting to see Will watching TV in the living room, or at least tucked up in bed. But the living room was cold and lifeless and completely empty. Will’s door was ajar, but its position didn’t look any different from when they’d left the night before.

Will usually slept with it shut.

He pushed at the door anyway, letting it swing open. Sunlight came in slants through the half open curtains. It fell onto the bed which was messily and probably hastily made but didn’t look like it had been slept in or on. Some clothes were on the floor, including the red tshirt he’d been wearing before he’d changed for the party, but Nico couldn’t see Will’s party clothes anywhere which seemed to prove it. Will hadn’t come back.  

Nico didn’t scream, or shout, or cry, or throw anything. It was a close thing, but he very calmly shut Will’s door and walked back into the living room focusing very hard on each step, making each one very deliberate and measured because if he didn’t have something to concentrate on he knew he’d lose it altogether.

By midday he was desperate enough to seek help. He was hesitant to go to the police firstly because he didn’t think they’d much care that Will Solace, an individual who regularly stayed out all night at parties, had yet to come home. (But they didn’t know Will like Nico did and this was unusual). He also didn’t want to get them involved yet on the off chance that Will really was involved in something bad.

He’d rung Will enough times now to know that Will was either ignoring him or away from his phone, neither of which were comforting prospects. He thought about trying to contact Cecil or Lou Ellen instead but he realised he didn’t know their numbers. He spent an unproductive ten minutes attempting to stalk them on facebook only to realise he wasn’t even friends with Will, let alone Will’s friends. The thought was weirdly sobering. How was it he and his boyfriend weren’t even facebook friends?

True, Nico never used facebook, but it did remind him that despite the fact he’d fallen hard and fast, he really had only known Will for a matter of weeks. It felt like much longer but, in any other relationship with anyone ever Nico would only be on nodding terms at this point. What was it about Will that was so captivating.

He shook the thoughts out of his head and tried to squash his doubts. Will wasn’t a murderer. He’d been down that particular train of thought before and it pretty much inevitably led to an embarrassing wreck where Will turned out to be an impossibly good person who spent his time with sick children for free. He wasn’t going to fall into his old habits. He was going to find Will in a calm and rational manner with minimal yelling at a higher power and then he and Will were going to sit down and they were going to talk.

There was a number for Kayla up on the wall in the kitchen and Nico thought long and hard about ringing her. He didn’t want to worry her, he really didn’t want to worry her, but if there was a chance she knew where Will was or how to contact him shouldn’t he take it? On the other hand he barely knew Kayla, they’d been briefly introduced when she’d come over after he hospital appointment but had been gone by the time Nico had awoken the next morning. Would she think it was weird him calling her? How much did she know about him and Will? Was she part of the lie that they were dating or had Will told her what used to be the truth?

It was impossible to know either way but when it got to 1pm and Will still hadn’t turned up, Nico gritted his teeth and keyed in the numbers.

Kayla answered, cheerful and chirpy and Nico found he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t worry Kayla. He couldn’t do that to Will’s sister, it wasn’t fair. He hung up without speaking, ignoring Kayla’s confused hellos.

But then if something horrible really had happened to Will and Kayla could help would she ever forgive him if he didn’t tell her, and then that led to them not getting to him in time? Nico knew how painful it was to lose a sibling. He’d hated Percy for years over his part in Bianca’s death, and that was all while loving him. If Nico was, however indirectly, responsible for Will’s death would Kayla end up sad and alone and bitter and consumed with rage like Nico had been?

Was that fair to her?

Except Will wasn’t dead. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Nico was just letting his imagination run away with him. He’d come back through the door any minute. Any minute.

The ringing of the phone made him jump. He picked it up, mind immediately going to kidnapping and extortions and how on earth was he going to pay the ransom? Will’s parents were presumably loaded, he’d have to contact them somehow –

“Hello? Will?”

The words made Nico jump again, he hadn’t even realised he’d pressed the button to answer the call.

“Will?” Kayla demanded again, more insitantly this time. “What’s going on? Are you there?”

“No it’s me,” Nico said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Nico.”

“Nico?” Kayla sounded confused for a second but then was back, cheerful as she’d been when she thought she’d been calling her brother.

“Nico! Hey! Did you try to call? I tried answering but the line went dead.”

Nico took a breath, dug his nails into his palm and wondered exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it.

“Yeah,” he lied. “I couldn’t hear you, I thought maybe it hadn’t connected properly.”

“Weird,” Kayla said. “That’s like some horror movie kind of stuff. Still I’m here now? Everything okay over there? Will mentioned you guys had some party thing coming up? He wanted my opinion on what smart casual meant.”

The idea of Will consulting his little sister about his fashion choices for Percy’s engagement party was so ridiculous and so endearing that Nico had to stifle a sound that wasn’t quite either a laugh or a sob. Will usually dressed so easily and effortlessly and didn’t need or want anyone else’s input.

He was probably worried because he was trying to impress you moron, a sardonic little voice in his head said. The thought made his heart clench and him feel sick all over again.

“Yeah it was last night,” Nico said vaguely. “We left kind of early and –“

“-and?” Kayla prompted after a couple of seconds silence.

And I’m scared he’s in real trouble.

“and I was wondering if you had a number for Lou Ellen or Cecil?”

“Oh yeah sure hold on!”

Nico sighed and closed his eyes. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell her. He wrote Cecil’s number down on a scrap of paper and then quickly ended the conversation before Kayla could ask why he’d wanted it.

He fiddled with the paper while he tried to figure out how best to explain the situation without Cecil switching from class clown to the clown from It and trying to strangle him down the phone. He couldn’t really come up with anyway, gave up and was dialling when he heard the door open.

He dropped the phone, turned, and was out of his seat before he knew what he was doing.

“What the hell have you been doing? Where the hell have you been? Oh god Will I was so worried I thought you’d died or –“

He came to an abrupt halt inches away from Will. He reached up and touched his cheek carefully, avoiding the blood and the bruising just under his eye.

“Will?”

Will shook his head. He was trembling. There was blood on his shirt, a lot of blood, though it was mostly hidden by his jacket.

“It’s not mine,” Will whispered. “It’s not –“

His voice cracked, and he sounded on the edge of panic. Nico gripped his shoulder.

“Will,” he said. “Focus. Let’s get you changed yeah?”

Will looked for a moment like he had some cocky response on the tip of his tongue, probably about Nico trying to get him out his clothes. But then Will looked down at the floor and gave the barest hint of a nod and Nico began to realise just how upset he was.

Nico waited, sitting on Will’s bed while Will showered. Comforting people really wasn’t his thing and several times he nearly caved and called Cecil to come over and take his place instead. But then he thought about how Jason had probably felt the same way all those times Nico hadn’t known if he wanted to shout or cry or murder somebody. So he stayed and the look of surprised relief which quickly gave way to gratitude when Will saw Nico waiting for him made Nico wonder why he’s ever considered leaving in the first place.

Will came and sat next to Nico, shoulder to shoulder. He was still trembling and Nico wondered vaguely if he was in some kind of shock and, if he was, what on earth he was supposed to do about that.

“Are you okay?” he asked, hoping that if Will needed medical attention he would know about it.

Will smiled shakily.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“Liar.”

Will nodded as though that was a fair enough point.

“I guess I owe you an explanation,” he said quietly.

“Be nice,” Nico said. “But not actually necessary. If you don’t want to talk about it -“

“No,” Will said firmly, sitting up properly. “It’s okay. I want to tell you. It’s only fair.”

He closed his eyes, obviously steeling himself.

“So everyone assumes I’m really rich because of my mum – “

Nico made a mental note to ask for clarification on who his mum was when Will wasn’t in the middle of an obviously difficult and heartfealt speech.

“-but actually I don’t have very much money at all. So when Kayla first got sick I was really worried about how I was going to pay off all her bills.

I always knew I wanted to be a doctor and so I knew a lot of first aid and I’m not really sure how it happened but I kind of ended up working for this guy patching up his guys when they got hurt.”

“So you work for the mob?” Nico asked. It sounded a bit harsher than he’d intended, his words sharp with worry. “I mean I’m not judging but what if you got hurt?”

“I don’t think they’re the mob exactly,” Will said, but he didn’t sound sure. “But it does worry me. I mean what if I’m fixing people who then go out and hurt others?”

It was obviously a question he’d asked himself before and Nico was pretty sure from Will’s torn expression he’d never been able to find an answer to his own question. Nico didn’t have an answer for him on that particular ethical dilemma either, but he did know that no matter how Will might say Octavian was right, Nico would never agree.

“I don’t know,” Nico admitted. “But you did it for Kayla. That doesn’t make you a bad person. Not in my book.”

Will looked so surprised and Nico realised that for all their differences they were very alike in some important ways. Nico too had trouble believing anyone would accept him.

“Someone died today,” Will said quietly. “I couldn’t save them. I feel terrible. But I also feel kind of relived. He was the worst of them and –“

Will’s voice cracked again and he shook his head. He was still shivering so Nico hesitantly put an arm round Will’s shoulders in silent comfort.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Nico told him firmly hoping that if he was assured enough Will would believe him. Will gave him a small smile.

“I can’t believe you’re still here,” he admitted. “I thought you would have run for the hills.”

Nico shrugged.

“I just want to prove Octavian wrong,” he said lightly.

“How long for?” Will asked. “Like are you going to have to marry me to prove a point?”

“Oh no I couldn’t do that,” Nico said. “The engagement party was enough for me. I’m not doing any gatherings larger than about four people ever again.”

“We could get married in Vegas. No guests.”

“Bit presumptuous,” Nico said with a sniff. “We haven’t even been on a date.”

“I took you to that restaurant.”

“Doesn’t count. We weren’t actually dating.”

“You’re going to be high maintance, I can tell,” Will said with a slight smile. “Handbags, designer shoes –“

Nico laughed.

“I can’t think of anything less me,” he said.  

Will smiled, a tired smile but a real one. He let his head fall onto Nico’s shoulder, eyes closing. Nico thought he’d fallen asleep and he was near drop off too, having been up half the night worrying about his stupid boyfriend.  

“Nico?” Will said after a moment, not bothering to open his eyes.  

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Nico smiled though Will didn’t see it.

“You’re welcome.”

Next Chapter

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

Only the Stars Remember

Click OP if Read more link won’t show. Feed back very appreciated. Sorry for typos, half asleep.

Click here for the Prologue

Opposing Stones-

The Galra were regal in their own way. Despite their strange purple fur, purple skin, yellow eyes, claws and fangs, they had a sort of composure that spoke power without showing it.

Such was the presence of the Galra Empress in the shuttle. She didn’t wear robes, or a dress, or even a crown. She wore armor. She wore battle gear. And even so, there was no doubt she was royalty.

It was in the way her chin remained raised, her eyes steady on whoever she spoke to. In the way she stood, back straight and a stance that was both defensive and challenging. Demanding respect.

There was a hardness to her features the Altean King and Queen couldn’t quite pinpoint. In the curl of her lip, subtle enough that it wasn’t rude, and the way her ears were pulled back. The clench of her claws and the lack of expression on her face.

“The war has reached a futile point. Neither of our people can continue without completely extinguishing our existences. We must find a way to make peace,” the King said in a firm, but gentle voice. He had a strange lilt to his words, making them almost musical.

“And what do you suggest it to be?” the Empress asked. “Every strive for peace has been rejected, broken. We offered supplies, and you used them against us. We offered land and your people refused to step on it unless it was to hurt my people.” She frowned and her head tilted down only slightly. “Of course, times you offered peace went unwanted as well. Battles broke out instead. One of which resulted in my husband’s death,” she spat, her teeth bared.

“And we empathize with you,” the Queen said curtly, becoming almost defensive as she stepped closer to the King. “We’ve lost many of our own as well. Brothers, sisters, children.” Her voice broke and she took a breath. “We discussed this, and… our son pointed out that each attempt at peace involved a single party. The gifts offered to you were simply to appease you, with no result for us. This may have caused the dissent. And the offers your people provided did the same.”

“Then what do you, or your son, suggest?” she asked in a flat tone.

The King and Queen looked at each other and the latter took a breath before stepping forward to be face to face with the Empress. “An alliance. A union of our people.”

The empress furrowed her eyebrows, her first vulnerable emotion- confusion. “A union?”

“A marriage,” she rephrased. “Preferably between royalty. We have the most influence over our people, the most respect.” She took a breath. “I understand you have a son.”

“Yes. Though he has deep… disdain for your people. I doubt he’d want to marry any of your children.”

The Queen’s jaw clenched, her eyes fluttered momentarily. “Not children. Child. I only have my son left,” she said softly. Her eyes met the Empress’ solid yellow. “I’m afraid the most surprising part of this is not a marriage between Galra and Alteans. It is… the fact they would both be male.”

The Empress frowned and shook her head. “He would never agree,” she growled.

“Even if it would bring peace to our people? End the wars? Is your son not one of the most respected generals as well as a prince? Is he not tired of fighting?”

“Keith has a great amount of anger fueling him,” she answered solemnly. Her heart clenched as she tried to remember the sweet little cub he had been once upon a time… and failed. It had been so long since her son had turned cold and vicious. Her innocent little boy had been replaced by a bloodthirsty war machine. Still, the prospect of peace was there. She raised her eyes to the Queen. “Your son has agreed?”

“He came up with the idea,” the King said from behind the Queen. “He wasn’t aware you only had a son, but when we told him, he said it was a marriage for peace. Not procreation.”

The empress took a deep breath and gave a curt nod. “Keep the ceasefire for the next three quintents. I will return with an answer. Let’s pray it’s a peaceful one.” The Queen nodded and watched as the Empress left the palace.

*

“My prince, are you certain you don’t want to eat?” he heard a gentle voice say behind him. Lance turned and shook his head, causing the servant to bow and walk away.

He took a shaky breath and ran his hand unconsciously along his forearm. His wound was long healed, hidden under his clothing and flowing robes. Still, Lance found himself sliding his hand over it when he was anxious or upset. He never noticed until he managed to pull his thoughts together.

“Lance,” he heard his father call. He stood up straight, and looked at his parents as they walked into the room in all their royal grace. “We’ve put the suggestion on the table,” he said.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “And? Will it work?”

“We don’t know, my son,” his mother whispered. “The empress agrees with the idea, but she is unsure her son will.” She grimaced slightly. “Are you certain you want to do this? Marry a Galra? Consummate a marriage with one?”

Lance gulped and shut his eyes. I made a promise, he reminded himself. If I could achieve peace, I would. No matter what. He opened his eyes, his answer resolute.

“Yes.”

“Very well,” she answered sadly. “We have three quintents before we receive an answer. That was the deal.” She touched his face gingerly, and Lance could see it in her eyes; she was thinking of his sisters and brothers. Of how alike they looked. Of how they were all dead now.

And now Lance was offering to marry someone from the species that murdered his family.

He pulled away and left the room, aching to be alone in his room. He had to constantly remind himself the Galra were not born murderers. They were not born evil. That to the Galra, it was the Alteans that were evil. He constantly had to remind himself of that Galra boy he had met as a child, the boy he befriended as they hid from the chaos. He had to remember how afraid that boy had been, how innocent.

That was what Galra were like. The war had turned them into what they were now. If Lance took away the war, there would be more children, more Galra like that boy he had met at that strange river. He had to overcome the prejudice. For his people.

For his nameless friend.

*

There was a fire coursing through his veins. He was in a state of mind that refused to acknowledge anything besides, attack. With each movement, he caused destruction.

He finally stopped when every practice drone, Altean cut-out, holographic target, and steel dummy was on the floor in piles of scraps and rubble. His claws twitched with leftover adrenaline, but he managed to step away and wipe away his sweat.

“General,” a low voice murmured. Keith turned, baring his fangs automatically. “Your mother wishes to see you.”

Keith scowled. She was back. Back from her peace meeting. Back from meeting with those revolting blue striped monkeys. Keith had told her not to go. He’d insisted he could lead his troops to a final victory. He just wanted to extend the bloodbath a little more. He wanted to inflict the pain they had inflicted on him.

Still, she had gone and refused his pleas.

Keith discarded his training uniform and put on his general uniform before going to meet his mother. Stiff back, arms at his sides, blank expression, Keith walked into the throne room and fell to one knee at the first step up to the throne. He had one beside her, but he hadn’t used it too often. He preferred his General status over Prince. Being a general meant he fought. Being a prince meant being calm and collected and patient.

“My son, where are your robes?” she questioned.

“My empress Q’arina, I don’t need them. Permission to stand?”

“Granted,” she said tiredly.

Keith lifted his gaze until he was looking up at her. “So then? Is there peace in the galaxy again?”

She looked at him with a somber expression and clasped her hands together. “Yes,” she whispered. “If… you agree to a condition.” Keith snarled, baring his teeth. “At least hear it before you throw a tantrum.” Keith curled his lip into a scowl and stared at his mother. Only her status as both his mother and his empress kept him from letting his tongue loose.

She took another breath and rose from her chair. He knew this move well. It was the “I-Am-Your-Mother-So-Do-As-I-Say-Young-Man” move. It meant she knew Keith wouldn’t like what was coming, and was already warning him not to dare object.

“A union between our people. We believe a marriage between our royalty will tie our people together and allow peace to settle.” Keith’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening to object. But she went on, ignoring the expression on his face. “The Altean queen has only a son left.”

“You want me to marry a male Altean?” he shouted in disbelief. He barged up the steps until he was face to face with his mother. “Over my dead body,” he snarled. “I’d sooner lead a level one troop against their castle than go anywhere near one without the intent to kill!”

Suddenly his mother cursed in ancient Galran and turned away from him, slumping into her throne. “Don’t you understand?” she cried. “I’m tired, Keith. Everyone is. Of the fighting, the killing, the dying, all of it! We have a chance to end this, why must you be so stubborn?”

“They killed my father!” he roared.

“And the continuation of this war could kill you next!” she shouted, suddenly standing so close to him, Keith momentarily felt like a scolded three year old. Then she broke into tears and cupped his face. “I miss your father. Every single day. But allowing this war to continue means I risk losing you too.” She shook her head, her paws shaking against his face. “I can’t- I won’t lose you too, Keith. If you love me, then please consider this. Bring me peace with the knowledge that I won’t have to send you off to more massacres and battles. That I won’t have to risk losing you.”

“Mother,” he breathed, suddenly less angry, less certain of his answer. “How would that even work? Our bloodlines would end there, I-”

“I don’t know every detail, my son. I told them I would ask you. They gave us three quintents before we had to return with an answer. I assume their prince will be there. We can figure out the questions then.” Keith grimaced. It sounded like a business deal. In a way, he knew it was.

But marriage had never been something Keith wanted or even considered. To him, it would only hold him back. A way to distract him from his goal. And he had always expected to marry a female, to continue the royal bloodline. If he ever married, he assumed it would be for the sake of procreating.

Ironically enough, now that he had to marry, there was no chance of that.

He wanted to say no. To reject the offer and provide a plan of attack instead. But the look on his mother’s face was too painful to ignore. “Mother…. I don’t want to marry. Not just the Altean, but at all. I can’t agree to-”

“You have time to think this over. Put aside your pride for once and be the prince you are. Consider what bringing peace would mean. By the third quintent, I will accept any answer you give me.” He sighed and wondered why she bothered giving him time if she knew he’d still say no. He turned to leave, his body shaking with the urge to return to training, to fight using his anger. But as he neared the exit, his mother’s voice came loud and clear. “You should know, my son, that if your answer is no by the third quintent, that I will agree with you. But I will also revoke your position as a general and demote you to cadet.”

The air left his lungs. And although he had expected the words to cause anger and violence in him, they left him weak and empty instead. He remained frozen there for a moment, unable to move before finally rushing out.

If his status was taken, he could not lead any more battles. Who was he without his power to declare and lead battles? Who was he without his rank?

*

Tensions were high. There had been no word on behalf of the Galra and the third quintent was almost over. Lance could see the tension in his mother’s face. They could only continue the war for so long before it led to total destruction.

Finally one of the servants rushed into the throne room, face filled with a mix of hope and fear. “They’re here,” he said. The royal family stood immediately and his mother nodded, granting the Galra entrance.

A few moments later, the Empress and Prince were walking in, rigid, dressed in royal robes and cloaks. The prince’s head tilted toward Lance, evidently fixing his eyes on him. His purple lip curled up into a snarl and Lance set his shoulders back, refusing to break eye contact. The closer they got, the softer the Prince’s face seemed to become. Almost solemn.

The Queen stepped down and took a nervous breath. “So then? Have you made a decision?” she asked the Prince.

The two shared a look before the Prince lifted his chin. “Yes.” He gulped and it seemed difficult for him to speak. “I… accept the condition.” A muscle in his jaw jumped and Lance had to gulp as he realized his future husband was a mere few steps away from him.

Even the Empress Q’arina seemed to relax her shoulders and let out a relieved breath as though she hadn’t been certain of her son’s choice. There was still tension in the room, though peace had been reached. It was fragile, Lance knew. It was uncertain. Peace was in their grasp, but neither were certain of what it would entail. Of whether it would succeed.

“Very well then. I believe we have details to discuss.” The Queen turned to one of the guards. “Bring out some food for our… allies. We will have a feast.” She turned to Lance and nodded, beckoning him closer, but Lance noticed the pain in her eyes. She was giving her only son away to a fruitless marriage. “General, this is my son, Prince Lance. Your fiancé.”

Bright yellow eyes looked him over and the rigid stance never left his muscles. “I’m Keith. Galra general and prince.” Lance lowered his head in a respectful bow.

The royal bloodlines sat in a tense circle around a table brought in by servants as food was placed on platters. The betrothed boys sat beside each other, their parents in front of them. After a few moments of picking mindlessly at the food, too overcome with uncertainty to be hungry, Empress Q’arina spoke.

“So what does this marriage entail? What are the terms of this peace treaty?”

“If I may,” Lance spoke glancing at both Galra and his parents. “The point behind the union is to unite our people as well. To show that peace or friendship between our species is possible. We’d be the example encouraging future friendships between our species.” Beside him, the Prince took a sharp breath. “This way, both our people are at stake. There would be peace by respect to us alone.”

“And what exactly,” Prince Keith spat beside him, “do you intend to have happen when we die? We can’t bear children. The royal bloodline would end with us. Then nothing would stop another war from rising.”

“Right, well,” Lance continued, having considered the idea meticulously since he thought of it, “although we’d be unable to procreate, we have servants. It’s not custom to bed anyone besides your spouse after marriage, but our case is certainly… unique.” Prince Keith scoffed, his claws scraping lightly against the table. “So… we could use their help. Bear children to pass down our kingdom to.”

“Of course, that wouldn’t be able to happen until… the two of you consummate your marriage. If only to honor the union,” the King intervened, speaking for the first time.

Both princes flinched at the comment. After so much violence, it was difficult to imagine making love to the other. Especially without the love being there. “And where would they reside? Would they alternate between our planet and Altea? Or live on one or the other?” Empress Q’arina asked, ignoring the more intimate details.

“By my understanding, your empire has suffered great damage. I would suggest the two live here on Altea until enough time is given for your planet to restore itself.”

Suddenly the chair beside him flew back, and his Galra fiancé was hunched over the table, muscles taught beneath his robes, his paws clawing into the table. “First I have to marry one of you. Then you say I have to lie with him. Now you want me to abandon my home? This is not peace, this is coercion!” he growled.

“Believe me, this is not something I want either,” Lance said calmly, standing. “I’d have preferred to marry someone for love. But I have a chance to end this war. To bring peace to my people, to yours. This is my duty as a prince, just as it is yours!”

Keith glared up at him, his resolve breaking as he looked into his eyes. He hated that most Alteans had the same blue eyes. They always reminded him of the girl he’d met as a child. He kept his jaw clenched and glared at him, refusing to back down, but acknowledging the logic in his argument. If anything, Keith would at least bask in the chance to make his life just as much of a misery as it would be for him.

“Well, perhaps this match is more compatible than I thought,” the Empress mused. Keith turned to look at her, the amused expression clear on her face. “So then, as long as these two remain in a peaceful marriage, there is peace between our people. And if anyone breaches the treaty, if anyone attempts an attack, or if anything happens to my son… the treaty is void.” There was an underlying threat to her words. Hurt my child and I will fight until our people are nothing but a memory in the universe. Hurt my people and my son will lead countless armies.

The ferocity was still in her. And Keith loved it.

The Queen nodded. “Precisely. And the same conditions apply to you.”

“So then… should we announce the joyous news?” the King questioned.

Prince Lance glanced at Keith and they each took a breath, letting out in an aggravated huff.

Their parents took it as a yes.

While the Queen left to let the Alteans know to gather for an important announcement, Prince Lance walked over to him and slipped off one of his necklaces. It was a large white stone with blue swirls in a circular pattern. “Take this. As an initial peace offering. It’ll show you are to be trusted.” He held the necklace out by its leather cord.

Slowly, Keith held his hand out as it dropped into his clawed hand. He huffed and put it on unceremoniously, his ears flicking as the cord caught behind one. “I only have this,” he murmured, reaching into his sleeve and pulling out the clear purple stone. The healer had said it had been lodged in his lower back. It was from the river. “It’s very special to me. Don’t lose it.” He held it out between his claws, and he saw the prince’s blue eyes focus on the stone, lips parting. There was a fondness to his look. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Thank you.” He took it and tore off a thin strip of cloth from his own robe and tied the rock to one end, wrapping it safely around before he tied the ends together and hung it from his neck. It glowed purple against his blue and white robes, obviously Galra-based.

Keith looked down at his own new necklace. Obviously Altean.

“My princes,” the Queen said. “It’s time.” They walked out, following after the Queen and King as they walked onto a balcony to greet their people. His mother stood beside him, and Lance on his other side.

“Should we hold hands?” the prince asked, his voice teasing and light, much more different from the tense, serious tone from their meeting.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” Keith growled under his breath. He was vaguely aware of the Queen looking back at them, hand reaching out. They walked forward until Keith could see every Altean crowding together to listen to the news.

Their shock was evident. Their distaste evident in the way they seemed to press closer to their families, scowling up at the balcony. Keith could feel his anger rising again. These people murdered his father. These people tore his home apart. And he was expected to live among them. He could hear the rumble of his growl in his chest, but he kept it back. He knew Lance heard it. He could tell by the twitch of his pointed ear.

“The ceasefire will continue until the union of Prince Lance and Prince Keith.” There was a quiet murmur rippling through the crowds. “After the union of our princes, there will be peace among our people. No more battles, no more war. We will have a celebration, to honor this marriage and this new alliance. Anyone who attempts to breach this pact will be tried for treason. Peace will once again reign in Altea.”

The Alteans seemed as uncertain as Keith felt. Then one of the guards stepped forward and kneeled. “Long live Prince Lance. Long live Prince Keith. Long live peace between our worlds.”

The other Alteans hastily got to their knees and repeated the chant.

“These are your people now too, my son,” his mother whispered in his ear. Keith tried not to feel revolted. He suddenly wished he hadn’t given his stone away. He itched to get it back.

Once the news had spread through Altea, the King joined Lance as they boarded the Galra spaceship to bring the news to the Galra. Keith strapped himself in and leaned back, the white rock heavy on his chest. Beside him, someone strapped themselves in as well, and Keith could tell by the scent that it was Prince Lance. Or, he supposed, simply Lance. It didn’t make sense to continuously call him prince if they were to be married.

He ignored him for a moment, but then he spoke. “So… maybe we should talk. I’d like to get to know my future husband.”

Keith opened his eyes and snarled. “This is a peace move and only that. We don’t have to be friends, much less in love. We simply have to tolerate each other and refrain from killing each other.”

“There’s a phrase that sums up what you said without so much hostility. It goes like this: No thanks.” Keith bared his teeth, but his Altean fiancé only raised an eyebrow. He shook his head and rested back, shutting his eyes.

While Keith couldn’t bring himself to fall asleep, the prince beside him managed to snore within minutes. It was a soft snoring, so Keith didn’t bother trying to wake him. He opened his eyes and looked at him.

He had a strange tint to his hair. Blueish white, and it fell in waves just under his shoulders. The top half was pinned back, exposing his long face and pointed chin and high cheekbones. His skin was dark, though maybe the blue marks under his eyes and on his forehead made him look darker than he was. It was strange. His father had velvety dark skin, the white robes a stark contrast against him. Meanwhile his mother had such light skin, the robes nearly blending with her, only differentiated by the blue lining and embroidery. It seemed that Lance was a perfect blend of the two, reaching a softer, less dramatic tone to his skin. His fingers were long, and there wasn’t a trace of fur or hair on him that wasn’t his eyelashes, eyebrows, or hair. And his eyelashes…. Though his hair was almost white, his eyelashes were dark, fanning around his eyes. Keith knew that beneath those eyelids, the eyes would be a bright blue with whites on the edges and black in the center. Three colors for eyes was unusual.

He sat back and grabbed his necklace, wondering again what had happened to his friend. Being near Alteans for so long had made her prominent in his mind. He had never asked for her. But he’d heard of the kind of punishments that were inflicted upon captives and prisoners. As he grew up and began training in the troops, he knew he would never have a chance to see her again. The one good, innocent being in the universe had been taken, tortured maybe, killed for sure.

Thinking of her, he wondered if maybe this union was the best thing. He could marry in her honor. She couldn’t get the peace she wanted, but Keith was helping end the war. A union that would be an example for all future cross-species unions.

When the ship landed on the Galra planet, Keith shook his fiancé unceremoniously, and the latter woke with a start, and a loud snore. “What?”

“We’re here,” Keith muttered. “Stay close if you don’t want to get mauled.” Lance gulped and remained close enough to Keith that he could feel the warmth of his presence even through the fur. The King stayed by the Empress, and several guards took their places around them so they could be escorted safely.

As they walked, Lance’s eyes seemed to dance around the terrain, looking unsettled by the chasms, the toppled ruins, the barren land which no longer even provided what few rivers they once had. The entire planet was in shambles, rationing food, and the Alteans were having feasts without a care in the world.

“We’re going to fix this, Keith,” Lance murmured beside him. “I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Princey,” Keith snapped, ignoring the hope rising in his chest. Was his home salvable?

“I always keep my promises,” he said solemnly. Keith frowned, but didn’t question it.

They reached the throne room and the Empress called for a broadcast. She implored every Galra to drop what they were doing and go to the palace. Within 20 dobashes, every Galra who could had congregated in the palace room. Others milled about outside, surrounding the castle. There were many, but in no way was it the number a nation should be.

Lance and the King were waiting in the dark, hidden by guards. Then the Empress stood and everyone quieted. “The war is over,” she announced. “There will be no more battles. No more bloodshed.” Soft whispers began, and she waited for them to quiet down before continuing. “We remain at a ceasefire for the time being. Until the union of your prince and general, Keith... and the sovereign prince of Altea, Lance.” The guards parted and Lance walked out, his shoulders back, his chin raised. He was not afraid. He would not be afraid.

The dissent was evident immediately. “Traitor!” “Blasphemy!” “Kill him!” It was obvious the Galra were quite blood thirsty and impulsive.

It wasn’t until a loud echoing roar shook the very palace walls that they all quieted down. It took Lance a moment to realized Keith had been behind the roar. “Enough!” he shouted. “There is no treason or traitor here. This is an end to our war for our people to prosper. It is a peace treaty and it will be respected! Any who go against the Empress or myself will be the ones charged with treason for endangering our people. Prince Lance and King Jobeth will not be harmed. After the ceremony, he will be your prince too, and you will respect him as such.” Lance raised an eyebrow, surprised that Keith had so easily and quickly defended him.

His glare was terrifying, and with his power, his ranking, Lance pitied anyone who was against it.

Many of the Galra were glaring at Lance, and he met their eyes, refusing to be intimidated. He knew the Galra held fears as well. He knew the innocence of youth. And he couldn’t help but search for that face he’d met when he younger. But his memory was so blurry, especially after the wounds he’d received after, he didn’t think he could recognized his nameless friend if he stood right in front of him. He wasn’t even sure he was alive still.

“Your planet and your people will receive help. The land will be restored, food supplied for sufficient portions, and no more war,” Lance said, his voice stronger than he felt. “Consider this your invitation. Prince Keith and I will be wed within the next four quintents on the land of Altea. We will have a celebration, a feast, and leave with peace among us.”

After the Galra had calmed down and left despite their disapproval of an Altean, Keith slumped into a throne chair in frustration. Lance could hear the bells.

Click here for Ch. 3

[rejectedmistake]

Fandom: Kill la Kill

Main Characters: Ragyo Kiryuin, Senketsu Pairing: Senketsu/Ragyo Rating: G Genres: Angst, Missed Scene, Love/Hate Warnings: OOC

Who are they for each other? She is for him - the worst enemy, who must be defeated at any cost; He is for her - nothing meaningful thing, created by a person hated by her... However, what if at some point everything changes? What if one day they understand that they mean to each other much more than just a human and just a kamui?..

FOR @roselinath

No one knew that Ragyo could regenerate. No one suspected that Senketsu could recover. Nobody thought about the fact that a month after the victory over the Life Fibers, they both, somehow inexplicably, will be able to return to Earth.

*** ... Senketsu woke up very slowly. At first he only felt himself in an endless, darkness, but he still knew that this was not the end, not the death... Gradually, the opportunity to hear and feel returned to the kamui... The first thing he noticed when his mind was already almost cleared up, is that Senketsu was wearing on someone's body. He could clearly discern that the body of the present 'teammate' is female, but different from Ryuko's body: slightly wider shoulders, slightly larger breasts, skin more tender and smooth, as if it was always well groomed; "And who is this my new partner?.. Looks like Satsuki... Although... No, not she." - Senketsu though. "Calm yourself, Senketsu." - Quiet and calm voice. Almost without emotion, it seemed somehow unfamiliar, but at the same time, the kamui had some strange feeling of discontent and blind hatred. Senketsu hesitated, after all, opened his eye. The bright crimson light instantly blinded him. "Shit." - He could not resist and cursed out loud, forcing the one on which he was wearing, to tremble. "Wow, that's it!.." - he thought, - "She really can hear me!". Senketsu knew only two people who could hear and understand his speech - Ryuko and Satsuki. But was there a mysterious stranger of one of them? No, kamui felt it. Ryuko's body and voice he would have learned from a thousand... Oh, really, out of a thousand?! No, out of a million, a billion of others!.. Perhaps, still Satsuki, in that case? No, really not she, Senketsu was sure of it... "Be quieter." - And again this voice. - "Do you know how you frightened me?" Kamui listened more diligently to what she had said. Yes, he had actually heard that voice before, but still, Senketsu still could not exactly understand who it belongs to. However, and it was not worth keeping silent. "Better, I wanna know who you are." - He said it as confidently as possible, and even somehow insolently. "Then why don't you open your eye?.." Kamui did it. But this time he opened his eye more slowly, so as not to be blinded by the bright light that came from the sun that was setting over the sea. The sky was gently lilac, slightly scarlet to the west, and it was pale dark blue in the east, with millions of stars on it... The sea was also painted with the evening colors of the dying day: the water had acquired dark tones of violet and blue and a lot of gently glare highlights; A nice cool breeze was blowing from the sea, causing small waves now and again to run up to the shore and to touch the slight-blue sand, in the light of the setting sun... "Well, how do you like this landscape?.." - Once again, Senketsu's thoughts were interrupted by still quiet and slightly trembling voice. - "Beautiful, isn't it? I would not have paid any attention to this before, but now. Now, apparently, I really have nothing to do but looking at this.." The Senketsu came to his senses and looked up to see the speaker. Imagine his surprise when he realized that he was now in close proximity to his worst enemy. "You..?" - Kamui had a hard time saying anything else besides that. He really did not expect to see Ragyo now... - "How so ?! You... Aren't you dead?!" - Stupid question, but he had nothing more to say. "No. More precisely, to some extent - yes, but..." - Ragyo looked away and somehow sighed heavily. - "Does it even matter something for we two?"

Senketsu didn't like the tone with which Kiryuin said this. There was something sad in her words, and a shiver in her voice suggested that she was ready to cry at any moment. It's not that kamui was worried about Ragyo's emotional state, it just seemed strange to him that this proud and strong-willed woman could be... Sad and broken..? "In fact, no. But I knew that you will not die, rainbow." - He said it without anger, but still seriously. So, as it is customary to talk with enemies. "Honestly, I was not going to cheat, it's much better to die than to be as lonely and unnecessary." - At these words, Ragyo giggled a little. This giggle was not joyful and not insane. Moreover, it was even more like a silent cry, not a giggle. Hearing it, Senketsu felt something new... As an electric discharge ran through his cloth-body, forcing all of his soul to tremble. Kamui did not even understand what had happened, just in a flash he was... Having penetrated some positive feelings towards his most hated being? "No, off! Get away, such thoughts! Still not enough to succumb to her tricks! " - Senketsu mentally scolded himself. For some reason, he was sure that Ragyo was playing with his feelings for some of her purposes, or simply to tease the kamui. "Do you overestimate yourself? Do you want me to pity you? Do you think that I will find the strength to forgive you after all that you've done?" - He literally pounced on her with questions, not even knowing why. Perhaps he just wanted to make Kiryuin ashamed. "No. Why do I need it? I'm not a stupid child. I understand everything clearly." - The woman lowered her head so that her eyes met the look of Senketsu's . - "I am now in a very difficult situation and just want support from someone else's side. And it does not matter to me, is that enemy or no." Kamui again felt strange. But this time a little differently than in the past. He giggled in the same way that Ragyo did a couple of minutes ago. In the same way with a little sadness. And then he himself was ashamed of this. He thought that Kiryuin may notice this and say something rude. And she noticed. But she did not say anything. Just smiled. Her smile was also unusual: not Ragyo's usual angrily smirk, but sincere and warm smile. "Here you see? We understand each other, so we can at least now speak without quarrels." - With these words, Ragyo rose from the cobblestone she had sat on all this time, and walked along the seashore. Senketsu wanted to reply in the negative to the conclusion that was made by Mrs. Kiryuin, but nevertheless resigned himself to the fact that it is better not to quarrel with the enemy. He just kept silent and continued to study Ragyo's body. At first, he just wanted to taste her blood. "Does she have any blood at all?.." - thought Senketsu - "Although it is a stupid question, of course it would be more reasonable to ask if her blood is normal." Then, Kamui found out that he can hear the woman's heartbeat, as if she did not destroy her own heart some time ago. "Why am I still surprised at all? I was burned, but now, here - I'm alive and healthy."

But now, the sun finally disappeared beyond the sea, plunging everything into the darkness, scattered only by the flickering of a scattering of stars; The wind stopped, and the sea was calm. Ragyo kept going purposefully forward, walking away from the sea. The landscape was gradually changing: more trees met, the sand road was replaced by an ordinary ground road; The trees looked like pines - they were as tall and as if they are leaving themselves into the sky, so that their branches were not visible. Senketsu began to worry a little. Where is Ragyo going, and even with the kamui? "Surely, she has something bad on her mind..." - decided Senketsu, - "What else can come to mind of such as she?". After some time, Ragyo stopped next to the cliff. More precisely, so it seemed to Senketsu. In fact, it was not a cliff, but a cleft in the land in which the forest river flowed (by the time, lady Kiryuin, along with her "kamui-friend" had already completely delved into the forest). "Going to throw yourself down, a suicide lady?" - Asked the kamui. "No..." - Smiling, the woman answered and pointed out the one of the trees, which so successfully fell between the two steep banks of the river one day. - "I want to sit there. Do not ask why, I just probably have nothing more to do.." "Ah, yes, you are our "unhappy girl" now, that had lost her way!" - Senketsu teased. This gave him confidence. In response, Ragyo only grunted while stepping to the fallen tree. Reaching the middle of the tree, the woman sat down. Thinking about something, Ragyo did not notice at all how a rain began. But Senketsu noticed by it and became agitated. The prospect of getting wet did not please him. It was necessary to ask Mrs. Kiryuin to go somewhere, where it would be not so wet. But how to speak with her now?.. "Hey.. Ragyo..? Maybe you'll leave from here? There is the rain, you see..." But Ragyo continued to sit on the fallen tree and, it seemed, bad weather did not bother her.

***

Below - three meters of free flight and God knows what the depth of the river is at this place. The forest was silent all around. Only the sound of rain, the thunder and the gusts of the wind could be heard. A woman is still sitting on the same place. Her clothes have long been all wet through, and her unattractive hair (already completely deprived of iridescent radiance) hangs down. But Ragyo does not care at all. Perhaps, once for her and was the motivation to monitor her appearance, but now it in not this way. Just not. The place of this motivation took it's own sense of insignificance. And to hell with any kind of motivation, if it does not work. "That's how it means... I was carried away by these Life Fibers and did not notice at all how my life ruined everything around..." - The woman held back tears as she could. She knew that no one except Senketsu would notice how she was crying, but she still wanted to hide it. Ragyo reflected on her life before she became the herald of Life Fibers, and after. At first, she was the most ordinary, unremarkable girl, and then - 'magic'! - and became perfect. But... In fact, for Ragyo there was no ideal of human. Until recently. Life side-by-side with Life Fibers has stupefied her, blinded her by boundless power, beautiful appearance, strength... But now, when the Life Fibers are destroyed? Kiryuin returned to her former life: again she became inconspicuous, weak, with an ordinary appearance, lost power and "universal adoration," in the end... Ragyo is now an unsociable loner, does not have the correct concept of friendship and love, as before. That's how she thought about herself now. Ragyo was used to being such before meeting with Life Fibers, and did not know how it could change at the moment. Would it help now? Satsuki and everyone else despise her just because she exists. "So what am I living for? Why am I still alive?" - Ragyo lowered her head. Tears on her eyes now. She was in pain. It really hurt. Especially when she recalled Ryuko's words that it would be better to return to Earth in peace. Lie. Another lie. Cruel lie. The woman continued to reflect about herself. Who was she for Satsuki and others? "Rainbow bitch," "Life fiber monster", the worst enemy... "Shit, it's-" Ragyo wanted to say "hurt", but restrained. She had no right to say so. There are people in the world who are more in pain than her now. What Ragyo feels is, compared to this, just nothing. Kiryuin pressed her palm to her face. Gritting her teeth, she cried as she had never allowed herself before. Tears rolled down her cheeks and chin, mixing with rain drops. All the while the woman was crying, memories flashed through her head. Especially quickly remembered her own words "I need to own this world to change it for the better!..". Yes, she was very wrong. Once upon a time, it really was necessary. But not when she was going to destroy all that exists.

After a while, Ragyo moved her hand from her face. "Who can accept me such as I am now?" - The woman's glance fell on the swaying surface of the river. - "What are you hiding in yourself, lady river?.." - And then Ragyo came up with an idea. - "And maybe... I should drown myself?" She continued to look at the water which was as dark as the ink. And it's truth... Only the river will accept her as she is... And swallow her without a trace. "Hm... But should I?.." - Ragyo looked around. No one who could interfere with her. No one who worries about her. - "What am I talking about, really..?" "Indeed, what are you talking about? I, of course, understand that you are in pain, but you do not have to kill yourself! And even with me! Eh... I mean.. Without the last words..." - Senketsu said. "Yes you are right." - The woman agreed with him. - "Sorry." "Come on. All is not that bad." - Kamui no longer paid attention to the fact that he suddenly began to talk with Kiryuin more peacefully. He realized that Ragyo could also feel pain, and in this she is like any other person. - "And... Don't cry, please." "But you said you would not forgive me." "I did not say that I forgive.. But I can not just look at how someone suffers, and- "Thank you." - She answered before Senketsu finished his thought. - "Really. I feel more better, thanks to your words." Ragyo's voice was calm, as if she were not worried. But Senketsu knew that everything was not so simple. Even no, he felt it. He felt that a shiver run through her body, that her breath got faster, that her heart started pound quickly... Ragyo was nervous.   "You didn't let me to end. Listen, Ragyo. Everyone deserves a second chance. But you... You let me know that you are totally like me deep in soul. And you deserve more than only a second chance. I mean.. I mean... I just want you to be alive. And with me. I think, it is necessary for both of us." "D-did you really say this?.." - Ragyo questioned in embarrassment.  " . . . Yes." "So, you must know one simple thing too... I like you. You helped me in the moment I was in pain. And now you became to mean a lot for me. My.. Friend." And there was a silence. Neither Senkesu nor Ragyo didn't say anything more. And it was not necessary. Now they were significant for each other. Now they were friends. Now they, in some way, liked each other. Or loved, by the way?

[rhapsodic-euphoria]

Hierarchy-Chapter 12

↳Masterlist

↻Previous  →Next

 You gasped for air as you flattedned yourself onto the brick wall. The chill of the night air caused goosebumps to form along your body. You shivered in your thin clothing as you begged for your heavy breaths to become quieter.

 But your breaths quicken when you hear the footsteps slow in from of you.

 You tensed your face away, tightly closing your eyes when you felt the ice-cold metal run along your cheek, drawing a few drops of blood to drip down. You gasped as you felt the liquid drip from the burning scratch.

 "Stop." You whimpered, arms straining against the metal cuffs that attached you to the wall. You gripped your hands into fists.

 "You failed. You know the consequences." The emotionless voice filled your ears.

 You couldn't see anything, only darkness. It was their sick way of torture or training. To blind you to make your other senses heightened.

 You felt the blade pierce the place between your shoulder and arm, making a silent scream come out of your mouth. The cold air made the wound multiply its pain.

 You couldn't feel anything after that, the wound dripping with your own blood. To this day, you would never be able to use your left arm properly from the improperly it was medicated and healed. The sharpness of pain filling your senses.

 You stood there, motionless, silent. You heard the sound of wheels upon the floor.

 "No." You whispered, knowing what would happen next.

 "STOP!" You screeched, futilely attempting to break out of your bonds.

 A strong hand held you in place. You felt the artificial needle pierce you skin as you tensed up more.

 "Sung-Ri."

 You screamed again. The pain was still there.

 "Sung-Ri." You immediately stopped at the familiarity of the voice. You opened your eyes to see a familiar face, memorizing it during the seconds you could.

 "Kyungsoo." Your breaths coming out in quick gasps.

 "Sung-Ri." The man repeated again, holding your shoulders and brining you into a hug. You silently gaped as you felt tear run from your eyes.

 When he pulled away, you noticed that he had tears in his eyes. The first time you’ve seen his this vulnerable. Even before.

 "Don't leave." You whispered, shaking your head.

 "I promise." He whispered back, brining you back into a hug.

 "Where am I?" You wonder out loud after moments of Kyungsoo in your arms.

 "Somewhere safe." You hear a voice to your left. You suddenly notice that you had more company. You, surprised, pull out of Kyungsoo’s embrace. Most of them groaning in pain, and rubbing their arms.

 "What happened?" You asked.

 "I dunno, you tell us." You heard Baekhyun groan out in pain as he clutched his arm.

 "You were influenced." Kyungsoo said, and you immediatly understood. You remembered the man in white and the last word he said. You shuddered in terror.

 "I saw him." You whispered. "I thought he was..."

 "Yeah." Kyungsoo patted your head as he nodded.

 "You..." You trained off as you looked into his eyes.

 He just nods. You nodded back, knowing he'll just tell you when he feels it's comfortable.

 "Jeong-Hui." You say her name, not remembering much of what happened.

 "She..." Lay trained off, leaving the silence for you to a least partially understand what you're trying to say.

 You feel your body go limp as the prospect of failing Jeong-Hui enters your mind. You look to a curtained window, noticing the white color and how it completely differs from your mood right now.

 "What happened?" You saw four men burst into the room. You tense up in surprise. There was a total of nine men in the room, a few of them you only knew from rumors and magazine covers.

 "Hyung." Baekhyun said, nodding towards you and Kyungsoo.

 "Wait. What's happening?" You heard Chanyeol ask. You looked at Kyungsoo. He only nodded, silent.

 "Maybe we should wait." Lay tries to reason, noticing your weakened state. And you are grateful for his understanding presence. 

 You stay silent, your face void of emotion as you looked at every man in the room.

 "Leave." Kyungsoo demanded, causing many to become startled, you included.

 You watch as the men start to leave, leaving only Baekhyun and Kyungsoo.

 "Sung-Ri." Baekhyun starts as he leans towards you.

 You don't respond, silent. You don’t even face him as you keep your vision straight. He understands, leaving the room.

 Kyungsoo also gets up, you look up at him.

 "I'll leave you and get you some food." He states, patting your arm.

 You nod, looking away. Your eyes finding the curtained windows.

 You hear the click of the door closing. Once everyone is gone, you notice how big the room is. It was probably the size of your living room and kitchen combined. Remembering your apartment and Jeong-Hui you sigh depressingly. Your uneven exhale brings you closer to tears. You didn't want to think about the heavy guilt of Jeong-hui upon your shoulders.

 You scan your eyes around the room. The room was colored a light grey, the furnature mostly white with the occasional contrasting black. There were windows, all covered in white curtains that hid everything except sunlight, the warm glow giving your darkened room some light.

 You notice three doors in the room, you decide to open one, seeing the huge bathroom on the other side. You slowly go into the bathroom, walking to the sink. You slowly start washing your hands with the expensive soap next to the sink, infused with a lavender scent only attained by money. As you finish, you unconsciously look up. You see yourself in the mirror. You were an unhealthy pale shade of your normal skin tone, dark purple circles underlining your eyes. Your hair greasily matted against your forehead.

 You see the edge of a bruise at the end of your shirt. You pull it over, covering your mouth in horror. The dark black and purple bruise was probably bigger than both of your fists combined, it was partially covered in a white bandage. You silently curse yourself as you run your hand along the wound next to your collarbone.

 You start to cry silently. You always thought that being bruised was in vain unless it helped someone. You cried even harder at the sight of the wound, being constantly reminded that Jeong-Hui was missing and probably dead because of you.

 It was strange, you killed for a living. But you cried and mourned at the sight of someone dying at the hands of someone else. You believed that it was the strangeness of morality.  

 Your tears had eventually slowed down. The bathroom filled with your uneven breathing. You washed your face, relaxing slightly at the feel of the comforting water.

 You dry your face with a nearby towel, walking back into the room. You bit your lips slightly as you fight the darkest thoughts entering your mind.

 You notice that Kyungsoo had left some food down on the table next to the bed. You sat down on the bed, covering your legs with the thick comforter.

 You didn't reach for the food only looking at it. The familiar arrangements of Kyungsoo’s food made you tilt your head in curiosity. You wondered how he was doing, and how he escaped.

 As if he read your mind, Kyungsoo came into the room. His familiar seemingly silent footsteps comforting you. 

 You stared at him, as he stared back at you. Both of you observing the other.

 "You should eat." He says nodding to the full plate besides you.

 You shake your head. "I think I'm going to throw up even without anything in my stomach."

 He sat down at the foot of the bed, both of you silent for a while. You noticed that he was in a suit. It was strangely unlike him.

 "Who changed me?" you asked him, looking down at your new clothing you don't remember putting on.

 "I did." He said simply. To most others, it would seem sexual, almost perverted, but you only nodded back. It wasn't like he has seen you naked many times before.

 You reach for his hand, noticing how quickly he flinched when he noticed what you were doing. He sighed, placing his hands on your hands. You smiled gently at his usual jumpy behavior. No matter how calm Kyungsoo was, he would always react to something unlikely.

 You run your hands over his, caressing them. "How?" you asked as you observed his warm hands.

 "When I heard about you, I decided to leave." He told you as if he were talking about getting off of work. If only it was that casual.

 "What did they tell you?" you ask as you trace the almost invisible scars on his hands.

 "That you failed." He stared at you.

 You nodded. "They weren't wrong."

 "I found out that my parents willingly gave me up." Kyungsoo started to say. "When I escaped, they were already dead... pathetic."

 "EXO?" you asked, seeing the other members of the group in your room before.

 He nodded slowly.

 "I met Jiho." You said, making Kyungsoo visibly tense. You never understood why he had developed a hatred for Jiho. They were always so close in the beginning.

 "When." you could hear that he was trying to control his anger, his hands tensing.

 "Few days ago." You muttered. "He's alive."

 "Sung-Ri." Kyungsoo took his hands out of yours. "You were out for almost a week."

 You sat there, silent. You finally nodded. "New record."

 "Sung-Ri." Kyungsoo started.

 "Worried is a new look for you Kyungsoo." You say staring back at the curtained windows. “Can’t say I like it though.”

 He gets up, taking the food with him. You noticed that he placed something there to substitute the plate of food. But you didn't make a move to go get it.

 He nods one last time before leaving. You stared at him as he quietly left.

 After a while you turn to the object he left. You unconsciously begin to tear up as you pick up the object.

 It was a picture, the first picture you took when you were still in the association.

 It was you, Kyungsoo, Jiho, and Jeong-Hui. Well, the former Jeong-Hui. It was when you were only around 12 when the picture was taken.

 Jiho's arm was wrapped around a young Kyungsoo who tried to hide his smile. You and Jeong-Hui were pressed together in a side hug. All of you had bright smiles.

 You start to cry harder at the picture. You and the four others never had a normal childhood, this picture was probably the only thing that couldn't prove that.  

 You pressed the picture on top of your heart, tears falling down as you silently cried. You were like that for hours. Not moving more than a foot at a time.  

 When you noticed that the glow of the sunlight streaming from the curtained window was starting to dissipate, you got up from the bed, placing the picture back on the table next to the bed. Your cries dissipating into sniffles. You look into the other door, seeing a closet of clothes.

 You pick out a plain shirt and sweatpants and headed to the bathroom. You carefully took your clothes off, starting a bath.

 You just sat in the bathtub, your mind blank. You didn't do anything but lay in the tub. A thought passed through your mind.

 "Could I just drown myself?" You spoke aloud. Perhaps leaving this world would rid you of guilt. You chuckled darkly at yourself.

 "Guilt can never go away." You told yourself. You sat up in the tub. You looked down at your hands. You could now understand why Kyungsoo hated his hands so much.

 How could anyone like something that destroys?

[tidalwave-shiningsky]

I'm aware that your attitude towards reds is commonplace. The part I am confused about is your lack of composure. I suppose it might just be a cultural difference- where I live, if I posted the things you do, my marriage prospects would sink very, very quickly.

Oh! I found the source of confusion! You are a time-traveller from the distant past new to using this strange stone tablet that produces words for some reason, and you’re from back when people were really attracted to partners with a stick up their ass and recalculated ‘marriage prospects’ if they showed any emotion! I have good news for you, caveanon! In the future, people decide who to date and marry on the basis of considerations like ‘intended career paths’ and ‘desires for our children’ and ‘compatibility’ and ‘financial standing’, not by pretending until we’ve married that emotions, reactions, humor, and openness were beneath our dignity.

Honestly, whenever I see someone go ‘no, no, don’t conduct yourself like that, it’s beneath you!’ what I hear is someone who thinks that our standing is fragile, that if we fail to act like stately monuments then people might dislike us and that the world is really a popularity contest deep down where once you’re hated it’s over.

That’s not the world we live in. There are thirteen billion people. Some of them can hate you. Some of them can laugh at you. Some of them can form a bad impression and some of them can spread horrible rumors online. And you’ll be fine. They do not matter. You are not a performer, you do not exist to impress them; you are Caveanon and your job is to make your nation rich.  Forget dignity. Learn how to comport yourself around important people, obviously; learn how to react and how to apologize and how to stay calm under pressure and how to come out of things alive. But don’t ever, for one moment, close off all the outlets to be four that you have lest you irrevocably damage something by breathing too loudly into one of them. You won’t. You’ll be fine. They don’t matter. Come forth, Caveanon, into this crowded and glorious world, and be undignified.

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Legacy - Chapter 50

The next few weeks were full of a tense waiting. There were parts of the army still scattered around the South, holding down areas that were still loyal. But, the news of Morelos's capture was spreading slowly. Strangely, since the initial news of his capture there had been nothing, unlike with Hidalgo. Mexico could only imagine that Spain was keeping it all under wraps because of how hugely popular Morelos was. It was hard to know if there would even be a letter when he was executed.

There was no question of whether there would be an execution; Spain had made it perfectly clear what he intended to do. He had said it plainly in his letter, and Mexico had ignored the warning. There was a distant feeling of guilt that haunted Mexico's mind. He could have given himself up and averted all of this.

Mexico hated the feeling of waiting yet again, but he knew it was important now to figure out what remained of Morelos's army. Only once they knew that could they move forward. Still, Mexico felt like this was a dangerous prospect. If anyone told Spain where they were, it would all be over. There was very little room for error now. Mexico slept uneasily, knowing that he could soon be back in Spain's hands.

He had noticed that every time he chose to wander the halls early in the morning, he could find comfort in the presence of guards, who were always conspicuous. Mexico couldn't help but think that Guerrero wanted him to be very aware of how secure they were. But, he was also aware that if he wanted to run again, it would be nearly impossible. It was a pragmatic move, and Mexico appreciated it.

He was walking the halls again, sleep eluding him. His mind was slipping back to the place that it always frequented. He couldn't help but wonder what his colonizer was doing now. It was inexorable that he would think of Spain. It seemed odd how often this seemed to happen. For so many years, Mexico had been privy to Spain's thoughts and anxieties. Now, he had no idea what his colonizer was thinking or doing. Was Spain pacing the halls in Mexico city too? Did he lose sleep over the idea that he may never have his empire back?

Mexico couldn't be certain; he hadn't heard from the rest of the empire in years. He did not know if Peru or any of the others were having more success in their bids for freedom than he was. Was he last of the empire left? Or had everyone else been soundly crushed? Surely Spain felt some triumph in what he had accomplished. He was probably feeling as though he'd won.

Mexico gritted his teeth at the thought that Spain even had some illusion of triumph. He was not defeated yet, and Spain should know him well enough to know that he wouldn't give up without a fight. Mexico could see the sun rising outside the windows, signaling the start of yet another day. This was getting frustratingly monotonous wandering the halls and wondering what was to come. Although he knew what it may cost, there was a part of his mind that craved battle. It would center him again. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, but he didn't react to them. It was just another of his guards, but the sound drew him out of his thoughts.

It would not due to let Spain weigh on him. After all, this war was not about Spain anymore; it was about independence. He decided that he might as well put his restless energy to work. If letters had come in the night, he could sort through them. His steps were echoed behind him by his usual shadow. Mexico reached the door to the general's quarters and noticed that there was a faint light beneath the door. No one should be awake at this hour. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

There was a single candle burning itself into a puddle of wax on the table and there was a familiar form bent over it. Guerrero was not wearing his usual uniform, instead he was dressed in only his undershirt with a jacket thrown carelessly over it. It looked like he had been roused in the middle of night. He didn't seem to notice when Mexico opened the door. He was engrossed in whatever he was reading. For a moment, Mexico second guessed his urge to make his presence known. He couldn't clearly see the general's face so couldn't guess at the emotions accompanying this state of undress.

But, he gathered himself and said, "Vicente, why are you awake at this hour?" The mortal looked up and there was an unnerved look in his eyes. His response was quick, clipped, "I wasn't expecting you." He glanced back at the letter before immediately launching into an explanation, "I just received a letter. I was intrigued so I couldn't wait until morning to read it." Mexico cut in, "From whom?"

He hadn't heard his general this frantic since his ill-conceived attempt to leave. He could only guess at the author of the letter that had so upset Guerrero. The mortal glanced at the letter one more time, the disdain clear in his face. Then he looked directly at Mexico and said, "It's from your colonizer. Spain deigned to write to me." Mexico gasped; he couldn't disguise his shock. He hadn't expected that Spain would take this step. It proved something throughly disconcerting. Spain knew where they were and who was in charge. Mexico's heart skipped an uncomfortable beat as he realized what this meant: Antonio knew that Guerrero was his next target.

A question clung to the tip of his tongue. It was better to ask it than to be left in suspense and imagine what Spain had said. Antonio was jealous and his venomous tongue could turn on anyone. He said, "I'm sorry you had to read that. What did he say to you?" The candle on the table sputtered slightly in the puddle of wax, but it remained alight.

Mexico immediately regretted asking when he saw a spasm of pain cross the other's face. There was still a strange distance in his voice as he said, "He offered me a pardon if I surrendered and gave you up." The artifice in his voice was clear. Mexico had listened to careful words enough to know that this was not the whole truth. He took a few inconspicuous steps toward where the poisonous document was laying, now the unwelcome guest in the room. If the man was not willing to give him the truth, he would read the letter himself. He dreaded what it said, but he needed to know.

Mexico also spoke, his own voice softened to hide his own suspicion, "What else did he say? Antonio would not be that civil." Again, the response came quickly. But, this time genuine anger slipped through, "How well you know him." Before Mexico could muster another response, the mortal stormed over and picked the letter up again. Without any introduction, he read from the letter, "'I commend you for your courage, but your cause is lost. I am giving you a chance to keep your life, for what it is worth. You cannot possibly think that you can win with the scraps that you have left. Let me make this completely clear: You are no leader. You are not fit to be an officer or a general. You are a common soldier stepping into shoes that are too large for you. You are nothing more than a mulatto trying to change the role you were born to. Whatever you think you've learned in these past few years are a drop in the ocean of what I know. I have fought wars for centuries against men far better than you. Hidalgo and Morelos both fell to me, and they were more qualified than you will ever be. If you do not surrender, I will expose you as the pretender you are. Do you wish to share the fate of your mentor? Do not think I will let you live if you continue fighting. You have stolen someone very precious to me. I will not forgive you for that. I have known Alejandro since before you were born. No one knows him the way I do. If you care for him, you will return him to me before I have to chastise him on the battlefield. I gave Alejandro the chance to turn himself over with dignity, and Morelos is dead for it. Don't make the same mistake.'"

There was obviously more to the letter, but Guerrero stopped reading. He didn't need to say more. Mexico was lost for words. He had expected the venom, but to hear the words levied at a man he cared about was painful. It hurt more to know that Guerrero had been alone with the letter before. He didn't know what he could say to blunt the impact. He didn't need to though, rage had finally broken through all the control the general had, "What does he think I will do? Does he think that I will give you up because he demands it?" He balled up the letter and hurled it at a wall, "Fucking gachupin bastard! I am not his obedient lackey! I do not sell my loyalties."

For one of the first times, Mexico could see the unrefined core of the man. He was glad of it. Spain's arrogance deserved exactly this response. Mexico could feel his own temper rising. How dare Spain try to turn his leader, his friend, against him? Spain expected every man to bow to his prestige and money. But the end of the letter was the worst of it. How far in denial was Spain that he still believed he knew anything about Mexico? The country voiced his own rage in a strange calm, "Antonio knows nothing about me. He presumes to talk about me like I'm a misbehaving child."

He balled both of his hands into fists. After everything he'd done, after how far he had come, Spain still thought of him as a misguided child. The anger was galvanizing. Spain didn't know how much of a fool this proved him to be. Mexico took the couple steps to where the letter lay, crumpled on the floor and picked it up. The parchment was still stiff, and there was comfort in that. It still felt like holding a snake that was ready to sink its fangs into his hand. There was only one way to deal with something this dangerous.

He walked back to the table and placed the corner over the fire. He had done the same with another letter years ago. He didn't want to keep Spain's threats. Guerrero was watching him carefully, a tirade still on the tip of his tongue. Mexico intended his actions to speak for themselves, but he did say, "Fuck Antonio. He's blustering because he thinks he sees weakness. I say we give him a response. Let's stop waiting and strike at him."

He watched the other's face closely, judging the impact of his words. He saw the look of restrained rage replaced with a rueful smile. Guerrero responded, "I don't know how you ever lived with that man. If he thinks he can turn me into a loyalist, then I will show him my mettle." The candle finally sank into the puddle of wax and pile of ash, its fire going out. The darkness in the room was not complete; there was still moonlight filtering in through the windows.

Mexico could finally meet the other's eyes. They were burning with the determination Mexico had seen in very few men. He said, "I believe in you, Vicente. We're going to make Antonio hurt." The mortal nodded and his smile appeared even more genuine as he said, "You're stuck with me until I die. I would never betray you, whatever Spain thinks he can offer me." Mexico felt exhilaration rush over his skin. He had heard the words before, but he felt their impact more strongly than ever. Spoken now, like a confession just between them, in the dark of the night with no formality it sounded so real. The true, loyal, loving smile was just as charming as it had been the first time they met. That soldier was gone, but the feeling was still the same.

Mexico moved closer, not entirely sure what he intended to do. They had been alone together before, but this time it was different. The mortal man was willingly standing between him and Spain, entirely aware of what that meant. That was profoundly touching. There was no harm in responding, "You don't know what that means to me."

He took a step even closer, uncertain why he was seeking closer contact. Spain's possessiveness had made him realize how precious this bond was. He wasn't just a colony the way he had been to Spain. Guerrero closed the space between them and put one hand on Mexico's shoulder. He paused for a moment before he spoke and it almost sounded like he was holding something back, "You look tired. Get some sleep. We will be raiding loyalist positions hard and fast in the morning. You will need to be well rested." ______________________________________________________________________________

"And then you invited him to bed with you, didn't you?", America cut in. Instead of voicing how uncalled for the accusation was, Mexico decided to play with his lover. He said, "How would that help me get better rested?" It was a jab meant to make the American realize how ridiculous it sounded. The entire exercise of hearing accusations that he was sleeping with people and denying them was getting trying. He was beginning to wonder if America assumed he did that with everyone.

He waited for only a moment before adding, "Alfred, this is like me thinking you fucked George Washington. Does that sound right to you?" America shrugged, the look of disgust that Mexico intended did not appear. He had an irritatingly suggestive smile on his face as he said, "Well, my general was not an attractive young firebrand who constantly reminded me how committed he was to me. I would understand why you did if you did. He was clearly flirting with you."

Mexico rounded on his boyfriend, letting his anger slip through, "Why do you assume I crawl in bed with everyone? Vicente was my only friend for the most desperate years of my life. He was not a politician; he was a soldier and I adored him for that. He put me first and he's one of the few people who has ever done that. But let me be clear: I never thought of him in that way."

America's face fell, showing that the scorn had set in. He bit his lower lip like he was contemplating an apology. He finally said, "I'm sorry, again. I guess I've been listening to your ex too much." Mexico scoffed, "It's not just Cat, and we both know it. I've heard the rumors that I'm a slut since I was a colony. I thought you wouldn't blindly believe them."

The blonde grimaced again and nervously shifted his weight. His blue eyes were big and apologetic when he said, "Don't stop telling the story. I want to hear what happened next." A slight smile appeared as he said, "Your history is so much more interesting when you tell it."

Mexico's anger couldn't hold its fire with his lover looking at him like that. But, he was also not telling this story for America's benefit. It had begun that way, but now it was more for himself. It was cathartic to remember everything exactly as it was. It was comforting to remember who he had been, all of his weaknesses and mistakes, to remind himself how far he had come. If America still found it interesting, despite it having lasted into the early hours of the morning so far. He smiled and said, "Fine, Al. Only if you promise to stop accusing me of sleeping with every attractive person I interact with."

America nodded, which was enough of an agreement to continue. Mexico crossed his arms and continued, "Well, Tony made a mistake that night. He brought Vicente and I closer together. I think for the first time Vicente realized what I wanted to be free from. He never said anything about it, but I think he realized what Antonio was doing to me." He paused for only a moment before launching into the story again, "And he was right. The next month of campaigning was rapid and highly effective. We weren't hitting large targets anymore, but we were hitting strategic targets." _________________________________________________________________________

The town was relatively small, but it was at an important crossroad. Control of this particular town would give them the ability to cut off one artery of communication between the South and the capital. Mexico was also well aware that victories would send a clear message back to the capital that the insurgency was not dead. They needed to know that it was more than just one man, more than just Morelos or Hidalgo. The loss of a great general and a great diplomat had weakened the insurgency, but the movement was not dead. Another victory raising the banner of the insurgency would make a statement. Those still loyal to the insurgency would see that there was still strength left. They would not cave to the temptation of a Spanish pardon.

It was high time to win victories. Smaller parts of the insurgency were surviving and striking out, but it was time to make a clear statement. Mexico was ready for the fight. He was glad for the chance, even though he knew that they had lost considerable ground. Too many of the officers who had served under Morelos had accepted a pardon, assuming the cause was lost. Many of the cities they had held had fallen back into loyalist hands. If not for Guerrero's strength and resilience, it would have been easy to call the cause lost. Yet, here Mexico was pulling on his somewhat battle-worn coat, sheathing all of his weapons with the expectation of using them.

This was a familiar routine by now. He placed all of his weapons in place. His belt had clear wear marks from his pistols rubbing against it. The silver in his belt buckle had tarnished to the point that it was unrecognizable. As he had before every other battle, he readied himself. This time he met his general just outside of the encampment, where he was standing looking at the waiting target. Mexico spoke, "What is our plan?" The mortal responded, "There should be strong defensive positions on the Northern and Western sides. I'm going to send a small force to the West to I suggest we cut in from the South and establish a firm position to push back the reinforcements."

Mexico looked at the sprawl of buildings that was laid out before them. The town was small enough that there were very few defensible positions. He said, bringing up another point for consideration, "Didn't we hold this town before? Is it possible that there is still loyalty?" The mortal shook his head slightly, "There's the possibility, but we can't rely on it. There is a loyalist regiment stationed here and that's dictated the loyalty of the populace for our purposes. I doubt we will get any help."

The words sunk in, frustrating in their honesty. Every gain they made was easily undone by the military superiority of the Spanish. He responded, "Well, then we should attack. The sooner we can make a move, the better." He got a tacit nod of agreement in reply. Mexico could see the tension just beneath the facade of control. This would not be the first battle Guerrero had led. He had shown his initiative when he was just a lieutenant, but this was different. He wasn't nervous about this battle, he was nervous about finally taking on the role of a general. He was questioning his own ability to lead. Mexico reached out and put his hand softly on the other's shoulder. He said, "I'm right here with you. Let's go make our mark."

The mortal turned toward him and his face was fixed, determined. Again, he gave a nod, but this time the unspoken emotion was different. There was confidence in the place of anxiety.

For his own part, Mexico wasn't certain what he felt. He was repressing the battling parts of his mind. The success of the independence was hanging on the actions of one man. But, Mexico knew in his gut that he trusted this man, the one who he had watched grow, who had been at his side for longer than anyone. Mexico took one more look at the vista of their target.

An unbidden frustration hit him. It had been years since he had left his own capital early in the morning to start his own bid for independence. America had been free of England by this point in his revolution. But, Spain had made this so long and so difficult. Mexico couldn't help but feel like he had earned independence with what he had sacrificed. Yet, here he still was fighting to keep the spirit of the insurgency alive. He felt distinctly like he was standing on a precipice. If he took one step the wrong direction he would fall. The thought of going back now sent waves of nausea through him. Would Spain even recognize him now?

He turned away from the view and pushed the thoughts down. The only way to continue on was to not look back. His moment of doubt had come from looking back and letting himself regret and he couldn't afford to have another. There was nothing now but to trust in Guerrero and continue. He walked away, completely aware of what was at stake. He needed this victory and so did his general.

He reached the encampment and mounted his horse. It was so natural now that none of the flurry of activity going on around him even registered. Once he was on his horse, which was still the docile creature he had been given, he could survey the entire camp. The army was small now, smaller than it had ever been before. It was only those who had remained after the news of Morelos's capture. But, there was determination that could not been discounted.

Mexico urged his horse forward, starting his decent towards the town. It didn't take him long to find his general again. He met Guerrero just outside of where the battle lines would be drawn. There was a strange magnetism in the air. Mexico could feel himself being pulled forward, but he was cautious. It wasn't his decision to make and his recklessness had cost him already. So, he took his place beside his general and waited for the orders.

If he needed to stay here until the battle was won, he would do it without objection. He had learned that he did not need to put himself in danger to feel victorious. Even if his heart pumped warrior's blood, he could restrain himself for the sake of the larger victory. He glanced at Guerrero, waiting for orders. The mortal waited for a moment before saying, "I ordered the flanking to be initiated. Once their main force is drawn away, we can cut in from behind and unbalance them." Mexico nodded, "We should be able to destroy them then."

The distant sound of canon fire alerted them to the fact that the battle was beginning. There was also the high, strained sound of yelling and musket fire. Mexico could feel a slight smile creep across his lips. They were finally fighting again, finally expressing the ideals of the insurgency with lead and blood. He preferred this to waiting and reading letters about what was happening elsewhere. For what felt like an eternity, Mexico watched as the black smoke that signaled combat rolled into the sky.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, more excited by the prospect of battle than by the months of diplomacy and endless letters. But, he was holding himself back for now. The bells in the town starting to ring, calling more units to arms, suggesting that the struggle was more desperate now. The scent of gunpowder was carried to them on the wind. Mexico's smile widened; the strategy was working perfectly. He put his hand on the handle of his sword, more out of nervous habit than anything else.

Again, he glanced at Guerrero, who was leaning forward in his saddle with his eyes fixed on the place where the conflict was happening. Mexico spoke, "How much longer should we wait? I think the opportune moment is now." Guerrero tore his gaze away from the battle and turned toward Mexico. The look in his eyes sent Mexico's heart racing anew. They were shining with enthusiasm and the kind of fire that was infectious. He responded though, his voice strong, "You're right." He paused then tossed Mexico a knowing smirk and said, "Come on, let's destroy them."

The ride towards the heart of the battle was a blur. Mexico could feel the wind in his hair and smell the familiar scent of gunpowder and blood. The roar began to fill his ears as they got even closer. They were approaching the battle from behind , hoping to catch the loyalist force off guard and force them to surrender. The part of the army that Guerrero was leading crashed into the other force, with only a slight reaction from the defending force. A small part of the regiment was able to turn to meet the new front of attack, but the effort was not enough.

Mexico chose to stick close to the side of his general. He was going to protect the man, who was his last hope now. He also did not want to go through the heartbreak of losing yet another leader. He would rather be captured himself than lose yet another leader. So, unlike earlier battles, he did not charge into the midst of it and leave Guerrero behind.

Once the battle was raging around them, Guerrero said, "Let's find their commander. We need to behead the snake." Mexico gave him a curt nod, showing that he understood. He urged his horse forward through the crowd. It was easy to see, even through the smoke of black powder, that there was a man astride a horse, desperately shouting orders. Mexico pulled out his pistol and leveled it at the man. From this distance he could definitely hit the man. By now, he was completely certain of his aim. His hand was steady. If his general wanted the commander dead, he could do that.

But, Guerrero's voice came in his ear, "Aim for his horse. I want to be able to get information out of him." Mexico responded, while lowering his pistol so that it was pointed at the horse rather than the man, "Do you think he will have anything useful?" He pulled back the hammer, preparing the shot. The aim was more important with a horse, the wrong shot would only spook it. The mortal replied, "If he doesn't, we can get rid of him later."

Mexico let out a very slight laugh before squeezing the trigger. The bullet found its mark and the horse fell to the ground. The commander's face showed a moment of shock and horror before he fell beneath his horse. Mexico slipped his pistol back into his belt. He followed as Guerrero made a direct line towards the fallen commander. The battle around them was not going well for the loyalist force. They would probably have fallen back, but the insurgent army had left no retreat.

Mexico looked around for a moment, but stayed with his general as the mortal galloped closer to his target. Mexico pulled his other pistol, but it was just meant to be a precaution. The tide of the battle had shifted firmly in their favor, so he did not expect to be harried. But, he was an obvious target, so the danger was ever present.

The commander had stumbled to his feet just as Guerrero reached him and drew his sword. The man didn't have a chance to reach for a gun or a sword before Guerrero's blade was at his throat. Guerrero said, a measure of triumph carried on every syllable, "You don't have a chance. Call a surrender before I have to gut you."

The man's eyes were wide. It was clear that he didn't have the courage to face the prospect of his own death. He looked directly at his enemy and called out the order for surrender. The battle quieted around them as the order was heard. Mexico put his gun back in his belt. He felt a glowing pride in his chest; Guerrero had taken on the role of a commander with undeniable success. All the The loyalist commander said was, "Allow my men and me to retreat, that's all I ask of you."

The blade at his throat drew a drop of blood, as Guerrero said, "Terms aren't yours to dictate. My terms are that you retreat North and leave your weapons here. I also want every piece of correspondence you have had with the capital." The glow in Mexico's chest brightened. He was watching his commander give order, he was stuck by how well the mantle of leadership fit the man. Spain's claim that Guerrero could never fill the role of leadership was blatantly untrue.

The man quickly agreed to the terms and divulged that there were orders from the capital in the desk of a manor of the town. Then the commander turned and removed a set of papers from the saddle of his fallen horse. His hand seemed to be shaking as he handed the papers to Guerrero. Mexico was glad to see how well this had turned out. All the uncertainty beforehand had been completely unnecessary.

As Mexico had guessed, the town itself still had a strong loyalty to the insurgency. The majority of the citizens welcomed them like liberators when the loyalist force withdrew. They opened their homes to the insurgency and offered them supplies. But, the most value came from the letters that Guerrero had taken from the commander. They detailed the larger Spanish strategy, laying out a strategy of pardons and containment. It wreaked of the assumption that the war was already won. Each letter was worded as though the insurgency was only an inconvenience. Mexico could barely read one before he could taste bile in his throat.

Later in the night, Mexico was sitting at a table in the manor polishing his guns to remove the residue of battle. The previous owner of the house had been executed for loyalty to the insurgency, so it was open for use. It had been a productive day, but Mexico still had nervous energy that he was exercising in menial tasks. This needed to be done, but it was mostly to keep his hands busy.

His mind was racing. He knew that this town was not unique in its support of independence, but he also knew that many of them could not express it. He could still feel it though, there was still the burning hope for independence in him. But, he was thinking about how grueling this strategy was going to be. They could liberate one town at a time, taking strategic targets to build up a position. But, they were at the weakest they had been since the very beginning. They were going to have to fight for a fraction of what they had had before under Morelos. As proud as he was of Guerrero, this was not where he intended to be.

He told himself that he trusted, that the work would be worth it. But, there felt like there was something missing. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something just out of reach. His mind still slipped back to the feeling that there was importance in his encounters with Iturbide. There was a distinct feeling that he couldn't forget.

Guerrero came into the room and set down a pile of papers on the table. He said, "I found these in the desk. I had to break the lock. It looks like we have a lot of valuable information to go through." Mexico kept his eyes on his guns, which were almost completely clean. He responded, "So your instinct was correct. What is our next move?"

He suspected he knew the answer, but he waited to hear it anyway. He owed his general, his friend, at least that much. He couldn't account for the fact that he felt something was off. Today had been a victory, so he couldn't figure out why he felt so disconnected. The other man replied, "I will acquaint myself with the Spanish strategy. Then I will know where we need to hit next. I do not plan for us to stay here very long; we don't want a large army to bare down on our position. As long as we stay mobile, we should be able to gain ground."

Mexico nodded to himself. He held his tongue though. This felt suspiciously like running, and he hated the feeling that he was running from Spain. He kept his stony silence, which would have fooled most people, but this time it was noticed. The other responded, "What is wrong? You're only this quiet when you're upset."

Mexico finally looked up and immediately felt ashamed when he saw the look of concern on Guerrero's face. He couldn't explain the feeling of discontentment to himself, so he certainly couldn't explain it to somebody else. He simply said, "I'm not sure. I just feel like something is missing." He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth. He saw the disappointment pass over Guerrero's face, and he wanted to be able to alleviate it.

The mortal made the feeling worse when he said, "Tell me what you need. I will do anything you ask of me." Mexico considered holding back the only clear instinct he had, but he trusted Guerrero to put store in his instincts. They had not been wrong thus far. He had fought his instincts before and it had resulted in disaster. So, he said, "Have you considered Iturbide?"

Guerrero immediately scoffed in disbelief, "I've considered slitting his throat. I don't see what else you could want from him." It was a sharper response than Mexico had expected. His own feelings towards Iturbide prevented him from really feeling any hatred for the man, but both of his generals had reacted with anger. He chose his words carefully as he said, "Iturbide is important. I can feel it. Right now he is not our enemy. I say we should-"

He didn't get a chance to finish what he was saying. Guerrero slammed a fist down on the table and said, "No! If it were not for that man you would be free by now. If he ever gets near you, I will kill him. If he ever claims he wants to free you, it's because he thinks he can gain something."

Mexico picked up both of his pistols and put them back in his belt. He was ready to storm out of the room. He was so certain that Iturbide was going to shift the tide of the independence, and the blatant rejection of that certainty stung. He took a couple steps before his general stood and grabbed his arm. The grip sent sparks up his arms; it was not gentle, but it was protective.

Guerrero said, his eyes boring into Mexico, "Don't be mad. I'm saying this because I care about you. I will not stand by and let a creole hurt you." Mexico could feel his heart pounding against his sternum. His anger immediately evaporated under the look of genuine concern. He let out a sigh and said, "When do we stop running if we don't seek help?" The hand on his arm loosened and Mexico could feel the tension leaving the conversation. The other answered honestly, "I understand that you're frustrated. But I promise I will do this on my own. We will gain support as we succeed. Stay with me; help me figure out where to attack next." Mexico nodded and sat back down. For now, he would not allow his own doubts to ruin what he had. It was enough now to have faith.

The next month passed with the same ferocious pace. The army moved exceptionally quickly from place to place with the goal of disrupting loyalist attempts to gain control of the south. It was effective, but Mexico couldn't shake the feeling that had hit him during the first battle. He tried reminding himself of what Guerrero had said about Iturbide. But, when he was alone his mind couldn't help but slip back to the battle when he had met the man's eyes and the world had frozen.

The feeling with Iturbide and Guerrero was equal and opposite. They both excited feelings of recognition, but one was warm and comforting while the other felt like a lightning strike. He couldn't erase the thought that Iturbide was important. He felt like the way he always slipped back to the same idea was a kind of infidelity. He trusted Guerrero, and he cared for him, but the thought of Iturbide never fully disappeared.

A month into the campaign, he returned to his tent after a long night of discussing strategy with the same feeling of uncertainty plaguing him. He was beginning to hate the instincts that he had as a country. He wished that these feelings were easy to get rid of. He walked into his tent and pulled off his jacket and placed it on one of the chairs. Mexico was more frustrated than he was tired, even though it was late and he had been awake since early in the morning. He ran one hand through his hair.

They had made considerable progress, but the feeling remained. Mexico turned and caught a glimpse of something unfamiliar lying on one of the tables. He immediately focused on it. He walked closer and realized that it was a letter, crisply folded and sealed with an unfamiliar wax seal. It was fascinating. No one would have reason to write directly to him, unless they were a fellow country. But, this was not a national seal that he recognized, and he knew almost all of the Spanish colonies.

He picked up the letter and turned it over in his hand, looking for a sign of who it was from. He found nothing to indicate the origin of the letter. He made a note to ask Philippines in the morning who had brought the letter. If anyone knew who had delivered the letter, it was probably her.

Sheer curiosity took over and he broke the seal. He unfolded the letter. He did not recognize the handwriting, but it had an elegant scroll to it. He skipped to the end of the letter, looking for the signature. The name at the end of the letter caused his heard to skip a beat. There, in the self-assured calligraphy of the aristocracy was the name Agustin de Iturbide. There was no mistaking it. The man Mexico had been thinking about for so many months had apparently been thinking about him as well. Mexico's eyes darted back to the beginning of the letter, wondering if perhaps this wasn't meant for him. But, his name was obvious at the top of the letter.

He was tempted to read it, but Guerrero's warning came back to him. This letter was meant to communicate with him without his general's knowledge, and that was very dangerous. He folded the letter back up without looking at a single word. He couldn't read it, not without his general's consent. Even if he was intrigued, he had left that kind of duplicity with his life as a colony.

But, the curiosity was eating at him as soon as he put the paper down. He paced the small confines of his tent, debating with himself. It was honest to give the letter to Guerrero without reading it. But, there was enough anger there that Guerrero might decide to get rid of the letter. In that case, this important chance would be lost. It would do no harm read through it and turn it over to his general in the morning. As long as he did not keep to himself, he was not lying. The thought seemed right and he grabbed the letter again and read through it, standing stock still as the words hit him.

[wanderingtycho]

Variantale: Snowfall Chapter 1

Hello everyone! This is the first installment of an Undertale fan fiction story I've been working on for a few months now, it started out as a simple little prompt and quickly spiraled into something far more complex and involved than intended. I have the first three chapters already written, and am working on chapter 2 now, so I've decided to start posting them in an effort to gauge peoples interests.

Please enjoy and thank you for reading, let me now what you thought and if you'd like to see the story continue. :) <3

Next

-Tycho 

“How does it even snow down here, anyway?” Sans wondered aloud to himself, staring up into the bank of shadow that hung over the snow capped trees, watching as fleeting snowflakes tumbled downward unto the frosted earth.

The forest stretched on for miles before the skeleton, towering pines that creaked and muttered in their perpetual sleep, their dreams of the warm sun harshened by chilling winds. Those same winds swirled and lashed at Sans as he stood rooted in place, sandals sinking steadily into the permafrost, his dull blue jacket still stark against the all encompassing white glare. Silence prevailed over the winter landscape, the scene still and calm yet undercut with tension, as if in anxious anticipation. It was all so...serene, Sans thought wistfully, such a marked contrast to that fateful day. His left eye socket began to glower with a cobalt light as he remembered back, to when the entire order of things had changed, when the human made their mad rush to the castle.

He lifted his skeletal hands from their pockets, rasping the digits together slowly, the dry grating sound a soft echo across the vast expanse of snow. His skull lowered to stare directly into the treeline, piercing white eyes glaring past ice laden needles, hunting for any sign of movement. Years of searching for the slightest hint of activity had rendered Sans hyper vigilant, countless days spent sleeplessly combing the Underground for...for anything. Anything that would lead him to the human. It’s what drove the skeleton forward, his bones had grown numb to the ache of exhaustion that he had known so well in his youth. Now it was more akin to a dulled exhilaration, a subdued sort of excitement that characterized his decade long hunt. Sans was suddenly struck by a dark thought as he stood taut in his stance, a twisted contemplation that caused the skeleton to let out a harrowing laugh. He clasped his kneecaps tightly and hunched forward, his permanent grin stretched wider as the cackling shook his entire body. The laugh of a man pushed over the edge, forced to climb back up to the top...only to be shoved off again and again. “Ha..haha...heh...this...this must be what they felt like.” he muttered to himself, wiping a tear from his boney cheek, gripping his coat collar tightly as he came down from his fit.

Sans recalled his days of apathy and laziness, sitting idly by as the human carried out their depraved routine over and over again, even as everyone he cared for was murdered and terrorized. He raised a trembling hand and ran it slowly over his skull, his left eye smoldering as energy leaked out and seared the frigid air, the memories of death and destruction replaying with painful clarity. He had tried...he knew he must’ve tried, at least a few times to stop the human. After awhile, he realized defeating them was an exercise in futility, he could never combat their true power. Their ability to reset time itself, restore the entire world back to its original state, and start all over. For centuries it went on, countless timelines stripped of life and meaning by the human, and Sans was expected to fight his pointless fight unending. Eventually, he simply gave up, succumbing to his failures and hopelessness. It got to the point where he wouldn’t even bother watching it anymore, he’d just lay in bed and listen to the sounds of panic and dismay outside his window, only to be followed by those soft footfalls marching through the snow. It all started to seem like some sort of dream, a surreal nightmare that looped ceaselessly, and Sans knew that he would never wake up.

A bizarre hissing sound broke Sans’ disturbed reminiscing, a gout of blue flame had started to pour from his left eye and spill across the ground, the thick snow vaporized by the ethereal fire. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to dispel the searing magic, lashing a hand outwards to his side in order to drive it away. Sans opened his eyes and blinked, regarding the charred patch of earth beneath his feet, nursing a flicker of doubt deep in his mind. Remembering back to those days always seemed to trigger his abilities, regardless of whether or not he wanted to use them. Focusing on the more...unpleasant moments intensified his powers, but there was always a small worry that he might lose his concentration, leaving him trapped in his memories while the magic ran amok. It was part of why he left Snowdin in the first place, that and...monsters didn’t really seem to find Sans’ jokes funny anymore. He chuckled coldly to himself, taking a step forward and crunching over the singed dirt, making his way steadily towards the treeline. “Their loss.” he muttered under his breath, his march through the snow barely audible, moving amongst the towering trees along an aimless questing path. Sans had read about forests on the surface, poetic descriptions of birdsong and the chittering of small creatures, but in the Underground the forests were empty. Save for a nomadic band of monsters that had run away from their homes before the massacres...and, of course, his human quarry.

Sans trudged forward slowly, each seemingly innocuous step actually deliberate, carving a path that would be quite confusing to follow into the drifts of ice. He kept his head lowered slightly, appearing to focus only on the ground directly in front of him, while his eyes darted wildly and erratically. Scanning for the faintest impression that he wasn’t alone, the barest shred of evidence that he was on the trail of his target, the human couldn’t stay on the run without leaving a trace. Sans suspected that if he actually had a heart, it would be racing right now, hunting for a human like this was so much more intense than simply standing in front of the doors to the Ruins. Then again, this method didn’t involve re-calibrating any puzzles, he thought with a brief snicker. “Heheh...we woulda been much better off just ambushin’ ‘em. Me an’ Paps coulda…coulda………”

Sans stopped walking and stood dead in his tracks, his hands involuntarily falling from his pockets and hanging loosely at his sides, posture slouching as the desire to move was stomped out. He could feel tears welling in his sockets, and after a moment’s resistance, let them fall. Bright blue liquid ran down his jawline and dripped onto the snow, staining the flakes with an unnatural glow, a skeletons only way to express mourning. With a start, Sans realized just how long it had been since he last thought about...him. Papyrus. Just thinking the name flooded his mind with memories and clashing emotions, they were the only pleasant thoughts he had left, yet all they did was remind him of how much he had lost. Paps had been right by his side when they first showed up in Snowdin, completely oblivious to the suspicious and confused looks they were greeted with, overwhelmingly confident that he would win their adoration. Sans would never forget the day they both met Undyne…_____________________________________________________________ “COME ALONG, BROTHER! THE NICE MONSTERS COWERING BEHIND THAT WEIRD TREE COVERED IN TINSEL SAID THIS ‘CAPTAIN UNDYNE’ FELLOW WOULD BE MEETING US HERE!” Papyrus declared excitedly, beaming with exhilaration as he strutted towards the outskirts of Snowdin, clad in a bright orange shawl that contrasted his brothers dreary blue jacket. His legs and feet were left unadorned, skeletal toes leaving strange staggered tracks in the snow, but Papyrus had taken part of his cloak to wrap around his hands as makeshift gloves. Apparently, it had something to do with making properly shaped snowballs. Sans followed along a few feet behind, hands shoved deep into his pockets, in no particular hurry to match Papyrus’ energy.

“eh...actually bro...they said undyne would be showing up to kick our a-…” Sans started to say, cutting himself off abruptly just before forming an expletive, Papyrus turned around to look at his brother with a curious expression.

“WHAT WAS THAT, SANS? KICK OUR…” he asked, letting the sentence hang as he stared at Sans expectantly, the shorter skeleton chagrined and rubbing the back of his skull.

“uh...just...kick us outta town, paps...yeah.” Sans replied weakly, desperately hoping Papyrus wouldn’t inquire further into his choice of language, luckily for him Papyrus was distracted by the prospect his brother had just proposed.

“KICK US OUT? NONSENSE! I’M SURE ONCE WE EXPLAIN WHO WE ARE AND WHAT WE’RE DOING HERE, UNDYNE AND THE REST OF THE MONSTERS WILL TREAT US AS HONORED GUESTS!” he said confidently, bounding a few more steps forward before he suddenly stopped, setting his jaw in deep contemplation. He looked back at Sans, appearing confused as he rubbed his left arm slowly, as if trying to remember something vague and murky. “SPEAKING OF...UMMM...I’VE BEEN MEANING TO ASK...SANS...HAVE YOU HAD ANY LUCK REMEMBERING WHY WE’RE HERE?” Papyrus asked, looking at his brother sheepishly, while Sans kept his expression deliberately neutral.

He couldn’t recall much of what happened before they came to Snowdin, only that he and Papyrus had been wandering the wilderness for a long time...after...Sans’ left eye socket flared bright blue as disjointed images flashed through his mind. His fingers started to tremble slightly, the snow beneath his feet agitated by an unseen force, the already frigid wind growing even colder. Papyrus immediately rushed to his brother’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, his grin a strange combination of reassuring and nervous. “H-HEY! YOU KNOW WHAT? IT...IT ISN’T IMPORTANT WHY WE’RE HERE, OR HOW WE GOT HERE, OR...UHH...ANYWAY, WHAT MATTERS IS THAT WE’RE TOGETHER, RIGHT?” he asked cheerfully, his grin wide but his eye sockets showing evident concern as he stared at Sans, worry mounting as his brothers eye burned with that strange blue fire. Sans looked up at Papyrus slowly, wanting so badly to share with him the fragments of memories he kept seeing, tell him about the twisted things that haunted what little sleep he could get. As he stared back into his brother’s eyes, seeing the innocence and hopefulness within Papyrus...he just couldn’t bring himself to force that burden on him. Instead, he fought down the nightmarish visions and shrugged off Papyrus’ hand, giving him a sly grin.

“heh...yeah thats what really matters. after all, im the only one with a funnybone between us.” he said, snapping his fingers in comedic flare, to which Papyrus snorted derisively.

“PSSSH, HONESTLY SANS. I DO HOPE THOSE BAD JOKES DON’T TURN INTO A REGULA-” he started to say, only to be interrupted by the sound of massive footfalls crunching through the snow, growing closer and louder with each passing second. Papyrus clapped his hands together excitedly and stood, still facing Sans as he brushed snow away from the cloth that covered his leg bones, adjusting his posture and putting on a more winning smile. He spun around smartly, drawing a breath to deliver his usual over enthusiastic salutation, only to be dumbstruck by the sight that greeted him.

Standing only feet away was a towering figure clad in gleaming iron armor, thick plates of highly polished black metal imposingly stark against the snow covered ground, a massive spear of glowing energy clutched tightly in their left hand. Their helmet was an intimidating and ancient visage, the twinkling light of a single eye visible, a long plume of vibrantly crimson hair flowing cinematically behind them. They surveyed the skeletal siblings before them for a long moment before hefting the magical spear effortlessly, settling into a defensive stance.

“You there. Skeletons. Identify yourselves and your purpose in Snowdin Town at once, or face the wrath of King Asgore’s Royal Guard.” barked an aggressive, resonate voice from behind the jagged visor, a voice that carried easily and powerfully across the snow coated path. Sans gave the figure a cursory examination, deciding he could take them without too much hassle if it came down to it, provided their armor wasn’t somehow blaster-proof. Papyrus, on the other hand, was completely transfixed by the staggeringly dangerous opponent before him. He stood admiring them for seconds on end, wowed by the sheer aesthetics of their fierce black armor, blown away by the brilliant sheen of their wickedly pointed spear. The awkward silence built between the three figures for about a minute, to the point where the knight began to feel slightly unnerved by the taller skeletons...adoring gaze. The shorter one seemed thoroughly uninterested in the situation, but despite his apathetic demeanor, the knight suspected him of being more capable than he looked. Unbeknownst to any of the silent participants of this impromptu standoff, Papyrus’ lower jaw had been hanging agape, stretching wider and wider as the skeleton gawked. Just as the knight drew a breath to threaten their potential challengers, there were two loud pops in rapid succession, followed by a clattering as Papyrus’ jaw fell to the ice slickened ground.

Deafening silence prevailed as all three figures stared down at the fallen component of the taller skeletons skull, until Sans let out an extended snort of laughter he had been desperately trying to suppress, failing miserably as Papyrus shot him a scathing glare. The lanky skeleton knelt down carefully to pick up his jaw, only to scrabble for a grip and have it slide away on a patch of ice. In panic, Papyrus rushed forward to grab at the bone, only to lose his footing and kick it even further away. Sans collapsed to his knees, his composure finally shattering as he let out a howling stream of laughter, gasping for breath as he watched his brother continue to fumble for his elusive jaw. The knight stood in place watching the scene unfold, slowly lowering their spear to the ground, utterly perplexed by what they were witnessing. Papyrus’ misfortunes only continued to magnify as he poured more effort into catching the confoundingly agile length of bone, every desperate grab only extending the farcical scenario as the jaw skittered out of his reach. Meanwhile, Sans was reduced to lying on his back, kicking his feet wildly as his laughter grew more and more intense. This carried on for a solid minute before Papyrus’ frustration reached a fevered pitch, leaping up into the air and diving down towards the deceptively immobile jawbone, crashing into the ice and furiously grappling for it. His momentum carried him further than intended as he slid across the frozen path, a harsh screeching sound filling the air as his bones scraped against the ice, his absurd ordeal finally coming to a close as he crashed bodily into a snowdrift.

Sans rolled onto his stomach, barely able to breath as hysterical laughter wracked his body, the snow immediately surrounding him spattered blue as tears of pure hilarity poured down his face. After a few moments, he managed to restore some self control, shakily climbing to his feet and trying to stop himself from giggling. Papyrus’ skeletal feet stuck straight into the air, flailing and kicking as he attempted to crawl his way out of the pile of snow, his left hand punching through the frost to hold his jaw aloft triumphantly. Sans snickered and wiped the tears from his cheeks, casting a glance towards the knight, who hadn’t moved during the entire display. She had sheathed her spear and removed her gaunt helmet, revealing herself to be a...fish creature of sorts, her greenish blue scales and flexing gills fairly evident giveaways. A beaten eyepatch was stretched over her left eye, still leaving her with a quite intense stare, fixing her gaze on the snowdrift as Papyrus attempted to reattach his jaw. Sans carefully observed her expression as she watched the skeleton struggle, undaunted by his humiliating experience, a curt grin spreading briefly across her face… ________________________________________________________________ Sans blinked a few times as he returned to the present moment, a faded melancholy smile on his face, sighing deeply as he remembered his brothers irrepressible spirit. Anybody else would’ve given up hope of ever impressing someone after that, but Paps was undeterred as always, swearing fealty to the Royal Guard before Undyne was even finished explaining what it was. Sans could never fully understand how Papyrus did it, the way he was never discouraged, no matter how colossally his plans backfired. No matter how awkwardly monsters reacted to him, no matter how many times his ambitions were stunted...never once did his optimism falter. Not once.

Sans reached into his jacket and slowly pulled out a small figurine, a plastic statuette of a skeletal pirate, a curved sword clutched in its outstretched hand and a tricorner hat fixed on its skull. He stared down at it covetously, unaware of how much time was passing, not noticing as snow began to pile on top of his feet and gather on his coat collar. It was Papyrus’ favorite figure from his collection, the only memento Sans had taken into his self imposed exile...it’s what he would have spread Papyrus’ dust on if he could have. He raised the grinning pirate closer to his face, staring into the empty eye sockets dejectedly, barely registering that his own had been shedding tears uninhibited.

“Paps...bro, I...I should...I should’ve been there....I should’ve never...given up. Given up on...my friends...on m-myself.........on you.” Sans whispered quietly to the figurine, his voice strained on the verge of sobbing, the snow beneath him almost fluorescently blue. As he stood there, transfixed by his own grief, his thoughts suddenly shifted away from nostalgic memoriam. Fingers tightening around the plastic shape, causing the casing to creak audibly in his grasp, his flow of tears slowly altering into an excess of magic. Sans clenched his free hand into a fist, his mouth warped into a vengeful grin, both eye sockets aflame as he took a shuddering step forward. “...I swear...I’ll find them, brother...I’ll make them pay for every time they hurt you. Every. Single. Time.” he muttered bitterly, clutching the small figure close to his chest, his footsteps halting and scattered, bright blue flames beginning to spread down his coat. The air was filled with the sound of hissing as snow was flash melted against the wreaths of fire, Sans rested a hand against a nearby tree and leaned against it, his skeletal handprint branding itself into the frozen bark. “They won’t beat me again...no matter how hard they try...” Sans mumbled to himself, caught between a strange combination of tittering rage and hysteric amusement, digging his fingertips deeper into the charred wood. He shut his eyes tightly, his bones shivering beneath his clothing, magic seeping out from behind his ribcage billowing out unto the frozen ground. Sans clutched the sides of his skull and sank to the ground, trying to shut out the myriad of ghastly images whirling in his mind, drawing a breath to vent his anguish in ragged scream...

*SNAP*

  Sans’ eyes flew open, the magic torrent wrapped around his form immediately extinguished, the skeleton falling completely still and silent as his emotional breakdown was interrupted. He practically stopped breathing for a few seconds as he strained his hearing to the limit, desperate to convince himself that what he had heard was real, that it wasn’t just another hallucination...

*CRACK*

There it was again, no mistaking it this time, only a few dozen meters away. Sans carefully rose to his feet, his breathing shallow and terse, shuffling towards the direction of the noise as quietly as possible. He sidled up the trunk of a massive tree, leaning incrementally to peer around it, fingers digging into the bark unconsciously. Past his hiding spot was a small clearing in the forest, a field of snow dotted with clusters of puny sapling’s, shriveled diminutive trees robbed of growth by the harshening winter. One had already been stripped of its wispy branches, broken off roughly and quickly, piled together in a small bundle. Sans stared unblinkingly as a lone figure dropped another branch unto the pile, his bleak pupils following their every movement as they approached another sapling and began to tug at an ice coated limb.

They strained and struggled as the branch refused to yield easily, after a few moments they huffed in frustration, reaching a hand towards their waist and grabbing hold of something. Sans’ subdued breathing hitched unconsciously as he watched the figure draw a large kitchen knife from their belt, raising it high into the air for an overhead swing, the gleaming blade shimmering under weak reflected pseudo-starlight. They brought it down swiftly onto the base of the branch, carving through the stubborn wood like it had the resistance of paper, the length of kindling falling to the ground with barely a noise. The figure grunted in satisfaction, picking up the branch and turning around to face the treeline, totally unaware of their silent observer. Sans’ eyes changed as the figure turned towards him, piercingly white pupils vanishing instantly, leaving him with only hollow sockets to stare at...the human gathering firewood.

Sans’ world seemed to narrow incredibly as he continued to gaze emptily at the human, as if he could only perceive their movements and actions, committing every detail to his mind within an instant. That vibrantly striped shirt they had clearly outgrown years ago, that head of unkempt, shoulder length dirty brown hair...that flat, emotionless face. Eyes just as hollow as Sans’, like staring into the night sky itself, a window into true darkness. The skeleton stood against the tree for what seemed like hours to him, unable to move, unable to break his line of sight. Ten years he had spent imagining this moment, plotting out every conceivable way he could confront his target, each newly devised approach grislier than the last. Now...as the human went about their business mere feet away from him...he felt himself standing in front of the door to the Ruins... ________________________________________________________________ ...leaning against the bark of a tree, his eyelids slowly drooping as he felt a post-morning nap coming on...when the sound of soft footsteps interrupted his dozing. Sans blinked and yawned, looking through the treeline to see a diminutive figure marching through the snow, eye sockets widening as he realized the strange looking interloper could only be a human. “huh, lookit that. today was the day after all, guess i owe paps a weeks worth of dishes.” he thought aloud, a mixture of disbelief and suspicion in his voice, pondering to himself how he should approach the situation. On the one hand, he had been assisting Papyrus in his overly convoluted human “hunts” for years, and here was a sterling opportunity for Sans to help him realize his dream. Then again...Undyne wasn’t exactly the type to treat them kindly, and once they were brought to Asgore...it wouldn’t be pretty. As he debated whether to approach or apprehend the human, Sans heard the soft, plaintive voice of the strange woman who lived in the Ruins echo through his thoughts.

“Sans...I have something to ask of you...if...if a human were to ever walk through this door into the Underground...watch over them, please? Guide them along their journey, keep them safe, I know it is a lot to request but...please, Sans. As a favor for me, for a friend?”

The skeleton let out a resigned sigh, watching as the human slowly walked further down the path. “why am i such a sucker for older women?” he asked aloud to himself, shaking his head and taking a whoopie cushion out of his pocket, grinning as he bound it to his palm. “welp, better go introduce myself, can’t have paps scarin’ em’ outta their skin.” he said, chuckling at his own joke, leisurely making his way through the snow as the silhouetted shape reached the first gate… ________________________________________________________________ Sans snapped back to the present, suppressing the urge to clear his skull by shaking it, keeping himself stock still as to not risk spooking the human. His caution was relatively unnecessary, as his target had remained oblivious to his presence as they continued to hack away at another sapling. Their back was turned to Sans as he stared holes through their head, reaching a hand up pinch the bridge of his absent nose, trying to settle the memories vying for control of his faculties. His promise to Toriel was one of the most vivid, a reluctant promise he had made lifetimes ago, if only he could have appreciated the weight of those words when he’d spoken them.

With a start, Sans realized he was stilling holding the pirate figurine, greatly relieved that his magical episode hadn’t melted the plastic. He wrested his gaze away from the human and stared into the skeletal eye sockets of the statue, his nervous and desperate expression slowly fading, replaced by a chillingly wide grin as his eyes sparked back to life. He carefully placed the pirate into a coat pocket, slowly removing a dusty whoopie cushion in its place, wrapping it around his palm tightly and clenching his free hand in preparation. Sans returned his focus to the human mere feet away, the deja vu of his current position not lost on him, his massive grin growing a fraction as he felt the years of his long hunt granting him a familiar exhilaration.

“How could I pass up a chance like this?” he whispered to himself, focusing his energy and warping instantly across the short distance, materializing within inches of his unsuspecting quarry. He extended his hand outward and, as a bit of an afterthought, snuffed out his pupils to leave his sockets empty. For nostalgia’s sake.

“H u m a n...don’t you know...how to greet an old pal? Turn around...and shake...my...hand.”