#i can only assume that wherever he is he's currently face-down and miserable

[general-sleepy]

Okay, so. Obviously, Book 1 of The Beetle is not a masterclass in terms of writing. But, it's also kind of awesome? Like, it's weird, disturbing, weirdly sexual, absurd, and genuinely frightening by turns. It's like a Brian Yuzna film out of space and time. Absolute freak shit. You love to see it. (Well, I love to see it).

Then Marsh is just like, "Psych! Fuck that, here's some interminable, truly incompetent chapters with this random douchebag. Also we're gonna really crank the racism into high gear. Fuck you."

[sparklingaquarius]

Can you do one maybe after your breakup with Bucky? Like seeing him for the first time?

Worry

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Type: One Shot

A/N: oh this was so much fun to write, thanks for being my first request! turned out to be a bit longer than i had initially entailed, but longer fics the better, right? i am so sorry it took so long to get to you, i take a bit longer to write to make sure it is the best i can do! i hope you enjoy dear nonnie :)

REQUESTS: OPEN

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

5 years ago today you had gotten engaged. You were engaged to the man you thought was the love of your life, then the unexplainable happened, you were gone from existence for 5 years. You couldn’t explain what happened, as you didn’t know it was 5 years, it felt more like 5 minutes. But, when you came back, to your house, your life, you realized the extent of what had happened. The man who had proposed to you 5 years ago, wanted to start a life with you, had done that with someone else. The man who told you he loved you continuously every day was now telling it to another woman in your apartment. You were devastated, upset enough to forget all the things you figured were no longer left in the apartment and run away to a new city and start a new life.

Then you met Bucky.

When you met Bucky, you could feel yourself rejuvenate, come back to life. You were discovering what love was like all over again, he was helping you heal after what happened, and you were helping him heal from his own troubles. You two were right for each other, as your friends and his had both told you. You finally felt like things were falling into place for you, and you had hoped things were falling into place for Bucky all the same. You felt like this was meant to be, that maybe losing those 5 years was the best thing to ever happen to you instead of the worst.

Then you found out.

You had found out that San Wilson needed Bucky’s help in catching a group and that would require Buck to leave and travel immediately. You knew this day would be coming, and you knew you couldn’t and wouldn’t stop him. You were selfish sure, hell you had every reason to be selfish, but you weren’t that selfish. But you also knew that you weren’t able to handle not hearing from him days on end. You were too much of a worry wart, and especially with missions as big and dangerous that Bucky will end up taking on, you couldn’t do that to yourself, or to him. So, before he had to leave to meet Sam, you knew what you had to do and end it with him. You knew how it would hurt both of you, but you also knew Bucky would know you would be worrying constantly, especially if he didn’t get in contact, so it made the process a bit easier for the both of you this way.

That was 2 months ago.

It’s been 2 months since the breakup, 2 months since you heard from Bucky. You knew it was better this way, but that didn’t help the ache you felt in the pit of your stomach every time you looked at the box of his things you had packed up sitting in the corner of your bedroom. You knew you should’ve just dumped it, but you wanted to give them back to him, whenever you could see him. He wasn’t back yet from his mission with Sam, you thought, so the box of his washed and folded clothes he left at your place, the cologne he bought and would wear specifically for you, and a little stuffed teddy bear named Mr. Waddles you won him at a fair that he kept at your place because it looked way cuter on your bed than his, all remained in the corner on a chair in your room.

You would wake up every morning and face the box, seeing Mr. Waddles’s head stick out of it, and you sighed. All the memories would flow back, and the ache you tried to push down and keep out of mind came back full force, and you desperately just tried to forget him for the day. But you knew you just couldn’t. You knew that no matter how hard you tried to forget Bucky, that you just couldn’t. All the memories played in your mind like a film, and all the love and warmness he made you feel returned to you when you would see them in your mind. Even though you had broken up, you were still in love with him, and you still worried about him. Wherever he was, that was something you couldn’t deny, something you wouldn’t deny. But you had to move on, and today, like every day, you had to live your life Bucky free, and march on living. Today was Saturday, which means it was time to go grocery shopping, an activity you loathed but one that Bucky loved and always made fun for you. You smiled softly to yourself and got up and got dressed, remembering how he would always challenge you and say “last one to the car has to push the shopping cart” to motivate you to get out of bed. You remembered this as you currently got out of bed to get ready to go do your shopping. The quicker you accomplished it, the quicker you could get home and relax.

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

As you were pulling your credit card out of your purse at the grocery store, you looked up and saw a very familiar face walk through the doors, entering. You gave the cashier your card and you walked over fast to the person and you held your breath.

“Sam?” you asked a bit breathlessly, shocked to see him back home. And if you saw Sam back home, then you knew Bucky was back home as well.

Sam turned around as he heard his name, and more importantly, your voice, and he smiled softly at you. Although Bucky would never admit it, Sam was one of his best friends besides Steve, so Sam was around a lot for your relationship, and you considered him a friend and big brother you never had. “Well hello there little rocket, how the hell are you?” Sam asked you laughing as he opened his arms to give you a hug, and you chuckled hugging him gently. Sam had nicknamed you Little Rocket when you told him that in high school you were on your school’s track team and you were in fact very fast, giving him your time in your races.

As you broke the hug you cleared your throat and smiled softly looking back at him. “I’m doing as good as I can, I mean I’m grocery shopping so I’m as miserable as ever.” You joked and laughed softly, and Sam as well laughed.

“Yeah Buck did always say you hate grocery shopping.” He said, casually mentioning his name and you just nodded, not wanting to out right ask Sam about Bucky.

You and Sam walked back to your cart to put your bags in your cart so you could finish checking out, and you organized your cart as you watched Sam jump into helping you accomplish the task quicker. “So I see you’re back home, I assume the mission went well considering you were only gone for 2 months?” you asked him, trying to break the silence between you two.

Sam put the last bag in your cart and he nodded, immediately pushing it out as he followed you to your car. “Yeah, I mean it went as well as it could. We got the end result we desired, not the tactics we wanted to take. But I don’t have any broken bones and if I can escape spraining my wrist or ankle again I’ll consider it a win.” He smirked and you shook your head laughing.

“Yeah that would be such a tragedy if Captain America had a sprained wrist. How ever will he hold his shield up? A crime to this country.” You joked, popping your trunk to put bags in it.

“Damn you saw that? I was hoping to stop by with my shield, you know like a trick or treater.” Sam told you and you rolled your eyes shaking your head.

“I watch the news dummy. I’m so proud of you, but you knew that. But the suit looks good on you, nice and tight.” You winked and smirked, not finding the comment odd because that’s how your and Sam’s relationship was. Always funny comments without any meaning.

Sam smirked and finished putting the bags in and he looked at you, leaning against the car a bit, “So you were looking at me instead of Bucky in those clips? Or are you trying to butter me up into asking about him? I know you’re curious. He’s back home, adjusting. He wouldn’t admit it, but I know he was thinking about you just as much as you were him. And don’t even try to deny it lady, you were thinking about him.” Sam told you bluntly, and a part of you was relieved he got to the point.

You sighed and crossed your arms nodding, looking down at the pavement. “I can never lie to you Samuel, but I was going to ask if he’s home. I wanted to drop a box of his stuff off, you know stuff that was left at my place.” You admit, semi truthfully.

Sam listens to you and nods, clicking his tongue. “You sure that’s all you want to do in seeing him?” he asks raising an eyebrow and you take a deep breath and simply shrug your shoulders. “In my honest advice, take the stuff but you two need to talk. Whether it be about what happened between you two or just to catch up, you need to talk. For his sake and for yours. He talked about you briefly, but enough while we were gone. He needs closure, reasoning. Hell maybe you two can even make up and make it work. If not, then it’ll bring the closure you two need. You two had something special. Don’t let it go down in flames.” He tells you and pushes the cart back and he points to you smirking “You better make up! I miss weekly taco nights, you give it the right amount of spice.” He smirks and winks and walks into the store, leaving you with the short but deep thoughts.

Once you got home and unpacked your food, you went into your room and looked at Bucky’s box of things in the corner, tempting you. You took a deep breath and let a sigh out, knowing Sam was right. Besides, you were desperate to see Bucky, even just a glimpse of his face. You took a look over yourself in the mirror, making sure you looked presentable, and well good. You were going to drop a box of stuff off to your ex-boyfriend and you wanted to look good. You chuckled at yourself and grabbed the box and drove over to his apartment, not sure what you would be met with when you got there.

You still had the key to Bucky’s apartment building on your key ring. You felt like letting that go would be officially letting him go. This time you were thankful as you let yourself into the building and made your way up to the third floor to Bucky’s apartment. You took a deep breath as the elevator ascended and as it stopped and let you out, you walked nervously and slowly to his apartment. As you stood face to face with his shut door, you gently reached out and knocked on his door, not to loud to scare him, but loud enough to make sure he knew someone was there.

After about a minute of him not coming to the door, you knocked again, wondering if he was even home. After still no answer, you were about ready to turn around and leave when suddenly the door was open slowly, and there in grey sweats and a shirt to match, stood the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid your eyes on, that man being Bucky Barnes.

He stood in front of you, looking at you a bit in awe and disbelief. He swallowed gently as he took you in and he opened the door a bit more. “I looked through the peep hole, wondering who was knocking on my door. I was a bit shocked that it was you.” He told you, his tone soft and you looked down in the box nodding.

“If I’m being honest, I’m a bit shocked you even answered the door. I didn’t think you would want to even see me.” You told him, licking your lips nervously. “I’m also shocked you kept your hair short, if I recall you said it once made you feel like an old man?” You ask him, trying to get the banter going again.

Bucky laughed softly shaking his head as he led you inside the apartment you’ve been in over hundreds of times. “That’s just silly, not wanting to see you. And how could I destroy this magical hair cut? I had the best hair dresser in town.” He tells you, smirking softly as he keeps his eyes detailed to your every move.

You walk in and set the box down on the table, some color returning to your cheeks and you groan a bit shaking your head, turning to face him. “I wouldn’t say I was a hair dresser now, a fast learner from YouTube tutorials.” You tell him narrowing your eyes, matching his smirk, the tension loosening a bit.

Bucky laughed and walked over to where you were, looking inside the box. Bucky didn’t care what was inside the box, he just wanted to be near you. Feel the energy you gave off again, one of the many things he missed. He picked up Mr. Waddles and he looked at him, trying his best not to look at you, despite him feeling your eyes on him. “I can tell this is a box of my stuff, but I am shocked to see Mr. Waddles in here. He looked way cuter on your bed than mine.” He tells you and you roll your eyes letting a laugh out.

“True but he is your bear. I won him for you. So that makes him yours, no takesies backsies.” You tell him smirking and look down at the floor, examining your shoes. “Besides if I cuddled with him anymore he wouldn’t smell like you so he needed to be with his rightful owner.” You admit looking up at Bucky finally, holding your breath as you saw his face stay soft.

Bucky kept his expression neutral and nodded simply as he looked through the box a bit and as he was looking away, you studied him. Studied his features. You loved looking at him, studying him. Whether it was when he was asleep or wasn’t paying attention, you loved taking him in. Which is exactly what you were doing now, and in your doing so, you noticed him wince a bit as he held a tshirt up. You raised an eyebrow and walked closer to him, standing next to him. “Bucky, why did you wince when you held the shirt up?” you ask curiously and defensively now, and you could hear him sighing.

“It’s nothing here doll, you know how some missions are. I get hit, I recover. Nothing to worry about.” He tells you, blowing it off, using the nickname he reserved for when he didn’t want you to worry about him.

You sighed and shook your head, putting his arm down to his side. “I think you’ve forgotten I also know when you’re lying. This is more than a hit Buck. Are you hurt? Did you get hurt?” You ask seriously, now worrying about him as you gently put his human arm out to examine it for any injuries. You rolled your eyes at his protests and noticed when you rolled up his sleeve he had a giant purple bruise on his arm with the entire area red in color. You figured he had gotten hurt but not to the point where there was clearly some kind of internal injury. You set the box down and led him to his couch, and you went to his hall closet to grab a kit you put together for him in case he ever got hurt.

You sat down next to him and looked at him seriously but with soft eyes. “Alright Buck, put your arm out.” You tell him seriously, and as he looks at you, the light from his eyes catching yours, a light indicating he was feeling something resembling happiness, he held out his vibranium arm, in an effort to tease you, smirking wide as he did. You shook your head biting your lip, rolling your eyes laughing grabbing the correct arm, as you began to bandage it and put it into a sling. “Oh very funny sailor.” You told him as you gently put his hand on your shoulder so you could have full coverage to it.

Bucky raised an eyebrow as he looked at where his hand was, the exposed skin of your shoulder that was warm to the touch, he could feel the below his fingers. He tried not to move his fingers to run them gently over it, so to distract himself he looked at you, focused so intently on making sure he was okay. He noticed a loose piece of hair was clouding your vision, so he used his free arm to move it out of your face. You held your breath as he did so, trying not to let it on that you were affected by a simple touch. Bucky smirked as he watched you, biting the inside of his cheek. “Now you and I both know I wasn’t a sailor, unless you know something about myself that I don’t?” he asked, completely messing with you now.

You smirked, biting your bottom lip gently and you laughed, finally looking at him. “You seem to forget I know all about you Barnes, my greatest advantage.” You tell him with a wink, and set the cloth you were using down. Bucky just kept his focus on you, realizing how badly he missed you during those 2 months, realizing how badly he hated breaking up, not having you, and how badly he needed you. He once again used his free hand to use two fingers to put them gently under your chin to turn your head to face him, so you’re both looking at each other.

“It was always you’re greatest advantage, knowing all about me. And in knowing all about me, you’ll know how badly I’ve missed you.” He lets out, his tone soft but serious, and you let your eyes wander up to his face, getting lose in his eyes.

You tried looking down, but your instincts were taking over in not letting you, as you felt the pull to him that you’ve always felt, and if you looked away you knew it would be gone, and you didn’t want it. You simply nodded and let a breath out through your nose. “Bucky…it was for the better…I mean—” you start and Bucky shakes his head and just leans in to give you a soft kiss to get you to stop talking. Before he left he didn’t get to kiss you goodbye, so he was considering this a makeup one.

After he backed his face up, he looked at you and reached up to cup your face, using his thumbs to pet your cheek. “It wasn’t for the better, can you honestly say you didn’t miss me? Miss that? You know all about me, and guess what? I know all about you. And I know you missed me, you didn’t want to break up. I read it on your face that night.” He tells you, his face serious and you continue to bite the inside of your cheek as he continues. “Can you honestly tell me that you didn’t think about me every night while I was gone? Didn’t think about the memories we had together? Because I did, every single night. And all I’ve wanted since I came back was to see you, to absorb you in any way I can, forget that night happened. Because I could tell that you broke up with me because you didn’t want me worrying about you.” He explains and you close your eyes listening.

“I didn’t want you worrying about me worrying about you. I thought breaking us up would lessen my worries. But it only made me worry about you more.” You admit softly, opening your eyes looking in his and he moved his thumbs to your lips, petting them softly.

“Well my sweet girl, that made two of us worry.” He says and he smiles. “No matter what, I will always worry about you. Whether we are together or apart, no matter where we are in the world. You will always be the number one thought on my mind, whether you like it or not.” He tells you smiling wide and genuinely now and you laugh softly looking down.

“Yeah Buck, you’re always my number one thought too. I just…when I broke up with you that night, I thought it was for the better. That we both would be better off. With you leaving more now, you helping Sam or whoever needs it, I just didn’t want you worrying about checking in, and I thought that if I didn’t need you to check in, I would be okay. That I wouldn’t worry about you. But, Jesus Christ, I wasn’t expecting ANYTHING from you and I still was worrying about you.” You admit, trying not to cry telling him this.

Bucky was listening and he adjusted so he could pull you into a hug, rocking you gently as he carefully wrapped his arms around you, and you did the same, soaking in the warmth radiating off him. “I just thought we’d be better off.” You whisper and he shakes his head, kissing the side of yours.

“Baby doll I am NEVER better off without you. You are the one who taught me to love again, you got me through a shit ton of stuff. You helped me every day, every night. Even if you didn’t do all of that, I still love you and can never be better off without you.” Bucky tells you gently but passionately and you let a breath out and bury your face in his shoulder nodding.

“I still love you too.” You mumbled into him, knowing it to be true, refusing to fight it or hide it. You knew it the night you broke up with him, you knew it the months he was gone, and you knew it now as you were cradled in his arms. “I’ll always worry about you when you go off on these missions. I can’t not.” You explain and Bucky rubbed your back gently, running his fingers up and down your spine.

“I know, I wouldn’t ask you not too. I’d rather you worry with me than without me.” He whispers into your ear and you just nod, kissing his shoulder.

“I hate to be without you, and I hated possibly hurting you, I’m so sorry.” You said and he chuckled, resting his chin on top of yours.

“Nah doll you didn’t hurt me. Because I knew that’s not what you really wanted. If it was then that’s a different story. You can never hurt me, I promise.” He told you, rocking you gently as you stayed pressed against him on the couch, the unsaid words of love and affirmation making their ways out with the physical actions. You were right where you needed to be, where you both needed to be. All the worry, the talks of him travelling can be discussed later. But for now, you needed to be with each other, soaking in the moments and love you both missed.

[three-word-count]

Bitter Thoughts and Drinks to Match

Zelda hates formality and uses a slightly-drunk Link to get the hell out of attending responsibilities. This is based on a prompt someone sent to my main but I realized at the end that the “affection” aspect is more like la croix rather than direct..

Word count is 1881

Read it on ao3 if you want

Overly pretentious would be her first words to describe it.

"You must look your utmost best," her father had said to her. Of course, though, she prepared herself the same way as any other day. It's not like he would notice a difference in her anyhow. 

Her hair swept down her back, pulled away from her face like drapes by a delicately woven band. She was adorned with the classic royal garb she would normally wear to these events, her vibrant irises standing out against the deep blue. Golden crests fringed the edges of her robes and stood proudly on her jewelry to represent her lineage. She hated it. 

She didn't recall having these disgustingly over-the-top galas when her mother was still here. Perhaps the queen preferred to be more comfortable. Or perhaps she just kept Zelda's father in check. With his better half departed, perhaps he'd finally lost it and decided to cope with cheesy extravagance. Zelda had of course become accustomed to the formality of things, living her life as a princess of Hyrule. But you can only tolerate so much in so many years before you begin to despise it. What she wouldn't give to have any other life. These events especially reminded her of it all. Whereas getting dressed in extravagant formal wear and glorifying yourself would normally be viewed as a fun night out for most people her age, Zelda experienced it all as just another tedious, official obligation. 

And this event was even worse than most.

Her father had organized this celebration to bring light to the princess and the "progress in her diligent prayers, calling to our Goddesses and strengthening her power to abolish the Calamity." She truly loathed him.

He has to keep spirits in the kingdom high, he says. The people must have hope, he says. You are their hope, he says.

She wishes she wasn't. 

She sat a bit straighter, wishing she could let out a sigh. Her father remained seated beside her, rigidly formal as ever. Two senior knights were posted beside them, scanning the crowd for any nitwit that would even consider threatening the royal family at a celebratory event, of all scenes. The absurdity of being guarded for one's entire life. The only knight she could tolerate was the little, quiet, reserved boy she had grown to care for who was currently chugging a mug of Hylia-knows-what while being cheered on by a circle of peers. That was a sight she'd never thought she'd see.

Normally, knights would attend events rather seriously, a long table of them in the dining hall sitting rather proudly and eating their well-deserved fill with a single glass of wine. However at tonight's celebration, her father had told the younger members of the Brigade to enjoy themselves, as he was thankful for the work they had done to watch over the princess. Now, when officially granted the freedom to "enjoy yourself", any given person would naturally, fully, enjoy themselves. The king likely considered this beforehand, but as he glared at the boisterous table, Zelda assumed he had expected them to maintain at least some decency. 

She turned her attention back to Link himself as he slammed down the empty mug into the table, making the silverware clatter as his friends let out congratulatory whoops. As he was her personally assigned knight, she spent the most time with him compared to the rest of the royal guards. Before meeting him, she knew him to be "the silent knight" and expected him to stay this way as he irritatingly chased her shadow wherever she went. However, the two began to bond after always being in such close proximity throughout the days. She recalls the first time he spoke to her, his soft voice clashing with his rigidly stoic personality. He slowly began to open up, and Zelda in turn took down her walls. As he was the youngest royal knight, barely older than Zelda herself, she felt a true connection to him. Both were burdened by pressure and expectations at such an unfair age, all public eyes watching their every move. It was a special kind of kinship they shared. 

However, she had never seen this side of him and didn't even think he had this side. She'd heard rumors that his platoon had dared him to eat a platter of rocks, and he had done so quite enthusiastically, but she didn't dare believe it. Now she found herself second-guessing. 

But maybe she could use this to get out of here. 

"Father," she said, "It was quite kind of you to allow the guards to enjoy themselves this night."

He let out an irritated huff of air from his nose, glancing at her as if asking Where are you going with this?

"However," she continued, "I worry that my knight will not be fit to guard tonight if this continues." 

The king turned forwards once again, eyes set on the knights' table like stone. He let out a deep humm as if he was actually considering his daughter's concerns for once. 

"Are you asking for an excusal?" he finally asked, remaining facing forward and as rigid as ever.

That usually wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, father."

Silence.

"If you would be so kind, father, I shall return to my room and pray. My knight may remain posted with me as always." 

Promises of prayer and diligence. He always liked that. He seemed to further mull this over, and then stood. Silence befell the hall and all eyes turned to him before he even spoke.

“I would like to thank you all for attending this gala for our princess. It truly means a lot to her and I, her confidence and abilities improving each day due to your prayers and encouragement. However, our princess must retire early this night, as she has a vigorous prayer routine in order to prepare for her coming journey to the spring of wisdom. We shall allow our princess to return to her devotion, and she offers her appreciation before her departure.” 

And with that, Zelda took her cue to get up and leave as quickly as possible, without either causing confused murmurs or without her father deciding to call her back. She skirted the edges of the room, steadily approaching the knights at the easternmost wing of the dining hall as she ignored the crawling sensation of hundreds of eyes tracing her movements. She halted at the head of the table, expecting Link to automatically rise from his seat and depart with her, but she was disappointed to find that he was lying face-down on a placemat with his arm sprawled across the surface, gripping onto an empty mug in his delirium. His peers were doing an excellently awful job at attempting to shield him from sight, presumably one of them kicking Link from under the table as he gave a periodic little jolt. Sir Link, who would promptly lose consciousness after only one drink, was truly the most valiant and courageous knight of them all. The hero of legend indeed. 

“Hero,” she said curtly. That was sure to snap him awake. She hadn’t spoken to him like that in months. 

Link gave a startled snort and made a sound that appeared to be a mix between heyyyyy and noooo.

Zelda sighed and held back a smile with all her willpower. “Try to appear… fit. Let’s go.”

She thought she heard him mutter “Hylia…” before getting up to full height and keeping his head down, sure to either avoid eye contact or to hide his miserable expression. Imagine attending a royal gala and getting to see the hero of legend get wasted. Surely that would bring comfort to the denizens of Hyrule. 

Zelda began to head off at a slow pace as to allow her knight to steadily follow. As the pair left, Zelda kept her gaze set forward firmly. She didn’t want to see what anyone else was thinking. She hated these galas anyway. As soon as she was out of here she could relax. 

Her shoulders went slack as soon as the door was closed shut behind them. Finally free. Link seemed to agree with her thoughts, as he leaned against the wall with a thud, glaring at the ceiling with a scrunched face. Zelda smirked. 

“Too much for you, hero of legend?” 

He responded with a disgruntled moan. 

“Perhaps I should be the one guarding you instead,” she joked, moving to lean against the wall next to him. 

He closed his eyes and let a puff of air escape from his nose. “Never let me drink again.”

“Alright, I hereby formally declare you as banned from ‘partying hard.’”

Link let out a single bark of laughter. “A life sentence, eh princess?”

“You did say ‘never’ after all.” She smiled at him as his glazed blue eyes met hers. “Though, I may even have to change it to ‘partying mild’ by the looks of you,” she added. 

Link hummed in content as his back slid down the wall so he could sit comfortably. “Wait with me a bit,” he said weakly, though it sounded more like a hopeful question. 

Zelda of course obliged, and sat down next to him, tucking her dress under her folded knees. They sat in comfortable silence as Link's eyes began to flutter closed and his breathing became deeper. Zelda was glad that he could be so comfortable around her now. He wouldn't dare to fall asleep in her presence a mere month ago. 

But now, all Zelda could do was stare ahead at the wall. Her thoughts ran free, jabbing needles through her head. Her hatred for galas. Her hatred for this. For everything. For her father. For herself… 

“Worthless…” she whispered to no one. “Dedicating my life to prayer and yet cannot receive a single answer. Nearly ten years… And yet father pretends that everything is fine by maintaining this masquerade with galas to cover. A fine set of never-ending distractions…” She sighed, resting her chin on her knees. “Just a good-for-nothing king and his good-for-nothing daughter at the head of it all.”  

She sat in her frustrated silence a second more, and turned her head back to Link to see a single sapphire eye clouded by alcohol and sleep gazing upon her. Compassion. Understanding. He didn't need to utter a single word to convey his emotions. We share these burdens together. 

Zelda gave him a melancholy smile and stood. “Let’s be off, hero.” 

And with that, the memory began to fade. 

She opened her eyes. Nothing to see but a golden hell of her own making. Sweat poured down her brow. The intense light seared her skin. What a time to recall something as minor in her life as that… Clinging to seemingly insignificant memories in order to harvest any available scrap of hope she can get her hands on. 

Though to her, any memory of him was quite the opposite of insignificant. She prayed he was coming soon. Not that prayer ever did a single thing for her anyway. She wished he was coming soon. 

She wished none of this had ever happened this way.

She wished she were anywhere else but here. 

She wished she were at a gala.

[redrobin-detective]

hope is the promise of future happiness

its 11am, I’ve not dressed or done anything and I got hit with The Feels

XxX

Izuku had walked by the shop, stopping and staring and wondering, for almost two weeks. He stopped again, as he had most every day walking home from school, to stare at the new sign that had recently been hung up in the window. 

‘Takazawa Fortune Tellers: now offering precognitive services! Temporarily transport your mind into that of your future self! By Appointment Only, inquire inside.’ He mulled around the words in his head as he let the crowds carry him away again. Izuku kept his head low so the conflicting emotions weren’t obvious on his face. There was a decent amount of precognitive quirks but most were vague and not helpful in the long run. Any quirks that were useful were immediately snapped up by heroes and other government agencies. The chances that a small town psychic could tell him anything useful was low but...

Izuku rubbed lightly at his red and peeling palms where Kacchan had blasted him 2 days ago. Most days all he felt like was a pile of burns, bruises and depression. He was 13 years old and he was miserable every day of his life with no end in sight. If only he could find something, anything, to tell him that tomorrow would be better than today.

He nervously pulled at his lip as he muttered quietly to himself. But what if the future was worse than the present? What if he was still alone, still unhappy, still a stupid, quirkless Deku? What would he do if there was no future for him, some future him deciding enough was enough and-

Izuku shook his head, to clear it of such dark thoughts. He walked past a store filled with TVs, all bearing All Might’s grinning face as he gave a brief interview following a villain attack early this morning. The sound was off but Izuku knew the steady rumble of his hero’s voice better than his own. Watching that smile, that easy care and confidence All Might radiated eased some of the tension off Izuku’s shoulders. As long as All Might was there to spread peace and joy, the future couldn’t be all bad. No matter what, he would be Izuku’s future, a guiding light to lead him to where he needed to be.

It took him another week to work up the courage to enter the shop. The little bell when he opened the door might as well have been a blazing alarm, it almost caused him to run right then and there.

“Welcome to Takazawa Fortune Tellers, you’re here for the precognitive services, correct?” The secretary at the front said with a small smile. 

“Oh well I uh how did you-”

“Mild telepathy, lets me know people’s intentions,” the woman explained, tapping her temple. “That and I’ve seen you stopping and staring at the sign for almost a month.” Izuku ducked into the collar of his uniform and considered running again. He could find a new way home from school, possibly change schools altogether, maybe a new country?

“Please don’t go,” the woman said with a light laugh, “in fact, you picked the perfect day to stop by. We’re booked up for months but our last appointment was a no show so we have an open slot right now. We’re not supposed to take walk-ins but, well, you’ve been waiting for this a long time, haven’t you?”

Izuku flushed but the woman stood up, “I guess destiny brought you at the right time, I’ll let Kenma-san know you’re here. Please sit and fill out these forms while you wait.” 

It took all of his inner strength to shakily grab the clipboard from her and begin signing his consents, each making him more nervous than the last. Waiving liability in case he didn’t like his future. Accepting trauma from anything unpleasant he may see. Paying the full amount in the event he was dead in the future and thus could receive no predictions. 

“She’s ready for you now.” Taking a deep breath and summoning All Might’s brave smile in his mind, he handed her his completed forms and made his way to the back room. It was a small, almost claustrophobic room with heavily scented candles and dark mood lighting. A woman dressed in elaborate robes with a veil over her face was sitting at a small table. She gestured to the empty chair.

“You’re younger than my usual clients,” she said in a weathered voice, it was hard to tell if she was old or simply worn down. Izuku found himself sympathizing. “How old are you, young man?”

“13,” Izuku squeaked.

“A good age, you have your whole life ahead of you,” she nodded holding out both of her hands. “Now, here’s how this works. My quirk can transport you into your body at twice your current age so when you are 26.” Izuku tried to wrap his mind around being 26, an adult with a job but found he couldn’t. His palms began to sweat. “You will be transported to a time, 13 years from now, when your adult self is asleep so there’s no struggle over dual consciousness. You will be able to see, hear and feel your immediate surroundings but not interact much. The more you try to assert control the more your future self will awaken. Once they’re awake, you’ll be transported back to your current body. You don’t need to worry about privacy, I will only be facilitating your transfer and won’t be able to see anything you do. Understand?”

Izuku nodded, he wouldn’t be able to see or do much if he was confined to wherever his future self was sleeping. It was seemingly innocuous and yet...

“You do understand that, if between now and then, you’ve died that the transference won’t work. Are you prepared for that possibility?” She said cautiously. Having already come this far, he nodded. “Alright then young man, lets see what the future has in store for you. Take my hands and let your mind go as blank as possible. Close your eyes and the next time you open them, you will be in your future.”

Izuku grasped her hands, supple and firm leading him to believe he was correct that she wasn’t as old as he first believed. He tried to quiet his thoughts but it like wiping a white erase board in permanent marker. There was so much to fear, so much to worry about in his future. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed, for once in his life, his hopes weren’t painfully crushed. 

He opened his eyes and saw All Might. Specifically a really nice framed All Might poster featuring the hero back to back with a skinny blonde man hung on a wall. It looked like it was signed by someone but he was too far away to read what it said. The date at the bottom of the poster was 6 years from the current year. Well, he was alive in 13 years which was nice to know. The relief that echoed through him was surprising, had he really believed- No, no time for that. He didn’t know how long this would last so he had to make his observations now.

Izuku was in a large bed lying on his side facing a wall, the All Might poster was the biggest and most obvious but the whole wall was covered in various pictures and posters. A smaller poster with explosions on it caught his eye and he couldn’t help but smile. Looks like Kacchan made it as a hero after all, he felt bitter, just a bit but overall was happy for his well former friend. Another had a girl in pink floating standing next to someone who looked like Ingenium. It’s not surprise he maintained his fanboy habits even as an adult. It was comforting in its familiarity. 

Speaking of which, he observed what he could see of what was most likely his home with some surprise. It was clean but still comfortably lived in. It was also quiet large with some nice, traditionally Japanese furnishings. Much more than a quirkless salary man could probably afford. The bedside table next to him had a clock, which flashed 0547 in bright green letters, a cracked phone he assumed was his and a worn and ripped notebook. It read Hero Notes vol 25. 

Izuku instinctively reached for the notebook only to falter. His shoulder hurt, it ached and pulled from what felt like a recent injury. But that didn’t surprise him nearly as much as the scars covering his right hand and forearm. They ached, the way old wounds did, something he would always be aware of but would get used to. What the hell did his future self get up to? He briefly latched onto the idea that he had become a hero but quickly discarded it. Quirkless people didn’t become heroes, he probably got a career as a quirk analyst or something which is why he could afford such a nice place. It wasn’t a bad life from the looks of it.

He clenched his scarred right fist hard, not a bad life still wasn’t anywhere close to his dream. Izuku felt a stirring in the back of his mind and he carefully relaxed his hand. Right, he couldn’t wake his future self, not until he was done. Before he could wonder what else he could do, an arm brushed against his back before draping over his side as another body pressed close to him.

“Too early, go back to sleep,” a soft voice mumbled sleepily into his back.

Izuku froze, so conditioned to hands hurting him but the arm instead just held onto him lightly, like they didn’t want to let him go. It was cool to the touch but it felt good, like chill breeze on a warm day. Oh. He stared down at the pale arm gently embracing him until his vision became blurred. Oh. Izuku had been so prepared to accept a miserable future, even one where he didn’t exist. The idea that he was happy, that he was loved? Even more than being a hero, that had seemed too impossible to even dream about. 

He grasped the cold hand and intertwined their fingers like it was his only lifeline. Izuku sniffled, holding onto the hand until he blinked and found the only hand he was holding was that of the fortune teller. She let him grip her fingers as he composed himself, re-orientating himself back into his small, unscarred body.

“Are you alright, my boy?” She asked gently.

“Yeah,” Izuku said through his tears which probably didn’t help his case. “Really yes, I saw-” his breath hitched. “It was good, it was so good and I never thought- I couldn’t imagine someone like me could have that.” She relaxed and gave his hands a squeeze before letting go. 

“I’m glad, most people who cry during my sessions don’t do it for happy reasons. Take your time to calm down, Nami-chan will help you when you’re done. After that, your future awaits you.”

“Yeah,” he cheered, sloppily wiping his tears. No matter how bad things were now, they would eventually lead to the cozy home, the wall full of pictures and comforting hand around his side like it belonged there. He would wait a lifetime for that, 13 was nothing.

(luckily he didn’t even need to wait that long for his future to begin with a fated encounter, a question and a promise that his dreams could be reached)

13 Years Later

“‘zuku, you okay?” Shouto asked sleepily from behind him. 

“Yeah, why?” Izuku questioned as he blinked himself back to awareness feeling a bit muddled and out of it. 

“You’re gripping my hand pretty hard,” Shouto said pushing himself up onto his elbow, “also you’re crying.”

“Aren’t I always crying?” Izuku joked turned to look at his beautiful sleep rumbled boyfriend. Shouto just gave him a thoughtful look. “I’m fine, look,” he responded wiping the tears away. “I just, I think I was dreaming and you know how emotional I get.”

“Was it a nightmare?” Shouto asked settling himself back down into the bed, cuddling close on one of the rare days where one or both them wasn’t patrolling. 

“No, no, I don’t think so,” Izuku said shaking his head. He can’t be sure but he thinks he’d been dreaming of his past, of that sad, quirkless boy he’d been. If only there was some way he could tell that kid that things would get better, better than he could have possibly imagined. With the feel of Shouto’s dual temperatures pressed up against him, Izuku looked over at what Shouto called his Wall of Worship as if supporting his friends and colleagues was a bad thing.

All Might’s poster, the exclusive one of a kind poster his mentor had presented to him upon Izuku’s graduation as always drew his gaze. Too far away to read it properly Izuku still had memorized the words from the moment he’d read them, etched onto his heart.

To my boy,

Your bravery and kindness have inspired me from the moment we met. I cannot wait to watch you shine. Your future begins now. 

All Might Yagi Toshinori

[nunyabhiznus]

Pearls are not Jewels

Prologue

Chapter 1

Word Count: 10.9K

Warnings: Kidnapping, some cursing, some violence, mentions of sexual harassment (barely). Lmk if I missed anything. 

A/N: Before we begin I want to point out some things about this story. 

First, I know that Star Wars takes place “In a galaxy far, far away” but for the sake of wanting to write a cool, fun story for everyone, lets just assume that Earth is somewhere in the unknown regions. 

Second, because I’m putting Earth in the unknown regions, no one there knows about eveything that’s been going on in the galaxy, and everyone in the galaxy knows very little about Earth. So basically, Earth is exactly the same as it is now except the star wars movies do not exist. Please let me know if this second point makes sense. If it doesnt, I’ll be glad to clear it up. 

Third, this is my first Star Wars fic so I’ll be doing the best I can to keep the information as authentic as possible. Wookiepedia has become my best friend for this project. 

Thank you!

Jules Taxo was on the run. 

This was nothing new for her, though. At any given moment she was either being sought out by republic officials or hunted down by someone who wanted revenge. But she was quick, smart, and deadly so no one could ever catch up to her; an ability that she prides herself in and one she hopes will get her out of her current situation. 

But as she looks out the window through curtains barely parted enough to view the street, she couldn’t help but feel like this time things were different. She had never been chased down by someone this important before. If she wants to get out of this situation alive, she’ll need every part of her plan to work perfectly. 

“Are you sure you want to go through with the procedure?” 

The doctors question pulls her away from the window, her hand dropping the curtains making the room slightly darker than it was before. 

When she faces him, the Rodian sinks into his chair with a fear she knew was not brought on by the change in lighting. 

Normally, Jules would’ve basked in the power trip that her reputation usually took her on, but she knew she was running out of time. Those who were after her would eventually track her to this planet, so she needs to finish what she came here to do and keep moving. 

Digging her hand into her pocket, she threw the doctor a small pouch. Its contents ringing throughout the small room in the universal language of greed. 

“Your payment,” she states, answering his question. “There are extra credits in the bag for your continued discretion.” 

Not that she actually expects it. There was no doubt in her mind that someone with more credits would come along and convince him to release the information. In fact, she was counting on him to eventually give her up for her plan to fully function. 

The doctor peers inside the pouch and seeming satisfied, turns around to activate the nurse droid that would assist him during the procedure.  

He clears his throat, facing her again, “What would you like to have done?” 

Jules takes out a disk from her pocket and activates a hologram. 

“Can your nano droids make me look like her?”

“The complete facial transformation will render you identical,” he says observing the woman in the hologram with curiosity. “I should advise you that it’s a painful process.” 

“Just do it,” She orders and doesn’t wait to be told before laying down on the examination table. 

With a sigh, the doctor nods to the nurse droid who holds Jules down by the shoulders, pressing her down on the table. 

If this worked, she thought with a sick smile forming on her face, they’d never find her. 

A small hiss escapes her lips as the doctor inserts a needle into her neck. At first, she felt nothing, but after a few seconds she began thrashing around the table as the nano droids began to reconstruct her face one fracture at a time. The hold of the nurse droid was the only thing that kept her on the table as she yelled in pain. And then it was over just as soon as it began. 

Her chest heaved up and down as the pain slowly crept away until all she was left with was a dull headache. The doctor slowly hands her a mirror as she sits up and looks  at the unfamiliar face staring back at her. 

The smirk she saw reflected was foreign, belonging to the woman in the hologram. Jules turns her new face side to side and admires the work. 

“Who is she?” The doctor asks, slowly backing away now that his usefulness is over. 

“Oh nobody,” she says coyly. “Just some dead girl from the planet Earth.” 

With those details carefully shared, Jules leaves the doctor to his credits as she wears her new identity through the busy streets. 

Confident that her disguise works, and no one was following her, she returns to her ship and punches in the coordinates to her next location. The last phase of her plan. 

Jules Taxo was heading for Earth. 

 ***

When you can’t open your eyes as soon as you wake up, the first thing you assume is that you’re dead. That the never ending black you see is a dreary afterlife and not your heavy eyelids. 

As feeling starts to come back to your limbs and you’re slowly able to make out blurry shapes in front of you, you realize that you are still very much alive. Your racing heart is a clear indication of that. 

Your legs give out as soon as you try to stand and what little you can make out of the room starts to spin. You rest your hand on your chest, letting your fingers grasp at the necklace hanging around your neck. A subconscious habit you had when you were nervous. It’s then that you realize that your hands are tied together. 

Well, not tied, you sluggishly observe. More like... handcuffed? 

Adrenaline heightens your numbed senses instantly and you realize that you’re in the corner of a dark room. The wall opposite of where you’re sitting has a bunch of strange panels and buttons that give off faint lights, which fail miserably at lighting up the space. Listening closely, you could hear the faint hum of machinery surrounding you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it looked like the inside of a spaceship from a sci-fi movie. 

How did this happen? Taking in deep breaths, you try and piece together the events prior to waking up wherever you were. 

The day had started off just like every other weekday. 

You remember pulling into your jobs parking lot. You were late. Still, you felt you could turn the day around as long as no one noticed you coming in. Ironically enough, you’re wishing for the exact opposite of that right now. Surely somebody had to be wondering where you were. Your thoughts immediately went to your family as you fiddled with the pearl around your neck. What would they think happened to you?

You remember barely getting out of your car when someone grabbed you from behind, holding a hand over your mouth to prevent you from screaming. 

You remember feeling a shock throughout your body. Was it a shock? Stunned was a better word to describe what you felt - like you could no longer control your limbs as your vision went black.

And then you were waking up. 

The sound of voices bring your thoughts to the present. You can’t hear the conversation, only a muffled dialogue, but you can tell that whoever is talking is just beyond the walls of the room. Although you already know you’re wrong, you hope that help will come through those doors when they open anyways. 

There’s a beeping sound coming from the other side and you know that your captors, or saviors (you’re trying to be optimistic), will walk in any second. 

Despite the fear you’ve felt since you woke up, you try to put on a brave face, but as soon as the door slides open the light that floods in the room makes your face scrunch up instead. 

So much for brave, you think as you blink your eyes a couple of times to get them adjusted to the brightness. 

Two men you’ve never seen before were now standing in front of you. You gasp as you take in their appearance that was unlike anything you’ve ever seen. 

They looked like human men if humans had blue skin and white hair. Intricate black tattoos covered every exposed piece of skin, wrapping around their necks and reaching to the ends of their fingertips. Their massive stature did not escape your notice either. Both men were easily at least six feet tall (or taller) and heavily built. They wore all black, but the one on the right was wearing what looked like a long-sleeved leather jacket, while the one on the left wore a vest that allowed you to see more of the tattoos on his arms. Both men were also staring at you with sick grins. 

You were scared before but now you were terrified. What the hell was going on? 

 With the initial shock already wearing off, you realize that staring at them would get you nowhere. Scrambling to stand up, you did your best to not look as intimidated as you felt. 

“Where am I?” You ask, hating how small you sound.

The one wearing the leather jacket took a step forward and you instinctively took a step back. Your back met with the wall and you jump at the contact. Leather Jacket seemed pleased with knowing you were scared of him. 

“You got caught, Jules,” he sneers, his voice a deep sound that cut through the room. 

Wait a minute. 

“Jules?” You question, suddenly more confused than afraid. “My name’s not Jules.”  

“Nice try, doll face, but it’s going to take a lot more than a facial reconstruction to hide from Black Sun,” scoffs the one in the vest. 

You blink back with eyebrows raised. Doll face? 

“Look,” you start, getting closer to them with newfound courage. Where it came from, you had no clue, but you weren’t about to question it. “You‘ve got the wrong person. You have to let me go!” 

“Your little trick isn’t going to work on us,” Vest snaps. “I’ll admit, going to a planet in the unknown regions was impressive, but you’re losing your touch.” 

Leather Jacket smirked down at you and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“Yeah, you were too easy to find,” he shoves your shoulder, effortlessly pushing you back. 

“Don’t touch me!” You hiss. 

This entire ordeal was starting to chip away at your patience. 

“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” you say through gritted teeth. “Let. Me. Go.” 

Neither of them responds, just continue to look down on you with smug expressions. Scoffing, you start to make your way to the door anyways, frustrated in your lack of understanding, but they block your path. 

Standing side by side, the two blue men left no way to get through.

“You’re staying right here.” 

A command, you notice. And a threat. Especially when Leather Jacket turns to Vest and pulls him to the side of the room, leaving the doorway exposed. He clearly wasn’t worried about you making a run for it. And he was right. As taunting an idea as it was, you weren’t dumb enough to try it. They’d catch you before you got one foot out the door. Besides, your hands were still cuffed. 

No. If you wanted to escape, you’d have to do it differently. 

 “Call L-1 over here to watch her while we’re out,” you hear him say before they both walk out of the room, the door sliding shut behind them. Once again, the room was dark. 

You ran to the door then. The two men were still talking, so you put your ear to it to try and hear them better.

“L-1!” Called out Vest. Even though he yelled, you could still barely hear through the steel door. You press your ear harder against it hoping your lack of visuals will encourage your ears to hear better. 

“We’re going out while the ship refuels to get supplies. Stay with the bounty, and don’t let her leave the ship. We’ll be back in a few hours.” 

There was a response, but you couldn’t make it out, either because of the steel barrier or because of their tone of voice. Your brows furrowed. Yet another thing to not understand.

The sound of heavy steps were getting closer to the door and you back away just in time for the door to slide open again. 

At first you think the silhouetted figure is another man, but as the light settles around the room again you stood mouth gaping at another unfamiliar sight. It isn’t a man at all, more a machine. A robot? 

What the hell was happening? 

The robot advances passed the door frame and you quickly back up until you feel the wall pressed behind you, wanting to put as much space between you and it. The way it moved was not slow and clunky like you always imagined a robot would move. This one reminded you of those creepy Claymation movies where everything was always just slightly off. When the robot stops in the middle of the room you let out a shaky breath. Relief filling your senses.

You can’t bring yourself to look away from the robot, afraid that if you did for even a second it would start going towards you again. Its appearance is unnerving. The thing itself was not much taller than you and it was noticeable how some of its dull yellow paint was chipping off its metal exterior. It’s the headpiece that keeps you locked in place. Through a dark opening in its head, two orange, lifeless lights stare back at you. 

Your thoughts were racing almost as fast as your heart. “What are you?” 

“I am L-1,” it says in a low robotic voice.

“A general service droid,” it adds for clarification. 

“Not a guard or a bounty hunter droid as they seem to think.” 

Was that sarcasm? 

“But that doesn’t mean you can try anything, Ms. Taxo.” L-1 brought up a small gun and you flinch. “I can still stun you with my blaster.” 

              A dangerous idea starts to form in your head. Now that the two men were gone, you figure that you’d have a better chance at escaping with only the droid guarding you. L-1 said it himself, he wasn’t even a guard droid. Time to see if you could outsmart a machine. 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” you blurt out trying to look at L-1’s face instead of the gun (or did he call it a blaster?) he kept pointed at you. 

“That is none of my concern,” L-1 responds sharply. 

“Well,” you start to say, forcing yourself to be more confident. “If I don’t go to the bathroom soon, I’ll end up soiling myself.” You sigh dramatically and add a shrug for good measure. 

“I don’t think they’ll be too happy to see that when they come back.” 

“No... They won’t,” L-1 agrees, though you could hear it was quite forced. You need to say more. 

“And they’d blame you for the mess,” you quickly add. “Might even shut you down.” You hope that was a thing that happened to robots and not just something you pulled out of your ass. 

“Maker! You’re right!” L-1 exclaims. “I’ll be deactivated because of you!” 

L-1 quickly lowers the blaster gun and grabs your cuffs, all but dragging you out of the room by them. 

“There’s a lavatory on board the ship,” he says while you struggle to keep up with his quick strides. “I’ll never understand you organics! How many bodily functions do you even need? It’s not very efficient at all!” 

When you reach another set of doors, L-1 let go of your cuffs and points the blaster gun at you again. 

“Get your business done quickly,” he orders. “We have to return to the other room.” 

You try your best to make an innocent face as you hold up your cuffed hands. 

“I can’t go to the bathroom with these things on.” 

“I cannot remove them,” he states. “You will try and escape if I do.” 

“I can’t!” You point out. “You’re guarding the door. Plus, you have a blaster, and I don’t. You can just take these cuffs off, I can go to the bathroom, and then put them back on when I’m done.” 

His silence was eerie, emphasizing the fact that you have no way of knowing what was going on behind the metal exterior. Did he realize what you were doing? 

“After that, we’ll walk back to the room and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.” 

L-1 lowers the blaster again and uncuffs your wrists. Yes! You try your best to hide your excitement. The door to the bathroom slid open and closes again once you step inside. 

“Don’t take too long!” L-1 orders through the door. 

“I won’t!” You respond, rubbing your wrists where the cuffs had irritated your skin. 

Okay . . . Now what?

You take a second you don’t have to process everything that’s happened. The pieces of information you have don’t make any sense to you but they’re all you have to go on. So far, you are certain of three things: 

First, everyone thought you were some lady named Jules Taxo. 

You gather she is not very popular. Vest had referred to you as a bounty before. You got a sick feeling in your stomach. They want to sell you? Or rather, sell Jules but they thought she was you? You were getting a headache trying to wrap your brain around the situation you were in. 

Second, you think you were abducted by aliens.

The idea sounds farfetched, even to you, but those guys were blue. BLUE! And they mentioned something about Jules going to a different planet - was she also an alien? Anyways, there was also the way that L-1 called your location a ship. Even with your lack of understanding you realize this place  looks more technologically advanced than anything you’d ever seen on Earth. 

And third, robots were real. (You remember it called itself a droid) 

And not very smart. And the one you just met was waiting for you outside the door. 

Right. Back to business. 

You couldn’t bust through the door and hope to fight against the droid. Even without the restriction of your cuffs, it had a gun. There goes plan A. 

Okay, plan B. Was there another door? You frantically start to look around. There’s nothing else in the room except a strange looking tube seat you assume is the toilet. No other doors. 

But there is a vent above you. Plan C! And it looks large enough for you to fit through. You stand on the tube seat and do your best to move the railings without making any noise. You thank God when you see it isn’t bolted to the ceiling and easily slides off. You’ll have to jump in order to create enough of a boost to hoist yourself up. Bending your knees, you get a feel for the movement. 

Okay. You took a deep breath. 3 . . . 2 . . . 

“Are you almost done?!” L-1’s annoyed voice yells through the door. 

You nearly lose your balance on the seat as you curse, and your hands fly out to steady yourself with the walls. You almost forgot about the droid. 

“Just another minute!” You respond, keeping your voice as calm as possible. “I can’t go if you keep pressuring me!” 

You don’t try to listen for his response, but you know he mumbled something. Forgetting the countdown, the renewed sense of urgency gives you all the preparation you need to jump up and reach for the vent. Although it’s not much, you use all your upper body strength to haul yourself up to the vent system. Once your torso is inside, you shimmy the rest of your body in as well.

Looking ahead, the ships vent system looks like a small tunnel. You quickly start to crawl through the vent, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to keep up your trick the next time L-1 said something. Finding a way out was your main objective as you navigate through the maze of vents. You have no idea where you are going but you try your best keep quiet and increase the distance between you and the droid. 

In one of your turns, you see the vents getting more illuminated. Following the light, you nearly start crying when you see the end of the vent. Through the railing, you could see that it led outside. Kicking the vent out,  you throw yourself out of the ship. 

When you land on the ground, the impact on your knees was felt strongly and you grit your teeth in pain. You gasp at your surroundings, forgetting all about your discomfort.  Spaceships of varying sizes were all around, lined up in neat stations where they were plugged in to large towers.

You can sight see later! Run!

Shaking your head, you start to run for it in the opposite direction of the ship you just escaped from. Something in the back of your mind was reminding you that you have no clue where you are, or where you’re going, but all you care about is getting as far away from that ship as possible. You never want to see it again. 

You run until your lungs burn and your legs feel like jelly. The ship station was far behind you now but since you could still see it in the distance, it was still too close for comfort. Ahead of you, strange clay brown buildings stand against the surrounding dessert terrain. There’s nowhere else to go so you ignore your screaming legs and keep running towards it. 

Two of the large clay buildings make a sort of entrance gate to a city bustling with movement behind them. You thought you were incapable of being surprised anymore, yet you were proved wrong when you stumble into the middle of an active marketplace. You stand frozen in the middle of the street, watching with wide eyes the many booths and stands around you. 

You were baffled by the number of new things you were seeing. The stands were selling strange objects and foods you couldn’t begin to describe. All around you strange creatures, each one more different than the last, visited the booths and exchanged goods. You even saw more droids walking among them. 

Too astonished to even notice, you are unaware of how in the way you are of everything and how much you stick out like a sore thumb. Every so often, an alien bumps into you and glares. Probably wondering why, you, a lone woman in strange clothes, stopped to stand in the middle of a busy street. It wasn’t until one of them had begun to yell at you in a language you didn’t understand that you snap out of it. 

You shake your head and stutter out an apology before quickly moving around him and further down the marketplace. It seemed to go on for miles as unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells add to your confusion. Everything around you blurs together in a mess of too many new experiences. Stand vendors would go up to you and shove products in your face, trying to convince you to buy them, and the crowds would push you further along the market before you even had a chance to decline. It was exhausting and disorienting. 

When you finally stagger to the end of the market, forcing all of its commotion behind you, you were able to round the corner of a nearby building into an abandoned alleyway. Leaning against its wall, you catch your breath and struggle to even out your frantic breathing. 

There was no time to freak out. You remind yourself that there are still people after you. No. After Jules. 

With no bearings and nothing but the clothes on your back, you figure that if you let yourself freak out now, you’d never make it. 

Somehow, you’d have to get as far away from them as possible. And possibly even harder, find a way back home

 ***

 Din Djarin had never gotten along with Jules Taxo.

He thought her extremely unpleasant, a trait most bounty hunters typically shared. She was rude. Undisciplined. Dishonest. Cunning and smart as a whip, he'll admit, but dangerous.

Jules had been one of the many hunters who had tried to take the kid away from him when he first found him on Arvala-7. She put up an impressive fight, and in the end managed to escape alive. Something that could not be said for the majority of those he encountered.

So, when Greef Karga told him of the large bounty on her head, he did not hesitate to accept it. He had a score to settle. Not only for himself, but for Grogu.

"Black Sun is offering a heavy sum for bringing her in alive," he tells him.

Beside him, Grogu takes sips from a soup bowl and watches the two men curiously.

Karga points at him, "You sure you want to bring the kid with you on this one? Taxo won't play fair if she sees him. Why not leave him here with us? He could stay at the school."

"The kid goes wherever I go," Din responds, leaving to room for discussion. After everything that's happened, the only place he felt Grogu was safe was at his side.

Nodding in understanding, Karga leads the conversation back to business.

"There's no puck," he explains. "Do you still want it?"

Din nods, "What do I have to go on?"

"A last known location and a picture," Karga says as he began to dig through his jacket pocket. "This is what I know. Taxo ran off to some planet in the unknown regions to escape Black Sun. There, she was caught and taken to Klatooine where she escaped them a few days ago. That's where she was last reported."

"Taxo got caught?" Din was unable to hide his surprise. Everyone in the galaxy who knew of Jules's reputation would've had a hard time believing it. "By who?"

Karga sighs, "The Gotros brothers."

"Them?!" They couldn't catch a bantha if it were right in front of them. "How?"

"Ah!" the magistrate exclaims, pulling a disk out of his pocket. "Here it is!"

 When he set it on the table, a holographic image shows a picture of a woman he has never seen before. And he was sure he'd remember a face like hers. The sound of Grogu's coos pulls his eyes away from the hologram, instead focusing on how his small, green hands stretch out to reach for the image. He likes the look of her too.

"She's beautiful, right?" Karga asks rhetorically, not giving him time to answer before continuing. "This is Jules' new face. The doctor who did the reconstruction told the Gotros brothers where she was headed. I guess she didn't count on his loose lips."

He scolds himself for getting momentarily distracted with Jules' reconstruction. Din extends his arm towards Grogu when he hears him coo again, and gently pulls his hands away from the hologram. He forces himself to find a flaw in her picture, but he can’t find any. Instead, resolving to compare her to the way that some flowers were poisonous despite their alluring appearance.

"Why did they take her to Klatooine?" he asks Karga.

"They stopped there to refuel," he laughs. "Apparently, they left her alone with a droid and that's how she escaped."

"That's it?"

"That's all I've got. Look Mando, a lot of bounty hunters are going to be after her when they catch wind of how much Black Sun will pay for her. I suggest you leave as soon as possible before she finds her way off that desert rock."

Din nods, setting Grogu back in his floating pram.

"Thank you," he tells his friend, before walking away and towards the Razor Crest.

"Looks like we're headed to Klatooine, kid."

 ***

 Two days have gone by since you escaped the ship.

Two of the most frustrating days you've ever experienced in your entire life. For the remainder of your first day there, you spent the entire time in the alleyway. Too afraid to go out in the open in case they saw you. You barely slept that night either.

Basic survival instinct and years of living as a woman on Earth nagged at your decision to remain in a secluded space, alone in the dark. You couldn't be bothered, though, as exhaustion crept through your bones. You silently prayed for a break which you received. No one came into the alleyway that night.

The following day, you decided to carefully explore the city you were in. Turns out, your curiosity for the alien planet overpowered your fear. Being the fast learner that you were, two things became abundantly clear:

First, there was an obvious language barrier.

You could not read a single thing on this planet. No matter where you went, the written language was made up of strange symbols that were unfamiliar to you. Thankfully, some of the inhabitants spoke English, which you discovered they called ‘basic', so at least you weren't completely lost.

Second, you were broke.

Their monetary system made no sense to you. ‘Credits’, as they were called, were something you did not have. Something that became abundantly clear the longer you went without food.

In spite of those things, you found yourself marveling at all of the new sights around you – the same ones that had sent you spiraling the day before. You felt alive walking through the foreign city as each step presented an opportunity to learn something else about the strange planet. Everything around you, from the alien creatures to the unfamiliar music to the clothing everyone wore, reminded you of how different it was from Earth. Different, but still beautiful.

The constant threat of being found remained in the back of your mind at all times as you wove through the unfamiliar streets, careful not to stray too far from the market. However, you must've been doing something right because you had yet to run into the blue men again. It made you wonder if they were either really bad at hunting people, or if you were just naturally good at evading your captors. You doubted it was the latter.

Halfway through that day, you realized that hiding your face would be the best course of action. You needed a face covering and had to find a way to get one without any money.

The day the blue men captured you on Earth, the weather channel had forecasted a cold front, so you left your apartment wearing a coat. One you were currently carrying around on the hot planet you were wandering through. It was your favorite one.

You sighed as you walked up to a market vendor who sold a variety of products.

"Hello?" you greeted, hoping the man spoke the only language you understood. Although he didn’t say anything, he looked up at you when you spoke, so you took that as a sign to keep going.

"I don't have any money," you started. God, you sounded pathetic. "But I have this coat. Would I be able to trade it for anything here that would cover my face?"

The man held out his hand for the coat and you handed it to him. He immediately held it up and began inspecting its quality. You furrowed your brows. Even with everything you've been through, the coat was still a hell of a lot cleaner than anything else he was selling. You decided not to voice that thought, though. Instead, choosing to bite your tongue.

"This coat can't get you any of the helmets,"' he said in a gruff voice. "But I can trade you a cloak for it. It has a large hood."  

You reluctantly nodded and he handed you a black cloak. As you were putting it on, he pointed at your necklace.

"That's a fine piece of jewelry you got there. If you give it to me, I'll throw in the best helmet I've got."

He held up a strange looking device for you to see.

"It's an Ubese raider helmet," he began to explain. "Not only does it hide your face, but the speech scrambler can mask your voice."

You looked at the helmet longingly. That thing was exactly what you needed. Your fingers danced around the pearl above your heart. Suddenly, it weighed a thousand pounds.

It was the only real reminder you had of your family back on Earth. If you ended up never seeing them again, this would be all you had left of them.

"No, thank you," you said, shaking your head. "It's not for sale."

Leaving it at that, you threw up the hood and kept walking. The cloak would have to do.

That night you couldn't sleep either, but it wasn't for a lack of trying. Curled up in the corner of the alleyway, your new cloak blending you into the night, your constant hunger pains kept you up. You hadn't eaten anything in two days, and it was starting to show.

Now, you stumble around the city, hoping to maybe trade off your shoes for a bite of anything to eat - You were that desperate, when you hear something strange coming from behind a building nearby. Carefully, you creep over to investigate, a gut feeling telling you that finding out would be better than ignoring it.

When you round the corner, you see a tall burley man cornering an alien woman. From the looks if it, she was trying to shove him off, but he was too strong for her.

You desperately look around, trying to find a way to help her. Your gaze lands on a large metal pipe on the ground and you quickly grab it.

You huff when the weight of it settles in your hand. This thing weighs a ton! Even at your most physically fit, you doubted you’d be able to carry it with ease. And you weren't exactly the picture of health at the moment.

You ignore that thought, focusing on helping the alien woman. Silently, you get behind the man. With his back to you, and his mind preoccupied with the woman, he hadn't heard you come closer. With as much strength as you can muster, you raise the metal pipe and swing it at the man’s head. It collides and the sick sound of bone crunching rings through the air as he falls to the floor. Unconscious or dead, it doesn't really matter to you.

The alien woman gasps and keeps staring back and forth between you, the unconscious man, and the metal pipe in your hand.

Your vision starts to get spotty. Clearly, you used up the little energy you had in you on this little rescue mission.

"You're welcome," was all you managed to slur out before the pipe fell out of your grip and you fell to the ground as well. Unconscious or dead, you didn’t really know.

 ***

 When you wake up, you figure that you're dead.

That the soft light coming in is heaven and you're laying on a cloud.

"You're awake," you hear a woman’s' voice say somewhere near you.

As you fully regain consciousness, you find out with great disappointment that the cloud you were on was actually a bed and the light was coming from a nearby window. Your eyes land on the woman in front of you, the same one from before, who was sitting at the edge of your bed with a blaster pointed at you. She was a species that you observed was one of the more human-like. Her skin was a light pink color, and instead of hair, she had two long appendages that sat on the top of her head. Sitting up, you held your hands up in surrender, hoping to explain yourself but she beat you to it.

"You're Jules Taxo," she spit out. Oh, great! This again?

You start to shake your head, "N-No, no, you don't -"

"Don't bother denying it," she interrupts. "I saw your wanted hologram in the cantina."

You open your mouth to speak again but she cuts you off this time too.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to turn you in," she says lowering her gun. "You helped me out back there, so I owe you one, but I don't want any of your trouble."

You let out a breath of relief, "Thank you."

             "You can stay here for the night," she adds. "I can give you some food too, you look like you haven't eaten in days."  Your mouth waters at the sound of a meal.

"But you'll need to leave in the morning, Jules. Like I said, I don’t want trouble."

"Thank you so much," you say with a heavy sigh. "I appreciate everything you're doing for me, believe me, I do. But I am not Jules Taxo, so please don't call me that."

"What do you mean?" she questions so you explain your situation to her, thankful to finally have someone to talk to about it.

She listens carefully to all you have to say. Who you really were, how you were caught, and how you ended up wandering alone on a planet you never knew existed. You honestly couldn’t tell if she believed you or not, but it felt good to have someone listen to you after days of being on your own.

"You don't have to worry, I'll be out in the morning," you add when you’re done. "I just have no idea what to do after that."

"You need to find a pilot to take you to one of the Inner Rim planets," she says with a forlorn expression. "New republic officers will be able to help you better there."

"So, you believe me?" you ask, feeling hope sprout in your chest.

"I do," she nods, smiling at you. "My name is Krin, by the way."

"Thank you, Krin."

"You’re welcome, but I'm not the ones you have you convince."

"Right," you say, sitting up straighter. "So how do I get a pilot?"

"With credits," she sighs. "More than either of us have. Trust me, I've been saving up to move to the inner rim for years and am not even close to saving up for what these crooks around here will charge you for taking you there."

"I don't have any credits," you mumble more to yourself than to her.

The two of you drop the conversation there, choosing to eat dinner together instead. You follow her to the kitchen where Krin offers you a green soup that you graciously scarf down. It was bland, and didn't taste like much but in that moment, it became your favorite food.

After dinner, Krin told you about her life. How she spent her whole life on Klatooine (the planet you were on), and how her dream was to move to one of the inner rim planets and be a professional dancer. She told you about the war and the Empire, and how they brought destruction across the galaxy.

It amazed you to find out these things. So much was happening outside of Earth that nobody even knew about. Wars were waged, entire planets were being destroyed, millions of people died. And nobody knew about it.

"What do you know about Jules?" Krin asks you, bringing you back to the conversation at hand.

"Nothing. Except that everyone hates her, apparently."

"She's a famous bounty hunter," she told you. "Someone who hunts down people for money. Those guys are always loaded with credits."

Instantly her eyes lit up with an understanding that you did not share. You raise an eyebrow at her.

"I have an idea for how to get us a pilot!" Krin all but shouts at you.

"How? You said we couldn't afford one."

"But Jules can!" She looks at you expectantly, but you still do not understand.

"You said she stole your face, right? Well, automated bank teller machines work through facial recognition, and I'm willing to bet she updated her security before she went into hiding. If you used one of those machines, you'd have access to all of her credits. We could use them to get off world!"

You could barely believe it. "Would that actually work?"

"As long as she updated the security to her new face - your face, it should," she says. "The only problem is that it would probably also alert those who are looking for you."

"So, if we wanted to do this, it would have to be quick," you confirm.

"Yes."

"Okay," you declare. "We'll go tomorrow."

  ***

 The last thing he expected from this job was for it to be easy.

Din expected a challenge. With no tracking fob and only a location from a few days ago to go on, he assumed it would take him at least a couple of days to find which part of Klatooine she was on. His confusion could not have been more evident when he got a signal from a specific pinpoint location where she used facial recognition to extract credits.

He now had her exact coordinates. If fact, any bounty hunter in the system looking for her would have them now too. Was she trying to attract attention to herself? If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was being sloppy on purpose.

Landing the Crest outside of the city that contained her coordinates, he wastes no time in navigating through the busy streets towards a bar. Everyone in his line of work knew that if you ever needed information on something illegal, a bar was the best place to go to.  

He keeps Grogu’s pram open while walking through the bustling market, careful to not let anyone steal what he worked so hard to keep, but at the same time glad to see the child beam at the exciting, new surroundings. As he moves down the street, everyone turns their heads to stare at him, clearly not used to seeing a Mandalorian. If he got too close, they would back away, unintentionally clearing a path for him. This was nothing new for him. In the beginning, the stares would make him feel raw and exposed despite the piles of beskar protecting him. Now, they were like grains of sand in the wind. Only a mild inconvenience to him.

When he reaches the bar, all activity stops for a moment. Again, he was the center of attention.

He stands still until everyone inside decides they had their fill of his image, turning back to their drinks and conversations. Din walks over to the bartender.

"What will you having?" the man asks him. As if he could accept.

             "Information," he chose, and slid the bartender a couple of credits.

"What do you know about Jules Taxo," Din asks showing the man her holographic picture. He ignores the happy noise the child makes at it as he continues his questioning. "My sources say she's somewhere on this planet."

"I heard rumors she was on Klatooine," he says rubbing his chin. "But I've never seen her walk in here." he points to the picture.

"Is that all you know?" Din already knew this answer.  

"For the amount of credits you just gave me? Yes."  

His jaw clenches as he hands the man more credits.

             "Ah! I remember now," he continues, pocketing his win. "This morning a lady wearing a Ubese raider helmet, which she was very adamant on keeping on, paid a local pilot an absurd amount of credits to take her and her Twi'lek friend off world."

"Do you know where they went?" Din presses, already tired of haggling for information.

"They wanted to get to the inner rim. The pilot could only take them as far as Pasaana, but they agreed to go anyways. That's all I know."

Din mulls over the information in his mind as the bartender left to go tend to the other customers. What would a bounty hunter like Jules want in the inner rim? Did she think she could hide better there? His instincts told him that there was something off about the whole situation, but he chose to ignore the feeling as he made his way back to the Razor Crest.

He would capture Jules in Pasaana.

 ***

 You and Krin moved fast. By the end of the day, you two had already made it off world and were on your way to Pasaana.

She had been right about the credits, and after obtaining them, the first thing you did was go back to the vendor who you got your cloak from and properly paid for the helmet he showed you that day. Since then, you hadn’t taken it off and while it wasn’t the most comfortable accessory you’d ever worn, you preferred it to feeling so exposed. The helmet had more features than you knew what to do with, all of which would have been useful for whatever raiding it was designed for, but you only cared for the voice scrambler.

Krin also convinced you to buy some blasters for your protection. Even though you had no idea how to use it, you felt better knowing you had a for-emergencies-only weapon strapped to your hip. Hopefully, you’d never have to use it.

The trip to Pasaana had been nerve wrecking. The first time you flew through space you had been unconscious, so you didn’t really count it. This time, you’re fully aware of every little movement and drop in altitude as your hands grip your seat with such a force that it turns your knuckles white. It reminds you of being on an airplane and how you were never one for air travel to begin with. Even after the ship stops shaking as it enters hyperspace (a concept you could barely wrap your head around), and everyone was allowed to roam around you still stay glued to your seat.

             “You must not have much space travel on Earth, huh,” Krin teases.

             “We don’t have any,” you say, trying to keep your voice level in spite of the helmet’s delivery of your voice.

             “That thing makes you sound like a broken droid.”

She wasn’t wrong. The scrambler on the helmet dropped your voice by a couple of octaves and made the sound coarse and choppy.

Much to Krin’s disappointment, Pasaana was another desert planet. You on the other hand can’t find a reason to complain. How many people back home get to go to different planets? None! That thought makes you feel incredibly small.

Besides, Pasaana serves its purpose just fine. It got you away from Klatooine, which was where everyone thought Jules was going to be.

You only wish you could help more. Krin does all the work for both of you, seeing as she knows the languages and monetary system, and you can barely keep her in your line of sight as the new surroundings tempt you into distraction. You cringe at your position, lagging behind like a shadow and hovering around her conversation with the next group of pilots she found to take you to an inner rim planet. You feel like you’re watching a foreign movie without subtitles with enough context to follow the plot but not enough understanding to catch the finer details. When she nods at you, though, you immediately know what she wants, not needing to know the language to understand that nothing is done for free. So, you dig the pouch of Jules’ credits out of your pocket and set it down in front of her where she carefully pulls out the right amount and promptly gives it back to you for safekeeping.

They told Krin to meet them in the shipyard tomorrow morning, until then, you had the entire rest of the day to yourselves.

             You both agree on finding an inn to spend the night in and seeing as you have so much time on your hands, you see no harm in ignoring the looming threat of the situation to go spend time in the city before you do. While Klatooine’s arid streets had been full of impatient characters and hard stares, Pasaana’s warm sand welcomes you both with a peaceful energy.

Its markets are different – calmer and more relaxed, giving anyone who walked through them the opportunity to enjoy themselves. You and Krin take advantage of this change of pace, making stops at every stand to see what each have to offer.

             “I’m starving!” she says, pointing somewhere down the street. “That vendor’s selling something that smells amazing! Let’s go!”

Once there, she buys something (which to you, looks an awful lot like a charred squirrel) that’s skewered on a stick. You opt for a fruit instead, its shape roughly resembling a pare with a dark orange color. You’re about to take off your helmet to bite into it when a figure in the distance catches your eye by how much it stands out. At first you think it’s a droid by how its’ shine contrasts against the earth tones of the market, but as it moves through the crowds you realize it carries itself with aura all to powerful to be anything but a man. Its armor, you realize and as if he heard your thoughts, his helmet moves to your direction and stills.

With his helmet on you can’t tell if he’s actually looking at you or not, and you hope that yours offers you that same privilege. The armored man does not look away from you, his stare only making your blood run colder with every second he holds it. You look away first, and its childish the way you feel like you lost.

             “Let’s keep moving,” you tell Krin, fruit forgotten as you herd her further along your path, no longer able to keep putting off the reality of your situation. “We need to find an inn, it’s getting late.”

She protests but you push her along anyways, your paranoia heightening every time you realize that the armored man is still close no matter how many twists and turns you make through the stands.

Krin shouts your name and pulls you to a stop.

             “What’s gotten into you?” she gasps, out of breath. “You’re going to tear my arm off if you keep dragging me around like this.”

             “Someone’s following us,” you let her know, nodding in the armored mans’ direction to see him moving your way.

             Krins’ eyes widen and now it’s her who’s pushing you to move, “RUN!”

You don’t think twice as you break off into a sprint. You’re pushing past the crowds and somewhere along the way you realize that Krin is no longer next to you. You frantically look around, only to find the armored man still hot on your trail. You only pray that you'll find her again eventually as you continue running.

You keep this up until you reach a dead end where the unused carts of the market are piled up high. If you could climb those, then maybe -

The sound of slowing footsteps behind you makes you spin. The armored man stands a few yards ahead of you, effectively cornering you like a runaway animal. Internally you’re screaming at yourself for allowing yourself to be chased into this position. You should have just gone to the inn to begin with.

The both of you stare at each other again much like before. This time, there is no question of who his gaze is directed to. For a moment, its quiet and the only thing you can hear is your heavy breathing amplified by your helmet. Can he hear it too?

Against the setting sun, his unmoving frame looks like a grand metal statue. The rich colors of the sky are beautifully reflected on his armor. If he weren’t trying to kill you, you’d say he looks like a knight from a fantasy.

You snap out of it and remember that you’re really in a nightmare. How were you going to get out of this one? The armored mans’ hand was hovering around something on his waist – his own blaster probably, prepared in case you were going to use yours – as if you could miraculously learn how to use it before he shot you down. You contemplate the probability of that scenario, but you doubt you would win a shoot out with this space cowboy.

             “Jules Taxo,” he says loudly, the surprise of the sudden words making you jump. The voice is low, and it seems to shake the ground below you.

You don’t respond, only backing up, hoping to inch closer to the pile of carts. When you first saw them, it was hard to see how high up they went, but you hope that it was high enough to jump onto the nearby roof building. That is, if he doesn’t shoot first.

“I can bring you in warm,” he starts, moving closer with every step you back away. “Or I can bring you in cold.”

             “What the f-,” you whisper, biting back the curse and horrified at the threat. You stop your movements when your back touches the carts. The armored man stops advancing too, waiting for you to make the first move. It’s now or never.

You turn around and start to scale the pile of carts as fast as you possibly can. It’s clumsy and you probably look ridiculous, but you figure its better than being “brought in cold” refusing to even think about what that meant. You start to believe that maybe this sudden plan was actually going to work, but all of your thoughts stop cold when you feel a tight grip around your ankle trying to pull you down. You let yourself curse then, doing your best to grip the cart you’re on to resist him. You thought your slight head start would keep him out of reach. Evidently, you were wrong.

Your mind is ten steps ahead of your actions, trying to take in any detail that could get you out of this. The first thing you think of is his metal armor, so you latch on to that thought and let yet another desperate plan form. You seem to be doing a lot of those lately.

The armor should be heavy if it's made of metal, you think. His grip on your foot is too strong, and the more you kick, the more you risk losing you footing. But you have the high ground and maybe, if you let go and fell just right, you'd be able to use the weight of his own armor against him in the fall. That might buy you a few seconds to run away again.

You let go of the cart and let yourself fall on the armored man. Your plan works. In his surprise, he let go of your ankle and you both fall back to the hard ground. You land on him harshly and hear him groan as the weight of himself catches up to him. You scramble to get off of him, doing your best to ignore how much your head is pounding with how hard you fell. The man did nothing to soften the landing.

Before you can get too far, the armored man, still on the ground, extends his arm out blindly to grab at you. His heavy hand reaches for your helmet hoping to pin you down, but he misses and instead finds a hold on the gold chain around your neck. You feel a sting as it’s snapped off.

             “My necklace!” you gasp, the voice scrambler failing to hide your panic.

You’re both standing now, opposite of how you were earlier. His back is to the carts while yours faces the streets, and while he’s cornered and you have the chance to run away, all you can think about is the necklace that’s dangling from his fist. There’s a heavy pause in the air as no one moves. The armored man looks at the necklace in his hand and then back to you. Your hands flex, itching to grab it from him but you know that if you get close you won’t be able to escape him again.

He starts to move again, and you break out into a run. You’re sure he’s about to reach you any second now when you hear a high-pitched noise come from somewhere in front of you. A flash of bright blue zooms passed your face, and you fall to the ground. It barely missed you and you breath in gulps of air to calm yourself.

You lift your head up from the ground when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Krin!

             “Come on!” she says when she’s close enough to pull you off the floor. “We have to get out of here before he wakes up.”

Sure enough, when you look back, the armored man is an unconscious heap on the sandy ground. You don’t bother to wonder how long he’ll stay that way before you and Krin race away to an inn.

When you arrive, your thoughts are either nonexistent or too slow to register. Probably a survival mechanism to keep you from freaking out. You’re barely able to catch the conversation Krin has with the innkeeper or realize you’re walking to a room. It’s when she locks the door and shuts the blinds that you’re able to tune back in.

“You never told me the people after you were Mandalorians!” she exclaims, pacing around the room.

“I don’t even know what a Mandalorian is!” you say, ripping off the helmet in frustration. “I’ve never seen him before! He wasn’t part of the group that captured me on Klatooine.”

Your hand inches towards your neck and you cringe at the absence of your necklace. You forgot to go back for it, you remember.

             “Mandalorians are a race of crazy warrior people,” she sighs, sitting on the bed with her head in her hands. “If one is after us, then we’re as good as dead.”

The Mandalorian is not after her, you think dully. Its after you. Guilt weighs down on you like a heavy blanket. Because of you, Krin could get killed when she’s done nothing but help you survive. She didn’t deserve this.

“That stun better keep him down long enough for us to leave the planet. Hopefully, we can lose him.”

You acknowledge her comment with a hum, knowing well enough that you weren’t going to leave this planet together anymore.

 ***

               Neither one of you slept as much as you should have last night, and despite her cheery disposition when she nears the ship you’re both supposed to get on, you can tell that Krin is incredibly tired. You are too, but the anxiety of what you’re about to do keeps you from fully admitting it.

As she starts to board, you grab her arm forcing her to stop moving. She turns, giving you a confused look.

             “I’m not going with you,” you say directly.

“What?” She questions, yanking her arm from your grasp. “What are you talking about? Why?”

“These people are after me, not you,” you explain. “You’ve helped me get this far and for that I’ll always be thankful for, but I’m putting you in danger and can’t let you risk your life for me anymore.”

“No! Y-“

You place a bag in her hands, cutting off her protests. “Half of her credits are in here. Take them and start a new life in the inner rim like you wanted.”

“But what about you?” She asks and you can start to see tears forming in her eyes.

You blink back your own, thankful that you can at least hide yours behind the helmet. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping the other half of the credits.”

“I meant, what are you going to do?”

You pull her in for a hug which she returns with a tight squeeze. “I’ll be okay,” you tell her, hoping that you didn’t just lie to her. “I hope we see each other again.”

             Krin laughs through a small sob, “And under different circumstances.”

             “Thank you,” you tell her before pulling away, leaving the shipyard behind you.

You walk back to the city, head held high with determination forcing your steps, well aware that a certain armored man has been following you all morning.

 ***

               Din forgot all about the Twi’lek companion.

That’s the first thought he has when he wakes up, groaning at the discomfort he feels when he’s able to stand. It’s been a while since he’s been stunned.

His second thought is more of an instinct as he looks around for the child’s floating pram. Much to his relief, and generous luck, it’s still next to him closed and protected. He pushes a button on his vambrace, opening the pram which reveals Grogu’s furrowed face. He lets out annoyed whines that Din assumes are from being shut in for as long as he’s been unconscious.

             “I know, kid. I’m sorry,” he says, rubbing one of the child’s ears. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

Small complaints are replaced with distracted joyful noises as the child reaches out to the dangling object he didn't even notice he was still holding.

Din inspects Jules' necklace further, a delicate gold chain with a single pearl dangling from it. He remembers the way she froze when he took it from her. The way it seemed like parting from it was almost as much of a struggle as it was running away from him.

Not for the first time he finds himself thinking that this entire job has been strange. Jules had been easy to find in Pasaana as well. It wasn't hard to track the ships coming in from Klatooine and spotting her in the market crowd had been a simple task - her pink partner drastically stood out and not many people wore Ubese helmets while parading around a market. It was like she wasn't even trying to hide.

He also remembers her putting up a better fight the last time he ran into her. Why hadn't she used her blaster? Jules all but used him for target practice last time, and he was fully prepared for a shootout to occur. He even closed the child’s pram beforehand so he wouldn't accidentally get caught in the crossfire.

So why did she choose to climb the carts? It made no sense! She had to know that she couldn't have gotten far like that.

She was buying time for her partner, he reasons, trying to not to overthink. She's not stupid. She was toying with him while the other one got ready to shoot. If he had been paying more attention, he would have noticed it.

He stares at the necklace again, knowing that he should just toss it aside and let the winds cover it with sand overnight, erasing it from his memory. But he can't come up with a good enough excuse as to why he shouldn't be allowed keep it. Din sighs and settles on pocketing it for some unknown reason, ending his distraction.

He still has to find her and now she had a head start. Mumbling a curse, he spends the rest of the night picking up her trail again which leads him to a shipyard the following morning.

From where he hides, Din can see that she’s about to board a ship. He starts to move out of his position, eager to prevent her from getting on and ending this assignment once and for all. But she stops and he witnesses a heartfelt goodbye between Jules and her partner before she heads away from the shipyard. He follows closely behind, confused as to where she’s going now that she didn’t board the ship.

She winds through the streets and he stalks her every move until she turns around and fixes her gaze in his general direction. No. Not his general direction – at him specifically. Din has enough experience with viewing life through a helmet to know when someone is looking directly at him. She holds the stare for a few moments before continuing her walk through the city. He understands through that wordless encounter that she wants him to follow her.

Hand on his blaster, he follows her steps until he sees her halt at the end of a secluded street. Jules turns around and removes her helmet.

Din doesn’t acknowledge the breath that escapes him and doesn’t dare think about how the holographic picture doesn’t compare to the real thing.

             “I’m not going to run from you anymore, Mandalorian,” she says, shifting the position of her helmet beneath an arm as she holds her wrists out in surrender.

Her voice snaps him out of his daze, thankful that his armor hid the lack of composure on his face. Din clenches his jaw as he takes out his blaster, pointing it at her as he moves closer to her. She doesn’t move a muscle, only keeps staring with an unreadable expression.

He stops moving when he’s about a foot away from where she stands. He expects her to attack then, to pull out her blaster or to make a jarring movement that could potentially throw him off. Jules doesn’t do any of those things and he finds it just as unsettling that she is giving up so easily.

“If I go with you,” she starts, her voice set with steady resolve. “Will you leave the woman I was with alone?”

             He wasn’t expecting that question but answers her anyways, “The bounty is on you. She is of no concern to me.”

Whether she was aware of it or not, she visibly relaxes at his answer. Jules nods, letting out a sharp exhale and extends her wrists out further.

             “I surrender willingly, then.” Din cuffs her wrists quickly before she has a chance to change her mind. He’s about to begin leading her to the Crest when she adds a final condition.

“Just don’t stun me.”

[starlightsearches]

Office Romance: Ch. 2 Seeing Red

General Hux and Kylo Ren have found themselves competing for the affection of a lieutenant aboard the Finalizer.

Masterlist

Series Warnings: Language, some violence, near-death experiences.

General Hux liked to believe that he was a reasonable man. He had worked tirelessly to gain the status he currently held, and he let nothing get in the way of his rise to the top. He saw greatness in himself, and felt that no one could take it away from him. Which is why it vexed him so that he would put all his tireless effort, his destiny even, at risk for a ridiculous, unrealistic, childish crush. And on a subordinate, no less.

He could not deny, though, that even as a subordinate, you were worthy of the admiration he felt for you. An incredibly vicious fighter, an intelligent and cunning strategist, and a loyal and competent soldier; all qualities that had been listed on your recommendation for your promotion by Captain Phasma. But if he was honest with himself, his admiration for you did not stem from the fact that you were an impressive soldier, although it was what first drew his attention. In fact, it is possible that he could have ignored your presence aboard the ship, even after your now-notorious brawl, if you hadn’t been so unfailingly kind to him, despite his less-than agreeable behavior. Bringing him coffee in the early mornings when you were stationed on the bridge, or meals to his office in the evenings when you hadn’t seen him in the mess hall, greeting him in the hallways, and putting in extra hours to help him complete all the inane tasks that came with being in charge. You were helpful, intelligent, funny, kind, brave and despite his accomplishments, he wasn’t sure if someone like you could ever want someone like him. He tried to get the ridiculous notion out of his head, tried to convince himself that he only admired your work ethic and that his ridiculous infatuation would fade in time. All the while wondering, in the dark, secret parts of his heart, if there wasn’t anything he could do that would grant him just a fractional amount of more time in your presence—a chance to prove himself worthy.

Lucky for him, Phasma had requested your promotion, which created a viable excuse for him to seek you out on so many occasions. Subtlety was a gift he had in spades, and it became increasingly easy for him to sneak bits of your time under the guise of professional business. It was not uncommon for you to find the general in your office, or near you on the bridge or the mess hall, asking you an important question about recruiting, or training protocols, or injury reports, and then ever so slightly shift the conversation towards the casual, the personal. Or on bad days, when he wasn’t feeling particularly subtle, he would rant about Kylo Ren, which at the very least if you didn’t find it interesting, you seemed to find amusing.

The only person who knew about his shameful little obsession was Captain Phasma. She had figured him out early on, and took an unseemly amount of relish in the fact that he was, by all accounts, smitten. And while it had been imperceptible to many others, including yourself, the captain found the changes that Hux underwent when in your presence fairly obvious and incredibly funny. He would wait around wherever you were, and then act so strange when you addressed him, standing so stiff and awkward that a swift kick would be all it took to put him on the floor. He was better now, Phasma conceded, almost acting like a human, but in terms of developing a close personal relationship . . . he had a long way to go.

And here Hux was again, in the captain’s office, lingering. “Isn’t the lieutenant supposed to in soon?” he asked, attempting an air of nonchalance. Phasma rolled her eyes; she was surprised he still chose to pretend when it was only her around, but refrained from teasing him.

“Not for a little while. She mentioned something about a training session yesterday.” The general didn’t respond to this verbally, he simply nodded, looking at the data pad in his hands as if he was reading something mildly interesting. Phasma rolled her eyes again, seeing that he wasn’t going to leave on his own. “Would you mind checking in the training room for her, and sending her here?” she asked, and watched as the corners of his mouth turned up into a stifled smile. “Of course,” he said, and then, catching himself, “since it’s on the way to the bridge.” Phasma snorted in response, but the general was already on the way out the door.

In the hallway, General Hux put on an air of confidence, but on the inside he could already feel the fluttering in his stomach. He tried to walk swiftly, but not too swiftly, towards the training room, thinking about what he might say to you.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’re needed in the captain’s office.”

. . . No, that sounds weak. What about “Lieutenant, you’re needed.” That could give me a chance to talk to her without others listening. And maybe I could even walk her down to the captain's office. But what if she needs to run back to her quarters first? She’d know I was going out of my way . . .

Hux’s train of thought was interrupted as he felt himself collide with someone, and the data pad in his hands slipped out of his grasp. “I’m so sorry, General!”

Ugh, Mitaka. Hux straightened himself to his full height, as the lieutenant grabbed both dropped data pads off the ground. “It’s alright, Lieutenant, excuse me,” he said, taking his data pad from Mitaka’s shaking hands, already moving again. But then Mitaka was following him, his quick footsteps echoing down the hallway. “I’m sorry sir, but while I have you here, it will only take a moment . . .” Hux stopped to listen, but he couldn’t focus on the inanities coming Mitaka’s mouth. He needed to go before you were out of the training room.

“That’s fine, Lieutenant,” Hux said, cutting Mitaka off, “we can discuss this more later, if you’ll excuse me.” The general continued on his way, not waiting for a response from Mitaka.

It was strange seeing him, now that Hux thought about it. He had assumed, initially, that Mitaka would be the one in the training room with you. The two of you were very close friends, which annoyed Hux to no end, and Mitaka’s hand-to-hand combat skills were miserable. Hux had spent more than a few mornings watching the two of you spar, trying with much difficulty to ignore the feelings of jealousy rising in him as you and Mitaka practiced various methods of blocking, feinting, and striking. Your hand on Mitaka’s bicep, gently guiding his arm into the correct position, the strong movement of your shoulder muscles as you demonstrated a new move, the sheen of sweat on your collarbone as you blocked Mitaka’s various punches . . .

If it wasn’t Mitaka sparring with you, then who? It could be a Storm Trooper in need of more training, but wouldn’t Phasma had mentioned that?

Hux was still puzzling over the question when he reached the training room doors. He walked up, waiting for the traditional swish of the door to open, but it didn’t come. Strange, he thought to himself as he punched in his access code on the panel next to the door. If the door didn’t open automatically, then the room must have been reserved for a private training session. As the general, Hux had an override code for any locked door on the ship, but that didn’t change the fact that most of the ships’ personnel had no reason to request a private training session with you.

Who in the stars could it be? the general asked himself, as a brief sliver of panic slipped up his spine. He didn’t need to wait any longer to find out though, as he pressed the last digit on the keypad and the doors slid open.

No. It was worse than he could have imagined. The sight of you in Ren’s arms, his hand at your waist, the look on your face as you stared into Ren’s eyes . . .

He couldn’t help it. He was seeing red.

At the sight of the general in the doorway, you jumped from Ren’s arms, a strange, guilty feeling settling in your stomach. Not the ideal situation to be caught in by your commanding officer, but you hadn’t been doing anything wrong, necessarily. The moment had been charged, for sure—charged with what, exactly, you didn’t know—but maybe the general hadn’t noticed. You straightened up, taking another step away from Ren, just to be safe. “Hello General, do you need something?” you asked, taking notice as Hux schooled his enraged expression into one of cool indifference. That's interesting, you thought to yourself. It was no secret to anyone aboard the the Finalizer that the two men hated each other, but it normally the general’s anger was caused by Ren’s reckless behavior. What could Ren have done this early in the morning to to cause Hux to feel such rage? And why would he bother to hide it now?

“Pardon the interruption, Lieutenant, but you’re needed.” Hux said, completely ignoring Ren’s presence. You ran to grab your things, scrambling to assemble your bag. As you headed to the door, though, you felt Ren’s hand grip your wrist. “Thank you for your assistance today, Lieutenant,” he said, his voice low and soft. He didn’t remove his hand from your wrist, and it was warm and slick with sweat. The personal contact was foreign to be sure, but not entirely unpleasant. “We’ll meet on a regular basis for future sparring sessions,” the demand was punctuated with a glance towards the general, who was still standing in the doorway—a quick glance, but not outside of your notice.

“Of course, Commander Ren. It would be an honor,” you responded. That Ren wanted to train with you regularly was a bit of a surprise, but you would have to process it later. General Hux was still waiting.

Outside of the training room, Hux was looking for an outlet for his anger. You walked out into the corridor, a flush still visible on your face from your recent workout. Or from something else, the thought cut into his mind cruelly, and Hux felt his jaw tense in frustration. “I’m really sorry about that,” you said, gesturing to the now-closed doors of the training room, “I didn’t realize how late it was. Was there something you needed?”

Hux could feel his anger diminishing as he looked into your eyes. There was an earnest quality in your gaze that he had always admired, and when you were looking at him, he felt like the most powerful, most important person in the galaxy. But Ren’s presence in the training room, and whatever it was he had walked in on, still vexed him. Maybe you looked at everyone like that.

“Phasma asked me to remind you of your meeting.”

“Of course, sir, I’ll head there immediately,” you responded, but you made no movement towards the captain’s office.

“Was there something you needed, Lieutenant?”

“No sir,” you responded, eyes wide, “I only wondered, well, are you alright? You seem . . . tense.” You glanced away on the last word, avoiding eye contact, and Hux melted. It was not everyday that one of his subordinates showed concern for his well-being, and your concern meant the most to him.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant, but thank you.” Hux responded, as a small bubble of elation moved through his chest, stamping out more of the anger on its way.

“Because if you need help with anything, I’m always glad to offer my assistance.”

“Really, Lieutenant, I’m alright.” Hux reached out to lay his hand on your shoulder, but then thought better of it, pulling his hand back awkwardly to his side, “You should go to your meeting; Captain Phasma will be wondering where you are.”

You nodded in response, and then began walking down the corridor towards Phasma’s office when a stroke of bravery hit the general.

“Wait, Lieutenant!” he called, walking to catch up with you. “ I actually could use your help. The expense reports for the cycle are due tonight at midnight, and I have to wait as long as possible before I approve and submit them so that they accurately reflect our spending. It takes me a few hours on my own, but maybe with your help . . .”

“Of course, General, I’d love to,” you responded, smiling. “Would you like to meet me in your office tonight or . . .“

“My quarters might be more comfortable,” Hux interrupted, before he could stop himself.

Idiot! Moron! You sound like a lowlife! he scolded internally. Now you’d think of him as some pervert trying to corner you in his damn quarters. Hux paused his mental self-flagellation in an attempt to salvage the conversation. “If that’s alright with you. Whatever you prefer.”

“Your quarters would be fine, sir,” you said, and Hux felt himself go weak at the knees with relief. “I’ll be there at 21 hundred hours?” The general could only nod, still recovering from his terrible embarrassment. You hurried off down the hallway, on your way to meet with Phasma, and Hux was already beginning to feel the nervous anticipation that always came when he thought about getting to see you again. He’d just have to make it through the next few hours.

There was no way he’d be getting any work done today.

[thran-duils]

Devils Look Like Angels (Ch. 6)

Title: Devils Look Like Angels (Chapter 6) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Psychotic!Castiel. An unhinged, criminal, supernatural artifact collector extraordinaire… and the reader caught his eye. It will not take her long to realize that beneath the charm and mystique is a crazed killer who will go to great lengths to woo her. Words: 2,900 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Stalking, angst, death/murder, violence

Author’s Note: Sorry if you guys clicked on this about 5 mins ago and it disappeared. I realized I forgot half a page I had written. lmao

Chap 5 || Chap 7 || Masterpost  || Fanfic masterpost

The rain pattered the window next to the booth, your mind following the pattern of the sound. Although the sugar had long since dissolved, you still swirled your spoon slowly, lost in your thoughts.

Sam cleared his throat next to you and you got the hint it was not the first time he had done it based off the look that him and Dean were giving you when you looked up at them.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, placing the spoon down on the napkin next to your cup assuming the sound was getting to them.

“No, are you okay?” Sam asked quietly. “You haven’t said a word.”

You shook your head, “No.”

It had been days since Castiel had murdered those restaurant workers. And had somehow found you once again. You did not feel secure anywhere. Even the bunker.

They were waiting for you to elaborate.

“I don’t know what to think. He doesn’t seem like he wants to harm me. But you never know with crazy people. I could lose my charm or whatever he says he likes. Or I could refuse him too many times and he has one of those cliché ‘it’s me or nobody’ moments. And poof, I’m lying dead in a ditch.” You sighed loudly, running your hands over your face. “Why are psychos always so polite and charming?”

Dean said, picking up his coffee, “It’s how they lead people into their little fucked up web.”

You nodded in acknowledgment. Tears pricked and you felt yourself crumbling; you had held it together and this small crack in your façade that they had gotten you to open up was opening like a chasm. “I’m so tired. I can’t sleep.”

“Me either,” Sam admitted quietly.

“Ditto,” Dean chimed in.

Sniffling, trying to pull yourself back together before you fell apart, you attempted humor, “Glad to know we are all equally miserable here.”

Your phone buzzed in your jeans and you froze, your eyes moving between the two of them. They could not hear it over the noise in the restaurant and the fact it was in your pocket. The main two people who would text you were currently with you. Which left an unfavorable option.

“What?” Dean asked in response to your startled expression. He looked around quickly, eyes searching.

Slowly, you reached into your pocket and pulled your phone out. It was a text from him that looked to contain an address from the snippet you could see on your lock screen.

Eyes fixated on your phone, you barely breathed, “He texted me.”

You did not have to specify who ‘he’ was.

“Why haven’t you just blocked his number?” Dean asked vexed.

You had opened the text and read the address that was accompanied by a date as well.

Placing your phone down on the table, you took a deep breath, closing your eyes, taking a moment. When you opened your eyes again, you told him, “Because I would miss things like this. And like I’ve said, I feel responsible for whoever he is going to kidnap. Plus, if he can find me wherever I go however he does, what good does it do to block a number? He’ll just get a new phone and text me from that. Doesn’t seem like the type to give up easily.”

Sam and Dean read the text as you spoke.

“What is it for?” Sam questioned. “It doesn’t say a game.”

You shrugged, picking the phone back up, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Your heart rate was going up, staring at his name.

What is this for? You sent back.

The three of you waited impatiently, staring down at your phone. The waiter startled you all when he suddenly appeared at the table with your order.

Castiel still had not replied; it had almost been ten minutes. He was taking his sweet ass time.

You managed to get a few bites of food in before your phone buzzed and you all but dropped your silverware completely to get to it.

Another game. I would appreciate if you would RSVP quickly. The other guests look forward to your heroics. And it goes without saying that there is no room for a plus one or two in your case.

As soon as Sam read it, he said definitively, “You’re not going.”

“Damn straight,” Dean agreed, shoving a huge bite of pancakes into his mouth.

“But what if he gets upset?” you protested.

Dean gave you an incredulous look. Mouth full, he spat, “I don’t give a shit if his feelings get hurt!”

“He’s going to kill those people if he gets upset!” you hissed, leaning in to try to not be overheard by the other patrons.

Dean said nothing, instead exchanging a trying look with Sam across the table.

Taking the reins, Sam tried, “Y/N, yeah, that could happen. But we don’t know that for sure. For all we know, you could show up, there’s no one there and it’s you that kidnapped, and we never see you again. The only thing we know for sure is you’ll be safe if you don’t go at all.”

Moving your gaze away from him, you stared at the window. You knew deep down he was right. Castiel was unpredictable in the worst way possible and that made his request for you to come alone out of the question.

It was hard to stomach the anxiety though that people could be harmed because you were worried about yourself.

“I know,” you answered miserably.

Their eyes were on you as you picked up your silverware and resumed eating reluctantly. Each bite tasted sour. The rest of the meal was quiet as you were drawn back into your thoughts.

<> <> <>

“Maybe we should take a real vacation.”

This suggestion from Sam was what prompted the trip back to the Oregon coast near Cape Lookout. Dean insisted if this was where you guys were going to go, he needed the beach as much as he needed to visit the Tillamook Creamery. When you guys had gone, you had surprisingly been amazed at the amount of cheese samples Dean had not only managed to swindle but put away without getting sick. Enough actually to prompt you to buy some cheese to offset all the free samples, much to Dean’s pleasure to have back at the hotel.

Unlike Sam, you did not enjoy taking runs on the beach but you sure enjoyed rising early to take walks with the sun rising. Luckily the hotel was cheap that you guys found – because who cares what the room looks like as long as it is clean because you barely spent time there anyway – which meant you could book the room for a week More than enough time to travel up and down the coast to see as many viewpoints as possible. The Sea Lion Caves outside of Florence had been a trek but more than worth it.

This morning was the last one before heading home and it was quiet as the sand moved beneath your feet and the waves licked at your feet as you walked. Your sandals dangled from your hand as you took in the sea air, smiling softly as the gulls called overhead. Your endpoint was a local donut shop. If you brought a bag back, Dean would be sure to polish off whatever you and Sam did not eat when he drug himself out of bed.

Looking over the ocean waves. You wished you could stay here forever. Satisfied and tranquil.

<> <> <>

Placing your bag down on the table at the bottom of the stairs, you threw Sam a look.

“Don’t you wish we had a dog to greet us when we came home?”

Sa chuckled but Dean answered, “Hell no. Because if we had a dog, it would have been on that trip with us and it would have been in the backseat of my car messing up my seats.”

Rolling your eyes, you told him, “You always gotta be negative, don’t you? When it comes to dogs?”

Dean grunted in response, moving towards the hall with his bag in hand.

Sam and you exchanged a look.

“Pizza?” you asked. He rose an eyebrow in response, and you quipped, “I’ll make sure to order you some lettuce?”

“Cute. Where are we going?”

“Actually…” you started. “I was thinking I could go alone. No offense but I have been stuck in the car with you guys for a couple days.”

You did not miss the glint of unease in his eyes and you knew what was putting it there.

“I don’t know if that is smart, Y/N.”

“He hasn’t texted in almost two weeks. Since the diner.”

“That is precisely what is concerning. We don’t know what he’s planned. And you said he said himself he’s living in or near Lawrence.”

Jingling the keys in your hand, you shrugged, trying to put a braver look on your face than you felt. You had been thinking about it for days. What you should do.

“I can’t live in constant fear, Sam.”

Sam regarded you quietly.

You added, “I don’t want to let the thought of something bad happening keep me from living my life. Hell, if I did that, I couldn’t do what we do to begin with.”

This at least made him smile a little.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed softly. He fixed you with a hard stare though. “Please be careful.”

“I will,” you promised.

And you were. Looking both ways at four-way intersections, keeping track of who was in your rearview mirror, head on a swivel when you got out of the car to go into the pizza parlor downtown. You were on edge, imagining eyes following you. And more than once you caught yourself looking over your shoulder, afraid you would find Castiel there.

But he was not.

Every time.

You were not sure if that should calm you or make you even more nervous.

<> <> <>

Just when you started getting comfortable a week later, it all came crashing down.

Hand clutching your iced coffee and your other holding your bag containing a couple new books, you thanked the barista and turned away from them to go towards the exit.

Your eyes fell on him at a table next to the closest exit and you froze. He was staring directly at you and you knew he had been watching you for some time. Perhaps the whole time you had wandered around the store, picking up book after book, reading the back covers and placing back ones that had not caught your interest. And he had to have been to get himself situated the way he was and judging by the fact he had men around the two exits out of the café to the bookstore indicated this was calculated.

He motioned for you and pointed at the seat across from him, his mouth set in a thin line.

There were to many patrons for him to harm – you hoped – anyone. That hope is what forced you to move forward, cursing yourself for not having any weapons with you and letting your guard down.

Sinking into the chair, you refrained from placing your things down just yet. His stare was burning, and you wanted to recoil from the fierceness of it. His displeasure was evident.

“It has been awhile,” Castiel finally said, breaking the tension. “I needed… time to collect my thoughts. It disappointed me greatly when you did not show. In fact, it was downright insulting.”

You licked your bottom lip, contemplating how you were going to answer.

“The intention wasn’t to insult you,” you said slowly. “I have to admit I was – and am still, quite frankly – shaken by the… scene at the restaurant. You didn’t give me much to go on with that last text and I wasn’t sure what I was going to be walking into – especially alone. I considered it but decided to wait for word from you after the time had passed.”

Castiel was quiet again and you mirrored him. Although your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest.

He cleared his throat. “Hmm. It seems I still have not convinced you of your safety which is disappointing. But… I can admit I could have divulged more details regarding the parameters of the dinner.” He paused seeing the confused look on your face and he narrowed his in return. “What?”

“Dinner?”

“Yes,” he told you in a wry tone. “I was not going to invite you to something in the evening and not feed you. I am not a heathen. I actually care about your wellbeing.” He adjusted in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table eyeing you inquisitively. “You had considered coming, though?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I am upset it did not come to fruition. Especially since the duck was so delectable.”

“What about the others? The other guests? Did they show…?”

Shrugging, Castiel said, “They really had no choice in the matter. I feel that is one thing I have always been adamantly candid about in my texts. Their fate if you did not show to solve the game.”

Your stomach twisted in knots. This is what you had dreaded, what you had tried to reason with when discussing it with Sam and Dean. More people had died because of your inaction. Castiel had ultimately pulled the trigger but he had placed the gun at your feet first and you had neglected to act.

Apparently, it was clear as day on your face that you were in disbelief because Castiel pointed out, “I did tell you that you could trust me, did I not? That is one thing you can always be sure of. That I will never lie to you.”

He looked so sincere, like that fact should dispel any worry or negativity you were feeling. You were at a loss of what to do except to appease him until you could figure out a better plan.

Again, as if he could read your mind, he said, “If you were so inclined… you could make it up to me? Not a game this time; we will switch it up.”

Avoiding him was no longer an option. Placating him until you truly figured out what to do seemed viable right then and there.

“How?” you asked, your throat dry.

Castiel’s lips turned up, pleased. “The museum.”

Fuck.

You let out a small nervous chuckle and avoided eye contact.

“What?” he asked.

Shit shit shit.

Exhaling sharply, you met his eyes again and told him truthfully, “I don’t have the ticket.”

“What do you mean?”

“I… I left it in the restaurant. On accident. I was a little flustered by the… scene in the kitchen. I didn’t remember. I wasn’t thinking completely straight as I hope you can understand.” His mouth was parted in surprise, staring. You added quickly, “I am sorry if you spent a lot of money on it. I can pay you back. I swear.”

He leaned towards you and you started to lean back in response, but his hand fell on yours holding your coffee, stopping your movement.

“Oh, Y/N. I did not mean to shake you up so badly. I do wish you had not gone into the kitchen but since you did… please know I only did that because of the way they were going to serve you. Improperly. And I could not abide that.” His fingers caressed yours and you were fighting every instinct to yank your hand away from him. “You do not have to pay me back but thank you for the offer. It is extremely sweet and thoughtful of you, kitten.”

He finally leaned back, his hand leaving yours.

“There is an event coming up instead that I can acquire tickets to. And I will hold onto them this time for safe keeping.” A small joke at your expense and you forced a small smirk in response. “I would like you to join me. I can send a text when and where.”

You were almost too afraid to ask. “What kind of event?”

“Musical.”

“Alright.”

His smile was wide. “Perfect. I look forward to it.”

“Me too,” you got out with as much false sincerity as you could muster.

The biggest problem was going to be getting out for an extended period of time without worrying Sam and Dean.

“I hope this outing of ours will bring us closer, kitten,” Castiel told you, standing up. He held out his hand towards you, peering down his nose. Clutching your bag, you stood, accepting his assistance. He took your drink and bag from you, “Let me walk you to your car.”

He was close, his cologne circling around you. After you unlocked the car, he placed your bag in the backseat before holding your door open politely.

Before he closed the door, he handed you your drink. “You look lovely by the way in that color. It flatters you so.”

“Thank you,” you told him, holding your drink close.

“Goodbye for now, Y/N.”

You nodded and he closed the door, taking a step back to allow you room to back out of the parking space.

Your hands were trembling on the steering well as you left. He watched you until you drove off and he disappeared from the rearview when you turned the corner.

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass

[bennyboyjones]

The Getaway (Ben Hardy Fanfic) Chapter Three

A/N: Hi! So, here is chapter 3 to my Ben Hardy AU Fanfic! There are currently several chapters written, which you can find on Wattpad, but I’ve decided to also upload it here as well. It might be a bit behind, but you’ll still get all the chaps eventually.

What it is: basically, a girl from a small town who is bored of her life decides to take a trip to Nice where she runs into ben, who is also running away from some shit and some romance ensues.

Word count: 3.9k

in this chapter: FLIRTING AND MAYBE A DATE?

WATTPAD LINK IF YOU WANT TO READ AHEAD

Spotify playlist

In case you missed it: MASTERLIST

here we go:

day three

I woke up thinking about him, the same way I had yesterday. I had a feeling it would last all day and I would spend every moment looking for his face or the back of his head because that’s what had consumed me the day before. The difference was that today I would actually call him.

Yesterday would’ve been too soon and I was afraid of looking too eager or desperate. I was so out of practice when it came to meeting someone new that I didn’t really know what the proper etiquette was or how long was too long or too short when you’re expected to call someone. I had managed to talk myself out of basing my decision off late 90s and early 2000s rom-coms because the three day rule seemed way too long as I was already slightly impatient to talk to him again; and I was worried that if I waited too long he could potentially meet someone else or take my lack of eagerness as a sign I wasn’t into him—which could’ve been potentially devastating.

I also spent yesterday trying to grip back onto my sanity. I spent my day at the beach, laying on the rocks, trying to get some sort of tan and attempting to convince myself that I wasn’t that into Ben. Rationally, I couldn’t be; I had met him once, talked to him once, and that was under the influence of alcohol. I had been with a guy for years and didn’t remember feeling like this, which made me really think about what I was doing with Liam for so long when I could’ve been feeling like this with someone else.

I called my mom that afternoon and expressed all of this to her; I told her that I thought I really liked him, which was insanity because I didn’t even know him, how I felt like a hormonal fourteen-year-old who was experiencing a crush for the first time and slightly desperate.

“You’re not desperate, honey,” she assured me, “you’ve just been stuck with dead weight for far too long. This is the first romantic experience you’ve had in a long time.”

I sighed, knowing she was right. There had been nothing romantic about my relationship with Liam, at least not for the past year and a half. It was kind of sad, now that I looked back on it. Even the sex was slightly platonic and I couldn’t believe I had let it go on for so long. “When should I call him?”

“Tomorrow. He’ll have gone a whole day thinking about you, wondering if you’re going to call. It’s good to leave them hanging for a bit.”

So I took her advice and waited until today. My plan was to call right after I woke up, that way there were plenty of opportunities for us to meet up: breakfast, a day at the beach, a walk, lunch, dinner.

I pulled my phone off the charger and dialed the super long number—I assumed it was a U.K number because there were way too many digits for it to be American and I couldn’t see the point in him getting a French number for only a few weeks.

I clutched it close to my ear and waited for it to ring, but it didn’t. Instead, there were several loud beeping noises and an automated voice telling me that this number was out of service. I felt my heart plummet into the pit of my stomach as the embarrassment flooded my cheeks.

He gave me a fake number, an out of service number. I sat on the edge of my bed with both my phone and the piece of paper in my hands, my eyes moving between the two. A fake number. I was so into this guy, with his charming smile and gorgeous eyes and great laugh and he, apparently, wasn’t into me at all. Did I read the whole situation wrong? I couldn’t wrap my brain around the idea that he would buy me a glass and then ask me to have a drink and then went so far as to settle for a coffee and talk to me for almost an hour, all without being the least bit interested in me. It made no sense.

I tried the number again, this time being super careful about punching in the numbers, making sure I didn’t miss one. Again, the same voice told me the number was out of service. Well, that was tragically disappointing.

As much as I didn’t want it to, the disappointment had ruined my mood. I no longer wanted to explore or sit in the sun or even stuff my face with pastries. All I wanted to do was wallow and, in my favor, it was raining. I could’ve just thrown on a rain jacket or grabbed an umbrella and still have done something fun today, but I didn’t. Instead, I stayed in my oversized QUEEN t-shirt I had worn to bed, made a coffee and sat on the floor in front of doors to the balcony and watched the rain.

I felt slightly melodramatic; this wasn’t some huge heartbreak. I even felt a little guilty for feeling this let down over a guy I didn’t even know when I barely mourned the final ending of a two and a half year relationship.

Despite the guilt, I found myself wondering what Ben could be doing, if he felt bad about giving me a fake number, if he had thought about me at all. I perked up when I realized there was a possibility that hadn’t crossed my mind: he made a mistake. He could’ve written the wrong number down; some people have two phones, I rationalized. They often have one for work and one for personal use. Maybe he gave me his work phone by accident! Then it would make sense why it was out of service because he doesn’t work there anymore and therefore would no longer need the phone or the number. I wondered if he realized his mistake and if he was disappointed that I couldn’t call him or if he was hoping to run into me again to make it right.

I knew that even the joy this new theory brought me was overdramatic; I was being so silly, acting as if I had never liked a guy before, as if this was the first person to ever take interest in me—like a complete amateur, pining over a guy who probably didn’t even really care about my existence, but if felt good. It was fun to be this emotional and it was something I hadn’t done in years. Well, I did it a little in London when I had small crushes on cute boys I had met at pubs but I never let myself fall into a feelings hole this deep; I was still technically in a relationship and refused to cross the line physically or emotionally. But now, there was no line to cross and I was free to feel as dramatically as I pleased.

I thought about going out and looking for him but quickly shot my own idea down because searching for him meant aimlessly walking around for hours with no real idea of where he could be. It would have been a major waste of my time, but so was sitting on the floor watching water fall from the sky.

I got ready in a rush; threw on a ‘The 1975’ tee, black jeans and my clear raincoat, didn’t bother with any makeup and left my hair in their natural waves, tucking my bangs behind my ears since they weren’t styled. I threw on my white sneakers, grabbed my umbrella and shoved my wallet into my back pocket before leaving the warmth of the AirBnB.

I wasn’t going to look for him. I was going cafe-hopping since there was nothing better to do on a day as miserable as this. I was going to fill myself to the brim with caffeine and pastries and if I just so happened to run into Ben then so be it (and if I didn’t, I was sure I’d have to find a way to derail another melodramatic sit down but I’d worry about that later).

It was five cafés later and so far, I had no luck. My hands were already shaking from caffeine overload when I settled into a chair at Brassiere L’Olympia. It was small, on the corner a  block or two from where I was staying. It had a deep red awning with gold trim, a pale yellow front and a large gold doorknob that my hand barely fit around. There was no one else inside and upon my entering, the woman behind the counter called, “No food, only coffee.” I nodded and took a seat all the way at the back of the beige room, right next to the windows that looked out on the street. It was almost evening and the rain was still coming down hard.

I decided this would be my last stop before swinging back to the apartment to grab the two reusable bags I bought and heading to one of the grocery stores. I still hadn’t bought any snacks or foods I could pack for the days I spent at the beach and for the past two nights I suffered at the hands of my midnight snack withdrawals.

I ordered a noisette like I had at the last five spots, feeling myself become slightly nauseous at the idea of downing another but it was only €2.50 and I was fully committed to the cause, despite my growing disappointment. I hadn’t seen Ben, or anyone who had looked like him the entire day and I finally let the hope slip out of me and settled on the idea that he could’ve easily stayed inside today or that he was wherever I was not.

Again, my mind went to him and the way he looked in the dim glow at the restaurant and I tried remembering what his voice sounded like but it was hard.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

I jumped in my seat, the voice breaking my stare down with the lamppost across the street. When I turned my head to see who it was, I almost started laughing. Just when I had given up, I found him; of course, when I stopped looking.

“Happy to see me?”

“Something like that,” I tried to subdue my smile as I motioned for him to take the seat across from me.

“You didn’t call.” He shrugged off his jacket and put it on the back of his chair before taking a seat.

I spun my cup in a circle on its saucer, not meeting his eyes, “I did, actually. It was out of service.”

He acted surprised, “What?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and started fiddling with whatever was on his screen.

“It’s okay,” I held up my hand, “You don’t have to make some big show about it. I can take a hint—I mean, I guess I can’t since, you know, I was kind of surprised it wasn’t real. I thought we, I don’t know, got along really well—“ I was slightly nervous and babbling. Sure, I had convinced myself that he made a mistake when he wrote down his number, but what were the actual odds of that? In my mind, they were very very low and the more likely reason the number was out of service was because he intended it to be.

“No, seriously, that can’t be right,” he interrupted me, “you must have done it wrong.”

He read out his phone number and my eyes grew wide.

“Wait, did you say, ‘three’?”

“Yeah, I said, ‘three’. What else could it have been?”

“An eight!” I laughed in relief and pulled the small piece of paper out of my back pocket and placed it on the table in between us. “Look!”

“That is obviously a three. Just admit that you didn’t actually call me and that you’re trying to get out of having to explain yourself.” He threw the paper back on the table and picked my cup up and took a sip.

“Trust me, I called—twice.” After the admission left my mouth I immediately wanted to take it back.

He raised his eyebrows, “Twice? Hm.” He leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on the table, crossing his arms, “That makes me feel a bit better about waiting for your call; decreases the damage to my ego.”

“You waited for my call?” I leaned forward, taking on the same position as him.

“Of course I did; I’d be stupid not to.” His eyes never left mine as he brought my cup to his lips the second time. After a moment of us staring at one another, he pointed down to the cup, “I should get you another one of these.” He raised his hand, about to turn around to get the woman’s attention but before I could stop myself I put my hand on his forearm.

“You definitely shouldn’t. I’ve already had five; if I have another I’ll have a heart attack.”

“Five?” He rested his hand on top of mine, “Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“Your hands were really shaking,” he said while maneuvering the umbrella between us.

“I told you, I had five.”

We were walking with no where to go. Once he saw the state my hands were in, he asked if I was interested in getting dinner and, without hesitation, I said yes. I made the assumption that this was a date, but was too afraid to ask for confirmation. I was slightly aware of the fact that I probably looked like a wet dog, having spent the whole day going in and out of the rain, while he looked like an actual god. His hair was brushed back off of his forehead, he was clean shaven, in dark jeans and a light grey crew neck sweatshirt, an army green raincoat thrown over top. His eyes looked just as they did the other night: sparkling green and clear—I wanted so badly to kiss him. He looked kissable. I was sure I looked like a disaster and with every step, regretted not putting makeup on or doing my hair. One or the other would’ve balanced me out but instead, I could feel both my wavy hair frizzing and my un-mascara-ed lashes drooping down.

I always tried to be one of those girls who preached about not looking good for anyone but herself and believed that a guy should like me for the way I looked without makeup and not just deem me fuck-able when my lips were painted blood red—but, I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel better about myself when I was wearing lipstick or when my lashes were curled or when my hair was done perfectly. I felt prettier and more confident when I looked a certain way and that was my cross to bear.

I could feel the insecurity weighing on me in the way I covered my mouth when I laughed and let my bangs hang slightly over my eyes but I needed to shove it away because that wasn’t the girl he had met in the restaurant. She wasn’t the girl he had asked to have a drink.

“Interested in some crepes?” He pointed at a sign for a small crêperie .

“For dinner?”

“Why not?”

I shrugged, not being able to argue. He held the door open for me and lightly pressed his hand into my back as we walked through the door. We both ordered two; I chose one with lemon and sugar and one with a caramel filling while he went with hazelnut spread for both.

“Surely they have Nutella in the States?” He questioned when I told him I wasn’t big on hazelnut after he offered me a bite of his.

“They do! But I’m not really into it.”

“Not into Nutella? I don’t know if this is going to work out.” He let out a breath as if my dislike of the spread made things between us extremely awkward.

“So there’s something here to work out?” I smirked.

He winked, “Could be.”

I felt my cheeks flush and didn’t know what to say.

The idea of something happening between us made butterflies launch themselves around my stomach. It seemed ridiculous, considering we were complete strangers and anything that started between us couldn’t last; we lived an entire ocean apart. It would never be anything more than a fling and I was more than okay with that. What girl didn’t dream of a fling in Europe? This was a fantasy that was meant to exist solely in easy reading romances, where the girls had lives I lusted over and the boys were described as being so charming and beautiful that they didn’t really exist.

“So,” I started, while he was in the middle of taking a bite, “why advertising?”

He shrugged and finished chewing before answering, “The money, mostly. I had planned on going to school for business and advertising was what I was best at. Also, it was the only bit that allowed a little creativity.”

“If money wasn’t an object, what would you be?”

“An actor,” he broke eye contact with me and his face turned a light shade of pink. “I always wanted to do something like that, be in plays or movies, but financially, it’s not very feasible.”

“I get it. I mean, being a writer isn’t the most financially stable profession either. Do you like advertising?”

He sighed, “At first I did, but not anymore. The hours are long and even if I wanted to try to do something on the side, I can’t. It’s kind of become my entire life.”

“I know the easy answer is to say that you should just quit, but I also know that it’s usually a lot more complicated than that.” I laughed lightly.

“It’s not. I did.” He smiled at my surprised expression.

“You quit?”

“Yeah, that’s kind of why I’m here. I don’t know what to do now.”

“Ah, running away. I’m good at that.”

“Well, cheers to running from our shit.” He raised his glass of water and clinked it against mine. “Want to grab a real drink?”

This time, I didn’t turn him down.

He paid our bill and after I thanked him, we walked out of the crêperie and into the cool air.

We walked close to each other, so close that our arms and fingers brushed against one another with every other step. Each time I felt his fingers swipe against mine, it felt electric, a small tingle shot through my arm and something inside me fluttered. I wondered how long we would let this go on, whether he would move away so we no longer touched or finally grab my hand.

We walked past several bars and restaurants and I started to wonder where exactly it was we were grabbing this drink. “Are we going somewhere in particular?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at me before pushing his fingers through mine and holding my hand.

We walked for the next few minutes in a comfortable silence just enjoying each other’s company. His palm was warm against mine and his fingers were long and his skin wasn’t rough but it wasn’t as soft as mine. Every few steps, he brushed his thumb over my hand reassuringly and I couldn’t stop blushing.

When he stopped, it was in front of a small grocery store.

“Oh.” I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

“Disappointed?” He asked as he squeezed my hand.

I shook my head quickly, “No! Just…confused?”

“Come on,” he said before pulling me inside.

He took us straight to the wine section and pulled two coteaux bourguignons off the shelf before moving on to grab some fruit, bread, and cheese. I had figured out what his plan was, slightly worried that we would be taking these things back to wherever he was staying. I admit, I wanted to kiss him, I wanted to do more than that, but technically, this was a first date and I wasn’t about to fuck him after hanging out with him for only the second time.

The last thing he grabbed was garbage bags, and when I gave him very confused and concerned look, he said, “We need something to sit on.” I nodded as if my confusion had completely evaporated with that simple explanation.

After a small argument over who would be paying for the two armfuls of supplies (I wanted to pay because he paid for dinner but he argued that since it was his idea and this was an extension of our first date that he should pay—and frankly, his argument was too good to deny), he lead us towards the promenade and took us down the steps to the rocky beach.

“Is this allowed?” I whispered as we walked over the rocks.

“Probably.” He shrugged.

When he found a spot he liked, he pulled out a plastic garbage bag from the pack and placed it on the ground like a picnic blanket. It was raining anymore, but everything was covered in a thin layer of water. Once he had that set, he took everything out of the bags, one by one, arranging it all a very specific way.

When he caught me staring and trying to stifle a giggle, Ben gestured towards his setup, “I’m just trying to make it as perfect as possible. I’m doing my best!”

“The garbage bag is perfect, I swear! It’s…cute.”

He opened the wine with the opener he bought and poured it into our paper cups and waved at me to take a seat next to him. We opened our snacks and started munching in comfortable silence despite the crepes we had inhaled only an hour before.

It was dark now, the only light coming from the flashlights of our phones we had placed in between us. We could hear the waves lapping against the store but could barely see them. There was a chill in the air, as the breeze was amplified closer to the water and I felt myself shivering slightly. We were sat against the wall of the promenade, hidden away from any on lookers.

“Come here,” he said when he noticed my slight shiver and pulled me into him. We sat with our backs against the wall, his arm around me, looking in the direction of where the water would be if we could see it. His body was hard against mine, signaling to me that I was right about how fit he was and I felt the muscles in his arms flex every time he moved it slightly. He rubbed his hand up and down my arm trying to warm me up as we slowly sipped our wine.

“This would be a lot more romantic if it wasn’t so bloody cold.” He laughed.

I hit him lighting in the stomach with me free hand, “Stop! I think it’s just the right amount of romantic.”

“Hang out with me tomorrow.”

“Was that a question?” I turned my head to him to see that he was already looking at me.

“Not really.” He smiled, “Come on, you know you want to.”

“Fine.” I leveled him with a smile of my own.

[supremeuppityone]

Written for @klarosummerbingo Klarosummer Bingo prompt: Brewery weekend

Please review here.

             How much is one life worth? Apparently, it worth a medical license. Klaus smiled grimly at the thought, finishing the rest of his beer and signaling for another round. After equal parts raging and moping around his condo for a month, Kol finally dragged him away for a brewery weekend to help him ‘to stop being a sad wanker and get his priorities straight.’

           Grumbling to himself, he noticed that his idiot brother seemed more interested in trying to bed the attractive beauties that flitted through the main taproom rather than help him move past the fact that his professional reputation had been destroyed. Currently, the lovely copper-skinned bird he’d been trying to chat up looked like she’d gladly slit his throat with her nails without losing that enigmatic smile the women all seemed to carry around there.

           As Kol shamelessly followed after her when she left the room, Klaus snorted in derision. Not that he could fault Kol for his infatuation; Klaus couldn’t help but notice that he too kept getting distracted from his miserable thoughts of hospital board hearings and the humiliation of medical board investigations. Every time he caught sight of those bright blonde curls, he held his breath, trying to work up the nerve to approach her. He was man enough to admit he’d lost his edge; before his life’s work had fallen apart around him, he’d had no problem approaching such a gorgeous creature.

           In fact, he used to view it almost as a sport — dazzling attractive women with his impressive credentials as a board-certified trauma surgeon. And if that didn’t work, he used his dimples and accent as a trusty fallback. But now, it just all seemed so overwhelming.

           He’d gleaned from his casual observations that her name was Caroline, and she appeared to be one of the owners of Founding Family Brewery. She always was surrounded by a group of women who all wore similar shark-like grins. Despite their relaxed postures as they sat around the same table near the back, there always seemed to be a tenseness to their shoulders, a tightening of their jawlines as they carried on discussions in hushed tones.

           Today, he watched as she laughed at something one of the other women said, tossing back her blonde curls to reveal an intriguing feather tattoo tucked behind her ear. He’d noticed the rest of her group seemed to have the same tattoo in different places — along a shoulder blade, a wrist, an ankle. He planned to ask Caroline about its origins once he managed to find the courage to talk to her. “I expect you to convince them,” her voice rang out, followed by another throaty chuckle that made his skin twitch.

           At her commanding tone, two of the women immediately stood up, the brunette twins that already had shut Kol down when he approached them earlier with a ridiculous line about offering them a ‘toad in a hole’. “Take protection,” Caroline murmured quietly, the women acknowledging her with a terse nod as they left the taproom.

           Klaus raised an eyebrow at that — while he understood that contraception was important, Caroline and her friends’ serious expressions certainly gave him pause. But then, she raised her head, those piercing blue eyes of hers capturing him in a way that made his cheeks warm. She quietly dismissed the other women at her table, sending him a smile that somehow seemed both aloof yet inviting.  

           She rose like a goddess from her table, strutting confidently toward him in a fitted red dress that had him gripping the beer bottle until his knuckles went white. “Are you and your brother enjoying your stay,” she asked, sliding in the empty chair across from him. At his look of surprise, she explained, “Kol has made an impression on my girls. But don’t worry — I warned them to be gentle.”

           “Yes, our brewery weekend has been quite relaxing, sweetheart. But please allow me to apologize for my brother — I hope he’s been behaving himself?”

           An amused grin crossed her lovely face as she replied, “I promise my girls can handle themselves.” She leaned forward, holding out her hand for him to shake. “I’m Caroline, by the way.”

           “Pleased to meet you. I’m Klaus.” He allowed a flirtatious smirk to slide into place as he kissed her knuckles. After all, she was a formidable woman, and he knew he likely wouldn’t get another chance to make an impression. Despite her indulgent smile, he noticed a slight flush to her cheeks that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps he did have a chance. “Has the brewery been in your family long?”

           “Not too long, but it’s been an interesting adventure, managing the family business,” Caroline replied, nodding to one of the bartenders who had scurried over to bring her a beer. She clinked the glass necks of their bottles, taking a sip as her eyes carefully swept the taproom. What was she looking for? “Kol mentioned you were considering switching careers and maybe looking for a change of scenery?”

           Coloring slightly that his brother might’ve been discussing his personal business with strangers, he did his best to keep the resentment from his tone. “I suppose it was more that I’m legally obligated to switch careers, love. The hospital board and the medical board were quite insistent.” He waited for her pitying look, and a downturn twist of her lips before she suddenly made up an excuse to leave him wallowing in his misery. He knew he had nothing to offer such a vibrant, attractive woman.  

           “Well, that’s bullshit,” she said unexpectedly. “So, some uptight old white guys tore up a piece of paper. That doesn’t mean they tore up your education.” There was a fierce glint in her blue eyes that he found immensely appealing. “No one can take that away from you.”

           He scoffed, “No one’s about to hire a disgraced surgeon who’s lost his license.”

           “You never know,” she mused. “An organization like mine can make room for a variety of skill sets.” A striking redhead suddenly appeared at her side, lowly whispering something about a shipment. An unreadable look crossed her face as Caroline stood suddenly. “It seems my presence is requested at a...meeting.” With a final flirtatious wink, she promised, “I’ll find you later, Klaus. I think we may have business to discuss after all.”

           Confused (and more than a little turned on), he watched the graceful sway of her hips as she walked away.

           After Kol unsuccessfully tried to get him to join a scavenger hunt on the grounds in order to chat up what appeared to be a large group of sorority pledges, Klaus went back to their suite, hoping his brother had enough sense not to invite anyone up to the room.

           He’d barely drifted off to sleep when firm hands harshly shook him awake. “Get up. Now,” a female voice growled in his ear. A lamp was flicked on in the corner and he blearily registered his suite was now filled with many of the women he’d seen with Caroline around the brewery this weekend. Fumbling for his jeans, he cursed indignantly, “What the bloody hell are you doing in my room?”

           One of the twins scrutinized him, giving a decidedly unimpressed snort. “Recruiting you, Doctor Dimples.”

           He couldn’t help but notice the way the group of attractive women moved toward him in unison, looking vaguely threatening. This is something right out of Kol’s deluded fantasies and the little wanker isn’t even here to witness it. “Recruiting me for what exactly,” he asked, eyeing them suspiciously. Why was Caroline not at this bizarre gathering?

           Suddenly, his Henley and boots were thrown at his chest, the black woman with blazing green eyes telling him in a no-nonsense voice, “Enough! Get dressed and come with us now.”

           “Who the hell—” Klaus began angrily, only to stop short when the twins simultaneously pulled out guns, leveling them at his head with a precision that spoke of years of practice. “Right,” he said hoarsely, quickly throwing on his shirt and lacing his boots, doing his best not to make any sudden movements. While the other women had yet to produce guns, he assumed they were armed as well. What the hell was going on?

           His career working trauma in the ER had taught him to read people quickly, and while the women moved with an intimidating, coordinated effort that implied a penchant for violence, he couldn’t help but notice the rigid manner they held themselves, the slight muscle twitches that gave them away. These formidable women were scared. A cold trickle of fear slithered up his spine as he started to suspect the reason why Caroline wasn’t in the room with the rest of her people.            

           He’d seen his share of criminals in his ER, and he understood the danger he was in. Cooperate fully. Don’t give them a reason to shoot. He worried about Kol, hoping that wherever he’d shacked up with the sorority girls, he’d stay there until this mess could be sorted. With a curt nod at the twins still holding the guns, he said, “Lead the way.” He didn’t miss the brief looks of relief that flashed across everyone’s faces.

           They hustled him out of the suite, marching quickly down the deserted hall and pausing briefly to press a nondescript panel that startled him as it revealed a hidden elevator. Well-organized criminals, he thought to himself. Organized crime. Mafia. Gray eyes widened suddenly as he realized belatedly what was going on. Kol’s ‘carefree, stop-being-a-sad-wanker’ brewery weekend was at a brewery that served as a front for the mob. If they got out of this alive, he was going to murder his brother.  

           Gleaming mahogany doors were thrown open, leading to a sumptuously decorated suite. One of the twins roughly pushed him forward, shouting, “Boss, we brought you Doctor Dimples!”

           As he stumbled slightly, he found himself in front of an enormous four-poster bed, where an alarmingly pale Caroline was propped up on multiple pillows, her blood soaking into the linens. Despite her shaky grip on the gore-soaked towel she’d pressed to her abdomen, her voice was stern. “Elena, I told you we weren’t calling him that.” Rolling her eyes, she added, “And it’s really Bonnie’s fault we’re having to call him anything, since she broke our last doctor.”  

           “Enzo knew what he was getting into. Not my fault he thought he could turn me on with some white picket fence bullshit,” retorted a petulant voice tinged with worry.

           Klaus ignored the chatter around him, his training pushing him into action as he moved to Caroline’s side. He gently moved aside the towel, patting her blood-streaked hands as he told her, “Easy, love. Let’s see what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” A quick glance told him she’d been shot, but he couldn’t feel an exit wound, which complicated matters — especially given that any number of internal organs could’ve been hit. He started making a mental list of supplies he’d need — piles of towels, hydrogen peroxide, ice, sharp knife, tweezers, fishing line or dental floss, antibiotics, etc.

           Despite the intense pain she obviously was in, she held herself with a rigid discipline that he couldn’t help but admire. A fighter. Ever since these women had barged into his room, he’d been redefining what he thought he knew about Caroline, and he found himself even more intrigued. He finally realized he and Caroline had been staring at each other, something fierce passing between them that couldn’t be ignored.

           Caroline raised her voice over the cacophony of voices in the room, commanding the women, “Elena, Kat — secure the shipment in the warehouse. Call for backup in case the Salvatores follow you or stupidly think tipping off the cops will save their scrawny hides.” Nodding toward the redhead by the door, she added, “Aurora, get ready to play nurse and fetch whatever Klaus asks for.”

           Klaus warily eyed Bonnie as she produced a gun, casually holding it in her hand. Caroline sharply told her, “There’s no need for that. Klaus understands the stakes.”

           Despite a painful shudder that went through her body, she somehow managed to wink at Klaus. “Looks like your job interview will be a bit more hands-on than I’d intended.”

[nowwhateinstein]

Land of Endless Sky: ch 2

Intro & Prologue Chapter 1

++++++ Chapter 2

General, I respectfully address you on the matter regarding my continued service under your command. Events have transpired which have caused me to question my fitness and willingness to serve in my current capacity as Captain of Company “K” Second Dragoons. I herewith tender my resignation of my commission, to take effect immediately and unconditionally.

Very respectfully, Fox William Mulder Capt. Co. “K” 2d Dragoons U.S.A. June 16th, 1856

++++++ FORT KEARNY NEBRASKA TERRITORY

The sun beat down oppressively as Mulder passed through the gates of Kearny’s stockade and into the small, dusty town that had grown up in the shadow of the fort. He pushed open the door to Frohike’s Fine Goods and Provisions and entered the blessed shade and coolness of the shop.

From behind the counter, the balding, diminutive proprietor looked up from a months-old, yellowed issue of Harper’s Weekly. He squinted at Mulder through half-moon eyeglasses. “That you, Captain Mulder?”

“Yes, but not for much longer, Melvin. In two days’ time, I’ll be plain old ‘Mulder.’”

“Had enough of the frontier life, have you?” Frohike asked teasingly. “Miss the luxuries of a soft feather bed and a woman to keep you warm at night?”

“If I did, I’d have married you years ago.” It was a well-known secret that Frohike’s personal quarters at the back of the store was furnished with every modern comfort and luxury - all of it financed by the exorbitant prices he charged unwitting emigrants and spendthrift soldiers.

Frohike rolled his eyes at Mulder’s good-natured ribbing.

“Truthfully, Melvin,” Mulder said, his tone becoming serious, “I resigned my commission.”

Frohike’s face turned grave. “I heard about Ash Hollow. Can’t say much about them who would slaughter women and children, Indian or not. You’re a good man, Mulder. I’m sorry to see you leave like this.”

“As am I,” Mulder said, smiling sadly at the man who had become the closest thing he had to a friend during his time at the fort. “I’m in need of provisions. And,” he said, remembering the state of his civilian clothes, “some new attire.” What spare clothes he did have were moth-eaten and too large for him; years of living off Army rations and bison had made him leaner than when he’d first arrived from the East.

“If there’s anything I enjoy more than your company, Mulder, it’s your money,” Frohike said, jumping from his perch behind the counter and walking over to the small selection of shirts and trousers.

“Heading back East, I assume? Take up the family business?”

“No,” Mulder said, trying banish the image of his father, and the disappointed look on his face when Mulder told him he was entering West Point to earn an Army commission. He’d wanted Mulder to practice law, like he had. But the war with Mexico had captured young Mulder’s imagination, and he entertained boyish daydreams of earning glory on the battlefield. So he’d applied to the United States Military Academy. Never did he imagine that glory could be so one-sided and bloody.

His pause earned an inquisitive look from Frohike.

“I’m headed west,” Mulder went on to explain. “Maybe California. Or New Mexico. Anywhere but here.”

“Well, you picked a hell of a time to leave,” Frohike said. “Most of the emigrant trains passed through here a month ago.”

As he spoke, a lone cart with a team of four oxen passed in front of the store window. “As I was saying,” Frohike said, watching them go by with a frown, “most of them. Those folks will be lucky to make Fort Bridger by the first big snow.”

“I can make good time just myself and Ghost. If I need to lay by at Bridger or some other outpost for the winter, so be it. I’m in no hurry to get there - wherever there is.”

He handed Frohike a list of his requests. The older man nodded approvingly as he scanned the items. “I’ll have everything ready for you by this time tomorrow.”

Frohike quickly held up a hand. “Just a moment,” he said, then reached behind the counter and produced a small, bulging burlap sack. “A parting gift,” he said as he handed it to Mulder. He looked inside, and smiled at the sight of sunflower seeds.

“My thanks, as always, Melvin,” he said, and shook the man’s hand fondly.

Mulder stepped outside into the oppressive June heat as a small woman in a bonnet arrived in front of the shop. He quickly moved to open the door for her.

“Thank you,” she said, glancing up at him as she passed. Intelligent blue eyes met his. Mud and dust clung to the hem of her pale green dress, and her shoes bore evidence of miles of travel. Despite her well-worn attire, he found her remarkably beautiful and strangely familiar, and had to make a conscious effort to avoid staring longer than was appropriate.

He touched his hat in greeting. “Ma’am.”

She nodded politely, then disappeared into Frohike’s. Must be from that lone wagon party, he thought, glancing up the street. Sure enough, the wagon stood in the shade of the livery stable. The oxen stood unharnessed, taking long draws from the water trough. Frohike was right, he thought - at this rate, they would be hard-pressed to catch up with the mass of wagon trains.

++++++

He set out at first light two days later on the dusty, wheel-rutted road that led westward. The sparse, overgrazed vegetation that surrounded the fort presently gave way to a lush, waving sea of waist-high prairie grass. Above him, swallows swooped and dove in the mid-morning sun in search of insects. Their intricate acrobatics and constant twittering provided a welcome diversion from the images of dead Sioux that plagued his dreams and lingered increasingly into his waking hours. He felt his heart grow lighter with every mile he put between him and the fort. He even started singing one of his favorite tunes:

“I'm lonesome since I crossed the hill And over the moor that's sedgy Such lonely thoughts my heart do fill Since parting with my Sally I seek for one as fair and gay But find none to remind me How sweet the hours I passed away With the girl I left behind me”

Ghost snorted in agitation at his rider’s crooning. Mulder laughed and patted his neck affectionately.

“You’re right, boy. I can’t carry a tune. And I don’t even have a girl.”

He did, once. He’d fallen for the beautiful Diana Fowley when he was a cadet at West Point. The war with Mexico had raised the prestige of the Army in the eyes of the nation, and it became fashionable for a woman to be seen on the arm of a dashing young cadet. But the war ended, and when it became clear that she’d have to trade the comfort of New York City for the privations of the frontier, Diana had called off the engagement. She’d only loved him for his uniform, he’d realized too late, and the attention it afforded her within New York society.

And so, with a broken heart and a feeling of having played the fool, Mulder accepted his commission as a Second Lieutenant with the Second Dragoons and set off for the borderlands of the newly formed Republic of Texas. The pain of Diana’s rejection had eased with the change of scenery and the passage of time. He soon realized that the frontier held more opportunities for a man to avail himself of a woman’s pleasures than were afforded a young man among the New York elite. The forts had their fair share of women with questionable morals who were ready to bed any soldier with coin, but his infrequent encounters with such women always left him feeling empty and miserable, and soon he’d stopped visiting brothels altogether.

But if one had to feel empty, the Plains were a fitting place in which to find oneself, he’d discovered as the years went on. In his early days with the regiment, he’d developed a reputation as a loner, often volunteering to go out on solo patrols for weeks at a time. He could ride for days without seeing another soul, and that suited him just fine. Promotion through the ranks had decreased his opportunity to roam, and he found the responsibilities of an officer dull and tiresome. Out among the vast grasslands and rolling hills, he had found solitude, not loneliness; solace instead of restlessness. Now that he was free of the constraints of Army life, he prayed that freedom would be enough to exorcise the demons of Ash Hollow.

After a hurried midday meal taken under the slight shade of an eroded hillside, Mulder set Ghost back on the trail. He’d glance down at the trail every now and again to try to decipher the signs of those who had passed before him. Newer wheel tracks and fresh ox dung told him that a wagon had passed by not long ago. Probably the same party that had stopped over at the fort a few days prior. What’s more, he noticed, leaning over in his saddle for a better look, riders - three, perhaps four - had also used the trail after the wagon. The tell-tale U-shaped prints told him that the riders were white; Indians didn’t shod their horses, instead switching out mounts so as not to tire or injure them.

After a few miles, he crested a hill. What he saw on the other side caused him to immediately drew up on the reins to bring Ghost to a halt. He jumped down and pulled Ghost back down the hill until he was out of sight, then drawing his revolver, slowly crawled back to the top.

At the foot of the hill on the other side stood the wagon he’d seen pass through the fort; its contents were scattered on the ground nearby. The four oxen, still yoked, lay dead. He could detect no movement, no other signs of life. Carefully, he made his way down the hill to cart, using the tall grass as cover until he reached the cart. Mulder noticed arrows scattered about the ground, but curiously, they all faced in different directions, as if someone had haphazardly tossed a quiverfull up in the air and let them fall. Even odder: the oxen had all been shot by a small caliber pistol - not the firearm of choice by Plains Tribes, who much preferred rifles.

It took him a moment to notice the two bodies amid the tall grass. A bald, older man lay beside a younger, pimple-faced boy. Both had been shot and both, he saw with a sickening twist in his stomach, had been scalped. Whoever had done the scalping had botched it on the older man; his scalp was still partially attached to his skull. With rising dread, he frantically looked about for the woman he knew belonged to the the party - the woman with whom he briefly exchanged courtesies outside of Frohike’s.

As if in reply, a woman’s scream shattered the expansive stillness of the prairie. Mulder drew his revolver and sprinted down a small ravine in the direction of the scream.

Two men stood close together, laughing and cheering as they watched a third man struggling with something on the ground. The men were shirtless, their faces and chests painted in red and black paint. At first, Mulder took them for Indians, then one of them spoke.

“Come here and hold her down,” the man on the ground yelled in English. “She’s a feisty one.”

Mulder stiffened at the familiar voice of Sergeant Krycek. He squinted at the other men; beneath the copious red and black face paint, he recognized Private Colton and Corporal Kersh. Like Krycek, the two men had a poor reputation among the Kearney detachment: he recalled Colton had once been confined to quarters on bread and water rations for a month for attempting to steal a milk cow from an emigrant family passing through the fort.

“As long as you leave some of her for me,” Colton answered with a leer. He bent down and grabbed the woman’s arms, pulling them roughly above her head. Krycek paused to unbutton his trousers, leaving just enough opportunity for the woman to deliver a well-placed kick to his face; he fell hard on his ass, raising a laugh from Colton and the other soldier.

“Bitch!” he said, spitting out a mouthful of blood and stumbling to his feet. “You’ll wish I killed you with your father and brother, before I’m done with you.”

Krycek had barely taken a step forward before Mulder fired. The sergeant’s stomach suddenly blossomed crimson, and he staggered backwards before dropping to the ground.

Colton let go of the woman and whirled to face Mulder, his gun drawn. Kersh managed to get a shot off at Mulder; he winced at the sudden, searing pain in his left arm.

Before Kersh could fire again, another shot rang out, and he collapsed. Colton, confused, glanced down at the corporal. That bought Mulder just enough time to take aim at Colton. He fired. The private fell on top of Kersh.

Mulder ran over to the woman. She lay shaking, gasping on the ground. In her hands was Krycek’s revolver. Smoke curled upwards from the barrel. He helped her to her feet. She stared, shocked, at the weapon, then at the men who lay dead at her feet.

Before either could speak, a groan caused Mulder to turn away. Krycek was still alive; his breathing came in ragged gasps as he lay on the ground nearby, grasping at his bleeding stomach. Mulder stood over him. Krycek’s eyes focused on him and widened in recognition.

“Please, Captain, have mercy,” he said weakly between bloody coughs. “Have mercy.”

He was a dead man - it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to blood loss. But a gunshot wound to the stomach was painful, and often resulted in a slow death; anger rose within Mulder at all of the needless suffering and death this man had inflicted. He wanted to walk away and leave Krycek to a prolonged, agonizing demise.

Instead, Mulder pointed his gun at the sergeant. “The only mercy you’ll get from me is a quick death,” he said, his voice iron-edged, as he cocked the hammer with his thumb. Krycek whimpered. The air reverberated with the sharp crack of his Colt.

He holstered his gun and walked back to where the woman stood. Wordlessly, he took the revolver from her. She swayed, as if about to faint. He put a hand out to steady her. “Easy does it, ma’am.”

She didn’t fall, but instead took his hand in a tight, vice-like grip. He squeezed back, causing her to look up at him. Her eyes registered shock, surprise - and fear.

“It’s alright, ma’am,” he said gently. “You’re safe.”

Her eyes focused on him as if truly seeing him for the first time. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. He felt her hand slip from his.

“I must bury my father and brother,” she said, composing herself. Her face, although tear-stained and smeared with dirt, was set with a firmness and resolve that surprised him.

“Allow me to pay my respects by assisting you,” he said.

She hesitated, as if unsure whether to trust him, but presently gave brief nod of assent. Without speaking, she turned and headed in the direction of the cart and her dead kin.

Mulder picked up the dead men’s weapons and followed. Behind them, the shirtless, painted bodies of the soldiers lay staring upwards at the expansive sky.

[anglophile1776]

So Theresa looked super cold all day at the French summit last week, and it was apparently freezing in the rooms...there was a journalist at the press conference who tweeted that she couldn’t feel her feet. And of course that would have been even worse for T, who seems to be always cold even when it objectively isn’t.

I think there was definitely cuddling when she got home that night...which meant we needed a fic. :-D

“Are you comfortable?” Theresa heard Philip’s words and also felt the vibrations of them, as her head was currently pressed against his chest.

“Mm-hmm.” She was always comfortable when he held her.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And your feet are warm, too?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Your hands are okay?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Do you need another blanket? I can get—”

Wordlessly, she lifted her hand and gently pressed her fingers to his mouth, forcing silence, and felt what she assumed was a sheepish smile form on his lips.

“Sorry,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

She wanted to relax in silence, and truthfully, she was fine. She was wonderfully, deliciously comfortable, and gloriously warm, and perfectly calm, and all she wanted to do was rest in Philip’s arms.

Because today had been awful. Awful. Not professionally or politically—she thought her meetings with Emmanuel Macron had gone rather well—but physically. As if it wasn’t enough that she’d been repeatedly dragged outside into the cold air, the building where they’d held the summit had been freezing, and the room for the press conference had been so cold she’d begun to lose feeling in her feet and her hands.

A day in a cold room was Theresa’s definition of hell. She was cold most of the time anyway, carrying a mild sensation of chill with her wherever she went. She blamed it partly on her slight weight, but mostly on her diabetes, and it could usually be managed by dressing warmly and bundling up outside. But she’d been wholly unprepared for the interior today, and she’d spent most of it fantasizing about a warm blanket and a long hug from Philip. He’d known she was miserable—she didn’t like for him to worry, but she hadn’t been able to keep herself from texting about the frigid temperatures—and he’d been promising all day to wrap her up and take care of her when she got home.

And he had, of course. He’d been fussing since she’d first stepped in the door, telling her to sit down on the couch, and he’d go put the kettle on for some hot tea and start her bath water running. Theresa had wanted to tell him he didn’t have to do all that, hated sitting down while he bustled about, and wished he were next to her and cuddling her instead, but both the tea and the bath sounded far too lovely to protest, and she was much too tired and cold to feel like doing either for herself. All she wanted was the couch, where she was slowly attempting to thaw out.

“Here we are,” Philip said a few minutes later, returning with a steaming mug of tea and one of his warm smiles. “Oh, your hands are like ice!” he exclaimed as her fingers brushed his as she took the cup. He then touched his hand to her cheek, which she was sure was also quite cool, although her hands and her feet were the worst of it. “Darling, you’re freezing.”

“Did you think I was exaggerating?” she snapped.

“No, no,” he said patiently. “I just wasn’t prepared for how cold your skin would feel.”

The uncomfortable heat of guilt flooded her face. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Especially not when he was working to take care of her!

Philip kissed her forehead. “That’s all right. You’ve had a long day…keep both your hands around the mug and that should warm them a bit, but let’s have a look at your feet.”

Her feet were so cold that she wasn’t sure she could move her toes, but the guilt only multiplied as he sat down with her, lifted her legs into his lap, and slipped off her leopard heels.

“You really were frozen solid,” he said, wincing in sympathy as began rubbing her feet briskly, trying to get her blood flowing.

“I’m so sorry I snapped at you.” she said in reply, and he smiled gently.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he repeated. “It’s natural to be short when you don’t feel well.”

“I feel fine,” she protested, as usual. She’d feel obligated to say this even if she’d just had a limb chopped off, and Philip nodded earnestly, as he always did.

Theresa closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the couch. Her toes were warming slowly and only slightly, but the warmth in his hands was so comforting, and after a long day in heels, this would have felt wonderful regardless of the temperature.

“I should check on your bath water,” she heard Philip say quietly a few minutes later, and she opened her eyes. “It should be almost ready, sweetheart.” He’d kissed her forehead again when he’d stood to go, and she’d heard him call from the bathroom a few minutes later. She was soon sinking into a bubbling tub of divinely hot water, closing her eyes as the tension brought on by the cold slowly seeped out of her muscles.

“Call me if you need anything,” Philip said as he slipped out, leaving her to soak in solitude, but she had no intention of calling him. She wasn’t going to need anything, because she wasn’t going to move an inch until the water began to cool.

It eventually did, of course, but she hadn’t been terribly sorry…she was at last comfortably warm, and she was going to join Philip on the couch for what she’d been dreaming of all day: a long hug from her husband.

And that was how she’d ended up in her current position: she’d dressed in the warm pajamas and thick socks he’d laid out for her, padded to the living room, and let him cover her in the blanket he’d been holding in front of a roaring fire. Then he’d sat down on the couch next to her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. An offer of one of her favourite shows had been made, but she’d shaken her head, wanting no distractions from how good this felt.

Theresa sighed softly, closing her eyes as she let herself be soothed by the steady thump of his heart. Today didn’t matter, not in comparison to how comfortable she was, how strong and gentle Philip’s arms were, and what a wonderful pillow his chest made. She felt warm and loved, and it was the best combination in the world. It has almost been worth such a miserable afternoon, if she got an evening like this in exchange.

“Theresa?” She blinked her eyes open at the sound of Philip’s voice, accompanied by his hand rubbing firmly up and down her arm.

It was so bright…why was it so bright? Had the light hurt her eyes like this before she’d closed them? What had happened to the light this room in the few minutes her eyes had been closed? She rubbed at them, her head still against Philip’s chest.

“Sweetheart, can you wake up a little bit for me?”

“I’ve been awake,” she murmured. That much she was clear on.

Philip chuckled. “All right, but I think we should go to bed now. It’s getting pretty late, and you can’t spend the night on the couch.”

“Spend the night?” She straightened slowly, squinting to look at the clock across the room. How was it half past ten? It hadn’t even been nine when she’d sat down, had it?

“Yes, this isn’t a comfortable place for you to sleep all night. Are you ready to go to bed?”

Bed? Hadn’t he just implied she’d already been sleeping? She was still too confused to do anything but stare at the clock.

Philip chuckled again when she didn’t respond and got to his feet. “I see I may have to do this myself…here, can you put your arms around my neck?” He’d slipped his own arms beneath her knees and shoulders, and when she complied, he lifted her carefully. She was dimly aware that she was being carried to bed, as she had been on a couple other occasions when she’d fallen asleep elsewhere, and she let her eyes close again. She should object. She didn’t need to be carried.

She…would find the energy to thank him in the morning.

Theresa stirred as he set her down in bed, shivering at the loss of contact, but Philip immediately drew the covers over her and then climbed in himself.

“You’re really wonderful,” she mumbled as she snuggled close to him. “And you’re really warm.”

She wasn’t sure if he responded or not…she fell asleep again as his lips brushed a light kiss to her forehead.

[jess-the-vampire]

Tom Vs The Forces Of Evil (Au), Chapter 16

Previous / Next

School over, Summer begun, and free time to spare, Marco watched Tom's room through he mirror, waiting for Tom to return from....wherever he was being dragged off to today.Technically it wasn't even Marco's shift at this time, it was Janna's, but he didn't care.

Marco had been working the nerve to speak to Tom for awhile now, Tom knew he was watching him from this end and could hear him. However, Marco hadn't said anything to him yet, it's all been from Star, Janna, and Jackie who pitched in. Perhaps it was because he wanted to save it for when they saw each other in person again, or maybe he was just scared.

Tom seemed the same way too, he seemed very happy to be able to talk to his friends again, but was very quite when it came to Marco save for a few mumbles.

Star had been fussing that Marco needed to talk to him again, and how much they needed to speak to each other, but neither had spoken up. Although then again maybe both were worried Janna, or more nervously for Marco, Jackie, would drop into the conversation.

Marco counted down the minutes for his shift, hoped like he always did that Tom was ok.

He wanted to visit him, but Star said going through his mirror and through the Cat was a one-way trip as the bowl broke after it, and that only made the boy frustrated. Tom healed himself with magic, sure, but that wouldn't make all the pain he was feeling in his mind go away.

Marco's alarm set off and by this point Janna was on her break and Marco was to watch Tom's room for anything he could use, or to speak to the boy. Tom wasn't back yet though, making Marco's watch a lot less intense then one would expect.

He grabbed from his plate of nachos, and took a bite, sighing before Tom finally walked in. Tom fell with his backside against the door, he took off his hat and threw it on the bed and covered his face with his hands, another tough day and he was forced to stay in his room until further notice or till whatever was next for him.

Tom looked over at the cat, probably wondering if his friends were even watching him as he couldn't see them from his end. He sighed, talking to them through a weird magic device was nice but it was clear he wished they could be with him in person.

Marco sighed, and decided to finally speak up, better now then ever.

"T-Tom? C-can you hear me?"

"Marco?", Tom looked up and Marco could see him light up for a bit, the mewman got up from his spot and made his way over to his bedside table, looking at it like he hadn't seen it before. "M-marco? is that really you? I-I thought maybe...y-you didn't want to talk to me or-", Tom said softly, before stopping and deciding it was stupid.

"Tom no....I um...", He looked for the right words," I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner.....I-I just...I was worried....I mean, It's my fault you're in this mess....that you're still stuck with your dad and why your dad has you trapped in your room like a prison....".

"Well, I though you were upset that I left...that I left without much of a goodbye and that you would feel responsible for my mistakes.....", Tom's eyes drifted off to the side for a bit, "I just...what do you say to someone you thought you'd never see again? It's....weird..".

Marco let out a meek laugh, "Yeah...weird..".

Tom paused, "I wish I could see you...."

"Trust me, My face is nothing special....", Marco said, "Plus I was such a mess before we did this plan....y-you wouldn't have enjoyed my stench and messy hair....I doubt i'm too much better...". Tom pouted, "Marco, i don't care what you look like, a friendly face...would be nice to have here...".

"You're right....", Marco watched him through the mirror with awkwardness, "I-I....I really miss having you here, I mean I knew I was going to, It's just now that it's happened and under the circumstances that it did everything just feels weird....".

"Imagine how weird it is for me..", Tom mumbled, "I haven't been home in awhile...and now everything's changed and i'm a prisoner in my own home....either i'm trapped here, or out doing tasks and using my magic to "Unlock" my stupid inner powers and being hurt in the process....".

"Doesn't anyone there think forcing you to get angry is a bad idea to unlock anything? I mean, all your servants just let this happen for generations?", Tom rubbed his face and eyed the door to the hallway outside, hoping no said servants were sneaking by.

"Well, you don't argue with tradition here....and most of my ancestors....

willingly

did this stuff to become the next king. Me on the other hand....sorry i'm not interested in being put into uncomfortable situations and being hurt to become an ideal king...", Tom sighed and ran his hand through his hair fro any bumps, "I Think my Dad, just assumes i'm difficult, that i'm stubborn for not tolerating this and making it easy for him.....and uses it as an excuse to punish me till I do it right....".

"Oh...".

"I-I don't like him...but...I-I think I pity him more...", Tom eyed a crown, his crown, presented on another table against a wall, "We're all.....just the result of our sick traditions and need to overpower other creatures, and in result....we just become like this...m-my dad wanted to be the perfect king, did everything he was told, felt everything he was supposed to feel....a-and..i'm just a shadow on his former glory..".

"Tom..."

"I just can't believe i'm just another prince to them, it's not like i'm Tom, no I'm supposed to do this this way and do that that way and i'm supposed to feel this all the time because if i don't i'm a disgrace....I'm just a blank sheet they can write all over!", Tom was almost yelling now but he stopped, not wanting to give his father the satisfaction of getting to him.

"I'm really sorry Tom...."

"I'm not gonna be able to rule Mewni how I want Marco....not like this, not by being restricted or hurt.....everything's wrong Marco, and no matter what I do people are gonna try and stop me and i'm not even sure if I can handle it..."

Marco calmly looked at Tom and although Tom couldn't see him, he tried to look as confident as he could, "Tom, people are always gonna try and stop you when fight for something, but...if anyone can push through it..you can, you can prove them wrong...".

"You make it sound like I have the ability to do that, Marco i'm messed up and you know it....I-I almost blasted you in my anger....even if I become king and try to push for this stuff, i'll just end up getting angry and emotional and forces people into it and....I don't wanna do those things...". Tom pulled at his hair, "I used to feel so confident things could look up once i became king but now all I see is me as my own dad and I can't get over it because that's exactly as they want me to be and are forcing me to be..."

"Tom, this isn't your fault, i'm not upset with you for it because you can't help it....you can't help getting angry and upset!! We all do and say bad things when we get angry!! The matter is you didn't let your angry destroy you, and that's what makes you better then them....then all of them!!", Marco exclaimed, "They're idiots!! They think this is the only way to be a true king? Well then they don't know squat then! You're not like them and you're going to be the best king Mewni ever gets!"

"You're right Marco, I'm not like them.....and that's why i'm stuck here...", Tom sighed and rubbed his eyes, "If I was just born right i wouldn't feel so miserable.....and you wouldn't have to go through all this trouble for me...". Tom rubbed his face, "I shouted at him!! I stood up for myself and it didn't mean anything!!!".

"Tom, I promise when we get you out, things will feel a lot better....it's getting to you,

he's

getting to you..you know none of that is true!!", Marco almost felt like he was shouting , and in result he toned his voice down. "Tom, be strong....please be strong, you won't be there forever...".

Tom made some small sniffing noises and nodded, "Fine....fine...I'll just...whatever....".

"Don't let him get to you Tom, at least you still have us...we're all here for you!!", Tom looked at the screen and calmed down, "Yeah, I guess....I mean, I just thought I wouldn't see any of you again...even If you tried to help...you'd get caught or...you'd forget about me...".

"Some friends we'd be if we forgot about you and let you stay there all by yourself Tom....", Marco needed to find a way to cheer him up, he heard some squeaks going on from Tom's end and smiled. "Your rabbit sounds like he wants something? How is he?", Tom looked behind him and walked off to get his rabbit.

He brought the pink creature back to Marco and showed him off, "He's ok, I think he recognized your voice...I'm glad dad didn't take him away or anything, I think he just wanted to make sure I had at least someone to talk to....me going insane won't exactly do me much good....or maybe he thinks having a rabbit will somehow help me I dunno...".

"Hello Marshmallow!!", Marco waved to the mirror even though neither the mewman or rabbit could see him, the rabbit made some more little noises and that got a slight laugh out of Tom. Tom put him on his lap and pet him for a bit to help him feel a bit better.

"I-I wish I could've stayed for the rest of my own party....", Tom said softly, "Was it still fun without me?".

Marco shook his head, "No, the party was not fun at all without you, you were the guest of honor, and you didn't even get to see Love Sentence perform for you either!!". To this comment Tom's eye brows pricked up and he was blushing, "Y-you guys got

Love Sentence

to play on my birthday!?".

"Well, we

did

...", Marco sighed, "But you weren't there and the party was called off early and we're gonna try again

when

you get back ok? and I mean WHEN, not

if

.". Tom smiled warmly, "That's really nice of you guys....I wish I could've seen it...".'

"You will.....and I also saved you some cake too, I hope it'll still be good when you get back...", he was trying to get Tom's mind off his current situation for a bit, and it seemed to be working. Tom bit his lip, "Hey...I know you read your chapter...in my book, I-I uhm....sorry that was awkward...I just...I figured it'd be the better place for you to find it...".

"No no, it's...a lot less awkward since I already knew you liked me. It's just....kinda cool hearing it come from you..you don't really talk much about me..in that way..", Tom covered his reddened face with his own hands, "Well, it was in a BOOK for a reason! Saying that stuff to you...would be weird, and awkward...and painful...ugghhhhhh...".

"Would it make you feel better knowing my diary has an entry about how cute you looked during the Blood Moon Ball?", Marco asked, trying to break the tension.

"You thought I looked cute?", Tom teased, "Wow, we're both bad and awkward at flirting....".

"That's why we're friends...", Marco teased back, "Two dudes just being terribly awkward together because well, at least with each other it feels less embarrassing...". Tom laughed, "Yeah, we're both kinda sappy, but it's fun with you, It makes me want to laugh at myself....instead of feeling embarrassed that I can't court anyone...".

"Hey, i'm no better, and you know it...", Marco remarked.

Tom paused and bit his lip, "Hows Jackie? If it's ok to ask? I mean...I know she's helping watch me but....she hasn't said anything to me...". Tom gave a guilty expression, "Is she ok? I mean I don't want....cause I know you still like- And...".

"She's fine...", the earth boy replied, "Right now, I'm more worried about getting you back before....one problem at a time...".

Tom nodded, "It's uh....I missed you....a lot...I just....I miss school, and I miss video games, and I miss watching those weird karate movies with you, and family dinners, and nachos....I even miss you doing my make-up sometimes, I know i left my eyeliner and stuff there....".

"Yeah I saw...", Marco scanned Tom's face, his messy hair and his eyeliner-less eyes, "You almost look weirder without it...I wish there was a system where I could send you thinks, I could send you nachos, and your cake, and all the stuff you left...".

Tom bit his lip, "I'd use the scissors we had, but Dad confiscated them, just like everything else that looked suspicious....I'm sorry about that, I-I just didn't want you to follow me here and get hurt...". Marco sighed, "No, it's ok....I understood....We'll figure out something.....we always do.". Tom nodded and  took a seat on his bed, "Thanks for talking to me Marco, I needed this....I...REALLY needed this....I-I'm glad we're still friends....".

Marco smiled from his end, taking another bite from his chip and blushing at the boy who was trying to hide his own red face.

"Me too...".

-

Marco knew he was spending too much time watching Tom, even when it wasn't his shift, but he couldn't help that his stupid mother instincts kicked in and he wanted to make sure Tom was ok. Tom felt better talking to him, even when he was hurt, it's what kept him going and what made everything bearable.

Tom had partially a job too in this plan, and it was to talk about everything that happened with his father when he left the room, and if he left any marks Tom had to show them off a bit for evidence, and afterwards he'd heal them so he didn't have to deal with them anymore.

It wasn't fun but the more evidence they had the better, they had to expose this for what it was.

Marco usually left out much unpleasant conversations when they talked, and that included stuff he would ask Tom about when Tom was safe, like the bond. sometimes ever Star, Janna, and Jackie joined in a bit from their ends, and Tom had to shush everyone to be quiet so anyone in the halls couldn't hear them.

Days went by a bit easier for Tom, he started to look more forward to returning to his room and even the harsh treatment he was getting was affecting him a bit less then it did although it was clear it was taking a toll on him each day.

It was about a week later and Tom was being called for another day of training, he got dressed and said goodbye to his friends with a wave as he grabbed his wand and was escorted out.

Tom was always nervous when he left his room to be "Trained", being trained to get angry was the opposite of everything he was trying to fix about himself. Now, he was being forced back into it and it clearly made him very uncomfortable to be put in these situations.

But as long as his Dad was satisfied enough, things would be fine, he promised to obey him after all.

And Tom did, so far, well....aside from speaking to his friends behind his back but that was for good reason. Yeah he got hurt a lot, but if his Dad was satisfied that was all that mattered, it kept him from being suspicious and it kept him away from Marco.

Tom was escorted to a dark room with a single chair in the middle of it, the door was closed behind him and Tom sat on the chair to await his fate for today. His father walked in the room shortly, conjuring himself a chair to sit in front of Tom.

Tom sat up straight and made eye contact with him despite how little he wanted to.

"Morning Thomas...", his cold voice made Tom shiver, but Tom refrained from looking pathetic in front of him. He hated seeing Tom look like that after all, although Tom couldn't help but feel like it made him feel secretly more powerful.

"Hello....", Tom replied, most kids were greeted by their parents in the morning while eating a nice breakfast together, Tom on the other hand was greeted in dark rooms while anticipating what kind of torture he'd be receiving from his "Family". Tom and his father looked each other in the eyes, the king then proceeded to brush his outfit and calmly spoke to the prince. "So Thomas...we've tried many things since you've returned home, and it's sad to say none of our methods are working...you just seem to be...invulnerable..".

"Well, I've grown up...a lot..", Tom replied simply, "And isn't it good for the next king to be unbreakable?". Although we was speaking out of line even the king had to admit the boy wasn't wrong, his eyes narrowed and he moved on to today's schedule.

"So Today, we are not going to be doing any of our practices as we did before, In fact, I'm no longer going to be the one helping you anymore....", Tom's eyebrows pricked up, he was becoming very suspicious of what his father meant by this.

"Clearly I cannot make you act the way you should, I need an expert....to be able to make you react the way you are required.", He made a summoning motion with his hand and a dark figure stepped forward, "Thomas, this is Mr Kreaton, he used to work at the St Olga's prince school....".

The dark figure said nothing.

Tom tried his hardest not to look even the slightest bit nervous as the figure seemingly examined him, he was tall, very tall, it was hard to see his face but Tom could make out red eyes that he swore were glowing. He didn't like where this was going, "B-But you promised I wasn't being taken there, it was part of the deal!".

"And you're not, that's why I said "

u

sed"

to work there", he replied, " But now he is happy to work here on your case to "Fix" you. You'll be undergoing his own methods to turn you into the heir we need, and find out what makes you tick, then it should be easy to have you dip down from then on...".

Tom couldn't help but shiver a bit in place, there were times he had nightmares just about the princess school, and especially what they did to Marco there. Noe all he was imagining was being strapped down and undergoing the same treatment, or being cut open, or everything else he used to see in his nightmares.

"B-but...", Tom started before the faces of the two shut him up in a gulp, Mr Kreaton walked around Tom like a vulture as Tom sweated nervously at practically being prayed upon. This was worse, SO much worse then before, the stuff he took was painful with his dad, but the school's methods were very different then his father's. At least he knew his father wouldn't kill him since Tom wouldn't be much good to him dead, he knew NOTHING about this guy though.

He wanted to move but couldn't, leaving the room without being dismissed lead to punishment. He just sat there, waiting to see what they'd do next, desperately wishing he was back in his room and talking to Marco, he needed to get out of here soon, those schools were horrible but they had great results.

"Today he's getting set up...", The king explained, "So you will officially start once he's done, and hopefully this matter will finally be solved....". Tom was dismissed and shooed out of the room, and the walk to his bedroom never felt longer in his life.

Tom ran to the Cat Bowl once the door was closed behind him and the halls were empty and pulled it to his face hoping whoever was on the other line was paying close attention. Tom's breathing and panicked expression certainly got a lot of attention since multiple voices from the other end were now asking him if he was alright.

Tom felt like throwing up as he tried to reply.

"You guys gotta get me out of here, soon!!".

-

"We need to see the high commission,

now

.....we can't waste any more time...", Marco argued, "Who knows what they'll do to him!! Tom doesn't need to be "fixed", he's great just the way he is!!". Everyone was crowded in his bedroom, Jackie, Janna, and Star, all staring at him with worried expressions. They also eyed the mirror, where Tom was missing, as he was at dinner tonight with his folks to "Celebrate" their new employee.

"What if they change more then just his emotions?! what if they make him stop liking boybands, or the color pink, or anything about him they don't like!!?? I was locked in a room and forced to learn proper etiquette for hours!!! i couldn't stop saying those lines for days!! ". Marco was pacing back and forth, panicking, "We need to talk to them and get them out of there before they do something, Tom's messed up enough putting up with all those bruises and pain and now they're just gonna mess with his mind!!".

Jackie stood up and put a hand on Marco's shoulder, stopping him, "We're not leaving him Marco... we'll get him out as soon as we can...right guys?". She turned towards the girls, and they exchanged look and nods, "W-we gotta try don't we? I mean....we don't have much of a choice..".

Star stood up, "I can show my Mom....everything, the Journal, and videos, she at least knows how to reach them, and if that's not enough I can bring my mirror and let her see Tom for herself...". She started getting her stuff, and Marco handed her the journal wishing for it's safe-keeping.

"Bring that back...ok? Just.....please get help...", Marco took her hand and looked at her straight in the eyes, "We need to help get him out of there.....". Star nodded and pulled Marco for a hug, "Wish me luck ok?", she vanished in a blink of fire leaving the humans left.

Marco dropped onto his bed, rubbing his face and sighing. "I can't believe they hired someone from St Olga's to work on Tom! Tom's dad is horrible, I know he is, but at least Tom is still Tom...I Don't....I don't know who he'll be if he endures those methods for a few days....". Jackie took a seat next to him and patted his back, "I'm sorry Marco.....anything me and Janna can do..?". Janna gave a look but Jackie shot her a look back and continued to comfort Marco.

Marco tried to clam down, taking deep breaths, when did he become Tom? "I know...I know, I need to clam down and relax....I just can't help but freak out, It wasn't even that long ago that we were just sitting here hangin gout and now he's just.....he's...", Marco ran a hand through his hair, "I need to clam down, Star's got the evidence, we'll get him out....I just can't help it.".

"I think it's good you care about your best friend so much...", Jackie said, "Can't say I know many friends of mine that would go through so much trouble to keep me safe from a bad king, and Tom's pretty strong himself to take all this for you as well...".

"Thanks Jackie...", Marco said, blushing, "I really think I needed to hear something like that right now, I've just been so distracted and worried about Tom and I think it's making me paranoid all the time because It's not something I can control....".

Marco looked around at his room, "Me and Tom are best friends, someone should have his back and If I'm not there i get worried, I was worried at the ball, and i'm worried now. I don't know what we're gonna do if we can't get any help for Tom....", Marco stood up and took a look at the mirror and the empty room it showed, "He needs me now, he needs us.....all of us.".

Janna fixed her boot, "I can't wait to head to mewni and punch some bug people in the face....".

"Well, all we can do now Is wait....", Jackie said, also now looking at the mirror, "You want me to stay here? I don't have anything to do for the rest of today and you shouldn't be alone during all of this....". Marco looked at her and pricked an eyebrow up, "You...want to stay here and watch for Tom with me? Won't that be kind of boring?".

"Boring or not, I don't want to leave you here by yourself.....you look miserable dude, we can wait for him and for Star to reply together....", She smiled and Janna looked between the two of them before smirking, "I'll stay too, except i'll be checking out the kitchen....you two have fun...".

She zipped out before Marco could protest about her doing such and slammed the door in front of him, he grumbled for a bit, then awkwardly turned to his crush and nodded with his reddened face. "Yeah, I mean....I guess..If you want...".

She took a seat on his bed and he took an awkward seat next to her, they were alone in a room together and it partially reminded him of that time at the party were he and Tom were sitting on the bed together awkwardly. They were staring at a mirror and Marco wasn't sure what to say at all to her.

Jackie didn't look nervous though, in all she seemed rather calm and even during this scary situation with Tom was keeping her cool that things would turn out well soon. He admired that about her, he was a nervous wreck right now and he was sure if they reversed roles Tom would be fuming.

"You have a crush on me....don't you?"

Marco felt his heart drop at her words, he was beat red and although he wasn't looking at Jackie she could probably tell he was as well. Marco wasn't sure what to say next how to respond to this sudden question, was he supposed to deny it or go through with it?

"I-I.....", Marco searched for words to say in his embarrassment, but to his surprise Jackie laughed at him awkwardness. Marco managed a slight laugh with her unsure if she was laughing at him or with him, "You...Uh, How-?".

"Marco, we've been hanging out awhile, after spending time with you....and noticing how you act, It was a bit obvious....", She bit her lip, "You get all nervous and you talk weird and not to mention your red face....it's cute, you just...have you had this for very long?".

Marco's brain was all fuzzy, "Well...I-I uh....I've uh...had a crush on you since kindergarten...And I-I....uh...". Jackie didn't looked disgusted, in fact, she seemed to be taking it pretty well, she let Marco talk and take all the time he needed to try and clam down. "Marco, It's ok, I think it's cool you like me....It's not weird or anything...", Jackie patted his head, "Dude, it's nothing to be embarrassed about...you have a crush on me, and you have a crush on Tom....that's not weird".

Marco blushed harder, "What? I-Uh.."

Then Jackie suddenly got embarrassed at Marco's response," I-Uh...Mean, unless you

don't

and I kinda said that without knowing any better and made things kinda weird between us now...". Marco put his arms out in front of him, "No, No......I Uh..It's just..I...don't know, I don't know if i have a crush on him.. lately I've been focusing so much more on helping him that I've just kinda...I've been putting that off to the side a lot until we can actually talk about it."

He turned to look at her, "What's up with everybody thinking me and Tom are dating or that I like him and-?". Then Marco face palmed at them embracing at the party as well as giving Tom his hoodie, not to mention how they held each other in public sometimes, he also had a feeling Janna also had something to do with it.

Jackie laughed, "Hey, it's ok!! Nothing to be ashamed of! You two can figure things out when he gets back!". Marco gave her a funny look,"You're....taking me liking you and maybe liking Tom really well....I just...I'd worry you'd think I'd choose between you guys or-".

Jackie patted his head, "Dude, we're friends....first and foremost, just like you and Tom are....friends get crushes on each other sometimes, it's nothing new. I'm totally fine on you having crushes if you want on other people, it's not like we're dating or anything right now...".

"Yeah, that's true...", he said quietly," I-I'm sorry you found out that way, I wanted to tell you sooner that I liked you but...It's just...It's not easy to talk about that stuff to their face.". Jackie pulled him in for a one-armed hug, "It's ok....I wanted to bring it up, because I had a feeling it's been why you took so long to call...".

"Maybe a little..", he admitted, "Tom likes me, and I'm not whether to return his feelings or what, I can't make a choice because every turn could be the wrong one....". Jackie gave him a sad smile,"Having a Marco moment?". Marco nodded and she rubbed his back, "Don't worry about it too hard, we're all still kids after all, you have time to figure this out later...".

"Yeah...yeah...you're right, thanks....that means a lot to me...", Marco smiled at her and then a noise got them to focus back on the mirror where Tom just now entered. He was dressed all fancy but looked very nervous and upset as he approached his bed, Marco didn't hesitate to speak up.

"Tom!! We're gonna get you out, Star is getting help and it shouldn't be much longer!", Tom looked towards the screen, he looked sad, but he nodded without really looking at him. Marco looked concerned, "Tom? Did something happen at the dinner?".

"No...it's....what if I never get out of here Marco? What If no one's coming for me?", He looked towards the cat bowl, "What if they erase my memory or who knows what to me and you guys are never able to help me escape? Or worse, they get you too!!?".

"Tom, it's going to be fine you don-"

"Marco, this has been happening for ages and no one has ever done squat to help anyone in my line before!! You think I'm gonna be any different?", Tom almost yelled into the bowl, "What If they don't come? What if i'm not worth it?".

"Tom.....what did they say to you at dinner?", Jackie asked calmly, Tom was taken aback by her voice coming from the other end as well, but continued to speak. "They.....look I just feel so small, I don't have any say in my life and i'm not...they have my life planned out for me ok? After they finish molding me they know who i'm going to court and i'm....I'm worried.", He grabbed his wand and rubbed it against his face, "I'm not confident guys...I feel like they sucked a lot of the juice out of me...".

"It'll be ok Tom....", Marco said softly, "Even If they don't help, we'll still save you..".

"Marco, I left to keep you guys safe...", he replied,"I promised to obey and listen all for you, what if none of this works? If they can't help me you guys sure can't! I have to rely on everyone to save me to be free and you guys could die and-".

"Tom, what brought this up?"

"You guys shouldn't come after me.....", Tom said, "I should've pushed Star away when she brought that bowl and stuff, I was just so excited to see her again and speak to you that I forgot why I left in the first place!! I don't want you guys risking your lives for me!!".

"Tom, we can't just let you stay there!!", Marco argued, "You're my best friend and you deserve so much better!!". Tom shook his head, "I chose my own fate Marco, I did it for you, I knew what I was getting into when I came here and now....ugh....".

"Tom....".

"You guys shouldn't have come back for me....", He admitted, "You guys should've just moved on with your lives and let me accept this, tomorrow they're gonna start on me and who knows how i'll be after everything, if i'll even remember you...". This must have been what happened at dinner, they were talking about all the things they were going to do to Tom, "Tom, we're going to save you, you would do the same thing for me and no one is getting left behind..".

"Marco, my fate is sealed, I'm nothing more then a danger to you....you're safer staying away......", Tom mumbled, "I almost zapped you, I scare you when I get angry, people mock you because of me, It was nice to see you again...and talk to you...but you're not going to save me Marco...i'm never going to be free from all of this..".

"Tom...how long have you been feeling like this?",Tom sighed, "Since we started talking again, Marco I'm not confident in this plan, and I don't think I ever will be....you guys are not worth dying or getting hurt just to save me...if I have to live my life like this..".

"You deserve a choice Tom...everybody does, you just want to be yourself and do whatever you want....you should not have to live the rest of your life like this at all, you should be able to live on earth if you want to and rule as who you are.". Marco closed his eyes, "Tom, i'm scared too....i'm terrified, but you're my best friend and we're a team....t-the blood moon bonded us together, doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Tom blushed hard, "Look It doesn't matter what bond we have, no bond is stopping me from making a choice!!". Jackie was now looking between the two of them in question, Marco looked to be a bit heartbroken at Tom's response and he was glad Tom couldn't see his face for once. "Tom...it's not that I don't want you to be making your own choices, but...what about us? What about us hanging out together? Don't you want that? To come back to earth...?".

"Oh course I do Marco....but...If there's nothing you can do....then i'm not coming back...", Tom said, "You're gonna have to let me go....you can't keep pushing for something that'll never happen...". Marco argued back, "No, Tom listen to me, we

will

save you....we're not leaving you behind...

I'm

not leaving you behind!!!"

Tom was about to say something when he heard footsteps running down the hallway, he closed his eyes and furrowed his brow and much to Marco's terror, pointed a wand at the cat bowl. "Tom, please don't do anything crazy...this is our only way of talking to you and....Tom please...".

"Give me one reason not to!!"

"Because I LIKE YOU TOO!!!", Marco practically shouted into the screen, Tom's eyes widened and so did Jackie's. Tom lowered his wand and Marco sighed in relief, until he noticed Tom smiling in a wicked manner, much to Marco's terror Tom was transforming, he grew taller, older, and scarier.

Tom's dad.

"Hello Marco...", He said coolly, Marco furrowed his brows and the tears flowed freely. "Where's Tom? What have you done with him?", Marco could hear Marshmallow squeaking in fear in the background as the king stared at him. "I knew something was suspicious about Tom, why he looked so happy to return to his room, why he seemed to talk to himself in here.....I have to admit, I was NOT expecting to learn so much when we got Tom to confess....he almost blasted you? He's such a softie that even I didn't think he'd turn on you..".

Marco was at a loss for words, his mind traveled to the worst thoughts to where his best friend could be and none of them were were pleasant in the slightest. The king smiled, "I wasn't sure if when we finally got Tom to talk if he was even remotely telling the truth or not about a talking cat or being bound to a mortal...but looks like you've cleared that up for me, making you less useless then I thought...".

"Y-you..."

"Tricked you into revealing you were planning to break my son out? Got you to admit you and my son were closer then I thought? I'm not an idiot Marco, when I heard Princess Lucitor made a visit around the same time those little monsters did, I had a feeling something was up...", He crossed his arms, then proceeded to play around a bit with Tom's wand, "Tom seemed so hopeful you know? His choice to leave was noble of course ...but part of him hoped there was a chance things could change....".

"You're sick!!!!", Jackie said much to Marco's surprise.

"I'm just doing what's

best

for him, he will get eaten alive out there without learning to harness his anger and grow strong from it. He needs to learn it when he's young, he would've died at that one assassin's hand if he hadn't used his magic...", Marco flashed back to the first time he saw Tom get angry but shook it off, "Don't try to act like your actions were good!!! Tom wouldn't be so messed up if it wasn't for you!! He's only a kid....can't he grow up like one? Grown up and be his own king instead of your stupid clone?"

"A good king doesn't let the prince conspire against me like this,  he broke his promise....there's no reason I shouldn't just go to you right now and finish this...", Marco shuddered, "This is the last warning I make to you Marco Diaz...stay away from us....or you'll be sorry..".

"WHERE'S TOM??!!", Marco shouted again.

The king said nothing before his eyes and cheekmarks started to glow a bright green, and that was the last thing they saw before the mirror broke into a bunch of pieces and the two had to duck behind the bed for safety. Marco was breathing very heavily, he looked over himself, and then to Jackie.

"Are you hurt?".

Jackie showed a slight cut on her arm, but other then that she was fine.

"What are we going to do now?", She asked, ignoring the pain and choosing to focus more on the fact that Tom was interrogated during dinner and he could be anywhere by now being tortured. Marco wasn't sure how to reply until he heard his phone buzz and Janna burst through the door with a mouthful of chips.

"Yo Star called!!"

Marco quickly made his way to his phone to she the text clear as day on his phone, tears falling onto the bright screen.

We got help, when do we start?

Marco looked between the bleeding Jackie and the confused Janna who was staring at the broken mirror and quickly typed a reply into his phone.

Now.

[phoenixtakaramono]

G&G ch15 (Sneak Peek)

Here’s an exclusive sneak peek, courtesy of @suis0u! You may thank her for this occasion. :) See you all again on AO3/ fanfiction(dot)net when the whole chapter is ready to be posted!

Eyes still shut, Harry brought his forehead down to his hands. His fingers were clasped, and his thumbs were hard-pressed against the bridge of his nose. He took a long intake of breath—holding it in his lungs—and then he exhaled through his mouth. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm.

For the next few minutes, he repeated the cathartic exercise, collecting his thoughts. His mouth still tasted of bitter herbs, from his morning ritual. Trying to mask the taste with toothpaste and food hadn’t any effect.

Aside from bits and pieces, while Harry couldn’t exactly recall all the specifics from his reoccurring dream, he supposed that his Animagus transformation was progressing as intended. It seemed to follow what Hermione had informed him about what Headmistress Minerva McGonagall had given a lecture about—regarding the symbolisms behind significant dreams and nightmares.

It was what McGonagall herself had gone through, as well as Harry’s mum, his dad and his dad’s friends—including Harry’s godfather and Remus.

Harry would not know his animal form prior to the transformation—and it was a tedious process of necessitating the leaf of a mandrake in his mouth for an entire month for the purposes of a required potion recipe, with him reciting an incantation over it regularly—but the answer was supposed to be hinted at in a dream state while one underwent the process. Harry had the expectation that he was a stag—maybe a buck—following in the footsteps of his parents.

He worried his lower lip.

Currently Harry was seated inside his office—silent, save for the own noises he emitted. The tip of his foot was tapping restlessly against the laminated floorboards.

The weight in his pocket rested heavy against his thigh. The temptation was there to check his pocket watch again for the hundredth time.

His eyes opened to tall stacks—a rainbow spectrum—laid out on his desk. The folders and parchments been organized according to a color-coded system. Manila files concerned cases belonging to the Law Enforcement department, green were psychological assessments, blue always contained reports from Forensics, so on and so forth.

There was one exception to the organization. Placed atop a folder was a golden snitch, serving as paperweight. Disguised as another case file, the contents of a manila folder underneath contained updates from the Department of Mysteries and any information pertaining to the time traveler. Copies of specific passages from historic works were also included. To anyone else not privy to the secret, the majority of the content appeared redacted—ink concealing classified and confidential information.

Adjacent to his view was a green file notably thicker than the rest. Scrawled on its tab was a personnel’s name. In it contained the newest documents from their recent evaluation. Staring at the name, Harry’s foot tapping becoming louder. Finally, he averted his gaze sideways.

His sight skittered past the toxicology and autopsy reports, a rotary dial telephone that gleamed bronze, today’s Daily Prophet tabloid, an ink pot and quill, opened letters from Kohaku Takeda-Mushin and from the President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, and down the length of his arm. Official-looking documents passed his vision, spilling over his desk and down out of sight. Instead of parchment for stationery and bills, upholding tradition the Wizengamot used sheets from a roll of handcrafted cotton fibers. Embossed into the laid pattern was the enormous Ministry of Magic seal. And all the way down the lengthy text were the angular strokes and slashes that made up Harry’s handwriting.

Silver candy wrappers were by an elbow he’d propped on his desk. By his other elbow was red cup on a red saucer, filled halfway with milk tea. Preserved by a heating charm, tendrils of steam could still be seen wafting from the cup. Across the table was a silver serving tray. Balanced on it were a tea pot, napkins, a cup of sugar cubes, a small milk saucer, extra cups, saucers, and tea bags.

Framed on the alcove behind him hung ornamental framed portraits—the subjects depicting men and one woman wearing uniforms which reflected the time period of their tenure. All of the Head Aurors from English history were either sleeping or, having grown bored of watching Harry do nothing but peruse the paperwork, their painting was left vacant while the subject traveled across enchanted paintings in the Ministry to socialize.

In the center of the framed artworks was a large black-and-white map of the United Kingdom—including England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. White dots pulsated on the map wherever illegal magical activities were detected. The map spanned the length of the rosewood desk that Harry had inherited from the Head Auror who’d preceded him.

The activity had long since calmed down when it notified the proper divisions—reaching the Auror Office in extreme cases or alerting the Ministry of Magic Witch Watchers division to send out their Witch Watcher Special Forces—while the Ministry representatives stationed in the Improper Use of Magic Office conducted further investigations. It fell on Harry to disperse the proper assignments whenever Hermione was overwhelmed with responsibilities.  

Or whenever she was suffering from her pregnancy symptoms.

Harry exhaled through his mouth, his brows furrowing. Reaching for an unwrapped treat, he broke the foil apart.

The sound of chattering and tinny squeaks broke the silence. Immediately he pinched the wiggling, enchanted mouse firmly by the body, popping it into his mouth. His teeth sliced the sweet into pieces, breaking the enchantment.

The intense medicinal taste of mint coated his tongue, instantly waking his brain up and clearing his sinuses. All he could smell now was the peppermint oil, purifying the memory of the odor which’d emerged from his recollection.

Both he and Hermione had been in the forensics science laboratory of their chief medical examiner in the morning, listening to the summarization of the coroner’s report of the post-mortem examinations that had been ordered by the Committee. The corpses brought out onto the wooden tables for autopsy had appeared in the same condition that they’d been magically preserved at the site of the investigation.

Although the interior was a controlled environment, the odor had stung the nose. Like being in a meat locker, the stench of death had hung in the mortuary. It had intermingled with the scent of beeswax.

Floating above the bleached skin of each cadaver had been lit candlesticks. Several candles had already melted down into pale stumps. Clean sheets had been placed over the trolls to respectfully concealing them below the clavicle. Their appearance was arguably as repulsive as when they’d been alive, although it was easier to imagine gargoyle in their place now with the muscles having fallen lax in their gigantic faces.  

Both he and Hermione had similar miserable expressions. His was having had little to no sleep, whereas Hermione had been acting off ever since Ron had been stationed overseas. (Harry had assumed Ron would’ve taken the opportunity to return occasionally, having been given one of the International Portkeys that the rest of the Aurors had been assigned. Yet with the way she’d been acting, Harry couldn’t help but worry.)

It’d only been a few weeks; by the end of the month, they were expected to give the Head Auror a report.

He remembered observing the features of his deputy’s face beside him, reevaluating this dependency that existed between him and Hermione. Rather predictably, when Harry had recounted the events of that night to quite possibly one of the only two confidantes he had for this sensitive issue, he’d received a lecture. He remembered Hermione’s palms had been pressed together, fingertips tapping together erratically.

Throughout his debriefing, it was in her body language that he could read that the witch was, many times, on the verge of blurting whatever was on her mind. In moments like these, he could still see the same eleven year old schoolgirl interspersed over the adult she’d grown into.

He’d always relied on her researching skills; out of habit, he came to her this time for counsel on the nenja and wakashū matter. It’d made him feel conflicted—and no small amounts of guilt—when Hermione gave him a look of concern. After hearing him out, she’d declared, “I don’t suppose you’ll like hearing this, but he is a demon. Eastern origins or not. I’ll see what I can gather but…,” here she hesitated, before finishing, “…isn’t he taking advantage of your kindness?”

That hadn’t made him feel any better.

Harry exhaled once more. It wasn’t as easy to pretend optimism for the tension that bled into his workplace and into his excursions with the time traveler. With each day that passed, he could feel the inevitability that he’d soon be dragged into the marital conflict between Ron and Hermione. The memory was still fresh in his mind, the night Hermione confessed to him her doubts.  

It also made Harry realize, that just like her, what he’d been seeking was reassurance—to hear from another human being that he was overanalyzing and worrying over nothing.

He’d found his thoughts orbiting around Sesshomaru these days. Try as he might otherwise, there was always a gravitational pull bringing him back. The time traveler was all Harry could think of. After all, in his effort to be as broadminded as possible, Harry had misjudged.

These days he looked forward to the scheduled arrangements with Sesshomaru, with each trip traveling further and further into the Forbidden Forest. In a way, he couldn’t help but feel optimistic that they were making some progress toward pinpointing the location of the Resurrection Stone.

As long as they covered ground with each excursion, Harry counted it as a success.

Harry had underestimated the nature of the person he was minding. Because of that emerged a complication; Sesshomaru’s attraction to him was an anomaly. And Harry was in a moral situation where he couldn’t reciprocate, interested or not. It was not a situation where they could have a one-night stand to get it out of their system. Harry didn’t have to be a magizoologist or a practitioner of demonology to understand that this development between him and Sesshomaru didn’t bode well.

Although Harry liked to think he was above bigotry, demons had been a topic covered in his Defense against the Dark Arts curriculum. Even Gilderoy Lockhart, the con-artist that taught in Harry’s second year at Hogwarts, had been aware of their infamy, fabricating a demonic encounter in his books. Much as Harry lobbied to push the betterment of magical creature rights agenda in the ICW, even he couldn’t turn a blind eye to the reality that demons carried a fearsome reputation for a reason.

An Englishman with his education, Harry was more familiar with mythos on the Western hemisphere than on the Eastern front. The suffering that ensued after falling under dark influence or demonic possession were cautionary tales. Although different mythologies existed, and however overtly exaggerated eyewitness accounts may scatter around the globe, they all generally pointed to demons as malevolent entities that tempted and corrupted all those that made a deal with them.

Harry had simply never thought that he’d himself land in this predicament.

Gloved hands slamming down against the armrests, Harry shoved himself from his seat. The wheels of the chair skittered behind him as he went to pace his office. The carpet muffled his footsteps as his hands went to rake through his hair. His fingertips were digging against the scalp.

Sesshomaru did not belong in their twenty-first century.

Sesshomaru was from ancient Japan—from a brutal war period.

Sesshomaru was an archaic, historical figure of some sort of high upbringing.

Sesshomaru was a Dark magical creature—a demon, no less.

Sesshomaru was a warlord, with not only culturally different but outdated values and traditions.

Sesshomaru, by demon society’s standards, could be considered younger than Harry.

Sesshomaru wanted Harry to pledge vassalage to him.

Sesshomaru liked Harry—all the signs were there, strange was some of them were.

Sesshomaru only had Harry to rely on; he had been purposely isolated to depend on Harry.

While Harry would like to think it was because Sesshomaru grew to be attached to him naturally, it would be naïve to think that it was because they were both nobility—presumably; Harry still wasn’t certain about the demon’s confusing titles—or that he was charmed by him. Sesshomaru was somehow attracted to him.

He was attracted to a contemporary warlock that could stand to lose everything should Harry reciprocate that bit of attraction.

On one hand, Harry could be being played. Sesshomaru had over five hundred years of wisdom; there is little that he wouldn’t have seen by now.

On the other hand, a five-hundred year old demon might authentically be intrigued by Harry—apparently the first overseas wizard he’d met. If it were the latter, Harry could see how Sesshomaru had determined Harry to have value. There were many wild theories he could think of regarding how he’d captured the demon’s attention in the first place.

Japan did have a period of isolation. If Sesshomaru was a clever opportunist, then he was sowing the seeds for a secure future, whether if it was for himself or for his country’s subjects. Were Harry to think of Sesshomaru as a Slytherin, the demon most likely discerned the benefits of allying with a foreign bureaucrat who so happened to not only command the entirety of a country’s law enforcement force but also have certain diplomatic influence overseas. Although Sesshomaru’s method was unorthodox—wanting to establish himself as Harry’s mentor—that excuse could serve a dual purpose of deepening their camaraderie. If Harry thought well of him, then he would be more willing to accommodate him. In a way, Harry could understand how, in the feudal warlord’s eyes, it was parsed that the wizard minding him held significant influence that could be exploitable.

Sesshomaru could have ascertained that it could only be an advantageous asset to him.

Harry’s hands lowered, until one was rubbing the back of his neck while the other hand braced his forearm. He could feel the solid length of his wand holster as his imagination ran rampant.

Harry was only grateful that he seemed to be the target of Sesshomaru’s focus, and not his deputy or—worse—the Acting Minister. While Harry did not think a sole magical creature could bring instability to Shacklebolt’s tenure, at the same time, Harry didn’t ask to be in this dilemma.

Approaching the coffee desk, Harry whirled around in another circle.

But what’s done is done. Running away from reality would change nothing. He had to minimize the damage. He had to confront the issue. The quickest solution would be rejecting Sesshomaru directly.

Yet there were somethings particular about Sesshomaru that made Harry hesitate.

Harry was actually fond of the dog demon, quirks and all. Sesshomaru did not seem like a duplicitous individual, demonic nature or no demonic nature. It did not seem like he was acting. If anything, Sesshomaru was not hiding his condescending attitude or downplaying the cruelty of his past exploits when those deeds came to be questioned. If the five-hundred year old magical creature did not like someone, the difference in regard was palpable.

Sesshomaru certainly did not act like his Japanese contemporaries who hid their disagreements behind smiles and a seemingly agreeable nature. He was astonishingly genuine. Sometimes instances of forward behavior broke through aloof formalities.

Sesshomaru reminded Harry of Severus Snape and—to an extent—Lucius Malfoy, if they were Gryffindorish and attractive. That behavior of Sesshomaru’s did not fit the objective of someone covering their tracks in order to make a good impression. And Harry did not think someone of that peculiar military background was that careless of an individual—nobility or royalty or not. Sesshomaru even had his thoughtful moments—being kind to Teddy and Astoria, and having the mercy to give Harry space to consider his offer of mentorship.

Besides, if it were an act, then Sesshomaru would make for a frighteningly convincing liar. At that thought, Harry’s mouth moved into a self-deprecating smirk. However, as cautious as Harry wanted to be, there was little evidence to suggest he was being played as a fool.

Speculation was all Harry had.

The only noteworthy amendment to Harry’s initial profiling, besides the development of a romantic and possibly sexual attraction, was that Lord Sesshomaru was a remarkably impulsive man.

Should Sesshomaru prove to be too reckless, Harry might one day find himself in the position being forced to choose. The wizarding world was as unkind as the nonmagical one. If this was a ruse, not only would Harry have to follow up with countermeasures, but it could potentially complicate things. He would have to decide between pardoning those infractions with the highest authority and taking responsibility as the Head Auror.

Harry released a sigh so loud that he felt it down to his toes. If this was as simple as a ploy to get on Harry’s good side, Harry could only hope he had the mental fortitude to see through any ulterior motives. If it was as simple as a crush, he could ignore it or gently let the other party down. Those alone were manageable.

At the level their flirting was, it was chaste.

Harmless.

Tolerable.

Within acceptable parameters.

If this operation had a short duration, Harry could imagine distancing himself, emphasizing on a platonic relationship—a friendship or alliance, ideally—hinting that he was not seeking a relationship. The other party had to have common sense and be emotionally sensitive enough to sense a lost cause.

He was not as confident if the time traveler’s fancy surged into intense feeling for him. The development of feelings was often irrational and uncontrollable. A flickering ember could turn into a blazing fire. If it came down to that….

Harry faltered, frowning at the surrealism of such a scenario.

Regardless, a Dark magical creature that this Japanese figurehead may be, a person was not defined by their race. Sesshomaru will get the benefit of the doubt. The hand that supported his elbow in a thinking position squeezed.

No matter which suspicions cycled through his head, Harry would not be bigoted. Unless proven otherwise, Sesshomaru was deserving of the same measure of courtesy and kindness. Harry was not going to repeat the close-minded or disgraceful behavior that’d personally made Harry suffer, and others he’d cared about, from their ignorance.

At this point, Sesshomaru was docile and would continue to make life easier for Harry in order to impress him. It was better than were Harry to reject him, thereby facing the consequences of an unpredictable, spurned demon.

It was not so much denial as it was an accepting tolerance for his situation. Or a stroke of insanity.

He groaned to himself, “This is getting yourself nowhere, Chosen One. Why does this have to be so complicated?” He flung his arms up. “Just tell him. Save yourself the hassle.”

It was easier said than done. Despite saying it aloud, common sense wasn’t enough to spur him into action.

It only made the incentive to stay quiet—stronger.

An expletive rushed out of his mouth. Scowling, Harry marched back to his desk. Angling a hip over his desk, he hoisted himself up until he was sitting on a corner of his desk. He stared once more at the green folder, before he picked up the rolled newsprint.

Two letters fell out when he unraveled the twine. Dread pooled in his gut when he saw Doge’s letterhead to him.

Harry knew this was all in his mind, but he could swear, upon seeing Umbridge’s name, that the back of his hand burned. Involuntarily, his fingers curled. Already opened, it was an official claim form to a court hearing, with the trial date declared to be soon. The subpoena attached behind the first document specified the exact location, scheduled date and time of Harry’s appearance for his testimony.

Hermione’s words were clanging in his head like a bell the longer he stared at Doge’s letter.

The remaining letter was unopened. His mood instantly lightened upon reading the immaculate cursive. The letter had been dropped off at the Ministry earlier this morning by owl. Written by a female hand, it was addressed to him from Andromeda and Teddy.

He could feel his fist unclenching. Under the gentlest of smiles, he folded that letter into his trouser pocket—to be read later. The claim form was deposited uncaringly into his pocket. To set his mind on other subjects, he unrolled the newspaper. Scanning the adverts and columns on the front page, the main article caught his eye.

ORGAN-GRO – THE FUTURE OF RUBENS WINIKUS AND COMPANY INC?

Grinning up at Harry was a wizard around his age, but with impressive facial hair. He was waving about his tobacco pipe as he was being photographed by the small crowd gathered in his potions lab. Arranged on the table were Petri dishes, containing what appeared, to Harry, to be tissue samples.

Son of the exclusive manufacturer and developer of the Skele-Gro potion, young Potions prodigy Rubens Winikus III unveils the progress of the miraculous Organ-Gro healing potion in a special public appearance, wrote A. Fenetre, Special Correspondent. Having graduated Hogwarts of Witchcraft and Wizardry with high marks in N.E.W.T level subjects, Winikus III had the brilliant idea of combining the Oculus potion and Skele-Gro one day when his girlfriend punctured her eyes after an unfortunate fall on her knitting needles.

The article detailed the son’s education and accomplishments, before generously divulging a portion of the ingredients needed for Organ-Gro: a Chinese chomping cabbage, three puffer fish, a small sprinkling of chopped Dittany, and stewed Mandrake—

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Scchk.

Harry stopped reading when he heard the harsh, telltale sound of the cherrywood wall panels and wainscots collapsing in on itself like origami. Someone had to be approaching his office. The walls folding into nonexistence, light flooded past the tall two-way mirrors.

Harry winced.

Once the rattling faded, human and mechanical clamoring immediately followed. Through the ten walls he could hear the risings and fallings of discussions, heated exchanges, the ding of the lift doors, and braying laughter. (He didn’t have to look to know the adjoined office outside was empty; his deputy had been sent to the Department of Mysteries earlier to check in on Sesshomaru.)

Bringing a hand over his eyes, Harry squinted against the sudden brightness.

With each side of the decagon, Harry had a line of sight to all the different divisions that made up his department. This transparency was a privilege afforded to every Head Auror. With this, Harry could monitor everyone, but no one could see into his office. Doors lined each side, granting him passage to whichever sector he pleased.

Being the largest department in the Ministry of Magic, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were fragmented into the main branch—where he, as Head Auror, held the largest sway—and the administrative branch.

It could be said that every division had its unique interior.

The Auror Office had their iconic cubicles that Aurors were passing in and out of. The division of Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad nearby had various wizards studying the Wanted posters lining the walls and bulletins. Next to that, the Department of Intoxicating Substances, the Investigation Department, and the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol division were similar only in their vaulted barrel ceilings—arched trusses made of bricks.

The Wizengamot and Wizengamot Administration Services division had a corridor that led to a circular chamber within, with fifty individuals gathered around a bench seemingly in danger of collapsing under the weight of the piles of parchments. Large tomes submerged the desks and shelves of the Administrative Registration Department. The Improper Use of Magic Office—a room with a pair of file cabinets flanking the massive desk in the center—and the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office—another cramped room filled to the brink with knickknacks and curiosities—were situated nearby. The Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects had a tiny but drab office space filled with files and charmed Muggle objects.

It was from this last division that Harry saw a gangly wizard marching toward him, fists clenched and with a determined look. His face was red, his freckles were invisible. He was wearing a trench coat, as if he’d recently returned from his trip overseas.

A stream of profanities flew from Harry’s mouth. He sprinted back around his desk. He’d thrown himself into his chair when Ron pounded on the door, rattling the glass.

“Harry!” Ron barked, his breath fogging up the mirror’s surface briefly. He hammered the surface twice more. “I know you’re in there! We need to talk!”

“Sod this,” Harry growled. He could already see various wizards and witches poking their heads out, curious about the commotion. Flicking his gaze over his desk, he shoved all opened wrappers into the waste bin under his desk.  Opening his drawer, he threw Sesshomaru’s file into it, too preoccupied to notice the tiny metal ball that’d careened off. He slammed the drawer closed.

Harry scanned the perimeter of his office once more. Nothing would seem unusual to the untrained eye. He squared his shoulders.

Past his racing heart, Harry finally bade, “You—” He cleared his throat. “You can come in, Ron.”

The door opened with a click, and the glass shuddered when it was closed again. Harry had risen to his feet when Ron maneuvered around the furniture. His footsteps thundered as he charted his way to Harry’s desk.

Harry took a deep breath. “Isn’t it a bit early to see me—?”

A fist collided against Harry’s cheek.

Harry had to throw an arm out to catch himself. Clinging to the edge of the desk, he dragged himself back onto his feet. His wand was already in his hand. Cupping the side of his face, he demanded, “What the hell, Ron?”

“You’re a complete wanker, Harry!”

“It doesn’t mean you can assault me!”

A tense silence enveloped them. Both men were glaring at each other. Tension was palpable in the air. Yet, Ron was still unarmed; only Harry had drawn his wand.

After a while, Ron drew back. He’d crossed his arms around his chest. He grunted. “Did it hurt?”

Harry said, “Shite, Ron.” He gingerly prodded his cheek, and then his jaw. The entire left side of his face was burning. Past the blood rushing in his ears, he heard himself growling, “What do you think?”

“You deserve it, you plonker.” Ron inhaled deeply, his voice growing softer as if he had been satisfied with Harry’s answer. He seemed to sag into himself now. “You okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. I’m pissed off, that’s what I am.”

“Good.”

To Harry’s surprise, Ron collapsed into one of the two armchairs across Harry’s desk.

Ron was sprawled in an undignified slouch. Limbs spread like a ragdoll, he was glowering at the engraved nameplate on Harry’s desk. Under Harry’s watchful gaze, in the most unapologetic tone Ron muttered, “Sorry.”

Harry was about to unleash more obscenities, with the freeness that their American counterparts utilized, when he realized the racket they must have made.

His eyes lurched to the windows.

The tension in his shoulders dissipated as relief engulfed him. No one seemed to have noticed. The visual reminder, that no one could see or hear them outside of the office’s enchantment, was reassuring. He glanced again in Ron’s direction.

The tip of his wand lowered.

In the moment it took Harry to scan his surroundings, Ron had begun helping himself to the tea set on the tray. All of his movements—pouring tea, scooping sugar cubes with a spoon, and so forth—no matter how small, were abrupt and jittery. His gaze had remained trained on Harry’s title and name etched a shiny gold in the black brass.

“You don’t have anything to report?”

“No. I’m not here for that.”

Pointing the Holly wand at his own unfinished cup, Harry watched as a jet of blue wisps formed at the end. Condensation soon formed on the ceramic surface, its liquid contents now having frozen over. His eyes pinned to Ron’s form, Harry slowly sank back down. He’d brought the chilled cup to his cheek, dulling the ache as he waited for Ron to explain himself.

Harry already had an idea of what this could be.

“Hermione…,” he heard Ron begin. Ron had brought his cup to his mouth. He mumbled to the rim, “My wife listens to my best mate. And my best mate listens to her, instead of me. I don’t even feel like her husband. Isn’t this just brilliant?”

So you have gone back to see her, Harry wanted to say aloud. Instead he stayed silent, frowning pensively.

Harry had conversed with enough people to gather that social convention dictated marital problems were generally settled privately between a husband and wife. Harry had wanted the pair to work things out themselves. But as much as he wished to respect their privacy, he found himself slowly losing patience with how juvenile his friends were behaving, avoiding each other and not communicating with each other.

If their job performance was affected by personal issues, Harry had no choice. If they had to rely on a neutral third party, then Harry was willing to offer his opinion to his best mates.

He did, however, realize he’d lent his ear to Hermione more often than Ron. He wasn’t certain whether it was the result of a bias. There would be numerous factors that could contribute to his partiality. Hermione was, after all, one of his closest friends. Unlike Ron, there hadn’t been any moments that Harry could remember in their childhood where Hermione had thrown a jealous fit.

Nonetheless, because of that meeting, Harry realized he’d erred his other best mate in some way. It also didn’t help that Counselor Thicknesse was keeping a close eye on the Head Auror, ready to chastise Harry for showing obvious favoritism again. The friendship between Harry and Ron reminded Harry of how it’d been during the Triwizard Tournament.

Knowing both their personalities, it had only been a matter of time before they had their confrontation.

There was also a part of Harry, the lonely little man who craved companionship that wanted to repair the friendship and make things to how it was before. Harry grimaced, shifting his attention back from his thoughts.

Studying Ron’s slouched form, Harry felt the guilt ebb as he took in the sight of his Auror in his office. This was his command center. This was Harry’s domain that Ron had forced his way into. Straightening his back, Harry asked coolly, “What do you want me to say?” He kept his tone inquisitive, but not intruding. Despite that, his knuckles were pale underneath his gloves.

“Don’t.” Ron grimaced. Scrutinizing his tea, he said, “Please don’t do that. I want my best mate; not my boss.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth tugged down further, but he didn’t say anything. Another silence descended upon them.

Sensing that this wasn’t going to be a quick conversation, Harry traced three sides of a rectangle in the air. Then, he slashed the wand down.

The door sealed itself with an audible click. With another wave of his wand, the wooden walls unfolded with sharp rattling noises until the office was once again submerged in the illusion of privacy. Ron might be able to relax now without the psychological pressure of feeling a hundred eyes on him.

Only the green banker’s lamp on his desk and the wall sconces provided the office a cozy glow.

“I am your boss,” Harry scolded. As emphasis, he gestured down at his nameplate.

Both Counselor Thicknesse and Acting Minister Shacklebolt had counseled Harry that he had to make the distinction between work and his personal life. While it frightened Harry sometimes when he reflected back on the degree of apathy affecting his judgement, it became a source of comfort to default to that. As a Head Auror, it made the decision-making less emotionally draining. He got outcomes based on productivity. He also appeared more qualified. Less people were willing to take advantage of him.

As Harry had learned, acting professionally was often a failsafe method, versatile for many situations.

Harry lowered his own cup, the side of his face feeling cold and numb to the air. He steeled himself. Echoing what he’d been told, he recited verbatim: “Policies and procedures exist so that complacency isn’t an issue.”

“I know.” Ron also set his teacup down, clinking on the saucer. “But I want Harry. Not Harry Potter.”

“…Alright, we’ll do it your way. You have my full attention.” Spreading his arms out wide invitingly, Harry declared, “Don’t hold back. Talk. No worries about hurting my feelings.”

Ron averted his gaze. His sight remained trained on the folders, a dark cloud brewing on his face. With the illumination of the table lamp, the shadows underneath Ron’s eyes became more pronounced. The scruff along his jaw was fuller than the grey five o’clock shadow along Harry’s, as if Ron hadn’t shaved for days. Harry also didn’t know if it was his imagination, but the infamous fiery red hair seemed to be thinning. And to Harry’s wonderment, while it had been subtle before, it was evident that Ron had gained a bit of weight.

Ron squirmed, feeling the weight of the gaze leveled on him. At last, he mumbled gruffly, “How do you do it?”

Despite himself, Harry’s heart sunk. He cleared his throat. “Elaborate. How do I do what?”

“Alright, full disclosure?” He breathed out. “Why does she trust you, and not me?” His head rose. His eyes were a piercing blue. In a louder volume, he demanded, “What am I doing wrong?”

Harry stifled a sigh. “I cannot imagine,” he replied dryly.

“And calling me out in front of everyone? Have I done something to you?” Ron’s volume climbed with every accusation. His fists clenched and unclenched down by his thighs. “Why are you always taking each other’s side? I thought I was your best mate!”

“The things you say.” This was not good. He had to diffuse the tension. “This is getting ridiculous. Ron, look at me.”

Harry waited for him to heed the command. When Ron’s eyes reluctantly beheld his, Harry tapped at his own cheekbone, ignoring the twinge of pain. He said, “Firstly, I won’t say I don’t deserve this, maybe. But I can’t have this becoming a regular occurrence. I’m going to do things you happen to disagree with.”

“You got what was coming.”

“Ron, people are already accusing me of showing you favoritism.” Seeing the defensive retort about to leap up, Harry gave him a stern look. “You’d just assaulted me in my office. You hit your superintendent in the face. It is well within my rights to have you written up. Fill in the blanks.”

Ron’s lips thinned into a long white line.

Channeling Dumbledore’s unnerving calmness from his memories, Harry said, “Any other Head Auror would’ve pressed charges. Or sacked you. Yet we’re still here. Why do you think that is?”

Ron’s mouth opened and closed, incapable of finding the words. Unable to revive his fighting spirit, his body sagged. His eyes had fallen again from Harry’s gaze. To keep himself busy, he fiddled with his thumbs, crossing and recrossing his legs.

His patience was diminishing. Under a placating tone, he coaxed, “Work with me here, Ron. I’m not the enemy.” As visual emphasis, Harry rested his wand down on the desk, making certain Ron heard the thunk. Clasping gloved fingers together tightly, Harry said, “What do you think’s happening between me and Hermione? If it’s what I reckon you’re going to say, I call bollocks. Hermione is my Deputy Head Auror. And she is your wife. That’s it.”

“Funny how you leapt to that conclusion, before I said anything—”

His palm slammed down on the desk. “Ron, shut up!” Harry snapped, hearing the inception of that surly pigheadedness in Ron’s petulant tone. He could recall the knife edge of Ron’s jealous accusations from their school years. Incensed, he shouted, “We all know what you’re thinking. I promise you. Nothing’s happened! Nothing has been crossed! I swear on my parents’ graves….”

The defiance on Ron’s face dimmed exponentially. He reared back, looking uncomfortable.  

“…there is no affair! Hermione has been a faithful wife. I did not die for you to accuse me of—!”

“—Harry, I didn’t mean it,” Ron interrupted.

It was like a splash of cold water. Harry’s rant died on his lips as he stared at his mate’s bowed head, befuddled, doubting what he’d just heard. It couldn’t be this easy, was the thought running through his mind. He’d been expecting a fight. He’d been expecting for it to come to blows and explosions.

Although Ron’s head was downcast, he could see blue butcher eyes—partially hidden behind that fringe—zipping to the wand on the desk, as if its presence could console his apprehension.

“I…fuck, I’m—” Ron exhaled. “I’m sorry. I’m just paranoid, alright?”

The room wasn’t shaking. Nothing had fallen. Only the sounds of their breathing rushed to fill in the silence.

The tension in Ron’s shoulder seemed to have ebbed a bit, once he realized he hadn’t landed himself at the end of Harry’s infamous temper.

Ron shifted in his seat. The hush seemed to be getting to him. He was collecting his thoughts, his leg jittery, bouncing on his other knee to the speed his mind ran. “I didn’t imagine you’d be this—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, not upon spotting the sharp twist of Harry’s mouth. Hoarsely, he asked, “Nothing’s going on really?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Harry retorted crossly. He folded his arms, his fists digging into the crook of his elbows. “If I were a lesser man, I’d be offended. Walk a bit in my shoes. Do I look like the homewrecking sort?”

“You don’t…you’re not a homewrecker,” Ron admitted. He worried his lower lip, darting his tongue over chapped lips. “Has she said anything to you? I don’t want to be a jealous prat but sometimes a man…wonders, y’know? You’re her superintendent. She’s not been…making eyes at anyone else, has she? Or have you seen any bloke showing inappropriate interest in my wife?”

A throbbing sensation made itself known between Harry’s eyebrows. Pinching the patch of skin, he asked, “Sorry, have you talked with Hermione?” His hand shot up, halting whatever Ron had been about to say. His tone was grim. “No, have you two actually talked to each other like a civil couple?”

“I’m not certain what you—”

“For example,” Harry interjected, “did you know she started crying? In front of me? Guess the subject. It involves you.”

It was as physical of a blow as getting punched in the gut.

“…No. I can’t believe—really, Hermione was upset?” Ron’s voice was brittle, barely above a rasp.

“She certainly wasn’t happy.”

Ron’s expression was heartrending. “Mate… for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. She never said anything about…why do you…why did she come to you? Blimey, when was this? She never told me.”

“She was helping me with the ambassador’s situation. It was the same day Dumbledore’s Tomb was ransacked.” Exhaling a gust of breath, Harry leaned back in his seat. He explained, “She was distraught you would accuse her of cheating. She’s pregnant with your child, you wanker.”

“Blimey.”

Harry inclined his head, not agreeing vocally. The implication was nonetheless in his silence.

“And you’re telling me this? Now?” Ron’s tone was incredulous. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Would you have listened to me?” he asked. Then his expression became inscrutable. “Never mind that. It’s only…I didn’t want to meddle, y’know? This is your marriage. But this…marital spat of yours, it’s been going on for far too long. Even Goldstein’s picked up on it.”

Hearing their shrink’s name, Ron flinched.

Anthony Goldstein had been assigned to their department as the head psychiatrist, after having undergone intensive training at St Mungo’s. After the previous one retired, there had been an opening. Harry, Hermione, and Thicknesse had been impressed by the credentials the former Ravenclaw graduate presented them during their interview. Goldstein had been just as approachable as Harry remembered him in Dumbledore’s Army, his personality just as sunny as the color of his hair. He was still shorter than Harry—and he was still adamant in his resolve as a practicing Jew—but the boy Harry remembered him as was now a man applied to his duties.

Making up his mind, Harry tugged the green folder from underneath the papers. Then he asked, “Are you two getting a divorce?”

“What the—?” Ron’s eyes bulged. “No, I’m not getting a bloody divorce!”

Harry’s brows skyrocketed beneath his fringe. With much deliberateness, he slid the folder over so that the neat handwriting was illuminated by the table lamp. Ron’s eyes widened even further, spotting his name on the tab.

“I- I thought this was supposed to be confidential? Patient-therapist confidentiality?” Ron swallowed, his complexion paling. His freckles were brown constellations on his face. He reached for the file, demanding, “Why is it this big?”

“Goldstein’s notes are extraordinarily thorough,” Harry answered dryly, watching Ron flip through the documents at a feverish pace. “Which is why I’m inclined to ask what you’re doing to do about this. With what Goldstein wrote down, I’m worried for both of you. Especially you, Ron. You always look like you’ve slept over at George’s shop. For days.”

“Is that why you asked if we were getting divorced?” Ron demanded, his brows crumpling into a troubled frown as he skimmed Goldstein’s observations.

He read the scribbles—Disciplinary Charges. Problem-maker. Intelligent, aggressive, temperamental, and defensive. Loose cannon. PTSD symptoms: exhibits signs of paranoia and struggles reintegrating back into civilized society. Might need to arrange for reassignment from fieldwork to administrative duties.

Ron declared, “This is a load of hogwash.”

He didn’t look up even as Harry leaned across the desk, casting a long shadow over the wood.

“I’ll save you the legwork. You’re not even supposed to see this.” Covering the parchments with his palm, Harry leafed through the pages until he reached the more recent entries. As if by rote, Harry said, “You have been turning to food for comfort, overeating; he’s noted significant weight gain in an abnormal amount of time. There is an escalation of aggressive behavior in your remarks and actions on the field. He suggests PTSD—that’s post-traumatic stress disorder—and depression. You have repeatedly mentioned your dissatisfaction at work and at home. Tell me, what am I supposed to think when Goldstein reports to me about such? What’s going on, Ron?”

“You’ve read my file,” Ron retorted, his ears burning crimson. His knuckles were white against the green folder. “You already have your answer. So stop pretending that you care.”

Harry’s stare could bore holes. There was the small part of him that was rankled by the obstinacy. It was the same small beast that snarled and wanted to break free whenever others had spread falsehoods about him or pushed him beyond his capability for kindness. Miniscule as it was, it was an insidious monster with an explosive temper lying in wait. He took a deep, shaky breath.  

Hermione’s shiny, pink face, wet with tears when she confessed her mixed feelings. Teddy’s despairing face, when he nearly broke Harry’s pocket watch. Malfoy bleeding, limbs eagle-spread in the water. Sirius being blasted with the Killing Curse, falling through the Veil.

He exhaled slowly. In and out. Meditative. He had to rein it in. He reminded himself of what was necessary for Occlumency. He was a functioning adult. He was better than this. Only individuals like Voldemort and Vernon let their anger cloud their judgement. Dumbledore wouldn’t have allowed himself to be furious.

“Ron,” he said through gritted teeth. He was displeased by how tight his voice sounded. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Ron…you’re not wrong.”

Ron’s head snapped up.

“It’s difficult for me to care,” Harry confessed, “because this has been something I’ve known about for a while, and I haven’t had a proper upbringing. But you’re my best mate. And I’m selfish. I don’t want to let you go. Not without reason. So let me ask this: are you unsatisfied at work? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Mate….” Ron sat up. His expression was perturbed. “Are you—are you firing me?”

“No!” Harry blurted, nearly gawking at him. “Merlin, no. I was—I-I’m not great at comforting others.” His breath whooshed out. “I’m asking…do you and Hermione need time? I can pull you off assignment—”

“Harry—”

“—I want you with your wife and child, not out risking your life in the field. I can rescind my orders. Assign you a different case—”

“HARRY!” Ron shouted, snatching his attention and startling him into muteness. His eyes were a piercing blue as he stared him down. In a slow drawl, as if explaining to a child, he said gruffly, “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but you realize how that’ll look? To others? After you’d publically approved stationing me overseas? On a special assignment.”

Harry winced. His mind was whirling. He honestly hadn’t thought about that. He’d been more concerned about how to make this right again, to Ron. Once again, Ron was demonstrating social insight. Sometimes Harry forgot….

His gaze fell on the coroner’s reports on his desk. A frown tugged on Harry’s face. Written down was exactly the same toxicology details he’d shared with Harry and Hermione, after having demonstrated the entomology spell results detected no evidence of blowfly larvae anywhere on the bodies. However, unlike the medical examiner, Hermione held a perfumed handkerchief to her nose.

He remembered the resentment dying on his lips once he realized why she could be feeling inadequate. He could tell she was pushing herself for some invisible goal, like she had something to prove.

Many times Harry appreciated how his and Hermione’s work principles conveniently seemed to match. Young that they may be compared—to the workforce they oversaw—the pair presented a united front. Wherever the Head Auror went, his Deputy Head was sure to follow. She backed him up, so the favor had to be returned. But the side of him that was psychologically attuned now recognized it to be because of the emotional dependency after having permanently Obliviated all her parents’ memories of her existence herself.

Ron was in a different category since he was her husband. At least Ron had parents and siblings to turn to. Hermione only had Harry. So loathe as Harry was to concede to the psychoanalysis, Goldstein had been correct. Their Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder only worsened the reliance.

Yet, habit or not it was for them to turn to each other for advice, Harry should’ve known better than to consult with Hermione on matters outside of work. While she’d matured since their school days and have filled in remarkable gaps missing in her knowledge of the wizarding world customs, his Deputy Head was sometimes as socially awkward as Harry was. She could jump to conclusions as Ron could, in lieu of context and research material. Clever as she was, she was not infallible.

He relied on her superior intellect and intelligence-gathering skills. They were the witch’s strengths, just as tactical thinking and voice impersonations were Ron’s. However, out of the three of them, only Ron had the semblance of a normal childhood and therefore could make a more astute assessment of magical social conventions….

He peeked down at a certain drawer. There was an idea brewing in his head. He knew this was something Ron and Hermione would not do unless they had someone to push them.

Harry gnawed on his lower lip thoughtfully. He could change the subject to make Ron feel better, before Harry delivered his ultimatum. He had to establish solidarity. There was only one subject he could think of that’d distract him. He also knew the trigger words, framing the request like letting Ron in on a secret that Harry couldn’t even trust Hermione with. Even if it meant putting himself in a position of embarrassment….

“Ron,” Harry said, steel interlaced in his voice. He had to ask before his nerves got the better of him. He made himself lean several inches forward in his seat. “Before that, may I ask for advice? It’s for something unrelated. Hermione is useless on this.”

At that, Ron’s brows rose to his hairline.

He considered Harry for a bit.

When he found nothing suggesting a prank, then leaning in until his chest was pressed against the edge of the desk, Ron whispered, “What’s on your mind?”

He’d taken the bait.

Harry drew in a deep breath. He held it in his lungs. Then he exhaled. He began simply, “The ambassador. The Asian one.”

Ron blinked rapidly, his mind no doubt working to put a face to all the dignitaries he knew of. Finally he suggested, “That stuck-up—” he paused, then corrected, “that Lucius Malfoy lookalike of yours? The diplomat?”

He was awaiting Harry’s acknowledgement. When he saw Harry nod, he reclined back. His expression was thoughtful, like he was contemplating his next chess move.

Ron remarked, “What about him? Actually, you’ve never mentioned anything about volunteering your services to anyone in Witness Protection…before you left. He looks like he’s got magical creature blood in him. Where’d you meet him?”

Harry grimaced. “Japan.”

Ron’s brows furrowed. “But how did you—?” Breaking off, his mouth formed into a small ‘o.’ The shine of curiosity made his expression livelier. “Hermione’s keeping a tight lid on this too. I get you; you were given the assignment. But how is my wife involved? I mean, I understand she’s your deputy—”

“I reckon he fancies me!” Harry exclaimed hastily, his ears turning hot. Unable to meet Ron’s gaze, he explained, “I don’t believe I’m imagining it. I know the signs. He’s not exactly subtle.”

“Oh.” When Harry snuck a peek, Ron didn’t appear stunned or sickened. Matching his tone, there was wonder in his face. Most of all, it was his ready acceptance of the revelation that made it surreal. Ron demanded, “And he fancies you? He’s been giving you the eyes?”

“Gee, Ron, way to make a bloke feel confident,” Harry said sarcastically, bristling automatically. “I’ll have you know I’m quite the catch.”

“But do you fancy him back?” he insisted. His face was fixed into a serious expression. “Do I need to hex the git for you? If he’s been bothering you, you should tell him—”

“Trust me. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for months,” Harry interjected, although hearing Ron offer such a thing made his heart swell. He forced himself to confess, “I’m not bothered by it. I—it’s actually…nice, for a change. Is that deplorable of me to think so?” His shirt collar was choking him. He’d never thought he’d be flattered to be on the receiving end. He’d thought it would impossible, but his ears burned hotter.

“No, no. It’s fine.” Ron had held his hands up in surrender. “But…I mean…no offense, mate, but I thought you were attracted to women.” He began ticking off his fingers. “There was Cho Chang, Parvati Patil…then there was my sister….��

He caught Harry’s instinctive cringe. He gave Harry an inscrutable look, before mercifully continuing, “And I’ve never seen you batting for the other team. You’d certainly never made googly eyes at Gilderoy Lockhart, Cedric Diggory, or Bulgarian heartthrob Viktor Krum —”

Now Ron’s complexion became ghastly. “Harry, in the Quidditch changing rooms, have you ever—?”

“No!” Harry answered, glowering, his tone curt. Clasping his hands tightly in his lap, Harry forced himself to say, “I never had inappropriate thoughts about you or any of the blokes on the team.”

“Oh, thank Merlin.” Ron’s shoulders sagged, his face upturned dramatically to the ceiling in relief. “That would’ve been—since when did you start fancying wizards? You’ve never been…,” here he paused, ashamed, before finishing, “particularly lacy.”

“There was no ‘starting,’” Harry retorted. “I considered it one day, and the thought of it didn’t turn me off. I’ve accepted both ladies and blokes. That’s it. My sexuality doesn’t have to be that complicated.”

“So…you bat for bot… teams. I can’t believe you’ve never told me—” Ron’s mouth moved into an upside-down ‘V.’

To his credit, Ron hadn’t stormed out of the room like Harry had imagined countless of times. It also wasn’t as natural as Harry had wished it was, but it was better than he’d been expecting. He should be thankful Ron was accepting of it as he was.

As if it physically pained him to admit it, Ron spoke slowly to the ceiling, “I suppose he is handsome…”

Harry’s mouth involuntarily moved into a frown.

“…I personally don’t see it, but if you think he’s attractive—”

“I know he’s attractive. But I cannot return his feelings.”

Ron’s head slammed back down to gawk at him.

“Hear me out first. I know it sounds awful—!” Mid-sentence, he watched as Ron brought a hand to his face.

“You’re throwing him a wand.”

“There’s no ‘wand’ being thrown,” Harry objected. He breathed in harshly, reminding himself to be patient. “I’m telling you this because I want your opinion. I mean, blast it, I don’t see why not. It’s only a crush. It’s…tolerable. I reckon you understand why I can’t return his feelings though.”

“Does Hermione know about this? You tell her everything. Since she’s your deputy and all.”

Harry hesitated. Then, dropping his gaze, he said, “In hindsight…I realize, it may’ve been a big oversight.”

Ron laughed hollowly, ringing in Harry’s ears like a demented chortle. It was gone as fast as it came. “Yeah, that’s an understatement.” He’d folded his arms across his chest. “She chewed you out, didn’t she? She’d be the sort to have a wobbly about this.”

“Hermione…didn’t give me the answer I wanted,” Harry forced himself to admit, although dragging the words out was difficult. The effort was akin to swallowing apple pips. Taking a deep breath, he said to his desk, “I should’ve went to you instead.”

Ron was mumbling a few choice words beneath his breath that Harry couldn’t catch. Then he said, “I honestly don’t know what you see in…oh, right. I forgot. Your first crush was Chang. Of course.” Rolling his eyes at Harry’s bowed head, he said, “Look, Harry, I hate to admit it but whatever Hermione’s said to you, she’s likely correct. Blokes don’t work that way. Women don’t work that way. It’s the same whatever gender it is. If you don’t refuse him upfront, he’s going to fall in love with you. You should tell him now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous….” Harry paused. Then his scowl turned severe. “I’m hoping it won’t happen. If it does, well….”

Ron groaned again. “Another understatement,” he mumbled. Louder, he asked, “He’s an ambassador, isn’t he? A top-secret confidential, high-risk magical creature from a secret society that neither you nor Hermione are authorized to reveal?”

“‘Secret society?’” Harry parroted blandly.

“Blimey, Harry. Have you not read the subscriptions? It’s been all the Daily Prophet’s been talking about since you’d brought him here. He looks and talks odd. And he’s always with you. Obviously people are going to speculate.”

“Remember, I told Kreacher to comb through my letters. I only read what he’s approved.” Dread pooled in his stomach like acid. There was one topic that the press loved to publish about him, and it all revolved around his bachelor status. Dismay melted into Harry’s expression. “No, you’re saying—?”

It was as if Ron read his mind. “No, no! Most of them’s all harmless speculation. The most Skeeter’s done is hint that you two have been attached to the hip a lot more than…actually, you might not want to look into it. I know how you get….” Ron trailed off, bringing his face away from his hand. Instead, he cradled his jaw, his eyes rooting Harry to his place. Then out of the blue, he declared, “You have gravitas.”

Harry’s head whirled. He spluttered, “I beg your pardon?”

“If what you’re saying is true, that’s why he’s attracted to you,” Ron declared, gesturing at Harry. “You’re both diplomats. He’s prim and grim. You’re rich, gloomy, and distinguished. If he fancies blokes, of course he’s going to want to shag the Chosen One. You are a walking success story. Death has lent you gravitas. I can’t say I envy you.”

“…Honestly, I’m astonished that you even know the word.”

“Hilarious, you are. But I heard Hermione say it once. I liked how it sounded. Gra-vi-tas.” Ron spoke carefully around the pronunciation of the syllables. “Makes you sound posh.”

“If you have the ability to joke, then you must be in an improved mood.”

“You’re also mul-ti-fa-ce-ted.”

“Incredible. Keep that up, Ron, and everyone will comment on how Hermione’s been a good influence on you.”

They shared a private smile. For a moment, it was as if they were two mates having a pint in a pub after work hours, back when they were both trainees bonding over who had the worst work anecdote of the day. It was only minutes later when the illusion shattered, once both wizards realized they’d gotten off-topic. Their demeanors immediately shifted back into that of sobriety.

“It’s up to you,” Ron begun, “what you want to do. You’re a functioning adult.”

“I know I’m an adult.”

“If you want to ignore it, fine. Y’know what my wife and I think about it. But I’ll support you every step of the way.”

Harry was silent for a moment. Then he whispered, “Even if it turns out to be a bad decision?”

The grin he received was bleak but lopsided.

“Well, maybe not always,” Ron conceded, making it a point to gaze directly into his eyes, “but unlike Hermione, I’ll back my best mate up—even when it’s stupid and mad. I’m familiar with that Potter stubbornness.”

“It’s tough changing my mind,” Harry joked, feeling the muscles in his face loosening. He must’ve been smiling back for Ron’s own to have grown looser. “In all seriousness, Ron, don’t tell Hermione this. She knows but….”

“Mum’s the word.” He mimed zipping his lips shut, twisting an invisible key and throwing it over his shoulder.

Time to take the plunge, Harry thought to himself, opening a drawer and seizing a stack of business cards tied together by a rubber band. Thumbing through them, he said, “I also don’t want to separate you from your wife.”

Ron blinked.

Finding the one he wanted, Harry leaned forward in his seat. “I’m doing this for your own good. Consider this an order.”

Harry slid a card over. Embossed on the black card was the name “IRENE TREMLETT,” with “Post-Marriage Counselling” printed underneath. Underneath, white ink bisected the center of the card like a jagged tear, fading in and out of existence. Harry had thought it to be clever symbolism.

“Tremlett?” Ron muttered, reading the card. His mouth was slashed downwards. “As in, the bass player from The Weird Sisters? The famous one?”

“She’s his wife,” Harry supplied helpfully. “Goldstein’s a fan of the band. You remember Donaghan Tremlett. From the band that was there for our Yule Ball?” Harry stole a glance at his pocket watch. He frowned.

“Why do you have—?”

His eyes shot back up. “Ron, your parents have noticed. Your brothers and sister have noticed. Everyone at work has. You don’t think I wouldn’t ask Goldstein one day if he had any professional referrals?” He tapped the card. “I know you and Hermione won’t do it. So I’m booking her for you two.”

Ron immediately launched into a string of protests.

“You don’t have a choice. If not me, then sooner or later, your mum and dad might.” Watching Ron wilt in his seat, Harry demanded, “Don’t you want to fix your marriage? Is this an issue of pride?”

“No! I mean, we’ve thought about it. But—”

“But nothing. There’s no shame in seeking professional help. No one is going to think any less of you.” Harry stood up. He took a deep breath. Then he rattled off: “Send me your timetable please, soon, so I know when the next available day is for you. I’ll take a look at Hermione’s too. I don’t want to get your knickers into a twist about it, so I’ll do you a favor and tell Hermione that you were the one to take initiative. It’s the effort that counts, alright? That you’re trying? She’ll like that.”

Scrambling to his feet, Ron mirrored his stance. He folded his arms. “Where are we going—?”

“I’m going to pick up Sesshomaru. I don’t mean to be rude, but I promised him. It’s our nightly thing. You…I don’t know what you want to do, but I assume you’d want to spend time with Hermione before you head back to the States again. You should.” His eyes rooted Ron to the spot. “How goes the investigation in America anyway?”

“It’s only been a few days, Harry,” Ron retorted, although his expression had become queer when Harry mentioned Sesshomaru’s name. He was looking at Harry strangely. “Do you two go on walks? Is that a thing?”

Harry ignored that. He insisted, “An update on its current status, Ron.”

“…We’re still settling in. Rubbing elbows. All that sod. It’s not that fast.”

“I said I wanted a report by the end of the month.”

“And you’ll get one.” Ron shifted on his feet. His shoulders were hunched, with one hand gripping his arm awkwardly. Although he towered over Harry, the way he now held himself made Harry feel like a giant in comparison. Ron added, “The Director still loathes you.”

Harry smirked. “Well, I can’t win them all.”

[hekate1308]

Signs Of Evil

I expanded this. Enjoy!

Day 30

It’s been a month since he was quick enough to find his doppelganger in the parallel world and convince him that ending his miserable existence was the way to go and saved the world before he closed the gates of Hell once and for all. Souls can still slip through – can’t allow the increase in ghost activity – but there’ll be no more demons wreaking havoc apart from those who happened to be on earth when he slammed the door shut.

It gives him plenty of time to relax and occasionally visit the boys. Things have been quiet for a while now, since he conveniently showed up to kill off Satan’s spawn and Cas was miraculously brought back to life once again, human but healthy.

He’s walking down a hallway in the bunker; Dean made it abundantly clear that he prefers it when people “knock on doors and walk through them in case I am polishing my gun” so he’s decided to fulfil that particular wish.

A noise emitting from one of the store rooms draws his attention. With a blink of an eye, he’s standing right in the middle of it, looking down at...

Oh. He is somewhat surprised the Men of Letters managed to get hold of a basilisk’s egg.

Rather risky keeping it around.

Basilisk’s eggs are very powerful and as such very valuable, but there are a few drawbacks.

For one, it’s hot and could easily set anything it touches ablaze.

Well...

Anything with a shred of decency, that is.

Because the biggest irony of all concerning basilisk’s eggs is that only evil entities – demons, angry ghosts, occasionally a witch if she manages to be as wicked as his mother was – can touch it without getting burned.

Eggs like this one also have a tendency to move on their own, probably compelled by the same instinct that makes their parents turn anyone who looks at them directly into stone.

It has managed to open its box and roll halfway across the floor.

There’s a pair of gloves and pliers lying nearby, proving the boys already know what’s up.

He reaches out and takes it in his hand.

Huh. It even feels warm for him, and that’s saying something.

He carefully puts it back in the box. As he leaves the room, Dean strolls into the hallway.

“Crowley”.

“Squirrel. I put the egg where it belongs”.

Dean catches on immediately.

“Thought I heard it. Does this about once a month... thankfully it can’t get through the door, the Men of Letters were too careful. Thanks. Can be a real son of a bitch when it wants. We haven’t found a way to destroy it yet”.

He nods. Not even he is aware of a way to accomplish that.

“You staying for dinner?”

He doesn’t need to eat of course, but he will admit that Dean is a good cook.

“Since I’m already here...”

Day 40

He’s back at the bunker again. Dean, Sam and Cas are preparing to go on a hunt and he has nothing better to do, so he tags along.

No one says anything against it when he gets into the Impala. The backseat; he doesn’t feel like fighting over riding shotgun today.

“Do you have credentials?” Dean asks when they’re half way to Iowa.

“Sure” he replies. He’s always made certain that he can get in wherever he needs to be.

“Alright then, you can take the locals.”

His badge works like a charm. The little old lady at the reception of the police station even flirts with him a little, which surprises him because it’s easy to tell she has the kind of soul that should have flinched away from him subconsciously.

There’s a reason some people never meet demons. Self-preservation is a powerful instinct, which Mrs. Grover seems to lack.

He shrugs and moves on.

It turns out to be an easy salt-and-burn, but he still hangs around because he’s got nothing else to do and at least the boys are fun.

He drives back with them to the bunker too.

And only when the case is well and truly over and he’s said his goodbyes does he stop and think and realize he just went on a hunt with no other reason than he could.

Day 70

He’s had to put the basilisk’s egg away too more times in the mean time. They thing is growing annoying; he’s less and less disposed to deal with it, but it would be far more troublesome to force the boys to use the gloves and pliers all the time.

Is it just his imagination or is it growing warmer, too? He should perhaps do some research; not that it melts its box one day. Then they’d really have a problem.

“Ah, Crowley. Great, you can help me out. What does this phrase mean?” Sam, who he’s materialized in front of, asks.

“The bone of the unborn” he reads. “I am assuming you didn’t know that babies having died during their birth was an ingredient, Moose?”

“Who is using babies as an ingredient now?” Dean asks, stepping into the library.

“Hey Crowley, didn’t expect you back so soon”.

He doesn’t sound annoyed, and really, it’s been a while since he visited them last...

A whole of three days, he suddenly realizes.

Oh well.

There’s so much time on his hand these days, and Dean just got a football for the bunker.

Day 90

He appears in the bunker’s shooting range and watches Cas fire another round.

“Bulls-eye, Feathers”.

Cas rears around, gun in his hands.

Crowley raises an eyebrow.

“That won’t work on me, I’m afraid”.

The former angel relaxes.

“Crowley”.

“Thought I’d drop in, see how you were getting by”.

Neither of them mentions he only stopped for dinner yesterday.

“Also, I put the egg back into the box... You should really look into that, it’s getting hotter”.

“Hotter?”

“Yes”.

Cas tilts his head to the side and studies him and for the first time in a long time, he can’t tell what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t tell him about the curious revulsion he feels that’s getting stronger every time he has to face the egg. Must be his imagination. And that look on his face makes him uncomfortable enough.  

Day 120

“Crowley” Dean says when they’re about to retire and he’s getting ready to say his goodbye and return to the luxurious hotel he’s currently staying in.

“We cleared this one” he points to a door, “But no loud music between the hours of two and eight am”.

And with that they leave him to... get acquainted with his own room.

Alright then.

It’s plain, simple, comfortable. Nothing like the hotel where he has room service and a huge flat screen.

He moves in immediately.

That night, the egg comes crashing down again.

He could swear it’s a few degrees hotter than the last time.  

Day 130

“Crowley. Did you bring a hell hound into the bunker?” Dean asks at breakfast. “Because I could have sworn something licked my hand in the war room.”

“Of course. You know her. Juliet.”

“Juliet... Alright, but why?”

“You gave me a room. I can’t let my girl camp outside when I have a room.”

“Your – you know what, just tell her no chewing on anything, and she’s not allowed on the couch”.  

Day 150

He can find nothing that would explain why the egg is becoming hotter every time he picks it up, but at least Cassie knows so someone’s keeping an eye on it when he’s not around.

Not that he’s gone so often. After all, they gave him a room, he might as well use it.

“Good morning – oh, Sheriff Mills. Girls”.

The sheriff looks quite well. Their date certainly did her no harm, he hopes, somewhat taken aback at his own reaction.

From what he can remember of his human life, he’s experiencing something almost like shame.

Before anyone can stop her, the one he thinks is called Claire Novak, Cas’ vessel’s daughter, marches up to him and punches him in the face.

She’s pretty strong for her age.

“Claire!” Jody calls out, clearly worried, and the others quickly move behind her.

Dean seems to be a bit conflicted as to who to shield against whom. It’s almost... touching.

The last thing he wants to do on this fine morning is provoke a fight though, especially since he’s pretty sure he’ll have to deal with the damn egg again soon.

And he did try to kill her, after all.

“I suppose I deserved that” he says mildly.

He ignores Sam’s incredulous stare.

Day 200

The egg’s almost too hot to hold now, but he can’t find a single reason in lore why it should be.

“Crowley, we’ve got a case!” Dean calls out.

He moves to find him in the hallway.

“I’m worried about the egg” he says.

“Cas told us. Don’t worry, we strengthened both the box and the door” Dean says.

He can’t feel any enhanced protection, but Dean knows what he’s talking about.

He shrugs his shoulders and forgets about it.

Day 250

“You can trust anyone in this room” Dean tells the other hunters they met on their newest case.

Of course they immediately look at Crowley. His time on the throne is still well remembered, it seems.

“I don’t know...” the woman begins, slowly. “After all you did, working with a demon...”

Dean snorts.

“Come on guys, do you really think he’d be a member of our team if we didn’t trust him?”

Talking is suddenly difficult.

It’s a strange thing to have, the trust of others.

Day 300

He can actually sleep when he puts his mind to it, and it’s a pleasant way to pass the night. Otherwise, he just waits for the boys to wake up or corrects the mistakes in the Men of Letter’s library or takes Juliet on a walk.

Even the others have got used to having to wake him for breakfast, although they were a little weirded out at the beginning (it’s not his fault he doesn’t need to breathe, and he told himself he wasn’t feeling bad when Dean came to get him and thought he was dead for a second).

So, when a crash wakes him up, he blinks and groans realizing it’s the stupid egg again. Juliet sniffles at the foot of his bed.

He just hopes it didn’t wake up anyone else. Dean is just getting used to a regular sleep schedule, and Cas still has problems drifting off now and then.

Definitely uncomfortably hot now.

Day 365

It’s been a pretty relaxing week – Sheriff Mills even came to visit and was civil to him – and he sighs when he hears the tell-tale thump from the library.

For some reason, he feels Cas’ eyes follow him as he leaves the room.

Also, he really dreads dealing with the egg, now. He must be growing soft after all

 Even without Cas’ text, he would know.

After he told them of Crowley’s worry about the egg, they did their research and there is only one explanation why someone would think the thing was too hot to touch.

And to be fair, he hasn’t considered the demon pure evil since...

Point is, Dean has been waiting for this for a while, so the crash and the curse coming from the store room don’t bother him.

Neither does the sight of Crowley, staring at his burned hand with a shocked expression on his face.

Dean picks up the gloves and the pliers and puts the egg away.

“Don’t touch it just like that again”.

He lightly touches his shoulder.

“Come on, you need that taken care of”.

From their own experience, he knows the burn will be a bitch.

As they walk towards the war room Dean says, “Being good isn’t that bad, you know”.

Crowley doesn’t say anything, but from the corner of his eye, Dean can see a small, pleased smile on his face.  

[arcenergy]

36 37 38 mustar.d

I WUV YOU KITTY. THIS IS ME WHEN KITTY DOES ANYTHING 

36. What are your OC’s thoughts/opinions of his/her current profession?

MUSTARD...... sees being a guardian more as a trade off than anything else..i mean he’s obviously grateful that he’s alive but also he got the ability to leave behind a life which he could only assume was stressful and miserable because of how he died and how everyone idolized him as this Amazing Artist despite the public ... knowing absolutely jackshit about him makes him kind of upset if he thinks abt it too much bc he doesnt like being idolized and admired and it was obvious that he used to go out of his way to not interact w/ people...even tho guardians arent supposed to learn abt their past i feel like it’s kinda hard to ignore it when it’s kinda shoved in his face wherever he goes of the public mourning his death and spreading his art, and then coming the rumors that he’s actually alive and is a guardian and it’s just one big controversy until he’s totally disconnected from who he used to be and he just..let’s it all go. so he will gladly take a new life dedicating himself to the traveler and protecting the light if he doesnt have to deal with whatever disaster his previous life was. he likes the idea of new beginnings and he doesnt have any real qualms with the guardians..he’s mostly just doing his own thing and doesnt really step into action unless if it’s totally necessary, although that doesnt mean that before destiny 2 he didnt try to like. be a good person and help the public u know he just needed his Me Time. 

37. What is your OC’s biggest dream?

i think mustard originally just wants to be left tf alone but eventually he becomes like. overly invested in the guardians and wants to do Everything to help Everyone and it takes a long time for him to find the balance of him being able to be comfortable w/ himself and his own life while also helping people. i feel like he is just kinda chillin but also goes out of his way to assist ppl whenever he can but also like..tries to have a life outside of totally dedicating himself to the guardians after destiny 2 but also idk how destiny 2 ends yet LOL i just assume things are like.. better than the sun blowing up. actually totally unrelated and not to be an astronomy freak but our sun is literally incapable of turning into a supernova because it’s too tiny unless if they pull some sci-fi bullshit and make the sun magically bigger. jus wanted to get that off my chest. thank u for reading. 

38. How does your OC react to and handle stress?

VERY POORLY....at first. he kind of shuts down and doesnt really talk to anyone bc he doesnt really know anyone he can truly Trust for a long time until he learns to trust ghost and that ends up being his go-to whenever he’s stressed. but also mustard is god awful at hiding his emotions and has a ton of tells for when he’s upset or nervous and has a hard time keeping his emotions bottled up so ppl are like. U Good? as mustard looks like this

[pixiealtaira]

Important Qualities in a friend

Pairing: None.  Friendship fic.  Starring Kurt and Elliot and Dani.

Kurt didn’t actually ever stop and write out what he thought were the most important qualities in a friend until much later in his life than he ought to have, really.  Especially considering he did the whole ‘journal by listing things about yourself’ thing at the start of high school…when one of the online helps he saw said write things down and journal and he himself thought he’d rather not be depressed for life and writing what was upsetting him seemed counterproductive.

He didn’t even think about it at all, except for constantly finding himself disappointed in his friends, until Elliot made a comment about making sure his friends were meeting the qualities he consider important and not just him meeting their whims or needs…that friendships were a two way relationship, just like romance and sex. Of course Kurt hadn’t focused on the friendship part because he was rather mind blown by the romance and sex reminder at the time (and realizing he wasn’t getting that either, and that Elliot assumed he was).

It wasn’t until after Blaine and he broke-up after the engagement and Rachel was off in LA and Mercedes was off touring with Santana and Brittany and NO ONE would answer his calls at all that Kurt got drunk and wrote out his list.

He was so drunk he didn’t remember writing it.  Instead he went to the stupid therapist that he found in papers Rachel had left when she departed who told him everything was all his fault…he was supposed to give everything he had to a relationship if he wasn’t the alpha male in it.  If he wasn’t the alpha male he needed to be the wife and the wife’s job was to cater to her husband…or his husband if he was the effeminate one, which he always had to be with a voice like his. Of course she also told him that he should never ever top and even if he’d rather top he needed to train himself to be the ultimate submissive bottom so men would like him, because that would be the only reason men would like him.  Then he went speed dating, trying out his new ‘I’ll be whatever you want’ tone…which he never really got to show because speed dating was stupid and there wasn’t time for anything. And the idiot said he wasn’t over his ex and he wasn’t really over Blaine…it hadn’t been but a few months. He still wasn’t sleeping and eating properly. And then NO ONE showed up when they were supposed to and he was alone and knew it. Alone was scary and hurt and thoughts just echoed in his head.  So when Rachel showed her face again and demanded his attention again and her face was in Lima and Blaine was there too…Kurt decided to run home.

He was pulling out his suitcases to pack when he found the list.

A good friend has time for you…as much time for you as you have for them.

A good friend picks up the phone when you call and talks about what you want to talk about…not just themselves.  Sometimes a good friend just listens just like sometimes you just listen, but a good friend won’t make you always just listen.

A good friend calls before canceling plans.

A good friend respects your time and effort and person and things.

A good friend does what you want to do, watches what you want to watch, listens to what you want to listen to, about half the time when you are together.

A good friend makes you laugh and lets you laugh, but a good friend also lets you cry and provides comfort and support.

Oh and they let you cry when YOU need to, not when it is convenient for them or on their timetable.

A good friend asks and does not constantly demand.

There were more listed, but Kurt was shaking so hard he had to set down the paper and seat himself before he fell.  When Rachel had called, breaking her silent treatment of the world…or returning from her retreat from the world, whichever way you’d like to put it, and Kurt definitely put it in the silent treatment category…she told him he had to come home to Lima, she needed him.

Sure, she briefly told him she’d love to hear about his side to his break-up with Blaine, but she also insisted he do so in person while he helped her run glee club.  Then laid out how he would help her and everything she hoped to do with it and she needed him to work the music and such, because she didn’t take those courses in NYADA, but he had to make sure she had songs to sing to showcase what could be done.

She also lectured him about letting Blaine go and how he had been petty and Kurt knew she’d been talking to Blaine and it had fed into the echo chamber in his head of “Blaine is always right, you were wrong and always were wrong, and you needed to have done whatever it was Blaine wanted’ and just bounced around in there.  On the other hand he was NOT ALLOWED to say anything about Rachel’s show bombing or talk about anything she could have done different, which of course just made him itch to say ‘I told you so’.

And really, as much as Rachel ‘needed her best friend…her best gay’ to ‘get her through the tragedy that is her life in ruins’ and ‘help mourn the destruction of her blazing star’ and ‘gather the ashes of her entire future so he can rebuild her’, her offer to help him was to ‘listen to see if he could actually explain how he could let Blaine go and break the poor dear’s heart’.

Kurt curled up on his bed. Had he ever had a friend like he listed? Rachel didn’t fit the description, nor did Santana or Brittany.  He wasn’t even sure Mercedes and Tina did way back when.  Blaine never did, either.

Adam could have met his requirements for a friend…had they had the chance to get to know each other better and develop a relationship.  Kurt was certain he would have, given a chance.  Adam had let him laugh and cry…made him laugh, even…and encouraged him to have fun and be silly, without worrying what other people might think. And once when they were going to meet for coffee between classes… just grab it and go, not even sit down and enjoy coffee…Adam called because he got held up in his class and was running slow, giving Kurt the option of skipping the meet-up if he was worried about being late. And they watched shows and movies they both liked, taking turns picking things out.   Now looking back, Kurt wanted to cry over it.  He’d kept secrets…big ones like his dad’s cancer and exactly what happened to cause the first break-up…which affected his behavior and never gave them the chance to get to the point of sharing that deeply with each other. Heck, he gave Adam less than two months to share deeply before letting Blaine and Rachel and his dad and others convince him that Blaine was the one for him, since they knew each other so deeply.

Elliot fit his friend description.  Kurt was the bad friend in that relationship at the end.  He kept breaking plans because Kurt having plans with Elliot made Blaine upset.  Kurt always called when he did so, though. He’d been glad when Elliot got to opportunity to go to the yoga retreat to learn how to be an instructor…and not just for the break it would give Elliot in terms of supplemental income.  It made it so talking to Elliot was easier to hide and made it so Kurt didn’t have to actually break up the band, like Blaine had been pushing for him to do.  Dani had been a good friend, as well.   Even Chase had fit more of Kurt’s list of friendship needs than everyone Kurt had been calling friends and thus listening to.

Kurt called his dad and said he was staying in New York and called the rental place and canceled the rental car.  He called Rachel to tell her he wasn’t going to make it, at least not right away.  She didn’t answer, so he left a message.

Then he called Elliot, who wasn’t answering his phone but always responded to his voice messages when he had a chance.

Kurt was sure his voice message sounded pathetic.

“Elliot, when do you get home? I miss you.”

He must have sounded even more pathetic than he’d thought, because Dani knocked on his door two hours later with Ice Cream and cheesecake.

“So….” Dani started their conversation.  “What is new?”

And that was that. Kurt bawled and spilled all the details of his miserable life since Dani had been on tour with her roller derby team and Elliot had gone off to the retreat and Dani had found him a new therapist within ten minutes of him speaking of his current one.

He wasn’t nearly as prone to tears when Elliot called a few hours later, during his ‘contact with the world’ time, and was able to just smile during Elliot’s lecture about Kurt not calling them earlier.  Elliot was going to be home in a week and Dani was around for the rest of the fall and throughout the winter, only touring again if her team did well enough during their local season.    Elliot and Dani convinced Kurt to stay in New York with them and start up the band again.

“What were you going to do about school?” Dani asked after Elliot had ended his call.

“Well, it is mid-September. I’ve already put six weeks into a play at the retirement home and I need to find another six week or so project. Rachel suggested I use the glee club. Other than work-study, I have two online classes…both writing…and need to do so many hours of dance and vocal training a week, from other sources than the school.  I’ve been doing an adult tap and jazz at the local gym and I’m taking vocal training from a man who worked at Julliard when he was younger.  I want to get a bit of classical type training. However, I could have done the online courses wherever I was, as well as paid for dance and vocal training.”

“So…what does your work-study have to be in?” Dani asked.

Kurt shrugged. “Something in the field of entertainment.  The course description was incredibly vague. Adam once said one of the Apples did part of his by working as an Usher for one of the Broadway theaters.”

Dani smiled.  “I have some ideas.”

Kurt woke with a start later, looking around and finding Dani snoring on the floor next to him. Papers of all sorts surrounded them and the empty carton of Ice Cream was tipped to the side, making a mess. Luckily it was near his foot and not near any of the papers.  Kurt tidied up the piles…moving bits of lyrics and music into one and costume ideas into another and other bits of notes into a third.  He picked up the ice cream carton and tossed it into the trash bin and then wet a cloth to wipe off the floor enough so he could relax.  He tore into the box he’d packed blankets and such into, grabbing a pillow and blanket to cover Dani with.  He grabbed his own from where he’d packed them away and moved back to where they fell asleep.  He lifted Dani’s head enough to place a pillow under it and covered her up before snuggling up beside her on the floor.

Maybe this time he could get the whole friend thing right and he hadn’t missed all his chances at it after all.