#i found a container that i haven’t seen since i moved that had several packages that i hadn’t even opened

[duskholland]

Lingerie | Tom Holland Smut

summary ↠ your co-star Tom offers to photograph you in your new lingerie, and it only escalates from there.

word count ↠ 3.9k

warnings ↠ this is pretty much just pwp I won’t lie. we’ve got some dirty talk, a lingerie-filled photoshoot, a lil bit of thigh riding, oral (fem receiving) and then MxF sex

a/n ↠ quarantine is doing ~stuff~ to me and I couldn’t stop thinking about the concept of Tom being your photographer and getting more and more riled up so....here ya go. enjoy! this is the first time I’ve posted nsfw stuff in a very very long time, so any feedback would be appreciated :) also a huge thank you to @rhapsodyparker for being my fave hype man - love you mate !

18+ !!!! this contains NSFW material, so do not read if you are a minor.

Spending a few weeks in London with your new co-star Tom and his brothers had been the brilliant idea of your manager. When your schedule had presented you with a some valuable weeks off between projects, she’d suggested that bunking down with him in his London house would be the perfect way to get to know the man before you spend the next months acting out your latest project. You’d seen him around at a few awards shows, and he hadn’t been opposed to hosting you, so with a few heavy suitcases and an open mind, you’d moved into the house he shares with his brother Harry and his best friend Harrison.

It’s been three weeks since you first rolled up, and things are going well. You’ve been enjoying getting to know the guys and the city they love so much, and it seems like every day you grow more and more comfortable around Tom - which is only a good thing, given that your upcoming project requires you to tangle with him in a few risqué scenes. But you’d be lying if you said that your feelings for the brown eyed star are merely platonic, and over the last couple of days especially, you’ve found your thoughts wandering. You catch yourself stiffening as you watch him throw back a pint of beer, his sturdy fingers wrapped carefully around the glass. And something in the pit of your stomach stirs every time he sits by you, his thigh pressing flushed to yours. You’ve even caught him staring at you from across the room a few times, his eyes trailing over your figure, and you haven’t been able to stop yourself from imagining his curly brown hair rubbing at your inner thighs.

It’s a game. A dangerous, heated game, and with every passing day, his eyes seem hungrier as they meet with yours, and he seems to inch closer to you. Neither of you have acted on the sizzling tension that ripples between you, but you know it’s just a matter of time before one of you moves a little too close, or touches the other for a little too long, and it all explodes.

“What have you got there, Y/N?”

You’re pulled from your dirty thoughts by a question coming from the man you’re daydreaming about. Tom walks into the kitchen, raising a hand in greeting as he peers down at the package you’re holding. His deep brown eyes meet with yours as you smile at him in greeting.

“Just some clothes. I’m doing a brand deal and they want me to take some pictures and post them on my Instagram,” you explain. You put the package down on the kitchen table and carefully begin to cut along the seam.

“Getting that money, eh?” You laugh as Tom slips into a chair beside you, watching you curiously with his chin resting in his hands.

“A girl’s gotta make a living,” you reply. “Hey, do you think Harry would take some shots for me? It’s always hard to get the angles right.”

Tom hums beneath his breath. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d be down for that. He and Harrison are out at the moment, though, so you’ll need to wait-“ He falls silent as you tip the contents of the package onto the table, your cheeks warming immediately as you take in the garments you’ve been sent.

Lingerie. Several different pairs of matching bras and panty sets, in a scattering of different colours and designs. You feel your heart beat faster in your chest as Tom stares down at the pieces, his own face blushing a deep red.

“I think Harry might die if I make him take photos of me whilst I’m wearing this,” you admit, picking up a red lacy bralette. Tom’s younger brother has always been nice to you, but he radiates the sort of nervous energy that can sometimes put you on edge, and you immediately know you can’t ask him to photograph you. “Guess I’ll just have to struggle through this by myself,” you mutter dejectedly.

Tom’s eyebrows raise as he looks between you and the lace in your fingers, realisation replacing his shock. He sits up straight, stretching out his arms and his biceps flex as he meets your gaze. “I can always help you,” he offers shyly. You meet his eyes and his tongue slips out to wet his lower lip.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’m not as good as Harry, but I like to think I’ve picked up a few of his tricks.” Tom reaches out, fingers connecting with the tops of your arms, and your breath hitches as he grins cheekily. “Besides, I’m sure I could help you with some of your angles. If you want, of course.”

The question hangs in the air. As his fingers gently trace over your upper arm, you know this is the opportunity to back out. He’s looking at you through heated, brown eyes, but you know he’ll leave it alone if you decide to draw the line here and maintain the professional distance you’ve been slowly narrowing. But you don’t want to, and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by a longing for him to keep touching you, and the idea of him photographing you as you lounge around in this new, sexy lingerie sets your heart racing.

“I’d love that, Tom. Are you free just now?”

He nods quickly, the tips of his curly brown hair wafting in the air. “Definitely.”

[-----]

It takes you about twenty minutes to get ready for the shoot. You’ve been around in Hollywood for long enough to know how best to do your makeup and tie your hair, and much to your relief, the lingerie clings to you perfectly. The contract you’d signed states you only have to post photos in one of the sets, so you pick one with a nice, deep burgundy hue and then walk out into your bedroom where Tom’s waiting for you. His wide eyes fall on you and suddenly you get a little self-conscious, reaching up to cross your arms over your chest as his gaze slides up and down your figure, drifting over every inch of exposed skin. When he drags his eyes back to your face and gives you a bit of a smirk, a shiver rolls down your spine.

“You look stunning,” Tom says, voice hoarse. He clears his throat quickly, averting his eyes as his cheeks gain a healthy colour. “Really, Y/N… You look amazing.”

His compliments bring a smile to your face, and you carefully put your hands back to your sides. You feel tentative and shy, but you approach him anyway and pass him your phone. “Thanks, Tom,” you mumble, meeting his eyes quickly. “Um, I was thinking you can just get a few of me the window, and then after that, maybe a couple on the bed.”

“Sounds great.”

You hesitate for a moment, looking at him carefully. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tom runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face as he chuckles lowly. “I don’t mind at all, Y/N. There are worse things to do than take photos of a pretty girl like you.” You bite your lower lip as you smile bashfully at him. 

“Okay,” you say. You move over to the window before adding a quick, “I will pay you back, Tom.” You punctuate your promise with a wink, and then turn around and try out a few positions against the window.

Tom gives you a few pointers as he starts to capture your shots. You know what you’re doing, but his advice helps you twist and angle yourself in the most flattering ways. The main focus has to be on the sponsored lace clinging to your chest, and as time goes by and he gradually moves nearer and nearer to you, your thoughts grow darker. You’d be lying if you said the seductive smiles and soft angles you’re throwing out are just for Instagram. It makes your heart race and a heat build between your legs to have him watching you so intently, occasionally chewing on his lower lip as he works. When you turn around and face the window directly, you arch your back purposefully and you can feel his stare hot on the curve of your ass, and as you throw your head back over your shoulder to meet his flushed face, you know you’ve caught him right in the act of checking you out.

“How are the photos?” You ask, breaking the charged silence after a few moments of sustained, intense eye contact. You relax your position as Tom steps nearer and passes back your phone, but he lingers by your side before draping a hand over your back. His hand rests on your naked hip, his touch gentle but it causes you to push into him greedily. He’s warm and he smells like pine trees and man, and your body is thrumming with so much sexual energy that you can feel your lace panties dampening.

“You look unreal,” he says, watching over your shoulder as you flick through the photos. “I’m not even sure they do justice to how incredible you look right now.”

You smile gratefully, favouriting a few of the shots. “You know, I think we’ve got as many as we need, actually. You did a really good job, Tom. Thank you.” You put your phone on the windowsill and turn to look at him properly. When his hand goes to slip from your waist, you reach down and grab at it, pushing it back into place firmly. His eyes meet yours, a curious questioning mixing with the dark lust, and you give him a smirk. “I know you liked watching me.” Your gaze briefly dips down to his crotch, and the way you can see the outline of his cock straining against his jeans. Emboldened, you lean up and brush your lips by his ear, “If you want me, you can just tell me.”

You keep your lips by his ear. When he reaches up and wraps his other hand around your waist and pulls you closer, you let your mouth drag down his neck, pressing soft, light kisses to his pale skin. You keep going until he whines, and then you suck against his sweet spot and nibble at the skin, teasing him gently until he wraps his fingers beneath your chin and tilts your face up to look at him.

“You’re such a tease, you know that, love?” He speaks, voice dropping an octave. His eyes are on your lips and the deep red lipstick you’ve coated them with, a burning fire dancing in his eyes. “Walking in here with all that lingerie, kissing my neck like that.” His fingers move from your chin and up to cup your cheek. “I want you,” he whispers, mouth brushing yours ever so slightly. The confirmation makes you wrap your arms around his neck, and you place a kiss just beside his mouth, grinning softly.

“Then have me.”

His mouth captures yours in a heated collision of lips and teeth, and you moan into his mouth as his hand slips back into your hair and tugs at your strands. His hot tongue slips into your mouth as you kiss him back passionately, your body burning from all the pent-up frustration you’ve been pushing back for weeks. The hand on your waist slips up to your back, holding you flush against him as his groans, his face flushed and his forehead sweaty, and your core throbs as you hold him close to you.

Tom breaks the kiss after a few mind-numbing minutes, and you know you’ve got lipstick smudged over your face, but you don’t care as he leads you over to the bed. You straddle his waist as he sits up against the headboard, his hungry hands trailing over every part of your exposed skin as your heart rate spikes. His thighs are firm and you can’t help but grind down against one of them as he pulls your mouths together again. The friction you get through your wet panties from his tough black jeans makes you whimper into his mouth, and he pulls back with a lazy smirk on his face, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“You’re so bloody hot,” he murmurs, hand brushing over your arm. “Can’t believe you’re here right now, looking like this. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He leaves a few soft kisses to your shoulder, gazing up at you softly, his brown curls strewn messily across his forehead. Your heart skips a beat. 

You run a fond hand through his curls before pulling at the hem of his t-shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes.” Tom laughs but holds up his arms as you pull it up and over his head, and then you roll from his lap as he wiggles out of his tight jeans and throws him aside. He pulls you back to his lap, this time positioning you so your centre rests over his black Calvin Kleins, and you rock down to feel his length pressing up against the fabric. “Shit, Tom,” you curse, the pressure sending rolls of pleasure through your clit. Your forehead falls to his as his hands move your hips, helping you grind against him as both of you feel a little relief. “I want you so bad.”

Tom moves quickly, flipping the position until you’re the one on your back, your head nestled in the soft pillows, and he’s pressed over you, caging you in with a strong arm either side of your head. He catches your lips in another kiss, and when he pulls back, he lets his teeth tug at your lower lip, catching your moan in his open mouth.

“Can I take these off?” He asks, pulling at the waistband of your red panties. You nod quickly and raise your hips as he tugs them down your body, his large hands pressing your thighs up and apart as he settles between your legs, his eyes drifting down your slippy slit. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re absolutely soaked for me.” He drags a light finger through your folds, applying a very light, very teasing pressure to your clit, and it makes you grind down against him. “So fucking needy,” he coos, finally rubbing your tender bud with a little more pressure. As you gasp and fist your fingers in his hair, he moves his face nearer your core. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a cunt this wet and hot for me. Mind if I have a taste, darling?”

His filthy words make your body shake, and the moment you’ve nodded your head, your back arches from the mattress as his soft, warm tongue slips out and wraps around your bud. One of his hands anchors your hips to the bed as the other accompanies his mouth on your core, and you moan loudly as he slips two sturdy fingers into your wet, aching entrance. It feels unbelievable to have Tom pressed between your legs, his fingers curling and pounding into your heat in a way that makes you cry out loudly. And his mouth - oh, god, his mouth - is unbelievable. You can tell he’s enjoying it by the way he works his tongue so smoothly, teasing lightly through your wet folds before circling back to your bud, kissing it and lapping over it and sucking it until you’re a sweaty, delirious mess above him.

Your fingers ache from the hold you’ve got on his hair, and you suck in a breath as you feel your edge approaching. “God, Tom, you’re so fucking good at that. I’m gonna cum if you keep it up.”

For a wonderful moment, you think he’s gonna keep going. He’s got his fingers pressed flush against your sweet spot and it feels so amazing that you’re about to melt, but then he smacks his lips and pulls back, leaving you high and dry and panting desperately on the sheets.

“Oh, what was that? You were gonna cum?”

You blink desperately down at him, surprised to see him looking up at you so confidently, with that teasing smirk dancing over his face. “Tom, I swear to god, you’re such a dick-”

“Shh.” He reaches up and drags his messy fingers over your mouth, and you part your lips to let them in. You swirl your tongue over his digits, humming lightly as you suck off your tangy juices, his eyes watching you darkly. It feels so dirty, but it sends a thrill down your spine, and your core continues to throb as you pull at his shoulders and bring him back up to you. “I think it’s only fair that we cum at the same time, princess? Don’t you?” He whispers. 

You release his fingers with a pop, sighing frustratedly as you trail your hands down his toned front. His muscles pull taut and tense, and as you grab a peek at the lines of his abs, you find yourself wondering how you ended up like this with him. He’s so handsome it makes you ache, and it’s as if he can hear your thoughts as he presses a few kisses to your jaw.

“And you call me a tease,” you respond, eyelids fluttering shut as he drags his mouth over your neck. “Stop messing around and fuck me, Tom.”

“Mm, so demanding.”

You grab at his hair and tug his face away from your collarbones and up to your mouth, kissing him hard. “I need you,” you whisper hurriedly against his lips. “I’m going to explode if you don’t fuck me.”

His lips pull into a warm smile. “Well, we can’t be having that, can we?” He replies. “Condom?” You point at the bedside table and he disappears for a few moments, leaving your body cold and empty. Once he’s procured a shiny silver packet, you watch with wide, hungry eyes as he pulls off his boxers, pumps his length a few times, and then rolls this plastic over his tip before you even get a chance to touch him. He notices your pout and bites his lower lip as he moves back over you. “You can touch me next time,” he promises. “Right now, I just want to be with you.”

“Next time?” You mumble, your lips going to his ear as he pushes your thighs apart. You kiss his lobe softly, dragging your teeth over his skin until he whines. 

“If you want there to be a next time, of course,” he adds. You make brief eye contact as your heart pangs in your chest, but then you find yourself distracted as his cock rubs through your aching slit and you curse, gripping his shoulder hard.

“I definitely want there to be a next time,” you promise. His tip prods at your entrance and it takes everything in you to keep back a whine. “Now, please, Tom, let me feel you.”

He presses a small kiss to your lips, and then follows through with your request. Your fingers dig into his arms as his length fills you completely and deeply, your jaw falling slack as you moan loudly.

“You’re so wet for me, love. Feels so good around me-” Tom’s voice breaks into a groan as his hips meet yours, finally in as far as possible. “Fuck, wish I could stay like this forever.”

You scatter a series of hot, breathy kisses to his forehead as you adjust to him, before running a hand over his shoulder and nodding certainly. “You can move now,” you say.

He rocks into you gently, exploring your hot heat with care as his hands move all over you. One moment he’s gripping at the lace on your boobs, the next he’s got his fingers slipping over your hard nipples, and after that he’s pulling on your hair. All whilst his cock pushes into you, gradually growing more fervent, your soaking pussy welcoming him in easily. Your groans mix with his as you cling to him, your entire body shaking from the tension building in your body as he fucks you hard and fast.

“I love your pussy,” he rasps, teeth digging into your skin as his sweaty forehead rests on your shoulder. With every thrust, he adjusts the angle, only settling into a proper pace as he hits your special spot and you moan loudly, raking your fingers down his back. “So fucking perfect, baby.” His mouth drops praises all over you and it just makes you feel even more into it as you push your hips down to meet his thrusts.

“You fuck me so well, Tom,” you groan into his hair. The muscles in his back ripple beneath your touch as he fucks you roughly. “God, you’re gonna make me cum.”

He manages to keep himself supported on one arm as the other slips down, his hand roaming between your bodies to find your pulsing bud. As he rubs over your trembling clit, you feel your orgasm build quickly in the pit of your stomach, everywhere feeling alert and hot and needy as you pull him closer.

“Mmm, you gonna cum for me, Y/N? Let me feel you clenching around me as you scream my name?” His voice is dirty and dark and the way his lips curl around your name makes you clench tightly. “C’mon, let go. I’ve got you.”

And he rolls his hips against you just as his fingers rub your clit, and it’s so deliciously hot that your head rolls back and your orgasm peaks. Your chest heaves, the lace wrapped around your breasts pushing up against Tom’s hot chest as you cum noisily, your body tingling as a pulsing warmth spreads out from your centre. Tom grunts and screws his eyes shut as you clench and squirm beneath him, and a few moments later you feel his rhythm falter as he reaches his peak too. You rock together as your highs mix and build, your hair sticking to your face as your moans turn to whimpers and your grip on his arm relaxes, and when he pulls out, you’re left feeling empty but satisfied. You breathe deeply as Tom collapses beside you on his side, his hand grabbing at yours as his eyes find yours, searching your face carefully.

“Wow,” is all you manage to say. You shiver from the pleasurable aftershocks, your body feeling light and tingly and completely fucked out, and when Tom pulls you nearer, you let him hold you in a hug against his hot chest, feeling happily settled in his embrace. “Anyone ever told you that you’re really good at that?”

Tom laughs gently, his hand pushing your hair from your face which allows him to kiss you again. It’s softer now, not burning quite as fiercely as it had before, but it’s still unbelievably nice to have him this close to you, loving on you so tenderly. “You really are something else, love,” he compliments. His eyes sparkle brightly as he squeezes your hand. “And I wasn’t lying earlier, I really would be down to do this again.”

He looks vulnerable and nervous for a second, but you quickly smooth away his nerves as you kiss him softly, gripping at the back of his neck. Your lips fit perfectly together, and it’s as if everything has finally slotted into place as you admit, “I would be more than happy to do this again, Tom. Maybe you can even take me on a date.”

His entire face seems to light up, and he leaves a quick kiss on your cheek as he grins. “I would love that, darling.”

[------]

A few hours later…

[@yourusername has posted a new photo]

| image |

@yourusername: good things come to those who wait...

Comments:

@tomholland2013: 🔥🔥🔥

@fan1: omg do u guys think they’re dating

@fan2: why has she tagged tom on her chest like that

@fan3: omg i ship it

[------]

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

masterlist

taglist ↠ see this post to be added :D

[let-it-raines]

Prompt - David and Mary Margaret discover this great groupon deal for an autumn leaf changing tour and cabin rental in Vermont, but the catch, it's for 4 people. Enter in the reluctant best friends that can't stand each other. (And you know, the cabin only has 2 rooms)

🍁 found on ao3 | here | 🍁 

-/-

Here’s the thing about Killian Jones: Emma doesn’t hate him.

She really, really doesn’t. Hate is a strong word that she saves for people like Neal and the asshole who took her parking spot and made her lose her skip and her bigger paycheck last week. It’s not a word she uses to describe her opinion of Killian Jones. That would be better described as mistrust or slight animosity or dislike. In the nicest of terms, it could be described as nonchalance and uncaring, maybe a little bit of annoyance, but those are only true when she hasn’t seen him for awhile and has forgotten how annoying he can be.

Right now, annoyance is the exact word she would use to describe her relationship with him, mostly because his appearance was unexpected and unwelcome.

A month ago, Mary Margaret called Emma and told her that she and David won a trip to Vermont for a weekend of walking trails to see the leaves changing. It included free lodging, free dinners, tickets to a farm where you could pick your own apples and pumpkins and sit at their restaurant on the lake and drink the cider brewed at that very farm. It sounded nice, like the plot and setting of a Hallmark movie Emma only watches when she’s at Mary Margaret’s loft, and Emma told Mary Margaret that she hoped they had a good time.

Then Mary Margaret told her the trip was actually for four people, invited Emma and their mutual friend Ruby, and Emma figured why not? Her job has been stressing her out lately, and it’s a free vacation. Who passes up a free vacation?

Ruby Lucas apparently does in order to go to help her grandmother with the catering of a last-minute wedding, and Emma didn’t know about that until she got in the back of David’s truck and saw Killian Jones sitting in the spot that was supposed to be Ruby’s.

She feels cheated.

This was supposed to be relaxing even if it was going to be spent watching David and Mary Margaret be overly affectionate with each other, and now she has to deal with Killian for an entire weekend.

That’s two days and twelve hours too long if she includes today…which she definitely is.  

They’ve been in the truck for a little over three hours, which means they should be at the lodge soon, and Emma’s trying to focus on the scenery outside. It’s gorgeous, much more rural than what she’s used to living in the central part of Boston, and from what she’s heard of the lodge and the trails surrounding it, it’s only supposed to get better.

This is good. This can be a good weekend. Maybe she can go off on her own for most of it, and she won’t have to be with Killian or the lovebirds. They’ll be too busy getting lost in each other’s eyes, and he’ll be too busy flirting with every woman around. There’s definitely got to be opportunity for her to go off on her own.

If not, she might fling herself into a pile of leaves and never emerge for air.

And she’ll definitely blame it on Ruby for not telling Emma about her last-minute cancellation.

When they do eventually arrive at the lodge – after thirty minutes of Killian complaining about one of his coworkers – it turns out to look more like a small castle than anything else. It’s made of gray stone and covered in ivy and weeds while still being maintained. There’s a round fountain in front of the entryway, and behind the building, Emma can see the path that leads down to the lake and the hills that are full of trees behind it. Every tree is a different shade of red, orange, green, and yellow, and Emma has never wanted to take a picture of nature so much in her life. She’s about to live out the life of one of those girls on Instagram who only do things for the aesthetics, and for a weekend, she can’t say she minds.

What she does mind, however, is that when David hands her the key to her room, he hands Killian a key to the same room.

The same room as in her room.

Her. Room.

Hers.  

“No.”

“Why are you saying no?” David asks, tilting his head in question.

“No, as in no I will not share a room. I thought I was getting my own room.”

“It’s a couple’s weekend, Emma, and I bet you would have been fine sharing a room with Ruby.”

“Yeah, because Ruby’s…”

“Ruby’s not me,” Killian interjects, wrapping his arm around Emma’s shoulder. She tries to shrug it off, but it doesn’t move anywhere. It’s deadweight up there, and Killian has unfortunately turned so he can’t see her death stare. Not that it would have any effect on him. “You see, Dave, it’s just that Emma is wildly attracted to me, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to contain herself knowing I’m only a few feet away from her, especially when she discovers I sleep in the nude.”

“Oh my God.” Emma moves from underneath Killian’s arm, her strength coming back to her, and moves toward her – their, ugh – door. She turns the key, which is for some reason the old fashioned kind and not a card. “Please stop talking, Jones. I am not wildly attracted to you, and I can handle sharing a room. I’m not a child.”

“See, I knew the lass could do it.”

He winks at her and does this ridiculous eyebrow thing at David, and Emma is seriously considering paying thousands of dollars (she googled this place when they walked inside, and it is not cheap) for her own room.

“We’ll meet you guys in the lobby in thirty minutes, okay? We’re going on a tour of the grounds with our guide and then dinner, so dress for both.”

“When is the hike?” Emma asks, lingering in the doorway.

“Not until tomorrow. I’ll get Mary Margaret to send you the itinerary.”

“She already has. I just haven’t looked at it.”

“I’m not telling her that,” David laughs. “See you soon.”

Emma waves, smiling at David, and turns into the room, dragging her luggage behind her. It doesn’t take long before she’s stopped in her tracks, her sneakers snagging in the carpet, as Killian runs into her back.

“Bloody hell, why’d you stop like that?”

She opens her arm to the bed – singular – in front of them, which would look cozy and soft and all of the good things if she had it all to herself. “If you didn’t bring clothes to sleep in, you’re sleeping in your fucking jeans,” she mumbles before turning toward the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

This is fine.

This is all fine. Emma has been through a hell of a lot worse, and maybe Killian won’t be an ass. Maybe he’ll be the gentleman he always claims to be.

She’s never believed him for a second when he’s said shit like that.

Emma changes out of her leggings and sweatshirt into a pair of jeans and a thick sweater, grabbing her red plaid jacket and a beanie and placing them to the side for when she leaves. She puts on some mascara, a swipe of lipstick, and brushes out her hair. This is as good as it’s going to get, and she doesn’t mind that. Mary Margaret will tell her that tomorrow or whenever they go to the nice dinner that she’ll have to dress up, and Emma is giving herself a break on the makeup until then.

She had to pile it on every night this week for work, and her skin is screaming for a break.

Killian knocks on the door, telling her to hurry up because he has to get ready too, so she takes five extra minutes…out of spite…because she knows it’s just petty enough for it to rub him the wrong way. She doesn’t feel bad about it either. Killian would do the same damn thing.

“You look nice,” Killian tells her when she opens the bathroom door and he’s standing on the wall opposite the bathroom, leg propped up and arms crossed over his chest. His eyes trail up and down her body, and Emma moves out of the doorway. A shiver runs down her spine, but she ignores it.

Definitely, definitely ignores it.

It’s cold up in Vermont, even colder than in Boston, and these old walls aren’t helping.

Killian takes approximately two minutes to get ready, all of which is probably spent getting into ridiculously tight jeans, and then they’re begrudgingly walking to the lobby where David and Mary Margaret are waiting for them already talking to the guide, a peppy woman named Anna who is like the redheaded version of Mary Margaret when Mary Margaret is in one of her “everything is a fairytale” moods.  

Anna takes them throughout the property, giving them the history of the place while offering up different amenities that are not included with the package they won but still accessible if they’re willing to pay. There’s a spa, a gym, three different hiking trails, an option to take row boats out on the lake if the weather is nice, and there are two different restaurants on the property. They also offer drivers to several places around town, including the grocery store and the farm they’ll be visiting tomorrow after their hike, and Emma is sure several other things are said. She zones out about halfway through, distracted by the view of the trees and how they’re reflected on the lake. Everything is in an orange glow right now, one that brings comfort to Emma.

She’s always liked sunsets. It’s cheesy and she’d never admit it out loud, but she likes the predictability of them. They don’t always look the same, but they happen every day, even if she can’t see it. She likes that, having that constant. It’s not something she has a lot of, constants that is, and she takes every one she can get.

Maybe this weekend won’t be so bad.

If she says that enough, she just might believe it.

-/-

Dinner is nice.

The food is good, the wine surprisingly good since she was pretty sure it was going to be some funky homemade stuff, and even more surprisingly, the company is great.

When she thinks that, she wonders if the alcohol content in the wine was higher than the server said it was.

All the good thoughts about Killian go away, however, when they’re back in their (still so awful to have to think) hotel room, and Emma is awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing lotion on her arms. Killian, thank goodness, is in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt, so he’s not even going to attempt to sleep naked.

She was 100% sure that he would try, and she’s honestly kind of sad she won’t get a chance to slap him.

On the cheek.

On his face.

She doesn’t want to slap him anywhere else.

Okay, that wine’s alcohol content was definitely higher than it should have been.

Killian plops down on the bed, the mattress shaking beneath him, and tugs the covers over him. His movements jostle her, and she grits her teeth as she finishes moisturizing. He turns on the TV, puts it on some show she has never heard of, and Emma tries to keep calm. She’s tired. She’s going to fall asleep quickly, and the TV won’t bother her. She falls asleep every night with the TV on, so this is nothing new.

Emma turns down the corner of the bed on her side and slides underneath before flipping the switch for the light. The room darkens except for the TV and the glow of the alarm clock, and Emma closes her eyes. They’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, and she doesn’t want to be walking around wishing she had an IV of coffee to keep her awake.

Slowly, sleep comes for her, tugging at the corners of her eyes, and just as she’s about to succumb to it, the comforter is tugged off of her, leaving her foot exposed to the cold air of the room.

What the hell?

Emma tugs it back, shifting her leg to have it covered, and for a moment, she’s warm. Warm and cozy and not even the too loud laugh track on the TV is disturbing her.

The fact that Killian pulls away the comforter again is, however, disturbing her.

Actually, it really freaking annoys her, so she pulls it back. Hard this time, and Killian grunts in response and rolls over. she feels his foot brush against her calf, and she kicks out, moving him back to his side. It’s only a queen-sized bed, so there’s not a lot of room for them to stay separate. She’s about three seconds away from finding pillows or their suitcases and putting them in between the two of them so he stops encroaching on her space.

And taking her comforter.

Because it’s definitely hers. Just like this room was supposed to be.

Killian wasn’t even supposed to be on this trip. It was supposed to be Ruby, who definitely would have stayed on her side of the bed. Better yet, she probably would have met someone and would be staying with them, and Emma would have this entire bed to herself.

It’s so comfortable that it’s a shame she has to share it. She’s not used to that anymore, and she likes to stretch out.

The comforter moves again, and Emma grips onto it, holding it where she is and tucking it underneath her ass to keep it as steady as possible. At this point, he has to be doing it to annoy her, and Emma is not going to lose this battle.

She’ll stay up all night if she has to.

“You know, Swan,” Killian mumbles, “normally I prefer to do more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back than fight over the covers.”

Emma groans and rolls over on her stomach, pointedly kicking out at him. “Shut up, Jones.”

“If that’s what the lady wishes.”

Emma mutters into her pillow, and for a few minutes, as the blanket stealing calms down and the TV quiets, Emma wonders if she could feasibly fake some sleeping disorder that has her punching Killian in the face all night.

She can be a pretty good actress sometimes. She could probably pull it off.

She doesn’t do that, though, because she eventually falls asleep, one foot sticking out into the cold air.

Damn you, Jones.

-/-

There’s a warm body nears hers.

That’s the first thought Emma has when she wakes up – after thinking of how annoying her alarm sound is. The body warm and solid and a little hairy, and it takes her two seconds to remember where she is and who she’s sharing a bed with. She knew she should have slept on the floor last night because in no world does she want to have her leg pressing up against Killian’s leg and her ass…

“Oh my God,” she murmurs, eyes blowing wide as she turns and moves her body as much as she can. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my Goooooooood.”

“What are you yelling about?” Killian groans, shifting behind her, which only makes it worse.

“I’m not yelling,” Emma hisses. She pushes away and sits up, and there’s no need to even adjust the comforter because none of it is on her. “What are you doing near me?”

He raises his brow, wrinkles on his forehead popping up. Getting a look at him now, she knows the ruffled look he sometimes does with his hair is natural, and for some reason, that really freaking annoys her.

“I was sleeping until you decided to have a conniption.”

“Yeah, well that’s because your dick…oh shit.”

Emma wasn’t going to say that. She really wasn’t, and from the way Killian’s brow is arching higher, she knows that she’s messed up. She’s given him the perfect set up for all of his innuendos, and knowing him, she’s never going to be allowed to live this down.

What a great start to her morning.

“Usually that’s not the reaction, but I understand your shock, love. You weren’t prepared, and it’s, well, a lot to take in.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” She takes the pillow from behind her and smacks him with it as he laughs. He’s getting far too much enjoyment out of this, and she’s wondering how long she would be in jail if she smothered him. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Make it cold and bracing. I think you might need it.”

“Yeah, I’m not the one with morning wood, but you keep thinking that.” She gets off the mattress and reaches down for her bag. Killian may have unpacked his stuff, but she didn’t bother to do that, even if it means everything is wrinkled. “Please don’t take care of it while I’m showering. That’s just…we have to share the bed, Jones, and I’ve worked in hotels before. I know they don’t always change the sheets.”

He mock salutes, the cheekiest grin on his face, and this is really going to be a long day.

-/-

It’s a long day.

Before she can even get coffee in her, she’s dragged out to the hiking trail. The sun hasn’t fully risen, and they’re supposed to be watching the sunrise and how it matches up with all the changing trees. It’s beautiful. She knows it is, and she does manage to take some pictures that she’s sure capture about half of the beauty. The thing is that despite her best efforts, she didn’t sleep well, and she’s only running on adrenaline and annoyance.

Mostly at Killian.

He’s been staring at her all morning, a joke on the tip of his tongue about their morning, and he’s started to make them several times before Emma shoots him a look or elbows him in the stomach. Mary Margaret has given Emma several funny looks, and if she wasn’t so wrapped up in David and the romance of the changing leaves and the sunrise, she’d probably ask about it.

Mary Margaret is not one for subtlety or staying out of someone else’s business.

David guides them over the trail, which is somehow all uphill despite no discernible incline, and eventually the come to a perch with a few of the lake and the lodge, miles of trees surrounding it. Emma doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything quite like it, and now she can truly see why so many people travel here just to stare at some trees.

“It’s something isn’t it, Swan?” Killian asks as he walks up behind her, the heat of his body making the chill of the air fade for a moment.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“I didn’t think looking at trees would be your thing. I don’t take you as much of a nature person.”

Emma turns to face him and crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t know me well enough to know if I’m a nature person or not.”

He steps closer, invading her space like he always does, and maybe she’s a bit of a liar when she says he doesn’t know her. “Just who are you then, Swan?”

Emma cocks her head and straightens her back, not letting him overwhelm her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He smiles and nods, lashes fluttering until his eyes are hooded. “Perhaps I would.”

“We better get moving if we want to make it to the apple orchard on time,” David tells them, making Emma jump away from Killian and smooth down her flannel over her stomach. “You okay? You look flushed.”

“Just the walk,” Emma lies. “I’m sure that’s all.”

-/-

“I will throw this apple at your head.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Emma groans, audibly, and plucks another apple from the tree and puts it in her basket. It’s getting a little heavy, and not in a million years could she eat all these apples before they spoil. They’re not for her, though. They’re for the farm and its cider and pies and tarts and all the other apple goods they make. She must admit that it’s a brilliant business plan, having people pick the apples for you and then make them pay for it and the food and drinks.

She can’t believe people actually pay to do this. The hike, she gets, foraging for your own food, not so much.

Emma picks an apple out of her basket, one that kind of looks gross and a little squished, and she tosses it at the back of Killian’s head. It hits, just barely, and she stops as he reaches up to touch his hair.

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses, turning around to glare at her.

“You’re the one who has spent the last ten minutes being invasive to my personal life, so what’s wrong with you?”

“Asking if you were still seeing Graham Humbert is not invasive.”

“It is definitely invasive.”

Killian’s shoulders shrug, and he steps closer to her. Really close, actually. He does this obnoxious thing where he’s always encroaching on her space when he speaks, swaying closer and dipping his head down until their eyes are level. He’s doing that now, obnoxious, downright cocky grin gracing his lips, and Emma backs away, dodging some low-hanging apples, until her back is against the tree and she’s putting her basket on the ground. She really hopes there aren’t ants crawling all over her, but at this point, she’s too distracted to care.

For every inch that she moved, Killian matched her. And now, he’s more in her space than ever, the heat of his body warming her more than her jacket. How is he that damn hot?

Only in the temperature sense…not in the other way. She is obviously still a little tipsy from the wine last night that she still maintains had a higher alcohol content than usual.

He chuckles, and his eyes look at her before glancing down at her lips. It’s not even a quick glance. It’s pointed, and Emma knows she was meant to notice it.

“Please,” Emma huffs, “you couldn’t handle it.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

She wants to say something back, some smart, snide remark that will make him frustrated, but she also wants to prove him wrong. Emma doesn’t care what anyone else has to say, and she’s heard all the rumors. Kissing Killian Jones is not going to have an effect on her.

So she grabs the lapels of his coat and pulls him forward until his mouth is on hers and Emma’s head is pressing into the back of the tree. The bark scratching the back of her neck would be uncomfortable if she wasn’t so focused on Killian. He’s not kissing her back, his lips rigid against her, and she’s just about to pull back and give him shit over being a horrible kisser when he moves. His hand comes to her hair, yanking on the strands as he tilts her head the way he wants it, and his prosthetic rests at her waist. Every thought she had about him being stiff was wrong.

She’s never felt anyone move like this.

She’s also had some pretty damn good kisses in her life, but she can’t remember the last time one took her breath away and made heat curl over her skin as soft lips moved over her and slightly rough stubble scratched against her skin, likely leaving her red.

Emma can’t remember the last time she was kissed well, and damn, what a shame that is.

She could get used to that.

But she knows that’s a dangerous thought, and this is a dangerous game she’s playing. If she’s bringing cards to the table to play, she has to be open to the possibility that she can lose her hand.

Emma isn’t open to that right now.

So, she pulls back, just barely though, and tries to catch her breath as Killian does the same. He’s panting, and in any other circumstance, the sound would be like heaven to her, a strong indication of what’s to come next. Not in this one, though, and when Killian moves in, she pulls away.

“That was,” he begins, seemingly trailing off in a search for the words to describe what just happened.

She doesn’t know either, but it doesn’t take her long to figure out what she wants to say.

“A one-time thing,” she finishes, knowing she has to say it as she looks at him and the flush of his cheeks. “I’m going to find David and Mary Margaret. Don’t follow me. Wait five minutes and...” she glances down toward his jeans “…calm down.”

He mockingly bows, same smug smile she’s used to back on his lips. She knows how they feel now, and that feels wrong.

“As you wish, milady.”

-/-

The late afternoon lunch (or is it early dinner considering the time?) is awkward as hell. They’re sitting at a small, supposedly cozy table in the midst of the most romantic patio ever created (think of all the string lights in the world and then double it) with wine and cider in their glasses and good food on the table in front of them.

Emma wants to run away.

She can’t.

It really freaking sucks.

And it doesn’t help that Killian keeps looking at her with these big blue eyes that she doesn’t normally see. He looks earnest almost, and she doesn’t think Killian Jones has been earnest a day in his life.

Then again, how much does she know?

“Oh, this is so romantic,” Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m so glad we won this trip.”

“Does romance include two of your mates sitting at the table with you?” Killian asks. “Dave was playing footsy with me earlier we’re so cramped in here.”

“Was that you?” David hisses, cheeks going red, and Emma starts to laugh. That’s the best thing she’s heard all day.

“Yes, it is romantic even with you and Emma here. And with David somehow mistaking your leg with mine.”

“In my defense, Killian’s calves are only a little bigger than yours, sweetheart.”

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”

“Flattered, of course,” Killian says. “I have bloody fantastic legs. Ask Swan here. She felt them up last night.”

Emma kicks out her foot at Killian under the table, not one hundred percent sure she’s actually hitting his leg, but then she sees the slight wince. Gotcha.

“So, what are we doing after this?” Emma asks to change the subject. “Another hike? More apple picking? Second dinner?”

Mary Margaret sighs, “a carriage ride back to the hotel, but they’re going to take us the scenic route.”

“Of course they are,” Emma mutters, stabbing her food and stuffing it into her mouth. She’s going to need more wine.

-/-

The carriage ride is worse than the dinner. For one, the horses smell horrible, much worse than the food, and the carriage is somehow smaller than their table. She’s pressed completely up against Killian, their sides aligned, and he has his arm over her shoulder while they share a blanket. She tried to refuse, but it’s gotten really cold. Her nose and her fingers are going to fall off soon, and she’s as zipped up as she can be.

David and Mary Margaret practically make out across from them, and even though Emma knows more about their sex life than she would ever want to know, sitting his close to it as a horse drags them along the road is not something she’s comfortable with.

“Make it stop,” she murmurs into Killian’s shoulder, half to keep her from having to look at David and Mary Margaret but mostly to keep her nose warm.

“I’m afraid we have to ride this one out, love. If you want, we could share our own kiss…again.”

She hits his thigh underneath the blanket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever helps you sleep through the night.”

-/-

She doesn’t sleep through the night.

She’s too aware of her surroundings, of the warm body a few inches from her own.

It’s all too much, even if he didn’t try to steal the covers tonight, and if she wasn’t so damn stubborn, she’d sleep on the floor. She told herself she would do that tonight, but now it feels like admitting defeat.

Emma doesn’t like to admit defeat.

-/-

They go for another hike the next morning, their last morning in Vermont.

Emma sticks next to David the entire time, asking him mundane questions she doesn’t care about just to keep the conversation flowing and to keep Killian from making any jokes she doesn’t want him to make. It works, mostly, and Emma is even able to enjoy herself and the view for a lot of it. Boston can be gorgeous, but she’s going to miss a lot of this.

It’s the picture perfect dream, but Emma knows perfection doesn’t exist. And in pictures, it’s almost always photoshopped.

Doesn’t make it any less stunning as she stares out at it all, and it doesn’t make her want the picture perfect dream any less. The one where she isn’t so scared of getting hurt again and where she lets herself have fun, lets herself feel safe.

Lets her heart in on the decision making with her head.

-/-

Emma sleeps on most of the car ride back to Boston, and when she wakes up, it’s with a sore neck and tired eyes. It’s also in front of her apartment. She thanks the Nolans for the weekend, and very slowly, it dawns on her that Killian is no longer in the car. They must have dropped him off first, and she doesn’t know why, but it stings a bit that she doesn’t get to say goodbye to him as well.

That’s the lack of sleep talking, obviously.

Emma would never miss saying goodbye to Killian because that would mean she was going to miss his presence. She wouldn’t do that, though. Of course not. Because she didn’t have a good time when he was around. He didn’t make her smile at all this weekend.

He never makes her smile at all.

If Emma was using her own superpower to detect lies, there would be a blaring red light over her head with a little bell blaring in her ears.

She is ignoring it in favor of stuffing everything about this weekend in her bag and not looking into it. It was pretty. Nice pictures were taken, good food was had, and nothing else happened.

(Ding, ding, ding.)

-/-

Life returns to normal. She goes to work, goes to the gym, is occasionally dragged out to bars and clubs with her friends on the nights she isn’t working.

(She does finally get that guy from two weeks ago, and the paycheck is worth the struggle.)

Killian is around a lot more than he usually is. He’s in school getting his degree in software engineering on some scholarship he got from his service in the Navy, and he usually bartends at night. That job fizzled out, though, so when they all have pizza night or go out or meet up for lunch, he’s usually there.

Emma finds it odd, but she doesn’t mind.

She doesn’t pay much attention to him because she’s making a conscious effort specifically not to pay attention to him, not until he misses a fantastic opportunity to make an innuendo, and she realizes he hasn’t been making a lot of those lately. They’re there, sure, but not in as high of a quantity as they usually are.

It’s weird, but the weirdest thing about it all is how much she misses them.

Huh.

When did that happen?

When did the flirting stop annoying her and start making her laugh? When did she start liking it?

Liking him?

The thought comes to her without true warning and without permission. It’s wiggled its way out of the deep caverns of her mind and made it to the surface, gasping for air so it can live out in the open. She has a physical reaction to it, her hands coming to cover her mouth as she inhales a deep breath that has everyone looking away from the TV to look at her.

“You alright?” Ruby asks from her spot on David and Mary Margaret’s couch.

“I’m fine,” Emma lies, knowing her friends won’t push her further. They’ve known her long enough to know not to do that too often. “Just need some water.”

She gets up from her chair and walks toward the kitchen, her mind running faster than Usain Bolt, and she tries to focus on pouring herself a glass of water and on the football game that’s on. She doesn’t even really like football, but it’s kind of a fall tradition around here. She just has to go with it.

Everything is fine. This is fine.

This is…this is crazy. It’s even crazier that she can’t tell if her body is experience fear, joy, or some insane mixture of both bottled up with all of the adrenaline it can muster.

“You sure you’re alright, love?” Killian asks as he walks into the kitchen puts his plate in the sink. Of course he followed her in here. He, unlike Ruby, Mary Margaret, and David, has no qualms about bothering her. “You look a bit flushed. You’ve gone red around your cheeks.”

“Fine,” she lies again. “I’m fine.”

If she says that word enough, it’ll be true.

“Are you certain because I – ”

“Why don’t you flirt with me anymore?” she blurts before she can stop herself. She must be going crazy because this is insane. Who has taken over her body, and can she get it back please? Preferably before she does something stupid like kissing him again.

Then again, that wasn’t all stupid. It felt pretty damn good.

Killian arches his brow, his forehead wrinkling, and she knows she’s about to get some dumbass answer. He scratches behind his ear with his prosthetic. “Because if I’m to win your heart Emma, as I’d like to, I’d like to do it in a way that doesn’t piss you off, as much as I do love that. It’s quite entertaining for me, especially when you go red as you are now. It’s a becoming color on you, but I realize my methods of getting your attention were a bit childish.”

Well, okay then. Maybe not a dumbass answer.

This is a weird, weird few minutes.

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been doing the adult equivalent of pulling pigtails on a playground?’

He shrugs. “Aye, I guess.”

Emma, once more, doesn’t know what to do or say, so she lets instinct drive her. She steps forward and places her hand on his shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. They’re ridiculously blue, and it’s just not fair. “Asking me to dinner would have worked much better than that. Food has always been the way to my heart, especially if it’s cheap, greasy, and will make my stomach hurt afterward.”

She leaves the ball in his court (or in his possession on the field since they’re watching football and her sports metaphors should make sense, and she’s 82% sure that’s a correct metaphor), and walks away before being pulled back by her wrist until she’s looking at him again.

Once more, he’s earnest, and she’s still getting used to that.

And those blue eyes. Those too. They don’t have to be all devilish all the time.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me, love?” Killian asks, hopeful, kind smile on his face.

Genuine. He’s genuine, and she feels that little flutter that she hasn’t felt in awhile, not since she kissed him against the apple tree to prove a point to herself that she wouldn’t be affected by kissing him.

Emma really is a bad liar, especially when she’s lying to herself.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART X — masterlist

concept: you and chris attend a last minute vegas wedding of his close, personal friend. may contain a majority of the cast of the avengers. the slowest of slow burns. part eleven of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 5,3k

warnings: angst, jealousy, really sappy romance shit

author's note: here's a long one to make up for the fact that i didn't upload all of yesterday :) this one really messed me up, please let me know what you think :)

Chris Evans wore rejection exceptionally well.

When he returned from New York, it was like nothing had happened, nothing had changed – and you didn't know how to feel about that. A big part of you was relieved that things had returned to normal almost instantaneously. But a small, dark part of you – hidden very well in the recesses of your mind – had wanted him to be as hurt as you still were.

But there he was, bursting into your room, smile on his face.

You hadn't woken up yet, but the sound of the door being flung open had you springing up and already had a pillow clutched in your hand, ready for an attack – which you received, but not from who you'd expect.

Dodger, hot on Chris' heels, leapt onto you with a happy yowl and began the vigorous task of slobbering the ever loving shit out of you. You attempted to push him away, fighting to get the pillow between you to prevent getting drenched by dog saliva. But you were sluggish and Dodger was not, easily manoeuvring around you to attack once more.

Fighting a fit of laughter, you peered around your pillow at Chris. He stood in the doorway, hands in pockets, grinning stupidly.

"Christopher, get your attack dog off of me!"

He chuckled. "Get out of bed!"

You groaned. "It's a Saturday, Chris. I'm allowed to sleep in."

"Not today. Come on, get up!" He clapped. "We have a big day ahead of us."

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What's got you so chipper?"

"Two things," he said, making his way to you. He promptly threw the covers off of you, causing you to yelp and tuck your bare legs to your chest. "Hey, didn't we discuss more pants being worn around the house...?"

"Two. Things?" You ground out the prompt from behind grit teeth. Dodger pawed at your legs.

"One, I got the part."

You beamed, irritation dissipating. "That's great! I'm really proud of you, Evans."

He smiled briefly, before hollowing his cheeks and letting out a singular piercing whistle. You winced, but Dodger immediately stopped his antics and returned to Chris' side, bounding happily alongside him as they both moved to exit.

"And? What's the second thing?" You called out to him.

"Pack your things, wear something nice. We're going to Vegas, baby."

———————

"Vegas?!" You had immediately hopped out of bed at the very casual name drop. "As in Las Vegas?"

"Of course," Chris shrugged, pouring some freshly brewed coffee into his favourite mug. It was one he'd stolen from the set of Knives Out; you were well acquainted with it.

"May I ask why?"

"We're going to a wedding."

"A wedding?!" Your voice was shrill. You were becoming increasingly more annoyed with how non-chalant he was being, answering your questions with the bare minimum.

"Well, it's more of a renewal of vows. They've been married for a while."

"Can I ask who?"

"Oh, man," he groaned inwardly. "Why do you insist on ruining every single surprise? Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Christopher."

"He's a good friend of mine, you may know him. It was a very spur-of-the-moment thing. You're my plus one, so please," he tossed you a discarded sweater you had left over the back of a nearby chair, "start packing. It's a four hour drive, maybe less if there's no traffic."

In a last ditch effort to let him know how crazy this all sounded, you gestured to Dodger, who was happily gnawing at his favourite toothmarked chew toy. "What about Dodge?"

"He's coming with us. Obviously."

And that was all he was willing to tell you. Your efforts to pry more information was met with hums and long, eye contact charged sips of coffee, and the occasional knowing cheeky smile.

Eventually, you gave up. "Fine," you huffed. "I'll go pack."

———————

When you'd first seen the car, you had to do a double take.

Chris was not a flashy person, but this car – was there any other word for it other than flashy?

"It's just a rental," Chris chuckled at your expression, strutting past you with a duffel bag in hand. He was being... strange, somehow. Something wasn't quite right, but he seemed fine, so you followed him to the sleek cranberry red convertible parked in the driveway. "I thought to myself: if we're going to Vegas, we're going to do it right."

He tossed the bag into the back, taking care to not hit Dodger who was already happily seated. He helped you with yours, before holding your door open for you.

The sun had already warmed the seats, and while you clicked the seatbelt in, Chris all but parkoured into the car.

His strong limbs moved easily, muscles flexing as he hoisted him up and over the door. The car bounced slightly when he landed, key already inching towards the ignition.

"You know, they put doors on the car for a reason," you said, digging in your bag for your sunglasses. If you were to be sat in that car for four hours, baking in the sun, you'd surely need them. You could already feel your arms, bare in the tank top you'd favoured in the Californian heat, heating up in spite of the sunscreen you'd slathered yourself in.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Chris had had a permanent smile on his face, ever since he'd all but kicked your door down to drag you to Vegas.

"What's going on with you?"

He seemed almost taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"You're being... weird."

"You're being weird," he retorted, somewhat childishly. In spite of having your eyes hidden, he didn't miss your eye roll. Propping his hand on your headrest, he turned to look at Dodger, who was happily panting in the backseat, tucked between the bags. "Everybody strapped in?"

Dodger barked in response, and you couldn't help but giggle.

"Brilliant."

The car turned over smoothly, engine roaring to life, and as you ripped down the driveway, Chris whooped.

He turned to you, the biggest, goofiest smile on his face. "Vegas, baby!"

———————

With the wind in your hair, any chill being quickly chased away by the heat of the sun, you found yourself smiling. You tore across Interstate 15, now in the open span of the desert.

Chris' excitement was infectious. Any conversation attempts were immediately drowned out, so you had settled on a playlist. Wailing at the top of your lungs, you sang along to many a Disney and Queen song you had playing through the aux chord, volume cranked to the maximum to be heard over the roar of road and engine.

Dodger – tongue waving happily in the wind – sometimes howled along. Being there, sat next to Chris in the open air, you felt carefree. There was only you, and him, and Dodger, and the ease of the roadtrip.

Chris reached over to adjust the rearview mirror, managing to catch your reflection in it. He paused, eyes darting between you and the road.

Your head was thrown back, lips stretched into a smile while you belted along to the third replay of Bohemian Rhapsody, hair tossed to the wind. The sight was enough to make his heart dissolve.

"Eyes on the road!" You laughed, yelling at him as the car began it's slight tilt into the other lane.

Quickly pulling the vehicle back on track, laugh strained, Chris fixed the rearview again to have eyes on Dodger – who seemed entirely unconcerned with the troubles of his owner.

"You hungry?" You fought to be heard over the music and whistling wind.

He leaned closer to you, now absorbed entirely with the road. "What?!"

"Are you hungry?!"

He shrugged, pulling himself back into his seat. "I could eat!"

You'd stopped at a gas station earlier, and had managed to gather some supplies for the long drive ahead. From the grocery bag at your feet, you pulled out Chris' sandwich, managing to tear open the packaging out of the wind's reach.

You held it out to him, but instead of taking it from you like you intended, he ducked his head and took a monstrous bite, teeth lightly grazing your fingertips.

The shiver that ran down your spine was immediately overcome when he pulled away – only for the slice of ham to follow him back up. It hung from his lips, flapping in the wind, slapping at his face.

He was grinning when he turned to look at you, sunglasses having fallen slightly down the bridge of his nose to reveal his eyes. They were alive with humour and so blue in the sunlight. His mouth was full of sandwich and ham when he flashed his pearly whites, and, with expert movement and tongue work, he scooped the ham into his mouth. He moaned in mock ecstasy.

"You're such a dork!" You shouted over the wind, once you'd overcome the hysterics and he'd finished his mouthful of ham.

"I'm so what?" He yelled back, feigning haven't heard you. "Sexy?! My God, you're right!"

In your distraction, Dodger had snatched the sandwich from your hand, earning him shocked gasps from both of you.

"Dodger!" You scolded, but the sandwich was done by the time you whirled around to look at him. He barked, content, and licked a wet stripe to your face.

"Yeah, that's right, bud! You tell her!"

———————

You slowed down once you reached the city limits of Vegas to take in the sights. Not that there was much to see.

The glitz and glam so often portrayed on the silver screen was replaced by a seediness that you simply could not reconcile with all that you had been expecting. Hollywood really had the audacity to lie to you like that, you supposed.

It almost made you wonder who would want to have their wedding here. But there was also a charm to it, if you didn't look too closely.

Several Elvises (Elvi?) were sharing a cigarette outside a club, while showgirls strutted down the gum caked sidewalks, feathers ruffling in the breeze and the sway of their ten inch heels.

They waved when you drove past, and Dodger gave them a thrilled yap. He had never seen something that big with feathers before, and you almost had to grab his collar before he chased them down.

After seeing so many multithemed casinos – especially the closer you got to the city center – that it became monotonous, your illusion of glitz and glamour was restored when Chris pulled the car up outside the Bellagio.

"You're kidding," you breathed.

He chuckled. "Not good enough?"

"Too good enough," you practically stuttered.

Chris shut the engine off before clambering out of the car, thankfully using the door this time. He stretched, muscles stiff from the long ride.

"Everyone at the wedding is staying here. The reception's going to be held in the ballroom, but if you don't want to..."

"No!" You said quickly. And then, softer: "I'd love to stay here, I'm just... trying to... you know?"

All you could do was gesture aimlessly, but Chris did know. There was a time once where lavish hotels and spontaneous trips across the country were very new to him.

"Well, good," he said while handing the keys over to the valet, slipping him a good tip and a grateful smile. That smile stayed, changing into something softer and more genuine when he turned back to you. "Because the reservation is already booked and it'll be a bitch cancelling it now."

He helped you out of the car, your legs shaky from both sitting for so long and the delight of getting the chance to spend the night at the freaking Grand Bellagio Hotel & Casino.

Once he was certain you weren't going to keel over, he put the seat forward to let a very excited Dodger out. Obedient as always, Dodger remained by Chris' side as he retrieved the bags.

Giving a friendly wave to the valet – arm barely weighed down by the duffel bag curled in his hand – Chris led you and Dodge into the foyer.

Inside was just as beautiful as the outside, if not more. You were suddenly feeling lightheaded, taking in the opulence it was furnished in. You felt out of place, standing there, road weary in your rumpled denim shorts and spaghetti strap tank. Especially when you caught sight of it – the trademark Bellagio fountain. Water climbed the sky, only to fall back down in a heavy shower, sparkling in the hotel lights. It was magnificent and you were suddenly feeling so small, so–

"Afternoon, ma'am. Reservation under the name Evans?"

Chris' low voice practically boomed in the quiet of the front desk, breaking the spell. It unnerved you how hyper aware you were of his every action.

The process of checking in was mundane, but soon, key cards in hand, Chris was guiding you towards the elevator, Dodger in tow. You didn't know whether to be relieved or crestfallen that Chris had booked separate rooms – still conjoining, for Dodger's benefit. You decided you were relieved. It was much easier to puzzle through relief than to dwell on the pain in your chest.

Against Chris' insistence, a bellboy took your bags for you. And it was while you were waiting for the elevator that you met the groom.

"Well, I'll be damned," you heard a familiar voice say. Not familiar because you knew it personally, but familiar because you had heard it many times before, often while seated in a cinema seat. "Christopher Evans, as I live and breathe."

"Always with the theatrics, Downey," Chris grinned. They hugged, clapping each other on the backs.

Robert wore a large smile and an incredibly well tailored suit.

Dodger let out a deafening bark, tail blurring in the speed of his wag. He practically pounced on the man, causing Robert to laugh, petting him. "Easy, boy." Absentmindedly, but no less sincere, Robert continued, hands buried in Dodger's fur while he addressed the two of you. "I'm so glad you could make it. I know it was a very last minute, spur of the moment type thing. It really means a lot."

"Who else is here?"

Robert straightened, brushing some dog hair off his sleeve. "Hemsworth was stuck in Australia, but that was fine, given the short notice. Tom also couldn't find a flight–"

"Holland or Hiddleston?"

"Hiddleston. We managed to get the kid. Thankfully he had been filming in L.A. for the past few months. I couldn't imagine this day without him..."

And then he saw you.

You had thought you had run your capacity for getting starstruck well and truly into the ground, and it was only typical of Robert Downey Jr. to prove you wrong. You stood there, speechless, mouth agape.

"Holy shit," you whispered when you finally found your voice again.

You hoped he hadn't heard you, but he had, and, tipping his sunglasses down to take you in, he beamed. "And who do we have here?"

"Robert, this is–"

"{Your full name}. It's so lovely to meet you," you gushed, fervently shaking his extended hand. "Really, it's an honour. I love you 3000. I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I just can't believe it's you. I'm sorry, I'm going to let go of your hand now."

Robert smirked at your enthused outburst. He glanced at Chris. "Where did you find this one?"

"It's not like that, Rob. She's just a friend."

Attention back to you, Robert pushed his glasses back up with one practiced finger. "Well, just a friend. It's great to have you here, celebrating this day with Susan and I. I like the whole... 80's vibe you have going on. You're really taking this revival seriously."

Your confusion was shortlived.

As soon as you and Chris had said goodbye to Robert to shower the roadtrip away and get ready for the wedding, you caught your reflection in the elevator mirror.

And... to put it mildly, it was a sight to behold. You instantly knew what he had meant by "80's vibe."

Your hair was a mess, tousled and wind swept to rest atop your head at new voluminous heights. Your sunglasses – which you hadn't given much thought to, having slid them up and out of your eyes – were tangled lopsidedly in a precarious perch.

You looked insane. You had met Robert Downey Jr. while looking like an inmate at Arkham, and the cold slither of mortification overcame you.

"How. Could. You. Not. Tell. Me?!" You punctuated every word with a slap to Chris' muscle bound arm, and although they were light and didn't hurt, he shied away from you all while chuckling smugly. "How could you not tell me?!"

He kept his eyes on the screen displaying number of floors you flew past as he shrugged. "I didn't see anything wrong."

"What do you mean, Chris?! Look at me! I have Farah Fawcett hair!" You gestured wildly at the birdsnest.

He did as you requested, and turned to you. "You look beautiful," he said simply. "I didn't see anything wrong."

———————

The ceremony took place at A Little White Chapel – a little over a ten minute drive away from the Bellagio – and was nothing short of sweet.

You had felt a little self conscious, wearing the baby blue summer dress you had found sitting in the back of your closet untouched for a little over six months. Chris could sense you apprehension.

You had been picking at a tiny loose thread in the hem of the skirt when he leaned down to you.

"How many times do I have to say it?" He sighed, reassurance tinted in his voice. "You look fine."

You gave him a small smile. "Maybe just once more?"

"You look–"

And then he was practically knocked over by the barrelling tackle hug Anthony greeted him with. Breath knocked out of him, Chris grinned as he hugged Anthony back.

"There she is," Mackie opened his arms to you too once him and Chris broke apart and Chris turned to greet Sebastian who had been standing back, hands in his pockets, watching the sneak attack in amusement.

You giggled, hugging him tightly. "How've you been?"

"Oh, you know," he shrugged. He moved back slightly for you to give Sebastian an affectionate greeting kiss on the cheek. "Same old, same old. Work, work, work. Almost pulled my arm out of its socket throwing that shield. How the hell did you manage to do that for so long, Chris?"

The kiss did not go unnoticed to Chris. He was staring at you intently, eyes stormy, before being snapped out of it by Anthony. Storm subsiding, he smiled easily. "You just gotta work for it harder, I guess."

"Oh, is that right?" Anthony arched his brow, and soon they were play wrestling in their expensive suits.

"Should we break them up?"

"Nah," Sebastian waved your suggestion off. "Let them fight it out." He caught sight of someone and sucked in a sharp breath, eyes twinkling in glee. "Or better yet..."

"Boys, boys," a voice lilted out, mock scorn laced into the words. It was husky yet feminine, an exotic but distinct combination. "Where are your manners? We're at a wedding."

The boys instantly broke apart to see Scarlett approach. She was frowning in mock disappointment... but that quickly dissolved. She grinned, throwing her arms around them.

You couldn't believe it. It was a whole Avengers reunion.

"And you must be {your name}."

You returned her smile, holding out your hand to shake. She disregarded it, instead opting to give you the same treatment she gave her friends. Your heart warmed.

"I've heard so much about you," she said while you hugged.

"Only good things, I hope," you muttered shyly.

"Only the best. The boys won't shut up about you. Heard you turned a few heads at Vulpecula the other night," she winked. "Hope you're giving this one a hard time. He needs it every now and then."

The person in question arched a teasing – if not inquisitive – brow. "Don't be giving her any ideas. It's hard enough as is."

The double entendre was caught by everyone in your little reunion circle, and Chris' face flushed. "What I meant was–"

"Oh, we know what you meant," Anthony winked.

Something caught Sebastian's attention. Or rather, someone. He tapped Anthony on the shoulder, never peeling his gaze away from the new arrival. "Eyes up. Holland just entered the building."

Sure enough, Tom Holland had just arrived, Elizabeth Olsen at his side listening intently to everything he was saying. By the looks of it, they were catching up.

"You got the juice box ready?" Anthony asked.

Sebastian opened his blazer to display a juice box seated comfortably in the inner breast pocket. "Locked and loaded, baby."

"Let's go torment the kid."

And they were off, half hearted goodbyes mumbled upon their exit.

Their voices were inaudible, but from what you could tell, they were teasing Tom, offering him the children's beverage. He was taking it exceptionally well, laughing it off, while Lizzie said hello to the duo.

"The funny thing about them is that they're more like kids than Tom is," Scarlett mused, watching the scene play out.

"No, the funny thing is, is that I was ready to fight Sebastian for that juice box," you murmured under your breath.

That earned you a soft chortle from Scarlett, and something close to pride bloomed in your chest.

"Oh, I see Mark! I better go say hi before I miss him again. He keeps getting pulled into conversations and I can never get a word in." Scarlett slid easily past, but not before turning to say goodbye. "You two, grab some seats, I'll try and join you in a bit. If I don't catch you again, I'll see you at the reception..."

And then she disappeared, the only sign she'd ever been there was the trace of expensive perfume and a glimpse of her red dress and golden hair.

"I love her."

Chris bellowed out a laugh at your honesty, the completely earnest look in your eyes. "Yeah, Scarlett's great. One of my closest friends."

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" The new voice was the one you had encountered before – the one that had you self consciously checking your hair.

Chris ducked down once again, finishing his previously cut off reassurance in your ear. "You look fine."

Robert handed you a champagne flute each, ones he had plucked from a passing waiter's tray. "Because if so, it's working."

"I only have eyes for you, Downey," Chris raised his glass to Robert in subtle cheers. "You know that."

"I'm spoken for," Robert gasped, scandalized. Then, leaning in conspiratorially, he whispered: "But just say the word, I'll cancel the wedding and we can elope."

"I doubt Susan would appreciate that."

Robert waved off Chris' weak protest. "We've been married fifteen years today, I think she's sick of me by now. Christopher Downey. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"Robert Evans," you challenged.

"Perfect," Robert grinned. "It's settled. I'll bring the car around, we'll run away together. {Your name}, you'll officiate and we'll all live happily ever after. Agreed?"

He stuck his hand out for Chris to shake. Having to switch his glass to a different hand to grasp Robert's, Chris pulled Robert closer to him. Concern creased his brow. "But seriously, Robert. How are you feeling?"

The sincerity in which he looked at Chris in that moment, he could say anything and you'd believe it. But his answer was so simple. "I've never been happier a day in my life. I love her. Always have, always will."

And judging by the way he looked at her when she came down the aisle, you knew it was true. He was glowing, gazing at her like the very first time he had married her.

He looked at her the way an immortal would describe Galileo's first look to the Milky Way.

And if you hadn't been so entranced by the splendour of it all, that look that Robert had would seem familiar. Because right beside you, Chris was looking at you.

He was looking at you in that exact same way.

———————

"Is that Mel Gibson? Is that Mel Gibson. Christopher Robert Evans, you tell me right now: is that Mel Gibson? Is that Mel Gibson I see before me? Pinch me. Holy fucking shit it is motherfucking Mel Gibson. I'm in the same room as Braveheart."

Chris was watching you with complete adoration, a dopey smile on his face.

This had been going on for a while – it was so strange for you to be in a room of familiar faces you'd never met before, and although you'd served many a drink to the famous, it was one night at a time and there was at least a quick escape to the break room should you require a moment to gather yourself. You felt almost... naked in this room full of familiar strangers.

"You should go say hi."

"To Mel Gibson?" You blanched.

"Yeah, why not?"

"It's Mel Gibson," you said flatly, as if that was the answer to all the questions anyone had ever asked in the universe, ever.

"Okay, first, he's just Mel. You don't have to keep saying his full name." Chris handed you a wine glass. He continued as he poured some wine into it from one of the reception tables in the ballroom. "And second, Mel's great. We've had dinner together at Downey's a few times. Go," he pushed you gently towards where Gibson stood. "It'll be fine."

You threw back the wine and took one step forward, before immediately backtracking. "NononoIcan't–"

And then Chris had his arm around your shoulders guiding you over to where Mel stood, intent on giving you an introduction. "Yes, you can," he cajoled, trying his very hardest not to snigger at your mood swings.

"Look how cute they are," Anthony sighed.

Sebastian groaned. "Stop it."

"You're just upset because I'm going to win."

"There's nothing to–" Seb cut off, having spotted Holland at the bar. "Minor alert. Shall we?"

"Fuck yes, we shall."

———————

You had been speaking to Mel Gibson for a little over an hour at that point.

After the introduction, Chris had left you to your devices, going around the reception dinner and saying hi to everyone he knew, shaking hands with people he didn't.

And when he returned to where he had left you, he didn't know whether to be surprised or not to find you still there.

Mel found you quite entertaining once you'd surpassed the initial fangirling. You were so young and full of life. He listened to your babbling, interjecting when appropriate and imparting little hints of wisdom, here and there. And that's how you'd stayed, for an hour at least.

"{Your name}, can I borrow you for a minute?" Chris' voice was soft, polite. Giving you every opportunity to say no.

In spite of how entertained Mel was by you, once Chris had arrived, he'd already started looking for a different conversation partner. It wasn't something you took offense to – it was a wedding, after all, with so many people around. You couldn't hog all of his time. So you excused yourself from him, thanking him, before hooking your arm in Chris'.

You'd expected him to lead you back to the table, but you were surprised to find yourself being led to the dancefloor instead.

It was the first dance.

Robert, dapper in his suit, led a splendid Susan onto the floor, and the gathering crowd clapped and cheered. The violins and piano were struck, and the married couple began their hypnotic waltz.

"No need to thank me just yet," Chris murmured into your hair, eyes on the couple gliding across the floor.

Not wanting to disrupt the spell the dance had cast, you were slow in your response. "Thank you for what?"

"You looked like you needed saving." With every word, you could feel his hot breath fanning your hair, and those goddamn goosebumps were back.

"If anything, it was Mel who needed saving."

The waltz came to an end with a passionate kiss, and then the dancefloor was open to everyone.

"This one goes out to Robert and Susan," you heard a woman – Scarlett – say into the microphone. She had made her way on stage, and was looking at the renewly weds with unadulterated affection. "They begged and begged me to sing here tonight, and I finally agreed. As long as I was allowed to pick the song. So here is Let Me Love You Like A Woman, originally performed by Lana Del Rey."

"We couldn't get Lana!" Robert yelled from his seat at the table. The guests laughed, and you even found yourself giggling a little.

"Fuck you, Downey," Scarlett chuckled.

The band struck up the opening chords to the slow, beautifully peaceful melody. Without hesitation, Chris pulled you to the dancefloor, and turned to capture you in his arms. His hand rested against the small of your back – so perfectly fitting into the natural bow of your spine, it was like he was made to hold you like this – his other holding yours to his chest.

"Were you jealous?" He could see you were joking, he could see it in your eyes.

"Of Mel?" Chris scoffed. "No."

You continued your slow dance, relishing in the feel of having Chris close to you again, his body firm against yours, warming you through to your core. Your head rested on his chest, eyes closed, letting Scarlett's voice lull you into a gentle rythym. Her voice was so calming, that when Chris spoke, you had nearly forgotten where you were.

"But of Sebastian? Yes."

You could hear how hard it was for him to admit, the strain in his voice near palpable. But the surprise the admission drew from you caused you to shoot your head up to look at him incredulously. You could almost think he was joking, how ridiculous it sounded, but one look at his face and you knew he wasn't.

"Sebastian?" You repeated in disbelief. "Sebastian Stan?"

"I saw you kiss him."

He sounded so crushed, you found yourself hurting.

"That was nothing. That was a hello."

His next words were harsh, a subdued rage in the depths of the blue of his eyes. "Maybe the next time you feel nothing for a person, don't kiss them," he bit out. It was like he had been hoarding all the pain and resentment he had felt, and it finally spilled forth. "It sends the wrong message."

And then he was gone, ripping away from you, cold air filling the empty vacuum where he once stood.

———————

"I saw you and Chris out there, you looked..."

Anthony had been speaking while approaching you, but as soon as he saw your face, his tone changed. "Hey... Hey, what's wrong?"

You were sitting at your table, head propped in your hand, trying hard to mask your misery, but ultimately failing.

"It's that obvious, huh?" You sniffled.

Anthony dropped into the chair beside you – the seating arrangement proclaiming it belonging to Chris Evans – and immediately pulled you into his arms.

You looked a little like a mess, eyes watering enough to smudge your mascara, but you didn't cry. To be frank, you were incapable of crying. You were too confused to cry.

"Please tell me you're like this because of the wonderful union between Robert and Susan Downey, and not because of something Chris did."

You laughed softly into Anthony's shoulder before withdrawing. "I just... I don't know what happened."

"Walk me through it."

"He was... He was so happy earlier. Which I found strange, of course, because he was being too happy. I'd never seen him like that, even when he really was happy. It was like he was fake happy. And we were fine. We were..."

"Happy?" Anthony suggested when you trailed off.

"Exactly," you took a deep gulp of wine. "But then, now, on the dancefloor..."

One read of your face, and Anthony guessed what happened. And he didn't press further, instead offering you the only explanation he could. As Chris' friend. As yours, too.

"We are in the profession of pretense, {your name}. We're wonderful liars when we need to be, especially to ourselves. And the thing about Chris... Well, he can't lie to himself for very long."

[autumnslance]

((Shadowbringers 5.3-5.4. I wanted to have this done by the 15th of January but didn’t quite manage it because these two idiots are wordy as heck, and I initially started in the wrong place and POV. I wrote roughly 8000 words total and only ended up using half of them. There are letters and pining and admitting things happening here.

Below the cut as usual for those who prefer Tumblr to Ao3, but the formatting may work better on that site.))

Aeryn stepped through the mirror and into the familiar space of the Ocular, taking a moment to reorient herself after the rush of journeying between worlds. Once the vertigo had passed she left the Tower, the Crystarium guards greeting her as she crossed the Exedra. It took some questioning before she was finally pointed to where Ryne was currently; training with Captain Lyna just outside the city gates.

She simply watched for a time as Lyna tried to keep her distance while Ryne tried to close in. Aeryn did not announce herself, simply noting how Ryne’s bladework had improved, at least one new trick learned since the last time Aeryn had watched her fight.

“That is enough for now,” Lyna said as they reached a breakpoint in their dance. “And the Warrior of Darkness has waited long enough,” she continued with a wry smile in Aeryn’s direction.

Ryne started, then turned with a grin, hurrying over to give Aeryn a hug. “It’s good to see you! Oh sorry, I’m all sweaty…”

Aeryn laughed, brushing damp strands of hair from Ryne’s reddened face. It was still winter in Eorzea, but in Norvrandt spring was on the horizon and the morning was warm. “Not to worry. Hope you don’t mind the interruption.”

Lyna waved them off. “Go on; we can catch up later.”

Aeryn nodded, knowing the captain wanted word of her grandfather, and G’raha had given Aeryn a small package to deliver, but that would wait until Lyna was off duty and had readied herself. There was an order to such things with the stoic woman.

Instead, Aeryn turned back to Ryne and smiled. Had she gotten taller? “I have a question, if you’ll indulge me.”

“Of course!” Ryne answered as they walked across the bridge into the city. “What is it you need?”

“I have a note from Thancred; he and Urianger are currently on a mission, but he left me instructions for tod--well. The day it is back on the Source.”

“I see. What are the instructions?”

“I’m to ask you about the black willow box he kept in his room here.”

Ryne paused, a little sharp breath escaping. “Ryne?” Aeryn asked.

“Sorry! It’s just I was under strict instruction never to open the box, though I have the key now, of course; I still didn’t dare. It’s where he kept,” she hesitated.

“Kept what?”

“I’ll show you; it’s a good thing--I think--that he wants you to see. Come on!” Ryne dashed toward her apartment as if she hadn’t just completed a long practice session with the captain of the guard. Aeryn picked up her own pace to follow along after.

It did not take long for them to reach the apartment Ryne used to share with Thancred. As the girl opened the door, Aeryn realized it was the first time she had returned to these rooms since the Scions’ departure from the First. It was much as she remembered, though lacking Thancred’s continued presence. Evidence of Gaia’s frequent visits were visible instead, from lipstick-stained coffee mugs at the sink to dark ribbons left on an end table to a book that did not seem to be to Ryne’s taste on a sofa cushion.

Ryne paused in front of the door that had led to Thancred’s small room. “I haven’t been in here since,” she trailed off, shaking her head. “Gaia and Taynor sorted most of it, actually, so only a few personal things remain. I should probably move to a smaller suite to let someone else use the space…”

“Maybe you need a roommate,” Aeryn suggested. “Perhaps Gaia could stay with you.”

Ryne reddened. “We’ve considered it, but I’m just…” She gave a helpless little laugh as she shrugged, looking up at Aeryn apologetically. “I’m just not quite ready, I think. It’s silly, but there’s a part of me that keeps hoping they’ll find a way--a safe way--to return. Even just for a little while.”

Aeryn squeezed Ryne’s shoulder. “It’s not silly,” she said quietly. “And I keep hoping that, too. Fairly certain Y’shtola has it at the top of her projects list.”

Ryne laughed, truly this time. “She would!” She looked at the door again. “The box should be on the shelf above the writing desk,” she offered Aeryn a small key. “I’ll let you see for yourself.”

Aeryn nodded, taking the little key and entering the room.

It was familiar, yet unfamiliar. Always small, it had kept from being cramped mainly by virtue of Thancred’s own minimalist tendencies with his added reluctance of accumulating things on the First that he would have to leave behind in the end. Even so, the room felt barren, many necessities and items missing, given away to be used by others in need among the Crystarium’s residents; naught went to waste while still usable.

The bed was neatly made; her eyes lingered for a moment, recalling a handful of pleasant times curled up together in it. They had often met in her own chambers for privacy, especially when feeling the need for more than simple closeness. There was a bench under the shuttered window; he used to clean his gunblade there, storing materials and parts in a chest beneath the bench. Nothing remained but the seat.

The writing desk was really a tall square table, a stool for the chair, in a corner of the room. Two simple shelves hung on the wall above it, some of Thancred’s personal effects that remained neatly placed upon them. The black willow box was a simple but lovely piece of old Nabaath make. It was familiar only in that it was a part of the room, always upon the shelf above the desk, a background decoration.

She had to stretch a little to pull the small box down. She unlocked it, pondering what it could contain for one last moment before opening the lid to find out.

Neatly folded pages, Thancred’s familiar handwriting covering them, five different bundles marked by Vrandtic dates in Eorzean lettering. The earliest one was dated five--no, six years ago now, in the midst of Thancred’s first year in this world, just after the Vrandtic new year. The second bundle was dated a year later. Then the third, then a fourth. The final bundle broke the date pattern, written...She shivered. The dates would have been the time after they assaulted Mt Gulg and before seeking Emet-Selch and the Exarch in the Tempest, when she had lain in a Light-induced fever for days in between.

All of the letters, long and detailed, were addressed to her.

Aeryn carried the box to the window and opened the shutters, letting in the natural light of day. She sat at the bench, picked up the first letter, and began to read, brows already rising at the first line.

My Dear Aeryn,

It’s been roughly half a year, to me, since I arrived in this world. We search for a means to send me back, but given the dangers, it’s difficult to say if we shall ever be successful. I hold onto hope, given we have made the impossible happen more than once—particularly when you are involved.

I know so much less time is passing for you, even as time is difficult to track beneath the eternal Light, but the people still mark the hours and days as best they can--perhaps better than we do in the Source, reliant as we are upon the sun and stars. So as the calendar year turns to a new page, I find myself confronted by reminders of you at every turn, my own mind noting the dates, as if counting down to your nameday in truth.

Violas grown in the Hortorium call to mind your favored hair decoration and your scents carried with it. The heather meadows and clear mountain springs of Il Mheg make me think of the taste of your magic. Treasure hunters in Mord Souq unearth duelist rapiers reminiscent of your combat style. The grey waters of a lake, shifting in color and tone under the burning sky, remind me of your eyes and ever-shifting moods.

I think of our new situation, how fragile it all still seems, our duties as Scions, the distance between Ala Mhigo and Doma keeping us apart more often than I liked. Especially after already having denied my own interests for far longer than I care to admit.

I fear now, not knowing when I may return to your side--in whatever capacity--that I am forgetting important things, and I very much do not want to. So indulge me as I list your various qualities that I admire, to remind myself why I allowed myself to maintain my impossible infatuation for so long, even as you became one of my dearest friends...

Aeryn eyes widened as she turned to the next page, then quickly checked the several pages following; Thancred had indulged his bardic habits, writing in verse and engaging in wordplay. Even the most innocent descriptions and memories of moments together, professional and extremely personal, were laden with puns and innuendo--not entirely unexpected from him.

She was mostly through the verses, trying to parse every dedicated line, when a knock at the door startled her.

“Aeryn?” Gaia called. “Everything all right?”

She cleared her throat. “Fine; I’ve quite a bit of reading to do, though; I may need some water.”

The door opened, Gaia appearing with a tray already in hand. “Ryne thought you might--are you all right? You’re redder than I have ever seen, and that’s saying something.”

Aeryn pressed a hand to her warm cheeks. “I’m fine. Just...wasn’t expecting some of what I found so far.”

“Is that good or bad?” The girl asked, setting the tray on the nearby side table in easy reach. There was a small tea service and also ice water, bless them. 

“It’s...Better than good,” Aeryn replied. “I may be awhile, though.”

Gaia shrugged in her nonchalant, pretending-not-to-care way. “Doesn't matter to me, but I was going to drag Ryne out for a while, just so you know. You’ll be fine here by yourself--won’t you?” A little genuine care came through in the last two words, despite her attempts to seem otherwise.

Aeryn nodded.

“All right. Enjoy your reading, and we’ll see you later.” Gaia gave a little wave before leaving, quietly closing the door behind her.

Aeryn cleared her throat again, sipping the cup of minty green tea--bless those girls again--and set the first letter aside for now. She would get back to that later; alone in her own room, where she could bury her face in a pillow and shriek like a schoolgirl when overwhelmed by his words, godsdamn him. For now, the second bundle had her curious.

My Dearest Aeryn,

I almost let the date slip by, I am ashamed to say. So much has happened in recent weeks...

She read through two pages of his recounting Minfilia’s story and the reincarnations that had followed, offering a small hope to Norvrandt; of Urianger and Y’shtola’s arrival, his anger at the spell’s failure and yet relief at seeing Urianger again; and their shift in focus upon learning of the Eighth Umbral Calamity.

...Urianger’s vision of the Calamity, of our deaths, is a sobering thought. The idea of you fallen especially freezes my blood. I cannot bear the thought.

So I redoubled my efforts to rescue the girl bearing Minfilia’s name and appearance. She sleeps now on a cot in this Mord town as I write. She can’t be more than twelve or thirteen summers; a frail little thing with no skills aside from reading books thicker than she is, and asking innumerable questions. They taught her nothing, simply locked her in a windowless cell under the waterline. For at least ten years, that is all the child’s known. If the fate Urianger saw for us makes my blood freeze, her situation makes it boil again. Should I chance to meet Eulmore’s General--the man responsible for her “care”--I will let him know exactly what I think.

Tomorrow Minfilia and I shall attempt to reach Nabaath Areng, the site of the Flood’s halting; the girl says she must go there, as if pulled. I have a hope I dare not voice yet. The Blessing of Light does work in such interesting ways.

But that is on the morrow; tonight, though a day late, I wished to write to you as I did last year. With the date in mind you have also been in my thoughts--when I’ve had a moment to think, at least--and I find myself recalling more and more often the little things. Simple things. Things I fear I may forget, having been here for years now, years without the way you tilt your head when you have a question. It initially annoyed me actually, you were so quiet but now, gods I would give much to be in your silence again, to see that quizzical look. Anything to see the little furrow between your brows when you’re thinking. When you prop your chin on your hands as you stare out a window, tea forgotten in your hand. How you unconsciously wriggle and make faces as you read, reacting to the pages, lips silently moving as you devour each word...

“Oh I do not,” Aeryn muttered--realizing in the same moment that she was doing that now. She sipped her tea and kept reading, noting how he wrote, as much as what; the moments where he had scratched out words, or underlined others. The splots where the pen had sat on the page a moment longer than normal as he thought of what he wanted to admit to. The way the letters slanted in places where he was eager. There was no poetry this time, fewer puns and word play. He had written when tired and possibly injured, given the shakiness of some lettering.

There were places where he couldn’t remember clearly--what perfume had she worn on the day of a particular memory? Was she wearing her red coat, or a blue dress in another? He wasn’t certain.

The letter wrapped up several pages later.

...I must get some sleep, given the long trek across the Amber Hills awaiting. I don’t know what will happen when we arrive, but whatever it is, I’ll keep the girl safe. Taking care of her is the only thing I can do, lacking the skills of the Exarch and our colleagues. Particularly now that we have abandoned the idea of going home--yet. I still don’t know how I feel about that, having struggled to find a way back for so long now, but there must be a home to return to. To save ourselves, we must save this realm. Forgive me; as much as I yearn to see you again, I wish for you to live far more. Despite everything, I still remain

Yours, Thancred.

Aeryn drew in a sharp breath; the previous letter’s signature had been much simpler, after all the floweriness of the verses. This simpler, newsy, reminiscent letter had such a different feel to it, so much changing for him in that year. Her eyes kept drifting to that closing.

It took a few moments before she was able to refold that bundle and open the next.

His next year in the First; this one another detailed description of events he survived, and quite a lot about Ryne, still only known as Minfilia at the time.

...I actually began this letter yesterday, as we rested in a small inn at the edge of the Greatwood. I thought of seeking out Y’shtola, but am unfamiliar with those dark and twisting paths, and was low on ammunition. Minfilia was exhausted, unable to fight or imbue cartridges, and I won’t risk her more than our constant travels already do.

It was she who reminded me that I had been writing, before she made me take my rest as well. I’ve never told her about these letters, but she’s a bright girl and I have told her of you. Sometimes it’s simply because she is curious about you, and the hope that you’ll come here and save yourself, as well as the rest of us. Many times though I don’t mean to say anything, but the stories simply come, like a slumbering spring awoken by new rains, bubbling up and overflowing the riverbanks.

It’s something about her, I suppose, that makes me remember, and so I must speak before the memories fade back into the dustier corridors of my mind. Perhaps an effect of her unique Blessing? Or perhaps simply her childish curiosity drawing it out of me.

There’s a selfish part of me that wants you to meet her. It would mean that you’re here, for one, but also I think you two would get along. She’s a good girl--with her moments of petulance and stubbornness, as many youths are wont, but she’s come such a long way already, has learned so quickly.

I fear influencing her. The choice she must make is so important, and it must be hers.  You would be a much better role model; you inspire others to do what’s best simply by your presence. I’ve felt the lack of you more keenly this last year than ever before...

Aeryn read through, noting he wrote it more like a conversation she had yet to answer. Memories of their adventures and companionship were woven through the words more naturally as he spoke to her. She smiled as he spent a good chunk of the letter not even realizing how he had gushed about Ryne and all she had learned and how she had grown in that first year they spent together, as if he were trying to ensure Aeryn would love the child as much as he so obviously did--even if the foolish man hadn’t been able to tell the girl so until it had almost been too late.

But then, that was Thancred; locking his thoughts and feelings behind stoicism, snark, and literally in a box on a shelf.

She traced her nail along the letters of his name--again signed “Yours”--before tucking that bundle away and picking up the fourth.

By this time the twins were somewhere in Norvrandt, though Thancred had no opportunity to see them as Eulmore’s hunters were ever close. He wrote to Aeryn of his frustration with how many Scions had come to the First but she was still so far away and still in so much danger, alongside the rest of the Source and this shard itself. If she couldn’t come to Norvrandt to break the Light’s hold over the realm then the girl would have to make her choice sooner rather than later--and perhaps face the same fate as all of her predecessors.

He admitted that he feared both of those outcomes. He seemed to have begun to cross out that line, but had stopped himself.

...A nasty part of me believes you will never receive these nameday letters. That these are simply my way of remembering yet another important woman in my life I will never see again. I try not to dwell on such thoughts, try to keep busy, but you know me. Perhaps better than anyone since our Minfilia. How I wish I could speak with you again; patrolling through Mor Dhona, lunch at Rowena’s cafe, stargazing on the roofs of Ala Mhigo, reading in the Waking Sands’ dusty library. Simply holding you until we fall asleep, those few, rare moments we had. You always made me say more than I ever meant to; you’ve a way of drawing me out despite myself—and failing that, of simply being there as a brilliant, warm presence.

There are places here I want to show you, things I want to share. Yet I fear your coming, what it will mean. What changes I’ve experienced. What we had was...comfortable, and felt right, after so long, and yet it was still so new and fragile. I used to be confident in my ability to be delicate, but these last few years with this girl have made me feel boorish and clumsy. And I know I have changed, not just because of her, but everything in this hard world. Will you recognize me when we meet? Will you still want me, when you were already so uncertain before?

I suppose I shan’t know until you’re here, or we find a way home. Given the Exarch’s record, the former seems more likely. And it still worries me, much as I know it’s the better course to preserve all we hold dear...

Aeryn stared out the window for a long moment; she had known of his doubts, his fears; when she had arrived and finally found him again, it had been difficult. Yet despite everything, they had gotten past it.

She eyed the final bundle, slimmer than the rest, those dates seeming so heavy though she had no conscious recollection of them, given her state at the time. Having finished the tea, she poured a glass of water and began to read.

Aeryn,

Ryne assures us you will still be Aeryn when you wake; her wards hold for now. I pray long enough to find a cure for what those bastards did to you. What we did to you, unknowing. Will you be pleased to know I have not struck Urianger for his part? I was too tired and injured as we returned, and occupied with carrying you besides. Now I simply am too weary in heart and mind to conjure that initial anger, and he has had time to explain how the Exarch coerced him into his confidence.

I am still not happy about it.

For five years I waited to see you again, thought about you through many days and most nights--such as they are, here. It’s funny what one can become accustomed to in time. Finally seeing you again was a jolt to every one of my senses as the missing you had long since become more real to me, much as I longed for your presence.

And as I feared, you hesitated. I don’t blame you; I know this place changed me. What we had back home was still so new, despite the prior years we had known each other. So I tried to be content to merely be in your company once more. We had rebuilt our friendship once, we could do it again. I had been a fool to think I deserved more.

Then you sought me out in Rak’tika. Do I need to tell you how you intoxicated me that day? I hope I was a comfort, both in words and in the release you needed. The distance still felt too great, but this much, at least, I could give. I thought it would be enough, to simply be what you needed in the moment.

I know now that I was once again fooling myself.

These last few months traveling and fighting and just being together have been a strange mix of stress and relief; our mission had been dangerous and difficult in so many ways, and yet working together, it was hard not to get caught up in the optimism, in the feeling that things would turn out, that we would find a way.

And you were here; your quizzical headtilts, your faces when you read, the white flowers in your hair. Your silences, your laughter, your strength in combat and your helping with every common chore in the vicinity. I thought I could simply be happy to bask in your steady light.

But now, seeing it tear you apart, it is not enough; it never was, and never will be. I can live with it, should that be your wish. My wish, however, is to continue what we had once begun. To hold you close not only occasionally but always.

Aeryn felt a hard lump in her throat; there was a decent space between the lines, the ink thick where he had hesitated, the initial letters shaky. Still he had written them:

I am in love with you, Aeryn.

It’s taken me time to collect myself after rereading what I just wrote and fighting the urge to burn the whole page. A part of me fears that you will scoff, though the greater part of me knows--hopes--better of you.

And the gods know you deserve better than me, but if you’ll have me, I certainly won’t complain.

I know after everything with Ryne I ought to say it to you aloud. That it may already be too late to do so. I pray that isn’t the case. I pray I find the courage and the words both to say what you deserve to hear. Even should you never reciprocate; if that should be the case, you shall never hear another whisper from me on the matter.

But I hold out a small hope, that you will, that you do. That we will have the chance to discuss the matter further. That you survive.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I only know I’ll be at your side until the end; there’s nowhere else I can be.

Ryne is calling; hold on just a little while longer, darling.

Yours always, Thancred.

She covered her face with her hands, emotions and memories flooding over her. There were words before finally confronting Emet-Selch in his memory of Amaurot. More than words on returning to the Crystarium, bodies twined together in relief and comfort.

Then she had returned to the Source to report their success. She came back to the First as quickly as she could, though; not only was there still much work to do, but he was here, and things were...not exactly different, but not quite the same, either.

As she reread the last page, she noticed a swiftly written addendum on the back. She turned it over.

I carried these letters all the way to the Tempest, thinking if I failed to say anything I might at least give them to you--they are yours, after all. But of course no time seemed right, and with a screwing of my courage (and pointed prodding from Urianger), at the last I was able to say what I wished. Miraculously, you said it too.

And now here we are, you peacefully asleep while the night sky wheels overhead and I still hear the celebrations outside despite the ungodly hour. I’ll rejoin you in a moment, but I needed some time to attempt to process the last few days. What happened in the Tempest. The fact you’re alive, and healthy, and claim to love me in return.

I’m not entirely certain why, but I won’t complain, either.

Rereading these letters, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to hand them over yet. They’ll return to their box for now, and perhaps in a few days I’ll be ready to show you.

Aeryn laughed lightly; of course he had hesitated to share them. The letters showed all his vulnerabilities behind the serious, confident facade he had developed. And with everything in the Empty, and then Elidibus, it was no wonder the letters had fallen to the wayside.

Until her actual nameday on the Source had come around, his note delivered with her breakfast by Tataru per Thancred’s instructions while he was on his latest reconnaissance. It wasn’t as if he could have brought the letters with him, after all--nor given them to her in front of the rest of the Scions in the Ocular, nevermind how public their relationship was now.

She rubbed her face--she had cried more than a few times while reading--and replaced the letters in the box. She locked it, and pocketed the key.

The girls were still out so it was no trouble to take the tea service to the sink and clean it, along with the other dishes, giving her time and activity to settle. She finished by washing her own face, removing some evidence of her emotion.

Since the first year she had joined the Scions, they had given each other gifts; she had discovered his nameday from Minfilia, gifting him the orchestrion roll of a song she knew he liked from a favorite minstrel. Her own first nameday as a Scion had been missed due to Lahabrea and Baelsar’s schemes, but Thancred was certain to make up for it. Sometimes they were late, or even early, but they always managed a little something, even as friends.

Aeryn took the box with her as she left Ryne’s apartment. She still had a few people to see while here on the First--starting with Lyna and the messages from G’raha--but then she would retire to her own suite in the Pendants and do a bit of rereading.

And maybe a bit more once she returned home, too; after all, if she timed it right, it would still be her nameday, and the best time to reread her present.

[imaginedhaven]

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Eight

Link to Masterpost

Surprise chapter! Got it finished earlier than I’d thought.

~*~*~

The rest of their journey to Adarlan’s capital passed without incident, much to Aedion’s vocal and Aelin’s quiet relief. They arrived two days ahead of the date they had agreed upon with the royal family, and Aelin grinned as they reached the rooms they would be staying in until they made their formal appearance.

Lysandra fell onto the bed they would share for the next two days, sighing happily. “I know I was glad to leave the palace for a while,” she said into a pillow, “but remind me next time that traveling with you is far more dangerous than it needs to be.”

Aelin laughed, drawing her knees up against her chest as she sat beside her friend. “Would it be an adventure if there wasn’t any excitement?” she teased.

“We clearly have different ideas of excitement,” Lysandra grumbled. “Excitement is finding a lovely piece of jewelry at a steep discount. Almost dying is a different thing altogether.”

Aelin winced. “Well, I’ve only ever heard good things about the Rifthold markets,” she pointed out. “Would an afternoon of shopping be an acceptable peace offering? I need to find something to wear when we meet the royal family, after all.”

Lysandra lifted her head just enough to expose one eye and stare at her. “Just us? We’re leaving the males?”

“Unless you want Aedion to make himself useful and carry things.”

Her friend laughed at that, and finally stood. “Just us. It’s been too long since we had the chance.”

Aelin carefully didn’t mention that if the males wanted to find them they would have minimal difficulty. Aedion had tracked her down by scent a handful of times in the past, and she had no doubt that Rowan’s senses were even more keen. Instead, she linked arms with Lysandra and led her friend into the streets of Rifthold.

Though it was slightly warmer here than in her native Terrasen, once they reached the markets it was similar enough to walking through the streets in Orynth that Aelin allowed herself to relax slightly. The colors here were different, of course, with more reds and blues in use in decoration, but the stone buildings looked familiar enough and the bustle of people around her was almost exactly the same.

It took them almost no time to locate a shop that sold gowns, and soon enough they were leaving with a neatly-wrapped package containing something she could wear to face Dorian and his family when they were to officially begin their courtship.

Her primary goal accomplished, Aelin allowed her gaze to wander around the area, just another foreigner taking in the marvels of the city. They were far enough away from the palace that it was out of sight, and just a few streets away she could see the beginnings of the city’s darker alleys. It was too risky to venture there now, when the magic that normally surged through her veins was still mere embers and moving too quickly still led to aching joints. Even if she had felt comfortable doing so herself, she knew Lysandra would be unlikely to forgive her for dragging her along to a part of the city that would feel entirely too familiar to the shifter. And so instead, she marked several buildings in her mind as locations of interest and turned to her friend. “Shall we make an afternoon of it?” she asked. “That didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would.”

“I think we should,” Lysandra replied, green eyes gleaming. “You haven’t nearly made it up to me, after all. One of the girls at the dress shop told me there’s a particularly good jeweler a few streets away, and I think nothing would please me more than making you spend your own money to let me dress you up for your big day.”

Aelin laughed. “They’re hardly going to expect me to be looking my best after a long journey.”

“Oh, I know. Which is why we need to make certain you’re absolutely stunning,” Lysandra grinned.

Her friend had a point. Image was everything, and if Aelin presented herself as the princess she was she had a better chance of the meeting going smoothly than if she showed up in riding leathers. Still, she let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I suppose,” she drawled. “But only if we also stop by that stand I saw across the streets selling chocolates. Do you think I can convince Rowan to eat one? I don’t think he’s ever eaten a sweet in his life, and we can’t have that.”

Lysandra laughed at that, but it wasn’t until Aelin prompted her with a quirked eyebrow that she managed to reply. “Oh, I think if anyone could get him to do anything, it’d be you,” her friend wheezed.

“You’ll tell me why that’s so amusing to you later,” she demanded before allowing herself to be led into the jeweler’s store.

A few choice purchases and absolutely no answers from Lysandra later, Aelin finally managed to drag the shifter over to the stand she had seen to peruse the selection of chocolates that were on offer.

After so long eating whatever they could find during their travels it was difficult to decide which she wanted more, and equally difficult to stop herself from buying some of each kind. Instead, she decided she would select one type for each of her companions.

Aedion was easy enough to consider, as she knew he preferred the saltiness of roasted nuts encapsulated in chocolate when she could convince him to indulge with her. Lysandra was equally easy, as she would initially protest but then happily consume the caramels the vendor had on offer.

Rowan was much harder to choose for. She hadn’t been joking when she’d told Lysandra that she was convinced the male had never eaten anything unhealthy. If he had, it was obviously decades ago. With that sort of pressure riding on her choice, she wanted to make sure it was something he would enjoy. Something simple, certainly, he didn’t seem to enjoy a lot of fuss around food, but…

She looked up to Lysandra to request her opinion, and dropped everything when she saw her friend had gone pale, staring into one of the alleys nearby.

~*~*~

It was like staring into a window to her own past, Lysandra realized as she saw the little girl standing in the alley. She looked to be ten or eleven, a pretty little child with golden curls and eyes the color of citrines. Her clothes, though worn, were clearly made to last, and she had a list in her little hand. No doubt she had been sent to run simple errands.

All of that wasn’t enough to catch her eye. Pretty little girls were common enough in the streets, after all. No, it was the brand on the girl’s hand that had caught her attention, the dark snake that had been tattooed into her flesh. Though not identical, Lysandra bore a similar one herself. It had since been marked over, but no matter what shape she took she could never be rid of it. The mark of a courtesan, or one in training.

The girl was young enough that she still had to be in training, and Lysandra wondered how young she had been when the mark had been etched into her skin. She wondered how it had come to be there, whether her parents had willingly given her or whether she had been taken off the streets. She knew all too well that either was possible.

Lysandra had been snatched off of the streets herself, but it was only through chance that she hadn’t been sold or even given away first. Her mother had struggled to raise her without her father, and then at a young age she had made the mistake of shifting in front of the worn woman and immediately found herself on the streets.

While shapeshifters such as herself were generally disliked and mistrusted, it hadn’t taken the brothel owners of Orynth long to realize that a protégée who could take whatever form her client wished was a valuable prospect. As a child she had accepted the bargain they offered, of shelter and food and an education in exchange for her services once she came of age.

As an adult, of course, she had learned the value they assigned for raising her and taking her in from the streets. Were it not for Aelin having run into her in a chance meeting as she was passing information to Sam, she would likely still be paying off her debts. Instead she was living in the castle as a trusted advisor and friend to the Crown Princess of Terrasen, no matter how many of her older advisors disapproved of a shapeshifter and former courtesan taking on such a role.

It had been a relief to leave the castle and all of its constraints for a short time, but the last thing Lysandra had expected was to have this sudden reminder of her own past thrust into her life. However, while she had made her choices and was currently living with them, there was still a chance for this girl to live free of the expectations that came with being raised by courtesans.

She glanced over at Aelin, who subtly nodded, and Lysandra felt a rush of relief at having her friend’s support. It was enough for her to approach the girl and crouch in the dust beside her. “Hello,” she said softly. “What’s your name?”

The girl stiffened, likely having been instructed not to speak with anyone strange while running her errands, so Lysandra carefully uncovered the mark on her own wrist and allowed her to see it. “I don’t mean you any trouble,” she reassured her.

The girl finally nodded, hands wringing together. “Evangeline,” she whispered.

“Evangeline,” Lysandra repeated quietly. “That’s a lovely name. Mine’s Lysandra. Have you been training long?”

The girl—Evangeline—shook her head. “My parents died last month,” she said quietly. “Clarisse found me after that.”

Lysandra bit her lip as she thought. A month of food and shelter and training was manageable, but if she was going to win the girl’s freedom she would have to make her undesirable to this Clarisse. And that meant…

She had to ask Evangeline first, though, or she would be little better than the girl’s current mistress. “Do you want to be able to leave?” she asked.

“I can’t,” the girl replied. “I’ve already been living there for a month, and I have no way to pay them back unless…”

“There is a way, if you want to come with me instead,” Lysandra explained. “See that lady over there, with the golden hair? That’s my friend Aelin, and she’d be able to cover your costs. But first we would need to make it so this Clarisse doesn’t want to keep you. It’ll hurt,” she warned. “But if you want a way out, we can give it to you.”

She watched as the girl thought over their offer, doing her best to keep her expression blank. She knew what she hoped for, of course, but Evangeline had to choose this for herself just as she had.

Finally those warm eyes blazed with determination and Evangeline nodded. “I don’t care if it hurts,” she said. “I want to be free.”

Lysandra smiled and drew a small knife that Aelin had gifted her, before then proceeding to buy her freedom. “We’ll have to do this quickly,” she explained. “For anyone to believe this wasn’t deliberate, I’m going to have to yell and act as though I’m angry with you. Then… the easiest way to make sure this Clarisse is willing to be rid of you is to mark your face, I’m afraid.”

Evangeline nodded quietly, and Lysandra thought quickly. They were still close enough to the markets that there would be witnesses to her actions, but near enough to the slums that she couldn’t see any guards in the area.

With one last look at the girl that Lysandra hoped was reassuring, she brandished her knife and shouted, “Thief!”

~*~*~

Once they arrived back at their rooms for the evening, Aelin watched with a smile as Lysandra introduced her new ward to Aedion. Soon, though, she slipped away to give the three of them time to get acquainted.

It seemed Rowan had had a similar idea, for as soon as she had changed into a loose tunic and trousers there was a knocking noise at the window. She smiled, and opened the shutter to let in his hawk form. “Did you leave, or were you asked to leave?” she asked as he shifted.

“I left,” he replied. “The child overexcited herself and fell asleep in my bed.” Despite his words, his expression was thoughtful rather than annoyed. “I was under the impression that the two of you were simply walking around town. How did you collect a child?”

Aelin laughed and sat on the edge of the bed before lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “Lysandra adopted her. All I did was threaten a few people and pay a fee.”

Rowan huffed out a laugh and sat beside her. “That doesn’t actually answer my question. I would presume you don’t ordinarily collect children on your outings, or the castle would have many more than it does.”

“This was… somewhat unique, yes,” Aelin sighed. “Evangeline—the girl—reminded her of herself at that age, and I helped Evangeline like I helped Lysandra.”

A period of silence followed, and then the mattress dipped as Rowan leaned back as well. “I think your friend intends to stay with your cousin tonight,” he said.

Aelin turned her head and grinned at him. “It’s just as well,” she decided. “It’ll make tonight easier.”

Rowan frowned, pine-green eyes narrowing in her direction. “You’re certain you want to move tonight?”

“I am,” she replied, “but we can talk about that later.”

Before he could say a word she grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together, his right to her left, just as they had done in the forest what seemed like an age ago but was only a few short days. Though the lack of a blood connection meant that his power remained separate from her own, she could swear she still smelled a trace of pine and snow in the room. “So,” she whispered. “Carranam.”

“So it would seem,” he replied just as quietly, and she could read hesitation and concern in his expression.

Now that she had allowed herself to think beyond the joy of sharing magic with someone as powerful and as skilled as Rowan, she could admit that she shared those concerns. No matter how compatible their magic was, he was still a foreign warrior and she was still working to become queen of Terrasen. He would have to go back to Doranelle, and he likely wouldn’t be able to avoid telling Queen Maeve what they were. That was a serious vulnerability for both of them, and one she wasn’t entirely certain how to address.

Even though it presented several potential problems for both of them, though, she found it utterly unthinkable to even consider regretting that they had found each other in this way. It seemed he felt similarly, for though his hand had twitched within hers when she’d taken it he hadn’t snatched it away either. “It’s funny,” she said quietly. “When you first came to Orynth I couldn’t stand you, and now…”

She trailed off, uncertain of how to continue, but he nodded as though he understood regardless. “I didn’t think I would ever find something like this,” he admitted. “It’s incredibly rare to find either a mate or a carranam within even our longer lifespans. To find both, whether in the same person or in two different people… almost impossibly so.”

“Are they usually different people?” Aelin asked, suddenly curious.

Rowan nodded. “As far as I’m aware, yes. It’s not impossible to share both bonds with the same individual, theoretically, but I’ve never known someone to have found both at all, much less with one person. My queen would likely know far more than I on the subject, but…”

But it would be unsafe for him to ask, she realized. He was doing what he could to protect them both. And so she changed subjects into territory that would be somewhat safer. “So if so few Fae ever find their mates, is that why your birth rates are so low?”

Rowan snorted out a laugh and turned to properly face her. “Hardly. We marry, just as humans do. I don’t know if your lineage is dilute enough that it’s no longer a problem for your family, but Fae have a difficult time conceiving and an even more difficult time in childbirth.”

Aelin winced in sympathy. “I wouldn’t know,” she admitted. “My mother rarely spoke of that part of our heritage. I only know that I have magic and I can shift, and my cousin lacks both of those abilities but has heightened senses.”

“You likely won’t know for a few years yet how your Fae blood affects you,” he acknowledged. “Even your cousin is another year or two off from the time when he would Settle, if he’s going to.”

Aelin nodded, and a few more moments passed in silence. Finally, she looked over at him again. “We might as well try to rest while we can,” she said quietly. “We’ve a long night ahead, after all.”

Rowan nodded in silent reply and closed his eyes, seeming to fall asleep almost immediately in the way that only a trained warrior could. Aelin wasn’t certain if he was actually asleep or simply relaxing, and she didn’t dare to ask lest she disturb him.

She did her best to carefully ignore the fact that his fingers were still laced between her own. After all, if she moved at all at this point she risked waking him. However, she couldn’t quite banish the warmth in her chest or the fluttering sensation in her abdomen at the realization that he felt comfortable enough beside her to possibly fall asleep like this.

That warmth lingered with her as she finally also allowed herself to rest.

~*~*~

Aedion wrapped an arm around Lysandra as they both glanced over at the bed where Evangeline lay sleeping. Thanks to how close she was to him, he could feel the faint tremble in the shifter’s hands. In an attempt to calm her nerves, he smiled. “I almost feel bad for giving her Whitethorn’s bed,” he said quietly, “but I’ll admit I think this is preferable.”

Lysandra looked up at him, startled. “I thought you liked Rowan well enough.”

“I do,” he agreed. “But you’re prettier than he is.”

She laughed, as he had hoped she would, but then her face turned serious. “I know this isn’t something we ever talked about,” she began, only to fall silent when he set a finger against her lips.

“I’m not upset,” Aedion said quietly. “I’ve wanted a family with you for years. This isn’t how I expected it would happen, certainly, but I know what this means to you and I’m glad you did it.”

Lysandra slumped against him, relief clear in her features. “I still wish we’d had the chance to talk about it first,” she admitted. “After all the grief I gave you over assuming things about me in the beginning and not asking me first, it seems wrong.”

Aedion laughed, tucking one of her chestnut curls behind her ear. “That’s life, dearest. You told me as soon as you could. It’s not as though you would be happier if I followed you everywhere.”

He had tried to do just that when they’d first met and he’d felt the pull toward his mate. That idea had ended in Lysandra shifting into a great clawed beast and snarling in his face until he had finally admitted it was a terrible idea, he recalled. It had taken weeks for her to even speak to him after that, and first among her conditions was that she required he talk things over with her instead of assuming based on what his instincts told him. It was something that was a struggle for him at times, especially at first, but he had worked hard to earn the trust she now had in him and it was something he wouldn’t trade for all the world.

As he looked back at the girl who was still sleeping across the room, he realized that this was truly a display of the trust she had in him. She had been nervous about his reaction, and he understood why, but she had brought Evangeline home regardless. It would be difficult for all three of them, he was certain. Having been orphaned young himself, he knew that no one would be able to truly replace the family Evangeline had lost. He and Lysandra both had little experience with children, and were certain to make mistakes along the way. But a glance back at his mate revealed the determination and affection in her face as she watched the girl sleep, and when he looked back at Evangeline he recognized those same emotions in himself.

They may not be the girl’s parents, and they would never try to replace them. However, they would do their best to make sure she had the best life they could give her.

He tightened the arm he’d wrapped around Lysandra’s waist, pulling her closer. “So does this mean you’re staying with me tonight?” he asked.

“I think so,” she replied, “but I should check with Aelin first. Make sure she and Rowan are all right.”

“Better you than me,” he chuckled. “I love my cousin, but there are things I don’t need to know about her.”

Lysandra’s eyes gleamed with mirth. “So you do think they’re interested in each other.”

Based on the way Whitethorn had behaved on their trip, he suspected their bond went beyond interest, but he wasn’t about to admit as much to Lysandra just yet. “I’m not willing to discount the possibility. I’m also not certain they haven’t killed each other. It could go either way; you didn’t have to watch them training.”

“Was it really that bad?” the shifter asked. “I know she was complaining about it constantly, but…”

“It was brutal,” he answered. “I think he’s more used to training soldiers, and especially in the beginning it was as though they absolutely hated each other. I don’t know what they may have said to each other, but… I thought about breaking up their training sessions more than once, based only on how they fought.”

“What stopped you?”

Aedion shrugged. “Even when it’s dilute, those of us with Fae blood require strict discipline to work past our instincts. I’ve never trained with magic, I don’t have any of my own, but I know that fire is known to be especially unpredictable. I assumed, or perhaps I simply hoped, that it would be for the best.”

Lysandra was quiet for a moment, thinking over his words, before asking, “Do you know what changed?”

“I don’t,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Maybe they had a conversation I wasn’t present for, or maybe one of them finally realized the lines they were crossing. You might have better luck asking Aelin.”

She laughed. “Aelin won’t tell me anything about it. She’ll work the conversation back to Evangeline, and you, and then I won’t realize for another hour that she never really answered my question.”

It was true, and Aedion knew it, but he sighed regardless. They both loved Aelin dearly, but it had become obvious in the past couple of years that she was hiding things from them. She still hadn’t told Aedion exactly how she and Lysandra had come to meet, though Lysandra had told what he suspected was an edited version of the tale.

Aedion shook his head, running a hand through his hair. That was a problem that wouldn’t be solved overnight. Perhaps this trip would help, but he was far from naïve. He knew that Aelin likely wouldn’t tell him until she was ready, if she ever was. “All right,” he said. “Go check with her, if that’s what you want to do.”

As Lysandra stood, Aedion watched her leave with a smile. It had truly been a stroke of luck that she was already friendly with his cousin when they had met; he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if his mate had hated Aelin. He was glad he didn’t have to find out.

His musing came to a grinding halt as Lysandra rushed back into the room. “They’re gone,” she whispered frantically.

“Gone?” Aedion repeated, numb with shock.

“As though they were never there.”

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world

[ozzdog12]

2019- Top 7 (And 1)

  Another year has come to an end and thus the hotly anticipated Top 7 (And 1) from your ‘average at best’ Ozzdog12 is here for you to feast your eyes upon. 2019 was an extremely odd year for me, gaming wise. As parenthood has taken the full brunt of my time, my gaming time and the choices of what games I decided to play, have changed. I played several games this year that, under any previous year I may have stuck with longer or tried again, but as time for gaming has become more and more thin, I now have less ‘patience’ to stick with a BIG RPG (Disco Elysium, one day I’ll get to you). Now I’m going to contradict my previous sentence with this next sentence. I was unemployed for a stretch of 5 weeks and in between looking for jobs I also found myself with a decent amount of time to play some games. What I did with that time is played 2 games that ultimately made the list, for two very different reasons. I also cleared out a chunk of backlog games (Finally beating Diablo 3 for one, thank you Switch) and played several, shorter smaller games in the process. If interested in my previous Top 7 (And 1) 2017 & 2018.

And now on to the And 1 this year

Favorite game that came out in 2019 that actually came out 20+ years ago: Legend of Zelda: Links Awakening (Switch)

This one was actually a hard one to decide as Age of Empires 2: Definitive Edition also released this year. AOE2 is the one game I may have put the most time into ever, cumulatively. But I’m giving the nod to Link’s Awakening simply because its BRAND NEW to me. I did not play the original release and this has been an absolute joy to play and is by far, the best Zelda available on Switch. The updated graphics are gorgeous and the art style is great. I haven’t completed the game yet, but I’m slowly chipping away at it at night. It feels and plays like a Zelda game but updated properly to a modern console to make it feel like a brand new game released in 2019 and not just a reskin/up-resed re-release. The game is also structured in a way that appeals to me more than Breath of the Wild was (see 2017 And One for reference). The world feels big, but is contained in a clever way to make it FEEL bigger than it actually is.

Number  7: Rage 2 (PS4)

Rage 2 is a very weird game. I don’t mean it’s weird in the sense that nothing clicks or that its bad. In fact, it’s a joy to play (especially is you love iD shooters). It’s weird because outside of the gameplay mechanics, it’s fairly barren (intentional or not). And I mean that in terms of both story, things to do and the world itself. Having very little to do with the previous Rage (which I really enjoyed on the 360), Rage 2 starts off quick and with a bang. You choose which version of the character you want to be, learn the mechanics and then are eventually sent to a town. There are a total of 6 ‘story’ missions that are stretched out by requiring you to complete tasks for one of the 3 town leaders who you’ve enlisted for help to take down the General. Once you do this, you fight the General and that’s kind’ve it. Now along the way, you will kill a bunch of mutants and humans alike. There are 3 factions (4 if you count the Ghosts in the DLC) that are in an ever engaging gauntlet to the death and you get to play janitor by spilling more guts and blood, but none of it really matters, the Factions I mean. There are a few Crusher Mutants (BIG MUTANTS) to also fight, but they are essentially extra heavy bullet sponges. Now, I know I haven’t really sold you on it, but here’s the thing. I REALLY enjoyed RAGE 2. It was the perfect game to play during the summer. Due to a personal situation I was dealing with (the looming unemployment) it was nice to just sit down at night, turned my brain off and just kill things. It reminded me of a simpler time in my youth playing games like Doom. Same vibe honestly. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more of a story and narrative driven player, but Rage 2 scratched a nostalgia itch for me at the perfect time. 

Number 6: Concrete Genie (PS4)

Concrete Genie is a game that is honestly out of left field for me these days. Not that I don’t like these types of games, it’s just as previous stated, time is somewhat of a precious commodity and had Concrete Genie come out in any other year, I probably would’ve skipped it entirely. However, it didn’t and I’m glad I picked this up for $20. It also scratched a nostalgia itch and reminded me very much of the PS2 era of games like Sly Cooper and Jax and Daxter. You play a kid who is bullied (something I am familiar with first hand, sadly) for being a loner and an artist. His creature drawings come to life with the help of a magic paint brush and your objective to put color back into an abandon town and bring it back to life. There is a VR component I wasn’t able to play because I don’t have a PSVR. The game is fairly simply and doesn’t deviate far from that formula. There is very little combat and just enough variety in the monster’s you can make to keep you going. It’s also fairly short. I was able to complete and collect everything in around 7-8 hours. Having a complete game in a bite size package is something I long for these days. 

Number 5: The Outer Worlds (PS4)

This game should be higher on the list but I put it here simply because while I have played it a fair amount, I haven’t played it enough to warrant it being higher. I’m maybe halfway through? I love Bethesda Fallouts (And Obsidian’s New Vegas) and this is an improved New Vegas in space with a more cheeky approach. The Outer Worlds never takes itself too seriously and revels in its sarcasm. The companions are all mostly likeable enough and each planet has felt distinctive enough to entice me to keep exploring. The mechanics are improved and the overall gameplay is better than New Vegas.  Its structured just like a Fallout game, so there is a lot of comfort there. However,  just like any open world RPG, sitting down for less than an hour and trying to accomplish anything is hard. The Outer Worlds is best played in big chunks. It’s at the top of my list to finish in 2020. 

Number 4: A Plague Tale (PS4)

A Plague Tale was THAT game that was on everyone’s ‘Hidden Gems’ list. I had seen a trailer around E3 and it intrigued me enough to check it out. I completed it over a whole weekend, a rarity. The game isn’t perfect, but everything is serviceable enough to work within the confines of what it’s trying to accomplish. It has some technical flaws and the occasional hiccup, but I’m a sucker for 3rd person action adventure games. The game is mostly centered around stealth with combat as a mostly secondary option. The game takes place in France in 1348 during the rat plague. You play as the daughter of an alchemist and your brother has been sick since birth. Once your village has been raided by the Inquisition, you are cast out to find help. The plague has taken over the majority of the country, but it isn’t until later in the game where the game takes a turn into the fantasy in a major way. You meet up with some really likeable characters with different personality traits along the way that really kept the story moving in an interesting way. The story was really grim at times, but honestly kept me hooked until the final chapter. The boss battle was extremely frustrating. With a sequel being announced, I am extremely interested in where they take the next chapter. 

Number 3: Katana ZERO (Switch)

Katana ZERO rules. There is a fine line where a game is challenging and when a game is unfair. I like a challenge, but I don’t want to work (games like Dark Souls are work). KZ is very similar in style, gameplay, tone, and even music to Hotline Miami. The difference being KZ is a side scroller instead of top down. You play a samurai in a quasi-dystopian future after a war. You are programmed killing machine…or are you? The story is fairly heavy and can bring up some tough subjects. KZ is pretty challenging, especially later in the game, but never once did I feel the game was cheap or unfair. Every time I died (MANY, MANY TIMES) it was always my fault. Either I didn’t plan my attack correctly, I hit the wrong button, took the wrong path, or didn’t time it right. The game has a nifty way of dealing with ‘deaths’ in the game using a neat rewind feature. When you complete a level, it shows you a replay in ‘real time’ giving you a nice recap of your work. Every time I completed a level, I felt a sense of accomplishment. My Switch says I put around 5 hours or more into it once I completed the final level, but it honestly felt longer than that, in a good way. KZ is an absolute blast to play and you should go play it right now!

Number 2: Gears 5 (Xbox One)

I’m a fan of the Gears of War series. The first Gears of War still being my favorite of the series. As time has passed, I’ve become less interested in the series as a whole but still interested enough to play every entry. I thought Gears 4 was the Force Awakens of the series. Essentially a retelling of the same story, with a new coat of paint and new characters with the old ones sprinkled in. Gears 4 was ultimately, fine. So I was actually excited for Gears 5 was going to go and to see how they built upon 4 with a focus on Kait instead of a Fenix. Halfway through the story, the group is divided and it starts to take a different tone. Gears 5 experiments with a first of the series, a semi-open world. I thought it broke up the monotony of wall hug, shoot, reload, repeat. I finished the story in a few days and had a good time with it, though once again, the ending being kind’ve abrupt. The series has a knack for being sort’ve slow, then suddenly turning it to 11, then ending.  I wished the campaign was longer, but it’s still solid. Gears 5 introduced a new mode called Escape, where you and two other players plant a bomb and try to escape a level with limited ammo. There is weekly a revolving door of new levels, which is nice, but each level is just reusing assets. I suspect with time and each new Operation (Season) that will be expanded. Horde mode is back and the character classes are fun. New characters have been added and will continue to be added, but they are an absolute grind to unlock (But you can always pay for them!) The reason Gears 5 is this high is mostly due to the amount of time I spent playing multiplayer. As stated, I loved the original Gears of War and put an insane amount of time into the multiplayer. That was in 2007 and the older I’ve gotten, my desire to invest into multiplayer has waned, almost completely. Once again though, right time, right place. I spent almost the entire month of October, logging on every night, completing challenging and playing online. Something I haven’t done since I was a freshman in college. I had an absolute blast. While I don’t delve into online as feverishly as I did in October, I still occasionally dabble when I get the chance.

Number 1: Mortal Kombat 11 (PS4)

As if this was going to be anything else. I’m a Mortal Kombat mark, plain and simple. I’ve loved the series my entire life. I love the lore, I love how ridiculously violent it is, how goofy and bat shit insane the story has evolved. I love it all. But its not all gore and lore, Mortal Kombat is a supreme fighting game. It’s not a nuanced as the likes of Street Fighter, but its infinitely deeper than a game like Smash Bros. Mortal Kombat is in a good sweet spot for both casuals and hardcore fighting fans. MK11 has maybe the greatest in-depth tutorial that has ever been made in any fighting game. It not only teaches you how to play, it teaches you the terminology. The story picks up right after MKX, with Raiden upset with everyone and taking matters into his own hands by torturing Shinnok. Liu Kang and Kitana rule the Netherrealm. Raiden plans an attack where he is essentially the Trojan Horse. All goes according to plan, until Kronika, The Time Keeper, decides she doesn’t like this anymore and eventually brings back some old friends to help her change time (again) and finally eliminate Raiden from existence. In doing this, Kronika has made all those mirror matches from previous games cannon. The production level and story mode in Netherealm games are on another level compared to other fighting games and they continue that trend in MK11. They implement the gear system from Injustice 2 into MK11 and its fine. The Krypt is amazing and is full of secrets. The Living Towers have returned, this time in the form of the ever changing “Towers of Time”. The roster, which is what everyone really cares about isn’t the worst but isn’t the best. None of the new characters are all that fun (Cetrion, Geras, & Kollector) and the returning roster was missing some notable characters. The DLC thus far has been fairly underwhelming compared to MKX. It was nice to see Shang Tsung, Nightwolf, & Sindel return (all 3 should’ve been in the main roster) but Terminator is lame. MKX had the likes of Tremor, Tanya, & Predator. MK11 seems to break what was a fun tradition in DLC having new, MK characters (Skarlett and Tremor, respectively). While I do think there is another set coming after Spawn, if the leak is true, then it seems underwhelming. I played MK11 pretty religiously for almost 2 months and still play at least once or twice a week. I love MK!

[anianthe]

A Winter Dance

Here’s my Secret Santa for @octobersfarm

I had really fun trying to write someone else’s character and I hope I made Wren enough justice since they seem really cool! Let me know if anything feels weird and I’ll change it and otherwise, enjoy! And Happy Holidays!

Wren ran around the room looking for the present as the snow fell outside. She had to leave for the feast soon and if she were to pick up Penny on the way she couldn't be late. She rummaged through her drawers to find where she'd put it and successfully took out a small package that she hurried towards the kitchen with. 

On the sink stood a rack of muffins freshly out of the oven. She put them carefully into the box before grabbing the ribbon she had found and topped it off with a bow. She then grabbed the package and headed for the front door after making sure the stove was turned off. On her way she stopped in front of the mirror looking at her reflection. 

She was wearing a long brown skirt with stockings underneath and a white sweater over it decorated with a wintery pattern. She nodded to herself before heading out of the farmhouse and locking the door before starting to make her way towards the town. 

She was thankful that she had shoveled this morning  as the sides of the road were now covered in snow that went well over her boots hight. It had snowed all week which had sealed the town in a layer of thick snow but today it looked like it would clear up. The sun was setting and she managed to spot the beautiful pink hues between the cloudy layers as she walked towards the town. If they were lucky they might even be able to see the special winter star that was rumored to only show this day of the year. Walking down the road she could see the colored lights lighting up the square from the distance and faintly hear music and laughter.

 She rounded the corner of Evelyn's house and strode towards Penny and Pam's caravan, thankfully the road up to their house had also been shoveled so she could easily make her way to their front door. She knocked before taking a step back as she heard shuffling before Penny opened the door. 

"Whoa! You look amazing!" 

Penny smiled as she took Wrens outstretched hand and helped her down. She was wearing a long red dress with a sweater over it to combat the cold. The sequins was reflecting the lights and coloring the space around her. 

"You don't think it's too much..?" 

"No it's absolutely perfect!" A blush dusted Penny's cheeks. 

"You look lovely aswell." 

They started making their way towards the town. They could see the town center being lit up by lights making the snow around it glow. The sun had now completely gone down, the cold air now making them shiver. As they rounded the bar and entered the town's center they were hit with the noises of people celebrating. There were tables set up holding this years harvest, some of the food coming directly from Wrens farm. They could see families slowly settling around their tables officially starting their feast. 

The thing that caught both of their eyes were the giant spruce tree now decorating the middle of the plaza, lighting the surrounding town up with twinkling lights and adored with a bright star on top of it. There were presents piled underneath it where Vincent and Jazz were now standing, staring at it with big eyes while trying to find their own presents. 

"I'm surprised every year at how Lewis manages to pull this off every year" Penny said while looking at the tree. 

"Yeah... It really is magical." 

The moment didn't last long. As soon as the kids spotted them they came running, both talking in the mouth of the other making it unable to be understood. 

"Penny! Have you seen the tree! Isn't it the best?!" Penny laughed at the children tugging at her dress, dragging her towards the tree. 

"Have you seen our present?" 

"I'm getting a really big one this year!" 

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Wren looked at them with a stern look before smiling when they bowed their heads. 

"Miss Penny, can you come with us to the tree? Pleeease?" 

"Sure" She answered with a chuckle before following the two children towards the tree, waving goodbye to Wren for the moment. 

Wren took a moment to gaze at the tree. It had been decorated with twinkling lights. It looked like most of the village had already gathered and when she looked towards the buffé table she spotted Shane standing by himself, a drink in hand. She started to head towards him. As she came closer he saw her and smiled. 

"Merry Christmas Shane!" Wren said cheerfully. 

"Merry Christmas to you too." 

"It's been awhile since I've seen you. How have you been?" 

"Good, It's been good."He said while gazing at the ground. "It's been hectic at home. You know how Marnie gets around this time of the year.. I think she's made at least 5 main courses and ten types of cookies for tonight. I tried to tell her we won't need that much but it's no use." He said with a snicker. And you? Everything going good at the farm?" 

"Yeah, I don't really have that much to do since I can't really grow anything. I've been spending more time inside with Penny. Just enjoying winter I guess..? It's been nice to get to relax for a bit." 

The conversation died down as Shane took a sip from the cup he was holding. 

"Don't worry." Shane quickly added when he saw Wren eyeing it suspiciously. "It's just hot chocolate. I've been trying to switch out the strong stuff, besides, this is way more enjoyable and it makes Jazz happy.” He added with a smile.

They stayed like that for a moment just admiring the tree and enjoying each other's presence. Wren saw Penny making her way towards her so she said goodbye to Shane and started walking towards Penny. 

"You manage to get away from them?" Wren asked laughing. 

"I haven't seen them this excited since Jazz's birthday." She snickered. "That reminds me!" She pulled out a present she had hidden behind her back and stretched it towards Wren. "Here's your present. I hope you like it!" She said with a smile. Wren snickered to themselves while admiring the pretty paper. It seemed like Penny had used several tape rolls to hold the present together. In it was a red knitted sweater. Wren pulled it out and measured it against her body. It seemed to fit perfectly.

"Have you made this?" Wren said while admiring the gift. 

"Yeah, do you like it?" Penny asked shyly. 

"I love it! And it fits me perfectly! I didn't know you could knit?" Wren said amazed. 

"Evelyn has been teaching me so it's her you have to thank! My first attempt was just a mess of loose strings." Penny said while letting out a small chuckle.

"Guess I'll be living in this over the next weeks! My turn now!" Wren moved towards the tree and came back with a present that she handed to Penny. "Just be careful! It's a bit fragile!" 

It was a box wrapped in flower printed paper with a red bow around it. Penny slowly untied the ribbon and opened the box, as she did so a familiar smell reached her nose. Pennys face lit up. The box contained poppy muffins gently wrapped as to not crumble.

"Thank you! When did you even have time to make these?" Penny beamed. Wren rubbed at her neck. 

"Well I made them this morning before leaving. They're better fresh so I didn't want them to go stale..." She said awkwardly. Penny put the lid back and placed the box on the ground carefully before enveloping Wren in a hug. 

"I love you." Wren quickly returned the embrace. 

"I love you too." 

Lewis voice ended the moment as it cut through the noise. Everybody quieted down as he wished them welcome and let everyone take a seat to let the feast begin. Wren and Penny had managed to grab some seats at the end of one of the long tables along with Pam and Gus right next to Marnie, Jazz and Shane. 

The meal was enjoyed between friends as everyone had helped bring something. As they ate the homemade food they caught up and discussed everything that had happened since the last time they had seen each other, laughing and appreciating each other's company. 

As the meal ended Lewis put on some music and invited everyone to dance. Robin and Demetrius opened the dance and soon many formed couples and followed. 

"Now I expect you kids to join aswell!" Pam shouted over her shoulder as Gus lead her towards the dancefloor. 

"You know I'm not good at dancing.." Penny said. Not really making any attempt to stand up. 

"I can promise you I've seen worse." Wren said while looking over at Haley who loudly complained about Alex stepping on her toes. Wren stood up and stretched out her hand towards her. 

"Come on, it'll be fun." She said with a smile. Penny cautiously took it as they slowly made their way over towards the dancefloor. At first Penny was stiff, keeping her gaze on her feet trying to follow Wrens steps but after some time she started to relax and let Wren lead her. Even laughing when Wren spun her. 

"Not so horrible after all?" Wren said with a smile on her face. 

"Maybe not." Penny replied still laughing. 

They stayed like that, slow dancing to the music and enjoying the evening. 

As the clock came closer to midnight everyone started to gather in groups to find a spot to wait for the winterstar. 

As the star fell over the valley Wren and Penny stood close in the group of people, hands intertwined as they watched it light up the night sky. Penny leaned closer whispering "I love you" Before Wren kissed her she answered "I love you too." 

[sentientpaperbag]

Ichika sighed as she cooked. She was really glad Zenigata was out and about today doing some police work.

She glanced over at the little packages she'd set up, smiling a little. There were four. One for Lupin and the others each. But right now she was making an important present.

Ichika hadn't made candy in a long time, not since she was a child practically, and her mother had shown her. It wasn't difficult, just time consuming. She poured chocolate out into little containers she had managed to snag from a shop a few months ago, and set them aside.

Valentine's Day was today and she wasn't  even a little ready. After all the nonsense from yesterday she hadn't had a chance to make anything. She was very lucky Zenigata had been called out of his home to help with something small.

Since those were going to take a bit, Ichika gathered her other gifts and walked over to the phone, dialing the number she had memorized at this point.

"Who is it?" A gruff voice answered. Jigen, that was a surprise.

"Hey, it's Ichika. Where are you guys at right now? I want to give you something," she realized as she said it, it sounded weird.

"Is Pops with her?" She heard a voice in the background yell, "No he got called out to help with something, said it might be dangerous so he left a gun here for me in case of emergency. I think I'm fine though."

"We'll come see you, then!" Lupin had taken over the phone, practically laughing, "Fujiko has something for you too, so we were already gonna drop by for a visit."

"Oh really? That's nice, how soon can you get here?"

"We're heading out right now! It'll be five minutes, tops."

After hanging up the phone, Ichika walked back over to check on the candy she was making. It had finally set and she got it out and wrapped it in a nice present. She hadn't really ever celebrated Valentine's Day as an adult, but something compelled her to this year.

There was some rustling behind the front door, and it swung open, revealing Lupin and the gang, "Who's your daddy?" Lupin grinned.

Ichika rolled her eyes and walked over to greet them, "You know he's gonna know you were here, right?"

"Eh Pops'll be fine," Lupin winked, "Did you make him something?"

Ichika's face grew warm, "Maybe. H-here," she handed the four of them the packages she'd made, "Happy Valentine's Day."

Lupin wrapped her in a hug, "Aww aren't you a big softie!"

Fujiko came over and hugged her too, "I got you some candy, too. Thank you Ichika."

Ichika grinned, and looked over at Jigen and Goemon, who looked a little uncomfortable, "Thank you Ichika," Goemon said, tucking the candy away, "Yeah, uh, thanks..," Jigen did the same.

Ichika had managed to pry herself away from Lupin and Fujiko. Fujiko pulled out a little bag, handing it to Ichika, "Here you go."

Inside was candy, but also a necklace with some sort of jewels she hadn't seen before. She smiled, "I'm not gonna ask where you got the necklace." "Probably a good idea," Fujiko winked at her. The group talked for a while, catching Ichika up on what they'd found out about the people who messed up her home. "So they were trying to link me with the missing stuff... did they not see you?" Ichika looked over at Fujiko, who simply shrugged, "If they did, they haven't come looking for us. Or they have and they haven't found us."

"I think it's time for us to go," Lupin grinned and stretched, he looked toward the door, "Pops is home," he whispered. The doorknob jiggled a little as someone was working at unlocking it.

The gang said their quick goodbyes to Ichika and left through the window, which Ichika quickly shut as she ran back over to the kitchen. Now or never, she decided.

The door opened and Zenigata walked in, "Did I hear Lupin just now?" He had his handcuffs out like he was ready to strike. Ichika laughed, "No I've been home alone-" her eyes wandered over to the present she had forgotten to grab, "For the most part," she finally finished.

"So Lupin was here?" He sounded exasperated. Ichika chewed on her bottom lip and nodded, "He already left though. The group wanted to see how I was doing, and Fujiko gave me a gift."

He sighed, sinking down on the couch, "I guess I can't blame them for that..." Ichika grabbed the candy she'd made and put it in a small box, walking over and sitting beside him, "Lupin asked how you were doing."

"Oh I'm sure he did."

"He said he might have found a lead on the people who broke into my house," she'd moved a little closer to him, trying to be subtle as she figured out a way to give him the candy.

His eyes were shut but he'd felt the slight movement and looked over at her, seeing the box in her hands. Ichika decided now was perfect and held it out, "I uh... this is for you."

Blinking in surprise he gently took the box from her and opened it. Inside were several handmade candies. He turned a little red and quickly closed the box, "Th-thank you I, um...," he couldn't think of what to say.

She smiled at him, leaning back against the couch and closing her eyes, "Happy Valentine's Day, Koichi."

[narniaandplowmen]

Neighbours

Also on AO3 Rated: General Audiences Fandom: Once Upon A Time

I rewrote the little drabble I wrote for csvalentine on tumblr in 2015, for @saaviorspirate 

When Emma meets David's new roommate and she accidentally agrees to go on a date with him, things do indeed go as bad as she thought. Or don't they? 

“Emma, can you open the door, please? I am just about to take a shower!” Mary Margaret called after the ringing sound of the doorbell startled them both. “Okay!” Emma walked to the door, one eye in her textbook: “Federal Rules of Civil Procedure”. Just one more year and she would finish her Law studies, something she was desperately looking forward to. She carefully moved towards the door, silently whispering the text as she read. Still eying the text, she grabbed the handle and pulled, revealing a handsome stranger. Suddenly, her exam tomorrow seemed a lot less important. The man had raven hair and intensely blue eyes, with cheekbones one could cut bricks with. 'Hello?' 'Hey!' The stranger held out his hand. 'My name is Killian. I just moved in next door.' He quickly nodded in the direction of his new apartment whilst Emma looked at him, with open mouth. Not only was he very attractive, he was also British? That was simply unfair. Suddenly her eyes fell on the still outstretched arm and moving her textbook from her right to her left hand she quickly shook it. 'Hi. I'm Emma.' A melodious sound came from behind her as Mary Margeret started singing her favourite song of the day. 'That's my roommate, Mary Margaret. Did you move in with David?' She had heard the man talk about his search for a new roommate to share the costs of the rent. Graham, his previous roomie, had moved out and taken a job as a Sherriff in a small town a little while away. 'I did, a friend of mine knew him and heard he was looking for someone. I just started my masters here and was looking for a bit more permanent place to live. My previous place was on the other side of town, and extremely expensive. This Mary Margaret is David's girlfriend, right?' Emma nodded. The story of how the two had met was actually quite funny. David had lost his keys and was waiting for Mary Margaret to come home, as their balconies were connected. He had hoped to be able to enter his home through the balcony door, but Mary Margaret had panicked when she saw a stranger leaning against her door when she came home from doing groceries and she had hit him with a packet of butter. After the situation was properly explained she felt so guilty she had invited him in for a cup of tea, and the rest was history. 'Yeah, she is. You'll see her around soon enough, she's busy now. What do you study?' 'Marine biology, you?' he eyed the textbook she was still holding. 'Law, I have an exam tomorrow.' 'Then I will not disturb you much longer. I just wanted to say hi and introduce myself.' he smiled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. 'I'll see you around?' 'Sure.' 'Good luck with your exam!' he turned and walked away as Emma stared. Shit. She was in a lot of trouble.

~~

'Who was at the door?' Mary Margaret asked as she came back into the room, all washed and ready. 'David's new roommate. He came to say hi and introduce himself. His name is Killian.' 'Oh! David told me, I am sorry, I forgot to tell you. You were so busy studying and I had to prepare for classes, it totally slipped my mind. How was he? David showed me a picture, he is very handsome.' Emma looked up and saw a familiar expression on her friend's face. It was Mary Margaret's personal life mission to get Emma happily married, sooner rather than later. 'He's nothing special, honestly.' she told her. 'He studies Marine biology. You'll meet him soon enough.' 'Nothing special. That didn't exactly cover the mischievous smirk, bright eyes, handsome beard, bulging arm muscles she was sure were hidden underneath the leather coat. But she kept repeating the words to herself anyway, as she resumed studying. Nothing special, nothing special, nothing special. She didn’t really know who she was fooling. She knew she couldn’t fool herself. But she couldn't, shouldn’t, wouldn’t allow herself to make that mistake again. No love for her. Not after Neal. She shouldn’t think about Neal. Nothing special, nothing special. Focus on her studies instead. Law was something she was able to handle. Rules, logic, argumentation. As a lawyer, she would be in a position of power. She would be able to defend those who couldn't defend herself, give others a chance she didn't get. 'No,' she berated herself, 'don't think of Neal.'

~~

A laughing voice echoed through the hallway as the door swung open and Mary Margeret entered after her date with David. 'Emma?! Why are you still awake? You have an exam tomorrow, you should be resting!' 'Hey MM, just revising the last chapter.' MM was the nickname Emma had given her closest friend. It was shorter, and 'Emma and MM' sounded nice. 'How was your date?' 'It was so romantic! He took me to Granny’s Diner, the cute little diner on Main Street, do you know it? There were fairy lights everywhere, it was gorgeous.' The brunette opened the fridge to grab some OJ but halted in her tracks. 'Pancakes?' she looked at Emma with a curious face. 'Why did you make pancakes?' 'I received my grade for the Criminal Law exam I sat last week. I got an A-! I thought we should celebrate.' A high scream pierced her ears as Mary Margaret enveloped her in a hug. 'That is so great! Congratulations! We should definitely celebrate that! You know what, I'll put on my PJ's whilst you revise your last chapter. Then I'll warm up the pancakes when you get dressed and we can have a PJ party.'

~~

'That Killian lived quite a dramatic life.' MM said as Emma shovelled a blueberry pancake in her mouth. 'Apparently he got his BA in Marine Biology in England, and he got offered a job at his fiancée's research project.' Emma felt her heart drop. He was engaged. Of course he was, how could anyone as handsome as him still be single? Not that it mattered, he was nothing special after all. 'That was two years ago.' 'Two years? That's a long engagement. I mean, I assume they aren't married because he's living with David now.' 'She died. Something involving her jealous ex-boyfriend, some completely mental guy who broke out of prison several times.' 'Wow.' 'Yeah. And he had lost his brother just a year before that. The two grew up together, they were orphans.' The 'just like you' hung in the air, unspoken. 'Shit man.' Emma simply said. 'Why is he here?' 'To get away from everything, I guess. Britain probably drags up too many painful memories. And the masters Marine biology offered here is the best in America, so I guess that helps.' MM shrugged as she drowned her own pancake in Maple Syrup. 'But what an awful life. I don't envy him.'

~~

“Happy birthday David!” Emma smiled and hugged the tall blonde. 'You're getting old, man!' she teased. 'Here is your present, but I should have bought you a rocking chair.' David laughed as he opened the package, hugging her tightly when it revealed a gorgeous watch she knew he had wanted for quite some time. 'Thank you so much! It's gorgeous! How did you know?' The apartment was already filled with people and Emma carefully made her way to the table with snacks. As she arrived she suddenly heard a British voice behind her. 'Hey! Emma, right?' She turned to face the handsome stranger that had rang the doorbell only a small week ago. 'Hey Killian.' 'How did your exam go?' 'Okay, I guess. I am not sure, I don't have the grade back yet. How are you settling in?' Before she knew it the two had talked through the night, and when she woke up the next morning with a huge hangover her phone somehow contained his number and her planner reminded her that in two days she would go on a date with one Killian Jones. She groaned and chugged a big glass of water before facing herself in the mirror. 'He's nothing special.' She told her reflection, 'You will not make another mistake again. Remember Neal. Remember-' she ran towards the toilet to puke her guts out. Forget Neal. Forget Neal.

~~

She had hoped that he would have been drunk enough to forget about it, but the following morning she had met him in the hallway and he had made it clear the date was still on. She didn't have a good excuse not to go, so she was stuck with it for the time being. She tried not to think of Neal and she reminded herself, once again, that he was nothing special. It seemed to have become a personal mantra. Nothing special. Don't think of Neal. Nothing special. He picked her up at home right on time and took her to a little Italian restaurant hidden in an alley off Main Street. As they sat down a small man with a heavy Italian accent, apparently the owner, approached the two, carrying a stack of menus. ''ello Killian, 'ello beautiful lady!' He greeted loudly, handing them each one menu. 'Killian, 'ow are you? Where did you pick up this beautiful lady? What is 'er name?' She smiled and introduced herself. 'Emma? What a beautiful name, fitting a beautiful lady! You are one lucky man!' The man turned around and started to leave them, but he bumped into a new customer that had just entered the store and dropped all of his menus. 'Mamma mia! Mi dispiace, I am so sorry!' Emma started to smile at the fact that the man actually used the phrase 'mamma mia', but she soon froze as she saw the face of the person who entered. 'Emma.' 'Neal.'

~~

As if it couldn't get any worse. She was on a date she couldn't even remember going on, with a man that she found way too dangerously attractive, the first date she had been on since Neal- And now he was there, right in front of her. She hadn't seen him since- She didn't want to think about it. She practically felt Neal's eyes bore into her skin as he looked at her and Killian. A wicked grin spread across his face. 'Emma, I haven't seen you in ages. How's the baby doing?' The words cut straight through her, piercing her heart like poisoned arrows. 'You- You know perfectly well. What are you doing here, Neal?' 'May I introduce you to my finacée? Tamara, Emma. Emma, Tamara.' She suddenly noticed the woman behind him. 'Hello!' Tamara greeted happily, completely ignorant of the tension in the air. 'Tamara, be a dear and get a seat. I'll be there soon, I just want to catch up with some old friends. Nothing interesting to you.' The woman smiled and turned, walking towards a table on the other side of the room.

'So, Killian,' Neal now turned towards the Brit sitting opposite of her. They knew each other. Of course they did. Because why would Emma ever be allowed to trave anywhere or meet anyone that was not somehow connected to her awful past. The universe didn't allow her to forget. Not that she ever could. Her hand briefly brushed her abdomen. 'How is it to fuck a used bottle?' Neal continued. 'Perfectly new once you’re 3 inches in.' Killian simply replied, his jaw tense. 'Oh really? Well, I suppose you are used to second-hand girlfriends, aren’t you?'. Emma blinked and suddenly the two men were on the floor, throwing punches. The owner, who had finally collected all of his menus, dropped them again and tried to tear them apart, but the man was way too small to have any chance of success. Emma simply stared at the chaos, frozen in place, unable to move, or think, or do anything, really. Neal was here. He knew Killian. He was fighting Killian. Now Kilian knew about- Neal was here. She could never escape him. He had a new victim. Neal was here. She wasn't safe. Neal was here.

After what seemed like ages, but must have only been seconds, a tall man rose from a nearby table as his red-haired wife looked at the fight in shock, and before Emma could take another breath Neal and Killian were separated. 'What the fuck is wrong with you two?! If you want to fight you can go take boxing lessons, don't do it in a restaurant where I'm trying to have a romantic dinner with my wife.' The stranger spat, obviously disgusted at the sudden outburst of violence. 'What are you two? Twelve? Get out of here, and take your fiancée. The blonde lady and her date were here first.' It seemed like Neal wanted to protest, but as he looked at the man towering over him he changed his mind. 'Tamara, let's go. I don't want to eat at the same place whores go for their date. Let's go somewhere else.' The diner seemed to hold its breath after the door slammed shut behind the pair. 'Thank you sir, you will get your dinner on the house.' The owner was the first to break the silence. 'Thank you so much for saving my restaurant, Mr...?' 'Eric. And there really is no need.' 'I insist!'

~~

Emma and Killian ate in silence, but the mood for the night was pretty much ruined. 'I'm sorry about that.' He said as they were parked in the McDonald's parking lot with their McFlurries. 'I knew him back in the day. I assume Mary Margaret has informed you about my past?' Emma blushed and nodded. 'She's not very good at keeping secrets. And David shares everything with her.' 'I assumed so. He is the son of- of the man that killed my fiancée. He and I- We don't get along.' It was silent for a long time. 'I knew him when I was younger.' Emma started, not sure why she was telling this story to someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger to her. But once she started, she couldn't stop. 'He was my boyfriend. I met him- I met him when I tried to steal his car. I- I am an orphan, I grew up in the foster care system. But I ran away a lot. I didn't have anything, so I stole to get by. We were a team, or so I thought. I loved him. I got pregnant. When I told him I thought he was happy, but less than a week later he framed me for stealing over $10.000 worth of watches. I only ever stole to survive, never- never something big, like this. He made sure I got caught, and I ended up in jail. He claimed he didn't know that I was a thief, and he broke up with me.' Tears were streaming down her face. 'I got an abortion whilst in prison. It was either that or let the child grow up in foster care. Death is a kinder fate.' They ate the rest of their ice cream in silence and then drove home.

~~

'I'm sorry for everything that happened tonight. I hope you still enjoyed the food.' Killian waited for a moment, and then looked down and whispered, 'and my company.' Emma smiled. 'I did. Thank you. And thank you for hitting him, I am sure he will have quite some bruises after what you did to him.' She bit her lower lip. 'And thank you for listening. For not judging. I haven't really told anyone about that before, save for Mary Margaret.' Killian looked up. 'Thank you for your trust.' It was silent once again. 'So-' 'Now-' they both started. 'Sorry, you first.' Killian hesitated, then nodded. 'Are you free, tomorrow night? Maybe we can do this over again. I mean, not this, but another date. Better. Somewhere where I don't have to punch someone to the ground. Don't get me wrong, it was very cathartic, I have been wanting to do that for ages, but-' 'I'd love to.'

Not a single thought in her head focussed on Neal. Only on the soft lips touching hers.

[thankyoumskobayashi]

TGCF Snakes On a Plane AU starring Ban Yue as an orphan with a collection of 3,000 snakes which she brings with her on a journey to an orphanage. General Ke Mo is the long-suffering pilot, Pei Ming is that asshole who hits on women, Pei Su is his biologist son who is embarrassed by his very existence. Eventually Pei Su helps Ban Yue in collecting all her precious snakes and putting them back in their containers. 

Xie Lian feels his bad luck caused the snakes to break loose, but San Lang (who gave him his window seat and spent the whole flight flirting with him) insists the problem is the quality of the duct tape instead. Bc there was duct tape used on the boxes.... not the smartest idea but how else is an orphan going to load 3,000 snakes on a plane????

By the end of this experience, Xie Lian's Dad Instincts have been activated, Pei Su is ready to become Ban Yue's older brother, and Ke Mo (who has a secret fear of snakes) just wants to retire so he can leave this plane forever. By the end of it, Hua Cheng has bought several things online that Xie Lian mentioned he had to do without, and even put his info in Xie Lian's phone.

Ling Wen fixed the plane in midair because she used to be a mechanic, and since knowing practical stuff like engines helps her fix the plane she saves them enough to let Ke Mo land the plane. I feel like she wouldn't panic even if snakes are falling on her, so she probably fixed the engine wearing at least 3 snakes as a scarf. Any more snakes and she'd probably put them on the nearest item so she can move around.

Also by the end of it Ling Wen wants to keep her scarf snakes bc she likes having the company. Xie Lian wants to adopt one too, but only a snake that's going to grow up small. Hua Cheng immediately orders luxury snake cages, immediately trying to curry favor with him.

Jun Wu is an old grandpa and he offers to take some of the snakes until Ban Yue finds a home. He's only ever had dogs but he'll be damned if he can't learn.

At the start of the airplane ride, Feng Xin and Mu Qing fought for the window seat in front of Xie Lian, eventually Mu Qing won. Behind them Hua Cheng smiled and pointedly offered Xie Lian his window seat. He slipped his arm around Xie Lian's shoulders and the two bickering before only turned their heads around to glare at this rando for daring to make a move on their friend.

Hua Cheng was some rich kid who was saved from a concussion when a ball from a baseball game went flying towards him at high speeds. Little Xie Lian, who was also sitting nearby and had brought a glove, reached over and caught it. He gave it to Hua Cheng with a sigh, telling him to be careful from then on. Hua Cheng had asked his name, and Xie Lian had unwittingly told him. From then on, Hua Cheng tried to unsuccessfully gain Xie Lian's attention.

They had both gotten into the same college. Hua Cheng despaired in his first year, however, groaning hopelessly among the stacks. Xie Lian, who was scribbling a paper nearby, reached over and handed the last of his snacks to this random depressed person among the bookshelves. He was obviously hungry- his stomach confirmed that- yet he gave away the last of his food with some encouraging words and returned to writing.

He didn't know how many times Hua Cheng stopped by his dorm room, awed, reverent, yet kept away by the glares of Xie Lian's roommates. They knew their friend was gay, and they knew assholes would want to date him, so they did their best to keep him from meeting Hua Cheng.

Even the handwritten note thanking Xie Lian for saving him didn't seem adequate. Hua Cheng tore it up and flopped dramatically on his bed. He'd seen Xie Lian that morning and that was enough to inspire him to keep going.

When college was over, he went back to whatever his parents wanted him to do, but it wasn't enough. He kept checking on what Xie Lian would be doing, until finally he overheard Xie Lian excitedly telling Feng Xin and Mu Qing about the trip they were going to take. So Hua Cheng could only book a ticket on the same plane trip.

Mu Qing had the nerve to snark at Hua Cheng. "Break our best friend's heart, playboy, and we'll break your face."

"Believe me, you'd have to bring me back to life to kill me a fourth time if that ever happened," Hua Cheng just laughed.

"San Lang, you're so funny," Xie Lian murmured. "How would they find your soul the 2nd time, let alone the 4th??"

"I'd die several times over before breaking your heart Gege." Hua Cheng tossed him a red stress ball with silver butterflies on it making a pattern like the stitches on a baseball. Xie Lian caught it, tracing his fingers over that unique pattern.

"Here, keep this. It's my promise to you." He stretched, yawning, curling his hand around Xie Lian's shoulder, making him go red and shift awkwardly in surprise.

Throughout the whole plane ride, Xie Lian's getting hit on by this guy who he assumes is an Airplane Rando, but Hua Cheng is talking to him like they're already close. Maybe he's just a really forward person??

Behind them is this little kid who looks scared and uncertain. She is holding her favorite pet snake and looks terrified.

Xie Lian immediately lends her a dog-eared copy of his favorite book to cheer her up. He gives out crayons, coloring books, pencils- you name it. Ban Yue is having a grand old time, coloring flowers in while she tells Xie Lian about how she's bringing all her snakes with her. By this time the snakes are escaping their boxes, but haven't reached the cabin yet.

Ban Yue loves snakes because they're chill, great listeners, and she has someone to protect. Xie Lian tells her that's wonderful, and if her favorite snake is her only one.

By this point, the snakes have found the cabin's ventilation shaft. They are free from their cardboard prison and spread out to explore this large metal box.

Pilot Ke Mo hits some turbulence. Passenger Ling Wen, who was just flipping through engine forums, slams her laptop shut as she hears something go wrong with the plane. She makes her way to the attendant and whispers a plan as the plane's nose dips unsteadily.

Xie Lian buries his face in his hands. "I knew I shouldn't have gone on this trip! Now our plane is going to crash."

"Gege won't crash, I'll protect you with my body so you'll never hit the floor," Hua Cheng draws him to his chest and murmurs comfortingly.

"Shameless!"

"Too shameless!"

"Don't listen to them, Gege. They are jealous of our love~"

Xie Lian resists the urge to ask how he can fall in love with someone he doesn't even know, when he turns around and sees Ban Yue squinting at the vents.

She holds not just her favorite snake, but two now.

"That's funny, I could have sworn I only brought this one with me. How on earth could the others..."

Screams of anger and shouts of alarm echo throughout the plane. The flight attendant had let mechanic Ling Wen have a look at the airplane, and was then notifying pilot Ke Mo of the situation. Ke Mo agreed to make gentle spirals to slow their descent and give Ling Wen time to fix things. However, he wouldn't have anticipated a snake dropping into his lap so that he'd scream and lurch the whole plane forwards!!!

Screams echo throughout the cabin; other passengers must be feeling similarly.

Xie Lian takes all his luggage out of his bag and gives it to Ban Yue for collecting her snakes in. He then picks up the snake around his neck and drops it in there. Hua Cheng immediately offers to put Xie Lian's stuff in with his own stuff. Xie Lian is grateful.

Xie Lian and Ban Yue go down the aisle collecting snakes and apologizing to the over passengers. Jun Wu is deadpan handing over his snake and asks if he can keep it.

Ban Yue is shocked but shakes her head. These are her snakes, and she knows how to take care of them thank you very much.

They continue in this way until Xie Lian is bitten by a snake. Hua Cheng runs up immediately because he "wants to suck out the venom" but Xie Lian stops him by asking what's the point of Hua Cheng also ingesting it too.

"The point is that if anything happens to you, I won't forgive myself!"

Pei Su who has been calmly reading the newspaper this whole time, clears his throat. "Actually, it doesn't have the proper markings. This snake is not venomous."

Ban Yue's eyes lit up. A fellow snake expert?

Soon Pei Su is explaining to whoever is nearby what kind of snake has just landed on them. He joins the crew going down the aisle stuffing snakes into Xie Lian's bag. Eventually, they run out of bag and Ban Yue thinks to check the duct tape on her packaging... d*mn, did the duct tape get loose again?!? She'd have to check and see. A bad feeling for that mechanic arose within her.

Meanwhile in the cockpit, Ke Mo is hollering mad and shaking with fright. "I have HAD IT up to Here with these MOTHER F*CKING SNAKES on this MOTHER F*CKING PLANE!!!" as more and more of the snakes drop from the vents. He has truly tried to stop the plane from landing right away but his stress is mounting.

Meanwhile Ling Wen is fixing the plane while covered in snakes and completely unfazed abt it. She wipes sweat off her brow and pets the snakes hanging off her arms. A look of concentration crosses her face as she adjusts some more things. "Almost there..."

THANKS FOR READING SO FAR BUT IM REALLY FUCKING TIRED. I GOT OUT ALL MY IMPORTANT PLANNING THOUGHTS SO I MIGHT ORGANIZE THIS INTO A PROPER FIC IN THE FUTURE. STAY TUNED

[vrepitsorrynotsorry]

Family Game Night

Title: Family Game Night Rating: G Pairing: Gen A/N: This is set directly after Season 5 but doesn’t really comply with Season 6. We decided not to try to make it conform. This is my contribution to @voltrongenminibang, and @clambatch’s art post is here: http://clambatch.tumblr.com/post/175954988597/hey-guys-heres-my-contribution-to. It’s amazing. You should go check it out.

One of the things the group had asked of Keith when he decided to work full-time with the Blade of Marmora was that he check in with them every once in a while. He had just finished telling them about his latest mission and meeting his mother.

Shiro knew that locating his family meant a great deal to Keith, but instead of looking happy, his face on the vid screen seemed haggard.

“It’s been a while since you’ve come by the castle for a visit,” Shiro mentioned. “Maybe you could ask Kolivan to take a few days to relax? You did just finish a mission, after all.”

The other paladins, Allura, and Coran were quick to agree.

“Actually,” Keith admitted, “that sounds great. Kolivan doesn’t seem to be too happy with my performance lately, and this whole thing with my mom is...weird.”

“You just need some time,” Allura assured him. “We’re happy to have you with us.”

After the transmission ended, the group decided to make it a sort of a party. Hunk was in charge of refreshments, of course, but beyond that, the plans began to fall apart fairly quickly.

“What about entertainment?” Lance wanted to know. “I mean, yeah, we’re all going to eat and talk and stuff, but after that? We need some way to unwind.”

“I’d suggest watching a movie,” Pidge remarked, “but first we all have to agree on one, which would probably never happen, and we don’t have any.”

“I’ve got my music player,” Lance offered, “but most of it isn’t exactly dance music...”

“Hey, Allura,” Hunk asked the princess, “what kind of things did you used to do around the castle for fun?”

“Actually,” the princess begrudgingly admitted, “games were generally considered to be things for very young children, and I’m afraid we don’t have any of them here any longer. I spent most of my free time reading about the cultures of our allies and sparring on the training deck.”

“I guess there’s always the Gameflux,” Pidge mentioned with a shrug, “but we only have the game it came with, and that one’s single-player.”

“There was all kinds of Earth junk in the shop we bought it from!” Lance grinned. “I’ll bet there’s some other games for the system there. Looks like it’s time for us all to take another trip to the space mall!” 

“And we’ve got money now, too!” Hunk agreed. Lotor had been more than happy to exchange GAC for Coran and Allura’s old Altean currency. It probably wasn’t worth as much as he’d given them, what with 10,000 years of galactic inflation, but he’d been eager to get his hands on a part of Altean culture thought lost to time.

“I don’t think so,” Shiro declared firmly. When the others, especially Lance, looked like he’d just told them all holidays and birthdays were cancelled forever, he amended his statement. “We really don’t want to cause another scene like last time, and we should leave enough people here to respond in case of an emergency.”

“I don’t think the security guard got a very good look at me,” Coran mused, “and you didn’t go along, did you, Shiro?”

“I didn’t go along, either,” Allura chimed. Shiro and Coran both gave her a pointed look and she sighed. “I know, I know, who would create a wormhole if we really need one...”

“I’m sorry, Allura. I’m sure you’ll get a chance to go some other time.” After Allura smiled to show there were no true hard feelings, Shiro turned his focus to Lance and Pidge. “Now, what was the name of the store where you bought the game system?”

“Uh...” Both paladins considered the question for a few moments.

“I don’t remember.” Pidge shrugged.

“It was run by an alien.”

“We’re in outer space, Lance. Everything is run by aliens.”

“Yeah, but this guy was like the Earth alien stereotype. You know, little, green man with big, black eyes and a head shaped like an upside-down teardrop?”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure we’ll find it.”

“Remember,” Pidge cautioned, “we have the Gameflux Two, just in case he has anything for the first system.”

“Also, please don’t get anything lame or educational,” Lance pleaded.

“I do know how to have fun, Lance. Promise.”

As Shiro and Coran headed to the pod bay, Allura went to help Hunk inventory ingredients in the galley, and Lance and Pidge set about moving the Gameflux into the common area with the most comfortable seating.

*****

After a short period of searching, Coran and Shiro located the correct store. “Terra, huh?” Shiro chuckled and shook his head. “They must have been too distracted by the game to look at the name because they should have remembered that.”

“Oh?” Coran asked. “Does it have some special, human meaning?”

“It’s another name for our home planet.”

The shopkeeper approached in a bright purple leisure suit jacket and gold parachute pants. “Can I interest you in the latest Earth fashions?” he asked politely.

“Ooh!” Coran looked their host up and down. “I quite like that jacket. How are you getting the shoulders so pointy?”

“Actually,” Shiro cut in, “what we’re really looking for are game cartridges for the Mercury Gameflux Two system.”

The alien blinked. “Pardon?”

Shiro glanced around and noticed there were still boxes of the game system in the display window and pointed. “I have friends who bought one of those.”

“Ah, yes! They received a Kaltenecker with their purchase.”

“Um, yeah. You may have cartridges that can be used with it. They would be about this size,” Shiro paused to form a rectangle between his thumbs and index fingers, “and they probably come in a small box with pictures on the outside.”

“Let me check in the back.”

While they waited, Coran scanned a rack of jackets similar to the store owner’s but ultimately decided he didn’t like the fit when he tried one on over his uniform. Shiro found some model kits from an old animated series about fighting robot suits. It was the kind of thing he would have loved as a kid, and it was strange to think that he was kind of living it currently.

The owner eventually returned with a storage container full of Gameflux games in their original packaging. Shiro and Coran rifled through it, the former on a mission to find something for multiple players and the latter taking great joy in reading the descriptions on the back of all the boxes aloud.

There was no shortage of fighting games, but given how tense things had been lately, that probably wasn’t the best idea, even though it could be a vicarious means of blowing off steam. Finally, Shiro’s eyes settled on a particularly vivid box and he grinned as he picked it up.

“Master Racer?” Coran asked, reading the name off the back.

“I can remember playing a later version of this one,” Shiro explained. “It’s a pretty fun racing game. There are lots of characters and cars to choose from, and it’s not too hard to learn, if the others haven’t played before.”

“Might you also be interested in any of this?” The shopkeeper presented yet another container full of various items with the Gameflux logo. They happily snagged extra controllers and an adapter to allow four people to play at the same time. Coran insisted on purchasing several other games as well, but Shiro was fairly certain the racing game was going to get the most play time.

*****

When Coran and Shiro arrived back at the castle, Pidge had just finished setting up the game system to display on a large, projected holo-screen.

Allura cocked her head to one side and frowned slightly at the load screen of Killbot Phantasm 1. “These graphics are certainly...unique.”

Pidge wrinkled their nose at the display. “Yeah, this system is pretty low-tech. Earth has much better ones now.”

“It’s not this awful looking on a smaller screen,” Lance defended.

“I think we’ll be happy for the larger image when we play in split-screen,” Shiro added.

“Play what in split-screen?” Lance asked eagerly.

“Yeah, what’d you get?” Pidge wanted to know.

“Wow...” Hunk let out a low whistle when Shiro showed them their brand new copy of Master Racer. “I’ve never seen the first version of the franchise! I wonder how different it is from the ones I’ve played.”

“It’s been years since I’ve played any of them, either,” Shiro admitted, “but I’m sure at least a few of the characters and boosters are the same.”

Allura was now eyeing one of the game controllers. “These controlling options seem rather...limited. How complicated could this game really be?”

“I can see where you might think that.” Lance nodded sagely. “In fact, you don’t even have to use all of the buttons to play a racing game. The trick is in the timing and good reflexes and hand-eye coordination.”

“My reflexes and coordination are excellent,” the princess mused, “yet I still feel I may be at an unfair disadvantage, having never played one of these ‘video games’ before. Might Coran and I play a few practice rounds to acquaint ourselves with the system?”

“Seems fair,” Hunk agreed with a shrug. “I’m pretty sure all the Earthlings have played a racing game before, right?”

Everyone nodded, and Shiro added, “I can vouch for Keith having racing game experience. He prefers a real vehicle, given the choice, but he’s played his fair share.”

Lance switched off the console and swapped the adventure game for Master Racer before poking the power button again. An upbeat if tonally limited song played as an opening animation scrolled across the screen.

Shiro laughed and shook his head. “Wow... I’d forgotten what the music was like! I think I usually muted it and supplied my own.”

“Yeah, that’s going to get old pretty quickly. Especially since it’s about a sixty-second loop,” Hunk pointed out just as the music began to repeat itself.

Coran was bobbing his head to the peppy beat. “I rather like it.” The mice, who had decided to join in the fun, seemed to like it, too. 

In the meantime, Lance had made it to the player selection screen.

“I guess there’s only about eight drivers to choose from in this version.” Lance shrugged. “They’ve still got my favorite at least.”

Allura tilted her head to one side as she perused the images of the available drivers.

“My goodness,” she finally remarked, “the chest on this one seems rather unwieldy for her frame and they are very...perky.”

Pidge’s eyes rolled and they let out a disgusted sigh. “Video game physics tend to ignore gravity a lot.”

“My exposure to human females is understandably limited, but is that typical?”

“Well,” Hunk considered, “figures do vary in size, but those are exaggerated.”

Allura frowned. “Why?”

“At the time this game was made,” Lance began to explain but was cut off by Pidge.

“Only at the time this game was made?”

“Fair enough,” Lance admitted. “The target demographic of games like this tends to be guys that want female characters to stare at and not so much for their personalities. If you think this is bad, you should see some of the fighting games.”

“That being said,” Shiro added, “Bella’s not a bad driver choice. She’s fairly balanced skill-wise, so she’s a good choice for a beginning player.”

“I wonder if she’s racing in someone’s memory,” Allura mused, eyeing the bright pink car behind Bella in her equally eye-melting pink jumpsuit.

“Huh?” Lance asked before he remembered the significance of pink to Alteans. “Oh, the pink. On Earth, pink tends to be a color associated with girls.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and blue is usually considered a boy color. I happen to like blue, but not just because I’m a guy.”

“How odd!” Allura laughed. “Associating colors with gender is something that had never occurred to me.”

“Lucky,” Pidge grumbled. “It’s totally arbitrary, too. When you get older, people don’t care so much, but little kids tend to get either pink or blue shoved in their faces all the time.”

Allura continued scanning the players. “Is there something wrong with that last one’s head?”

“Yeah... That one’s a bear.”

“A what?”

“It’s an animal native to Earth,” Pidge explained. “They look a little like a klanmürl, but they’re arguably less terrifying.”

“Animals on Earth are capable of controlling vehicles?” Coran was intrigued.

“Realistically, no,” Hunk broke the news. “I guess they can be trained to act like they could, but this is another example of video game rules not applying to reality. I love that bear, though. Grizz is my favorite.”

“Dude.” Lance raised a skeptical brow. “Grizz is a heavy! Why would you pick somebody so slow?”

“I like the better control on corners!” Hunk defended his choice. “Grizz is the only character I’ve ever made it all the way through Graveyard Gulch with and not fallen off the road.”

“What is a ‘heavy’?” Allura asked.

“It’s a nickname for a certain kind of driver,” Hunk answered. “They usually have bigger, bulkier vehicles, and they move slower, but they can sometimes knock other cars out of their way. There’s also regular drivers with middling speed and weight, and smaller, lighter cars that go really fast but can be knocked around by other vehicles. It’s a trade-off.”

“Although,” Shiro cautioned, “I think that’s something that may have been added into later versions of the game. The drivers in this one are probably pretty much the same.”

Hunk’s face brightened. “You mean Grizz will be faster?” Then his expression fell again. “Aw, man... Graveyard Gulch is going to be an even bigger nightmare than it usually is. Unless it’s not one of the tracks in this version?”

“Not sure, buddy. We won’t see the track list until we’re out of the character selection screen.”

Allura decided to give Bella a try, and Hunk had almost convinced Coran to race with Grizz so he could get a peek at the character in action, but the advisor had discovered a character with a mustache, and that was that.

Finally, they got their first look at the available tracks: the Original Oval, Curvy Creek, Desolate Desert, City Cruising, and Hunk’s nemesis, Graveyard Gulch.

“You guys should probably practice on the Oval,” Lance suggested. “It’s the least complicated track so you can get the basics down.” He held a controller out to explain the various buttons to an eager Altean audience. “You hold this button down for the gas-”

“What sort of gas?” Coran wanted to know. “And what purpose does it serve?”

“He means gasoline,” Hunk clarified. “The vehicles in the game use internal combustion engines that use it for fuel. What he means is that’s the button for the accelerator.”

Lance huffed. “Okay, fine. This button’s the accelerator. Explaining this stuff is harder than I thought it would be. Anyway, this one next to it is the brakes. You know, in case you want to slow down, but it’s a race, so why would you?”

“Sharp corners,” Hunk reminded him. “Some tracks have sharp corners, and you can’t just speed around them or you’ll skid off the road.”

“Just let up on the accelerator, then.” Lance rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly at his best friend. “On the other side of the controller, you push left and right to move, well, left and right. Either up or down will activate a booster, and that’s pretty much it.”

“What are these ‘boosters’?” Allura asked.

Pidge had been flipping through the small booklet that came in the game box. “According to this manual, each driver gets two boosters that vary character to character and can be used at any time during a race. Allura, Bella has a speed boost, and Coran, that guy’s name is Slick, and he can leave oil on the track behind him to slip up other drivers. You can also find boosters along the track that are a random mix of everyone’s boosters. You always use the last boost you picked up, otherwise it’ll be you character’s boost, if they still have any.”

“Also,” Shiro added, “if you time it just right, you can get an initial speed burst when the flag drops, but it can also slow you down if you’re not on the mark.”

Allura and Coran each took a controller and stared intently at the screen. The mice took up various perches in the laps and on the shoulders of the new racers. When the checkered flag fell, the princess’ car sped off down the track, along with vehicles controlled by the game system, leaving Coran scooting forward in little bursts. One of the mice seemed to be trying to give backseat driving advice, though Coran wouldn’t have been able to understand it.

“You need to hold down the accelerator button,” Hunk instructed instead. 

Coran corrected his tapping method and seemed to be doing all right until he suddenly began moving in circles.

“You’re holding down the turn button too long.” Lance was trying not to laugh at Coran’s dismay. The mouse on his shoulder felt no such compunction and laughed so hard they rolled off his shoulder and bounced onto the sofa cushions.

“You said the track is an oval, so shouldn’t I be turning?”

“It’s a big oval,” Lance explained with a sigh. “There are basically straight stretches and you really only need to turn sharply like that at the corners.”

“Ha! You can’t trick me--ovals have no corners!”

“Curves, then! Jeez, you are so literal right now...”

Eventually, Coran worked out the knack of steering about the time the other cars lapped him. He attempted to use his booster, but he’d already been passed.

Lance turned his attention to Allura. “Do you need any help?”

“No, thank you,” Allura replied absently, eyes glued to her racer. “I think I’ve got this.” Sure enough, she was out in the lead with an impressive gap between her and the second place driver. The mouse companion on her shoulder leaned into every turn and squeaked encouragement.

“Wow.” Hunk’s eyes were wide. “You’re going to take first place in your very first race. I’m impressed! I think I was next to last in mine.”

Lance shrugged off her success. “It’s probably just beginner’s luck. This is the easiest track, after all, and it’s not like the controls are that complicated.”

As if to belie that point, Coran skidded off the road after somehow running into his own booster.

Just as Allura crossed the finish line for the win and Coran was crossing it to complete his first lap, a voice called from the doorway, “You guys got started without me?”

The game was abandoned in favor of piling on top of the newly arrived Keith. 

“You got here fast!” Shiro remarked with a grin. “We were just letting the Alteans get a feel for the game because they’ve never played before.”

Hunk dashed from the room. “I’ve gotta run and get some snacks ready!”

Coran abandoned finishing his race to assist in the galley along with a sympathetic Allura.

“Don’t worry,” she assured on their way out the door. “You’ll get the hang of it. If you can maneuver a whole castle, you can drive one of these imaginary cars.”

“Whoa.” Keith blinked at the game on the screen, which had been returned to the character selection menu. “I haven’t played Master Racer in forever! Where’d you even find this? The space mall?” 

Shiro nodded. “There were other games too, but I was trying to get something several people could play at once.”

“I’m gonna have to go back there some time,” Lance mused. “I’ll bet there’s some other gems available.”

“Four controllers?” Keith observed. “How are we going to decide who plays when?”

“Good question.” Pidge considered the problem for a few moments before snapping their fingers. “I could come up with a bracket system! Except that there are only seven of us, so we’d have to throw in byes if it were single-elimination. Or maybe we could use a round robin format. I’m sure I’ve got a program that could generate something.”

“We could also draw names randomly,” Shiro said. “I can remember playing where whoever wins sits out the next round so people can rotate into the game when we had more players than controllers.”

Lance smirked. “I don’t really care how we decide the racing order as long I get to show you all my awesome driving skills.”

“Yikes.” Pidge snorted. “I’m having flashbacks to the flight simulator.”

“You guys have already seen me drive,” Keith remarked with a shrug.

“And now I’m flashing back to the most terrifying ride of my life.”

“Hey, we all survived!”

“You intentionally drove off a cliff, Keith. I don’t think that necessarily translates to good race driving.”

Eventually, Hunk and the Alteans returned with snacks: pigs in blankets and soft pretzels.

“I’ll have to duck out later for the cookies and brownies that are currently baking,” Hunk informed the others as they swarmed the trays of food.

Allura eyed the cheese oozing out of the pigs in blankets. “Those contain-” she paused to shudder, “-dairy, correct?”

“Yes,” Hunk answered simply but kindly. “You don’t have to eat them, if you’d prefer not to.”

Coran was already halfway through his second of the treats. “I do believe I’ve eaten worse and certainly in less pleasant company.” 

The mice didn’t seem to have any issues with dairy, either, contentedly munching on tiny versions of the snack containing only cheese.

There were a few minutes filled only by the sounds of good friends enjoying good food before the subject of how to arrange playing turns came up again.

“I’ll volunteer not to be in the first group,” Hunk proposed. “‘Cause, you know, baked goods.”

Coran and Shiro also agreed to wait out the first race.

That settled, the other four scooped up controllers and prepared to make their character selections.

“Aw, man! Who already took Ace? He’s my favorite.” Lance pouted at the screen.

“He’s my favorite, too,” Keith said as he deselected the character, “but you can have him if it means that much to you.” He chose another option.

“No way!” Lance insisted, picking a different driver. “I’m not taking him just because you ‘let’ me.”

“I’ll take him.” Pidge snagged the still available option. 

Allura decided to stick with Bella.

Shiro decided preemptively to put someone in between Lance and Keith on the couch in hopes that their competitive natures wouldn’t devolve to elbowing each other during the race. Since it might be unfairly distracting to put one of the other drivers in that spot, Shiro planted himself there.

After a short debate, they decided to use the Curvy Creek track because it was of intermediate difficulty, and though characters could slide off the main road, it was fairly easy to find it again and there were no major pitfalls.

The race began, and at first, everyone was too focused for commentary. Then Keith sideswiped Lance’s car on a turn.

“Hey, watch it!”

“You were practically taking up the whole road--I didn’t have room to just go around.”

Lance deliberately targeted Keith with a booster, and he retaliated in kind.

With the amount of slamming into one another occurring on the screen, it was probably a very good idea they had been separated physically. Shiro didn’t seem terribly pleased, but it had been his idea to sit between them, so he persevered. Allura and Pidge remained blissfully unaffected from their spots on the floor in front of the couch.

Lance and Keith crossed the finish line at almost the same time, Keith very slightly ahead. They were in third and fourth place.

“Who won?” Lance asked.

“Allura,” Pidge informed him. “Like thirty seconds ago. You guys were so busy being jerks to each other, I managed to take second, and I went off the road about three times.”

Lance sighed. “Sorry, Keith. Truce?”

Keith rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Sure. I got caught up in it, too. Sorry.”

Coran and Shiro subbed in for Allura and Pidge, and Hunk went to check the oven.

They used this pattern of first and second place sitting out the next race for a while, taking breaks for snacks as needed. Pidge, unsurprisingly, as they had been tracking the racing stats, was the first to notice that Allura took first every time she raced.

“It’s got to be the alien genes,” Lance mused as he watched Allura flawlessly navigate a tight turn. “She’s got a better reaction time.”

“I’ve got alien genes,” Keith reminded him.

“Yeah, but you’re only half Galra at most. Plus, Allura’s Altean.”

“So’s Coran,” Hunk reminded them, “and he’s... Let’s just say I’m not seeing any inherent advantage there.” Coran was somehow currently facing the wrong direction and not even on the road.

“Do you think she’s using magic somehow?”

“Why does it bother you so much that she’s good at this?”

“It doesn’t bother me that she’s good,” Lance attempted to articulate what was bugging him. “It’s more that she’s so good so fast, you know? She barely even has to work at it. Plus, she’s kind of getting a little smug about it.”

Allura crossed the finish line, in first place again, with a whoop. “This game is quite amusing,” she said, covering a small yawn, “but it’s also getting somewhat boring.”

Keith and Lance shared a look of unspoken understanding. Beating one another in the race was now less important than someone being able to beat Allura.

“Oh yeah?” Lance asked casually as the racers stood for a stretch break. “Maybe you should try the hardest track.”

Hunk gasped. “Graveyard Gulch? I’m out.”

Shiro agreed to be their fourth player for a run on the Graveyard Gulch track. It was both the longest track in the game and it had the largest number of turns, the majority of which had steep drop-offs that would cause a substantial recovery delay if drivers weren’t careful. Allura didn’t seem worried in the least.

Coran, Pidge, and Hunk lined up behind the couch to observe, even if Hunk was doing so through his fingers.

As the racers crossed the starting line, Lance and Keith flanked Allura, keeping as close as they could. They attempted a coordinated booster attack, only to have Allura utilize her brakes to avoid them, steer around, and then use her own speed booster to leave them behind.

Hunk chuckled. “No real use for the brakes, huh, Lance?” 

Lance might have responded with a rude gesture, but his hands were busy. “Thanks for the moral support, buddy.”

Shiro frowned, half in disapproval and half because he was doing his best not to fall over a cliff on a turn. “Were you two really just ganging up on Allura? Kind of rude, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Allura remarked dismissively. “They didn’t do a very good job of it.”

One of Shiro’s eyebrows climbed upward. “You’re awfully confident.”

“If the other races we’ve played thus far are any indication, they can try their best and it won’t matter.” The mouse on her shoulder nodded in agreement.

Shiro’s other eyebrow joined the first. He looked over at Lance and Keith, scrambling to catch up again and then smirked, though Allura couldn’t see it. 

The double booster stunt had slowed her down enough that Shiro was still fairly close, and he waited until they were on a turn to bump into the side of Allura’s car. She managed, just barely, to remain on the road. Her jaw dropped in indignation for a moment before she grinned wickedly right back at Shiro. “Oh, I see how it is!”

The remainder of the race could be described as nothing less than brutal. Shiro, Lance, and Keith held nothing back, all teaming up to keep Allura from taking first place again. In turn, Allura had to employ every ounce of coordination she could muster and missed no opportunity to fire boosters back. The three team members in the “audience” behind the couch cheered everyone on equally.

Allura crossed the finish ahead of the others, but due to all of their interference, a character controlled by the computer had taken first place.

Allura released a huff of breath and looked down. At first, everyone was afraid she was going to be angry with them, but then her shoulders began to shake and she laughed.

“That was by far the most challenging race tonight! Well done, if not quite enough to beat me.”

“We’ll figure it out one of these times!” Lance proclaimed, followed by a large yawn.

“Probably better not try again tonight,” Shiro remarked. “I think we should all head to bed. We can always play some more in the morning.”

A chorus of yawning had followed Lance’s initial contribution, and Pidge was already half asleep, propped between Hunk and the back of the couch.

“This was really fun.” Keith smiled at their makeshift family. “We should do this more often.”

“Definitely!”

“Speaking of tomorrow,” Lance wondered, “will we be racing more, or did you get any other games we can play with a group?”

“Indeed!” Coran affirmed. “I can’t recall what it was called at the moment, but Shiro said something about tiny games?”

“Mini games?” Pidge perked up at the idea. “Tell me you found a copy of Alfredo’s Festival!”

Suddenly, every Earthling in the room seemed to be a bit more awake.

“Tomorrow,” Shiro reminded them firmly. “We’re done for tonight.” To emphasize his point he stood, walked over, and hit the power switch on the console. There was some unhappy grumbling, but they all began to file out of the room and head to their quarters for the night.

“Am I to understand that this other game is composed of many games that are very small?” Allura asked.

“The ‘mini’ name isn’t so much about literal size,” Pidge explained. “It’s more that the games are simple and short so you can play a bunch of them in a row easily.”

“The controls are even simpler than racing. You’re gonna love it, Coran.”

Shiro hung back, watching the others leave the room. It was good to have everyone together again. No one knew when the next catastrophe might strike, but for at least this one night, it had been so much fun to forget about responsibility and just enjoy one another’s company. If they were lucky, the peace would hold out through the morning, or at least long enough for everyone to enjoy a nice breakfast together and the chaos bound to spring up during a rousing game of Alfredo’s Festival.

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 10

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 10: Icarus

Warning: This chapter contains references to graphic violence and derogatory homophobic slurs and prejudice. Please tread with caution.

After the whole ‘moving 505 to his new room and trying to keep Black Hat from killing us both’ fiasco, Flug was entirely prepared to sit in the security room watching security feed of the two most secure cells for the rest of the night, sleep be damned. He’d already set himself up in one of the desk chairs, with paperwork, a decent neck pillow and at least 1,500 grams of nonperishable foods. This was mostly thanks to his sudden, bizarre camaraderie with Lucas – and Ben, to a lesser extent – who gave him access to the screens and got the other guards off his back.

He had finally gotten comfortable in the swivel chair, armed with a granola bar and a formal request for time off for that EPPA convention in a month, with his legs propped up and his bag snugly fit against the pillow, when one of his phones buzzed. It was the one in his left coat pocket, which signaled a personal message instead of a work one from the phone stuck in his right. Flug grumbled to himself and shifted to reach for it, and found an email for the arrival of an order of cosmetics from the website recommended to him from the nurse.

That order had been fairly expensive, and the last thing he needed was for it to sit unguarded at the local post office for who knew how long.

Despite his severe misgivings, the psychiatrist was forced out of his vigilant post and away from the security feeds, taking his provisions with him. He knocked on the doorframe to get the closest guard’s attention, explaining the situation and asking for a temporary fill-in while he went to retrieve his package.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” she batted her lashes at him, “I’ll do anything for you.”

It didn’t really make him feel better.

On the way out of the lobby, Flug was so stuck in his worries that he nearly collided with a nurse carrying a large bundle of standard patient uniforms. Clothes fluttered to the ground in heaps and left the poor girl with only a single pair of pants in her grasp.

“Oh, I’m s-so sorry, I’m so,” he crouched at the same time she did and they collided heads, causing both to fall back on their butts and rub their new respective bumps. “Owww…”

“Nnngh,” the nurse’s eyes were barely visible past her dreadlocks, which cascaded down to her chest. She lifted her head to look up at him and recognized his face at the same time he read her nametag.

It was Susie, the quiet nurse he had given 505’s prescription to nearly a week ago. It felt like much, much longer. They sat awkwardly across from each other with large eyes, then simultaneously realized the uniforms were still on the floor. The girl hastily made to pick them up and Flug wasted no time in joining her, grateful for something else to distract him.

“I’m – I’m really sorry about that.” He offered meekly, keeping his head down and away from her. If he’d looked up he would have noticed she was doing the same.

“No, no it’s no trouble,” Susie mumbled, embarrassment present in the red flush across her dark warm cheeks. “I should have watched where I was going.”

“Ah, m-me too.” They got all the fallen clothes together and began the tedious process of folding and stacking each pair. Flug was painfully aware of the large metal clock ticking away above the entrance. As soon as the last shirt was placed on top of the pile he scrambled to his feet, sneakers squeaking against the marble floor.

“Thank you,” the nurse carefully hefted the uniforms as she stood up, putting one hand on top to keep it steady. She looked more closely at him. “I haven’t seen you in a few days, Dr. Slys. Are – are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve been j-just great,” the psychiatrist resisted the childish urge to tap his foot. “A lot on my plate with a new p-patient, that’s all. Everything’s great.”

“That’s good.” Susie shuffled, a bit more relaxed now. “We’ve all been worried about you, Doctor. That crim – that new inmate, Black Hat, all the nurses avoid his room and I don’t know how you can do it. How are you so brave?”

“I’m not, um, I’m not brave. Not that brave. It’s just my job.” Flug brushed out his lab coat, head ducked. “I appreciate your c-concern, really, but I’m fine. Nothing I can’t survive – handle! Nothing I can’t handle,” he amended quickly at her pinched face.

“Okay…” the nurse bit her lip. “That’s…good to hear, Dr. Slys. But we’re here to help – the nurses. If you need anything. Please don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I won’t,” the words were sincere. “Thank you and…” he gestured jerkily at the clothing, “I’m so sorry about that.”

Susie shook her head, grateful smile dimpling her face. “No, it happens. They’re dirty anyway.”

They parted ways a little less awkwardly than they had met, and Flug felt relatively happy until he caught a glimpse of the clock and nearly had an aneurysm. Sprinting down the building steps and into the parking lot, the psychiatrist reached his reserved parking space in the span of fifteen seconds and had to take a quick breather against his car.

It was a silver Chevrolet Cobalt, modeled in 2008 and in good condition. Wasn’t fancy, wasn’t what most of his staff had, but it got the job done and he was going to use it for all it was worth before getting anything else. Besides, no one suspected someone of his occupation drove anything like this. Better for avoiding media after a press conference or whatever else.

Better for keeping a low profile. It kept him safe.

The post office was almost completely void of people, thank god, and Flug waited as patiently as he could while the postal worker checked through his ID and verified the transaction. The package wasn’t too big to fit in his arms, but the skewed weight had him juggling it clumsily as he strode briskly back to his car. He stuck it in the passenger seat and buckled it up for good measure. Safety first and all that.

Instead of taking it back to his apartment, he made an executive decision to just drop it off in his office before resuming his watch of 505’s situation. That decision was regretted quite a bit when he was halfway down the hall and turned the corner only to stare at the barrel chest of Dr. Bautista.

His luck really sucked sometimes.

The other psychiatrist looked down his nose as if the doctor wasn’t worth his head turn, but then his eyes lighted on the box in Flug’s hands and did a double take.

“Make-up? You bought make-up?” He sneered in a way that had Flug gritting his teeth. “I didn’t know you were that kind, Dr. Slys.”

“Excuse me,” the psychiatrist tried to walk around, but Bautista matched his step backwards and folded his arms, making it nearly impossible to move forward without brushing into him. “Please, Doctor, I really need to get through.”

“Is that why you had me kicked off the inmate’s case? Scared I’d see this?” The larger man stabbed an angry finger into the package, almost knocking Flug off balance with the force of the tap. “Is this what’s under that dumb bag? Shit like this?”

“I d-don’t need to explain anything to you. A-And I asked you to move.” He tried to shove past but was stopped again. The box creaked a little under his grip. “Dr. Bautista, please, I talked to the director a-and she approved my request, th-that’s all there is to it. She wants us t-to work out our differences and I can’t do that if you won’t let me through!”

There was a tense moment of standoff, but Flug was sick of this day and sick of bullies with names of the letter B and he refused to be the first to crack. His coworker’s hard gaze trailed down to the box again, a defeat hidden behind contempt.

“Is this why you wanted my intern, too? Gonna make him dress up like those freaks on TV? Turn him into a queer, like you?”

‘you’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer?’

Flug sucked in a breath and Bautista realized in that instance what he’d said, what he was doing. The bigger man metaphorically backpedaled and looked nervously around for any sign of other employees.

“Forget it, forget what I said. Do whatever the hell you want, he’s your intern now anyway, he’s not worth my time. And neither are you.” The psychiatrist pivoted on his heel and stalked away, eyeing nearby closed doors apprehensively as he went.

Left behind was a psychiatrist struggling to keep himself from falling apart right there in the hall.

He booked it for his office, hands shaking so much that the box’s contents rattled haphazardly. The moment he reached his little sanctuary and the door was shut Flug collapsed to his knees, hunched over the package and headwear pressed into its top.

This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to have moved past this, give or take a paper bag and some shaky stuttering. He had moved past it, hadn’t had such a bad episode since before the Institute, before restraining scary inmates and psycho patients and dealing with…whatever Black Hat was.

But the memory bubbled up in familiar sickness and the doctor had just enough sense to reach up and lock the handle above him, fingers trembling with the effort. His hand dropped, boneless in his lap, and Flug stared in horrified awe as the yellow glove disappeared, the white lab coat disappeared. In its place was exposed pale skin, with the red overcoat clashing terribly with the icy ground and the snowy air. He couldn’t feel the cold, but it was right there, right there and he was back he was –

A cough made him look up.

 It was a group of five men, all their heads shaved to the bone and with near-matching tattoos right at the nape of their necks – barely visible from the high-collared heavy blue jackets they shared. He was not one of them, had never seen them before and hoped never to again, but a job was a job and he wasn’t going to complain, especially not here. They were mostly ignoring him anyway, grumbling to themselves about the frigid wind as they all waited behind that warehouse.

Their hit wouldn’t be there for another ten minutes at least, however, and he could sense their restlessness even as he pulled and twitched at his coat. He hadn’t had the chance to do his good-luck straighten-up routine when he’d left this morning, and it was filling him with irrational, irritating dread.

One of the smaller skinheads finally got bored enough to look his way, and he bit his tongue and kept his expression carefully neutral as the man approached.

“So you’re, like, really the guy helpin’ us out here?” It was said nonchalantly, in the tone of someone who very literally had nothing else better to do.

“That’s right,” he replied, eyes landing somewhere just under the other’s gaze. Directness was dangerous, was seen as challenge, but avoiding the face altogether was often seen as an insult. He’d toed this beam plenty of times and was well-versed in the physical whisperings of others.

The man scrubbed at the thick line of stubble under his jaw, itchy and miserable from the cold. “So what’s your deal, then? She said you were German, like honest to god bloodline and everything.”

He stilled the movements of his hands. “Yes, I am. My name was on the contract, if I remember right.”

“Oh, yeah,” more scratching, “that’s right, I saw your name, yeah. That really was German, huh. You ever think about joinin’ one of us ‘stead of her? Less rules and shit.”

“Ah, I don’t know,” he glanced over at the rest. One or two were starting to pay attention. “It’s really good pay, I guess. And she lets me use her lab, I can build whatever I want, whenever I want. It’s hard to leave a setup like that, you know?”

“Sure,” the skinhead reached a scarred hand to his neck and rubbed aggressively at the inflamed skin under his swastika. It was very recent, possibly within the last few days if his math was right.

“Stop fuckin’ with it,” gruffed one of the largest members, who stood and stretched before stepping heavily to join the two. “It’ll get infected and then you’re gonna cry like a bitch for weeks.”

“I ain’t gonna cry like no bitch,” the obvious newbie snarled, agitated by the cold and the teasing. “Only bitches here are all of you, huddled together over there for warmth. It’s pathetic.”

“Mm,” the older, larger man looked over the non-member with a skeptical look to his eye. “You’re kinda scrawny for your age, aren’t you? For your work?”

He kept his face clear, going for a simple shrug of shoulders and a slight fiddle of his coat zipper. It wasn’t the first time hearing this question doubting his appearance, but he had come prepared and equipped and demonstration would persuade these men much more than words. If only the damn target would show up.

“He kinda looks like a queer.”

The suggestion was much more unexpected and he stiffened up, eyes moving very slowly to look at the newbie, who sneered and stared at him with newfound amusement.

“Izzat true? You a queer?”

“No,” he said, firm and strong and leaving no room for suspicion. “I’m a scientist.”

The bigger, older man gave a few deep, rumbling chuckles and nudged his irritated companion. “That was a good one, come on.”

“Wasn’t nothing,” the younger one responded, shadowed face getting darker every second. “It wasn’t even an answer. I thought he’d at least give me an answer. You afraid of something, kid? Got something to hide?”

“Don’t call him kid, you’re barely growing pubes, idiot.”

The two skinheads started slinging insults at each other, and the rest of the gang was perking up at the sight. In the meantime he edged away, very slowly and as quiet as he could be in the snow. His sense for danger was always reliable and it was telling him that if their hit didn’t arrive soon, something was going to happen.

Something very, very bad.

Of course, he was only about a meter further from the verbal brawl before the newbie turned angrily back to him and spat at the ground.

“Just answer the fucking’ question, Aryan. You gay or not?”

“I’m not gay,” he insisted, but this question was not one he had mastered a safe answer to, had never had to before, and something must have shown on his face, in his voice, in his words maybe – because the larger, older man straightened up abruptly with practiced ease. The gaze of the young new one became sharp and predatory and hovered somewhere between eagerness and loathing.

It wasn’t until all five began to circle him that he realized he was hitting the cold back of the warehouse.

“Repeat that for me,” said the older, larger skinhead, and he was starting to think this one was the leader, the way he seemed to tower above them all and demanded respect, and an honest answer.

“I’m not – gay!” He insisted again, words slipping only because of the sudden closeness of one man to his right. It startled him into a voice crack and that was all the prompting they needed. He was pinned to the wall by three different pairs of hands and his head smacked painfully against the metal.

“Hang on, hang on guys,” hissed a voice belonging to one pair of grasping hands. “We gotta do the job first, right? She’s not gonna pay us if we don’t do the job.”

“I’m not working with a fucking fag,” hissed another. “Got enough of that shit in the world already, it doesn’t belong here with real people. It’ll taint us all if we don’t stop it.”

“But I’m not – I’m not…!” He tried to cry out just as a gloved hand slapped him hard and stung worse than the cold ever could.

“Shut up.” It was the newbie, eyes blazing and manic. “You’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer? Bet you’ve been wanting to fuck all of us this whole time, huh. Bet it really gets you off bein’ around real men for once.”

“What should we do with him?” Asked the hesitant one again. “You know she’ll put a hit out on us if we kill him, you – you guys know that.”

“I know,” rumbled the larger, older man quietly. He was standing behind them all, overseeing as was his position, but his gaze had landed on the back of the newbie’s neck. Something passed his visage, and for one moment there was no white in his eyes. “Pin him to the ground, on his back.”

They complied eagerly and he fought for every centimeter of height lost until someone got impatient and punched him hard in the stomach. He collapsed immediately, gasping for breath even as they stretched his arms out and sat on his legs.

“Chase, give me your cigarette.”

“What?! Why the hell –”

“Just fucking give it to me!” The tone left no room for argument and he watched in stuck terror as a half-used cigarette traded hands to the older, larger skinhead, who walked around and crouched right above his head.

He stared, pleading and cold and hurting and asking for a single shred of mercy. But they had both played this game for a long while and thus both knew there would be none.

“I think,” the soulless black look was back. “The best way to do this,” a giant, meaty hand gripped painfully in his hair and stilled his shaking head. “Is to show our employer exactly what we think of little creatures like you poisoning our perfect race.”

The burning tip hovered a millimeter from his wet right cheek.

“You said you’re German. I think it’s time to embrace your roots.”

The tip came down.

And Flug cried silently into his square paper mask.

Hey guys, this one was a heavy one and I apologize for it. If it triggered or upset anyone, please let me know and I’ll give more warning in the beginning of the chapter. Please keep in mind that this story as a whole will continue to deal with heavy topics like this, but it isn’t my intention to sugarcoat these things or paint them as insignificant. 

Thanks for listening. Last chapter is tomorrow and then we’ll be all caught up. Hope you all have a good one.

[chocobunnydrops]

Tortoiseshell Charms

I just realized I never posted my KHR Secret Santa from last year lmao so here it is !!!

Title: Tortoiseshell Charms

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Rating: G

Words: 2k

Summary: Spanner acquires a cat. A disappointing amount of domesticity ensues.

2k words of cats being cats plotless fluff ft. slightly scatterbrained roommate Shoichi in the college au we all need.

Read on: ao3 •  ff.net • below

Groceries in hand, Spanner unlocked the door of his apartment. It was snowing heavily outside, as it did in Japan, but he rather liked the change in climate from Italy. In the two and a half years he’d been here for university, Japan having four seasons was one of the things he’d come to appreciate.

Spanner shook off the snow and dropped his keys on the counter. Shoichi, his roommate, didn't seem to be home at the moment, which meant he was probably slaving away in a lab somewhere, as Spanner had just returned from doing. Ah, the life of an engineering major.

As he was preparing to unpack the groceries, a loud mrrrrow gave him pause. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that was…

A cat, perched regally on the kitchen table, licked her paw and smoothed it over her head.  

Spanner pondered the new feline while stocking the cupboards with instant ramen. Courtesy of his term project, it had definitely been a few days since he’d last visited the apartment, but he couldn’t recall there being a cat here. Maybe Shoichi had picked one off the streets, or from the local animal shelter. He had read somewhere that pets helped with anxiety, so maybe that was it…

Ramune in hand, he looked at the animal once again. She was a tortoiseshell, like the one his grandfather had in Italy, with pale green eyes that met his in a cool, level gaze. For a second, he wasn’t sure if he was sizing the cat up, or the other way around.

She was probably female, as tortoiseshells nearly always were. His grandfather called them cheeky little things, but with an affection in his eyes that left no doubt that he loved them. Personally, Spanner was lukewarm to them, but as long as Shoichi’s new pet/therapy animal didn’t bother him, he didn’t mind the new roommate.

The matter settled, Spanner popped open a bottle of ramune, set the kettle on for instant ramen, and sat down to study.

Several hours later, the scrape of the door against the floor signaled Shoichi’s arrival home. The redhead stamped his boots on the welcome mat and dusted himself off, shedding layer upon layer of jackets (Shoichi tended to get cold easily) before joining Spanner in the kitchen.

“Oi,” Spanner said, nodding towards the cat, “Where did that come from?”

Shoichi stared at him. “It was here when I got back from class yesterday. I assumed it was yours.”

Spanner blinked.

Shoichi rubbed his head.

The cat yawned.

“So…want to keep it?”

“You know,” Spanner said a few days later, during another one of his rare visits home, “We haven’t given you a name yet.”

The tortoiseshell, cozy in the new bed Shoichi had purchased from the pet store, didn’t respond.  

"Sen," Spanner decided. "What do you think?"

The cat meowed disapprovingly.

"Doraiba?”

She flicked her tail and turned away from him.

“Fine, we'll wait until Shoichi comes home and see what he thinks.”  

Spanner busied himself making a pot of tea (he was British, after all, and already running low on ramune) before starting on his homework. He’d much rather work on Mini Mosca (he was in the process of adding a vacuuming program) but alas his pesky degree required certain grades to graduate, and certain grades required finishing homework.  

He was halfway done designing the motor for a wind turbine when Shoichi shuffled in, nose bright red from the cold, and declared that Professor Kominato was many words he could not say in front of children for holding lecture in this weather.

Spanner privately agreed and informed him of the name conundrum.

Analytical as always, Shoichi studied the tortoiseshell carefully. “She looks like a Phoebe.”

The cat made a sound of disgust.

Shoichi laughed. “Okay, that’s a no.”

Not-Phoebe hrrrumped in the way only a cat can and rolled on her back, demanding belly rubs as compensation for the ill-fitting name. Suddenly, Spanner was struck by inspiration.

“Maru.”

The cat meowed indignantly.

Shoichi laughed again and stroked her admittedly round belly. “Sorry Maru, but Spanner’s got a point. For a stray, you’re remarkably well-fed.”

Maru huffed.

Spanner pushed up his goggles and rubbed his eyes. He’d lost track of how many hours he’d spent in the lab, but judging by the piles of lollipop wrappers on his desk, it was a considerable amount of time. Two days and eleven hours, by his estimates.

Which meant that it was about time he went home and fed Maru. Honestly, he should probably just program Mini Mosca to do it at set intervals (a much easier code than most of its functions), but Spanner enjoyed the break. It was strange, because he had never enjoyed stopping in the middle of a project before, often working days on end without sleep, spending more time in the lab than his apartment.  

Shoichi constantly scolded him for not taking care of himself. Spanner retorted that Shoichi wasn’t any better, spending literal days glued to his computer in a similar manner, hair disheveled, face unshaved, perfecting his latest project. He had come home far too many times to Shoichi slumped over his keyboard, snoring, while intricate programs ran in the background. At least Spanner always dragged himself to bed (if the little cot in his lab could be called that) before collapsing.  

Spanner’s keys clanked when he dropped them on the counter. The sound always sent Maru purring around his legs, as if the sudden affection would make him dole out an extra serving of cat food. No such luck. Spanner had long grown immune to tortoiseshell charms.

Mini Mosca put the kettle on and Spanner quietly thanked him. Shoichi was sleeping over at that Byakuran kid’s again (they had been spending a lot of time together lately), so the apartment felt oddly quiet without the click-clacking of his keyboard or the electronic bzzzzt of a program running.

Maru pawed at his pant leg, reminding Spanner of the all-important dinner. Spanner poured her food into her bowl, and reprimanded her when she stared pleadingly at him when she quickly “finished”.

“Maru, there’s still food in your bowl.”

Maru gazed at him with devastatingly big green eyes.

“Maru, you haven’t even eaten everything yet.”

Maru mrrowed pitifully.

Spanner sighed and pushed away his instant ramen (Mini Mosca’s cooking functions were advancing, but not quickly enough). He reached for the bag of cat food and pretended to pour more in before placing it back in the only locked cabinet in their apartment. Maru, as they found out early on, could somehow get into every nook and cranny of the apartment they hid the food in. Shoichi had come home one day to find her wedged contently in the heating duct, an empty bag of cat food sitting between her paws, and that had been the last straw. He and Spanner spent the next day reinforcing one of the kitchen cabinets with iron deadbolts and a fingerprint recognition system.

Spanner picked up the bowl and moved it slightly to the right, making sure to swirl the container so the food would be in different places. Lo and behold, Maru trotted right up and started eating again. Spanner stroked her fondly.

“You know, this is why we called you Maru.”

Maru, oblivious to the jibe, licked up the last of her meal with satisfaction.

Now that he had a cat, Spanner preferred to work at home when he could. Maru curled up in his lap while he typed away on his computer, and he absentmindedly scratched her behind the ears. Every now and again she’d hop off and sit in front of the fridge, meowing loudly to remind him that they both needed to eat. If that didn’t break his concentration, she’d plant herself firmly on his keyboard and swat his nose with her paw until he stood up.

But sometimes, she would clamber onto Spanner’s keyboard for no apparent reason. Even after he scratched her under the chin, gave her a toy, and tried to coax her away with cat treats, she still refused to budge. Evidently, it had been far too long since she had sat on Spanner’s keyboard, and she was intent on enjoying it.  

At first, Spanner tried to reason with her. “Maru, I have a spare keyboard on my dresser. You can sit on that one.” To which Maru blinked once before settling down more.

Next came bribery. “Maru, I’ll buy you a new mouse toy if you get off my keyboard.” He received a bored yawn in reply.

Physical action was his last resort. He gently wrapped his hands around Maru’s ample midsection and hoisted the chubby cat off the keyboard. Maru immediately sank her claws into his sweater and positioned herself on his shoulder. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was definitely an indication that she wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.

Which was somewhat of a problem, given that he had class in fifteen minutes (and hence needed his keyboard to finish up a homework assignment he had put off to work more on Mini Mosca…the cycle of procrastination never ends).

Seeing as negotiating had failed spectacularly in getting Maru off his keyboard, Spanner decided that no college student gave enough of a shit to protest his bringing a cat to class. It certainly wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’d seen in his electrical engineering lecture.

He bundled up Maru in her little penguin-patterned scarf and hat before sliding into his own jacket; Maru graciously lifted one limb at a time to allow him to put it on. Then, with a quick glance at his watch to check the time, they were off.

3 pm was Spanner and Maru’s favorite time of day, because that was when the mail truck rolled to a stop on the curb of their apartment building and started unloading a conglomerate of packages in every shape and size.

Spanner, predictably, was excited because he finally had whatever part he was missing for his project.

Maru, predictably, was excited because of the box said part came in.

It was a symbiotic relationship, and one in which the mailman was very, very well-greeted.

Maru’s Top Five Spots to Nap, as compiled by Spanner

5. Under the kitchen sink

4. On top of Spanner’s keyboard

3. On top of whatever textbook Spanner is reading

2. In Spanner’s underwear drawer

1. Unknown. Maru disappears for a certain length of time and returns looking refreshed. Further investigation needed.

Like winter, midterms had come and gone, leaving Shoichi and Spanner with free time for the first time in weeks. Icicles dripped from the eaves of their roof, and grass was just beginning to peek through melted patches of snow. They embarked on an impromptu but highly necessary trip to the supermarket, where the two roommates enjoyed each other’s company while buying the store’s entire supply of instant ramen and coffee (the latter was for Shoichi; Spanner preferred ramune, even if it didn’t give him a caffeine rush).

Despite being laden with groceries, the walk home was quick and pleasant, and Spanner scarcely had time to unlock the door before both he and Shoichi were calling for Maru.

Truth be told, they had grown a soft spot for the tortoiseshell and couldn’t resist picking up a new toy or two every time they went to that specific supermarket. Shoichi blamed it on the marketing. “Placing cat toys in the check-out aisle…right as we’re about to leave…and always on sale too…it’s cruel.”

His bank account agreed.

“Maru?” Shoichi called again. Their tortoiseshell, usually so diligent about greeting them whenever they came home for the toys, had mysteriously vanished.  

A light mrrrow in response led them to the kitchen.

Maru was perched regally on the table, but upon their entry moved aside to reveal another cat. This one was white and fluffy, but in a way that bore an unfortunate resemblance to the tousled chaos atop Byakuran’s head. Maru mrrrowed again and flicked her tail proudly.  

Shoichi looked at Spanner.

Spanner looked at Shoichi.

“So…want to keep it?”

A/N: Do Spanner and Shoichi ever figure out how two cats managed to sneak inside their locked apartment? …nah probs not.

Sen – Wire

Doraiba – Screwdriver

Yes Spanner is a confirmed nerd who would definitely name his cat after tools…

Maru – round or circle, bc pudgy cats are the cutest and the name just sounds super cute so.

This was my first time writing Spanner and Shoichi, so I apologize if they acted ooc! If you have any comments or constructive criticism, I’d love to hear it :3

Thank you for reading and (belated) Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

~Tressa

Random Headcanons for this au

Spanner came to Japan for university because of its advanced robotics/engineering programs and coincidentally ended up at the same school as Shoichi. Neither really had any friends going in so they were like hey why not let’s be roomies. 

They’re perfect roommates because (before Maru) neither was ever really home—they basically lived in their respective robotics labs and came home only to shower and pick up mail.

They’re both majoring in Engineering, with a specialization in robotics (hopefully that’s a thing). They both find university A Struggle.

Basically Spanner is the definition of a Ravenclaw who is hella smart and could easily get straight As if he actually did his homework on time but would rather work on Mini Mosca/other personal projects.

Spanner and Shoichi both live off instant ramen because neither has the time to make anything better. Since coming to Japan, Spanner has since gotten addicted to ramune because it’s so sweet and fizzy??? Like his lollipops but in liquid form???

Mini Mosca is a side project he’s been working on for the past couple of years. Is basically the same as he is in canon—a mini home assistant—except that he’s not finished yet.

Honestly getting a cat is such a good thing for Spanner bc it makes him actually take care of himself and eat and come home more and she probably actually does help Shoichi with his stomach aches and anxiety too so !!! this has been a psa pls imagine Spanner and Shoichi with cats.

[arcticdementor]

Following my post on "Terrorism as a response to electoral fraud" two days ago, I've had a few e-mail conversations with readers about the prospects for widespread disruptions in the event that our politics "goes kinetic", to coin a phrase.  What struck me was the sheer, blind arrogance of a couple of left-wing correspondents about how all this was "nothing more than right-wing mental masturbation", that "Trumpers talk a good fight, but will never do anything about it", and that "there simply isn't much any individual can do to disrupt our cities".

I'll leave the first two comments for events to prove or disprove.  The third, however . . . how anyone could be so blind to reality is mind-boggling.  I mean, have you ever looked - really looked - at the streets within one mile of your home, and realized how vulnerable our towns and cities really are?  I learned about it at first hand as a Civil Defense Sector Officer for part of the central business district of a major South African city.  Here's what I learned way back then, and what I see every day all around me.

A utility right-of-way (for hard-wired telephones, cable TV, etc.) runs through the middle of our back yard, about 20 feet from my back door.  I see two of its connection boxes jutting up from our lawn every time I look through a window.  If the cables running through that right-of-way were to suffer some sort of accident, every hard-wired telephone connection and every cable TV connection linked to them would come to a grinding halt.  That includes the control panel for the water storage and distribution center about a third of a mile down the road.

Every major intersection in a nearby city is equipped with traffic lights.  Every one of them is controlled from a single large metal container set back from the road on one of the intersection's corners.  Take out that metal box, and the entire traffic light system connected to it would shut down.  Do that for a couple of dozen major intersections, particularly in larger cities with heavier traffic, and the resultant gridlock would make traffic cops tear their hair out and weep.  It'd take weeks or months to sort out, because municipalities (not to mention manufacturers) don't keep large quantities of spares for those things just lying around.  They're too expensive.  For that matter, there are only so many people who know how to connect and/or repair them.

In larger cities and even in some smaller towns, tunnels carry utilities, power and other connections to large buildings.  Take out those tunnels (e.g. a fire, a flood, or whatever) and every service they provide shuts down.  Skyscrapers have no air-conditioning, no elevators, no sewage service . . . you get the picture.  The CBD shuts down until repairs can be made - and if traffic is also disrupted, those working there have a hell of a time getting home.  We're not talking delays lasting hours, but days or even weeks.

Every pole around here carrying power cables is made of wood, often treated with bitumen or some other substance to slow down rot or control insects.  Wood burns very easily, particularly if it's soaked in bitumen or helped along with some gasoline.  A couple of drive-bys in the small hours of the morning could burn a hundred poles in a several-mile radius.  For that matter, a couple of wraps of home-made or commercial det cord will bring down the entire pole.

For that matter, many of those power poles carry small transformers.  A few rifle shots into each from a passing car, and that transformer's toast.  Take out enough of them, and you've lost power to an entire suburb.  That doesn't count electrical sub-stations, as discussed in the earlier article.  Take out one of those, and you've lost power to multiple suburbs.  Take out a dozen of them, and a city is paralyzed.

There are nine or ten centers within 50 miles of me where couriers (e.g. FedEx, UPS, DHL, etc.) receive parcels for delivery and/or collect parcels for dispatch to other centers.  Disrupt those centers (which can be as simple as a power or utility interruption, or a blockage on roads leading to or from them, or something more serious such as a fire) and package processing and delivery will be severely impacted.  Nowadays, that hits home shoppers as well as businesses - and have you any idea how many medical prescriptions are filled by courier or mail order these days?  In a bigger center, which might have an Amazon fulfilment center or a Walmart regional distribution facility, disruptions to them might have a serious impact for scores, even hundreds of miles around.

In areas where heavy rain is a factor (not only severe storms such as hurricanes, but just normal seasonal rains too), any blockages to storm water drainage systems can very rapidly cause flooding.  Enough of it can paralyze a city for days, if not weeks, particularly given collateral damage to things like rail and road tunnels, electrical wiring and junction boxes, commercial and domestic basements, and so on.  Why do you think cities constantly urge residents to keep the drains clear of debris and foreign objects?  If anyone were to dump a lot of those foreign objects where they'd do the most harm, perhaps aided by a few bags of Portland cement here or there, chaos might result.

What if trash collection trucks were immobilized for some reason?  The same applies to fire trucks, ambulances, tow trucks, etc.  They're all vital resources.  Engines can be damaged in any number of ways that leave no trace as to who did it.

Cell phone towers.  No need for anything complex:  a few rifle shots into each transmitter/receiver element on the tower would shut them down.  Millions of Americans own rifles with telescopic sights that are more than capable of doing that.  With every smartphone in a city shut down, how will everyday life be affected?  No apps, no GPS navigation . . . it doesn't bear thinking about.

Railroads.  One of the major east-west railway lines passes less than two miles from my front door.  I don't want to think how many trains per day use it, laden with containers, coal, oil, and who knows what else.  Interrupt that traffic, and you're talking millions of dollars per day in economic costs - not to mention goods and supplies that don't get to where they're needed.

Flat tires.  Have people driving around, going about their ordinary everyday business, discreetly drop home-made caltrops along roads and in intersections as they pass.  There are many ways it can be done without anyone noticing.  Before long, every tire shop in town will have run out of popular tire sizes, and there'll be a waiting list days or weeks long to get new tires fitted.  Do that in cities and towns across a region, and you're talking weeks or months to get everyone mobile again.  That includes ambulances, fire trucks, police vehicles, delivery vans, and so on, not just private motorists.

Disrupt the distribution of clean, potable water, and within days you'll have an epidemic of diarrhea, cholera and other nasties.  Most cities and towns I know use water towers to manage distribution.  They're great big metal things, sticking up out of the ground, recognizable for miles.  How much work would it be for someone to cut through the wire fences surrounding them, get inside, and take care of business?

Disrupt the EBT system in supermarkets and corner stores, and watch an entire segment of the urban population erupt in riots.

Those are just a few thoughts, based on what I've seen happen in urban conflict and violence in several countries in Africa, as well as local problems I've seen here in America since I moved here more than two decades ago.  Note, too, that I haven't mentioned a single deliberately lethal attack - no bombs directed at people, no mass shootings, no arson of occupied premises, etc.  If those are added to the mix, the consequences will be unimaginable.

One doesn't even need sophisticated destructive devices to do the work.  A chain wrapped around a small junction or controller box, tied to the tow ball of a pickup truck, will rip it out of the ground.  It'll take out a section of fence, or pull a door out of a wall.  There are lots of pickup trucks around, and plenty of heavier vehicles that can be "borrowed" if needed - or even just hired for a day.  U-haul, anyone?  Penske?  Budget?  There are dozens of firms that'll eagerly rent you what you need.  Heck, Home Depot or Lowes will rent you power tools that will make a mess of just about anything!  Chainsaw, meet wood pole.  Tree-trimmer, meet power lines.  There are firms renting major powered equipment to building contractors, or construction equipment to road builders, etc. that can do even better.  Bulldozer, meet brick wall.  Farm tractor with plow, meet utility right-of-way.

To make matters even more interesting, there are millions of Americans who've "seen the elephant" in Iraq, Afghanistan and similarly interesting places over the past few decades.  They've witnessed at first hand how terrorists were able to disrupt society and normal everyday life.  They were also taught, by Uncle Sam, to deal with such things.  They're now in civilian life, but still have all that knowledge.  (Mine didn't come from Uncle Sam, but I learned the same lessons wearing a different uniform.)

Our society and its structures are very, very vulnerable to those wishing us harm.  Let's hope and pray we don't learn that the hard way.  They can be found on both wings of US politics, too, as evidenced by 'Earth First' terrorists or pipeline opponents.  The problem isn't limited to just 'frustrated Trumpers'.

[keldae]

Drastic Measures (chapter five)

Doc had set up a respectable little makeshift clinic in his house: one narrow cot, a few precious containers of kolto, and whatever medical equipment he’d been able to purchase or steal. Humble? Sure. But Xaja had seen him do more with less before. It had been his daily existence on Balmorra, amidst swarms of giant insects. Pirates and ruffians on Rishi paled in comparison.

Xaja laid on the cot and watched Doc as he started running scans. Her dizziness had finally eased up with laying down and a small dose of whatever stim Doc administered, but her head still ached. That being said, she could almost ignore the lingering throbbing in her skull by focusing on her joy that Doc was here and alive and safe. She could also almost ignore Theron frowning as he leaned against the doorframe to watch, or Doc’s side-eye scowls at the spy. Apparently two years wasn’t enough for either of them to forget Doc’s unrequited romantic affections for the Jedi he traveled with, or how hard and fast Xaja and Theron had fallen for each other.

Fortunately, Doc wasn’t so focused on his rivalry with Theron that he would stoop to unprofessional behaviour where his patient was concerned -- especially this patient. “You said you were in carbonite?” he asked as he held a light into Xaja’s eyes, nodding in apparent satisfaction with whatever he saw.

“Yes, from about twenty minutes after arriving on Zakuul until Theron broke me out days ago.” Xaja fell silent as Doc carefully felt around her neck and jawline, frowned, and reached for his datapad to enter something in. “I’m not sure how they got Marr and I off of the ship alive.”

“There’s no way either of you should have survived. I watched that ship disintegrate.” Doc was uncharacteristically sombre. “We ran back to Coruscant and warned the Republic like you said to do, but nobody believed us, even with your brother backing us up --”

“Wait.” Xaja sat up despite her head swimming, her eyes widening. “Korin was…”

“Yeah. He got there just after we came under attack and protected the Serenity while we were stuck on that airlock. He followed us back to Coruscant when we ran since he thought-” Doc fell silent for a second. “He thought you were on board.”

“Oh, no…” Xaja felt her shoulders slump. Theron told her that Korin had all but lost his joviality and become grim and sober in the aftermath of Zakuul’s attack, but he hadn’t told her that her brother had watched the ship she was on fall apart under fire. “Did he… is he…”

“Back down.” Doc gently pushed at Xaja’s shoulder until she was on her back again so he could resume his examination. “I don’t know,” he said. “Korin kind of dropped off the face of the galaxy after Saresh told all of us to get the hell out of the Senate tower and called us all traitors to the Republic for allying with the head of the Dark Council --”

“Saresh did what?!” Xaja shot upright again, and was immediately greeted with a hand on her shoulder to firmly push her back down.

“I said down. Keep your heart rate down, you’re affecting the results of the scan I’ve got going on you.” Doc selected a syringe from a tray beside the cot and pulled it out of the sterile packaging with the efficiency of someone who’d done this countless times. “She was eating her words two days later when Arcann attacked the Core Worlds -- everywhere, all at once. Last I saw of your brother, he was taking back off from Coruscant after we got kicked out of the Senate. I’m not sure where he went.”

“He rendezvoused with your dad in the Mid-Rim,” Theron finally interjected. “I’ve caught up with him over the last couple of years. He’s okay, all things considered. As far as I’m aware, Darth Imperius and Cipher Nine are still alive too.”

“I guess Imperius dying would have been news even in Republic space.” Doc gently turned Xaja’s arm over and found a vein. “If Saresh knew your dad and little brother were an Imperial spy and another of the Dark Council…”

“Then I’d probably be kicked out of the Order, blacklisted across all of Republic space, and possibly die mysteriously.”

“Grand Master Shan liked you. She would have fought to keep you with the Jedi -- if, y’know, the Order was still functional.”

Xaja frowned as Doc expertly drew his blood sample and held a small wad of fabric against the puncture. “Theron did mention the Jedi were scattered after the war and the Order all but disbanded.”

“A lot of Jedi died in the fighting. Most of them took a few Zakuulans or Skytroopers down with them, but…” Doc sighed as he slipped the blood-filled syringe into a testing chamber. “Last I heard of Kira, she was helping some Padawans disappear, making sure there were at least a few Order survivors.”

“Did Lord Scourge help the Jedi at all, or did he return to Imperial space?”

“Not to the best of my knowledge for either.” Doc frowned at the results on his datapad, picked up a handheld scanner, and started his own manual analysis. “He just vanished one day; Rusk and I couldn’t figure out where he’d gone. Then Rusk got transferred back into the military, head of some specialized black-ops squad, and Tee-Seven’s ownership reverted to the Order. I’ve got no idea where either of them are now.”

Grief clenched itself around Xaja’s heart again as she looked at Theron’s sympathetic gaze, then at her hands, then back up at Doc. “How did you end up here?”

“There’s always people who get hurt or sick, and even more in wartime. While Coruscant was under siege, I was working in the Old Galactic Market with refugees and other stranded folks like me, and when the siege lifted, I caught the first transport offworld anywhere. Wound up world-hopping for a while until I landed here.” Doc sounded almost distracted as he frowned down at the scan results. “Been here for eight months now. Sit up and face away from me for a second.”

Xaja carefully sat back up and was pleased that the vertigo didn’t return this time. Her shoulders still slumped as she turned her back to Doc and heard the sound of the scanner moving up and down her back. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “If I’d been there…”

“I don’t think even you could have held off the Eternal Fleet by yourself, Red.” Doc lowered the scanner and squeezed her shoulder. “One Jedi against a horde of unstoppable warships… you’re good, but not that good.”

“That’s a kriffing chall-” Xaja hissed mid-word as her arm spasmed. “… ‘kay, you might have a point.”

Doc set the scanner down and tugged on Xaja’s shoulder to turn her back around. “If you hadn’t been frozen, you wouldn’t be having this problem,” he muttered as he took her arm and gingerly rubbed at the muscle.

Theron had stood up from leaning on the doorframe when Xaja’s arm seized, and now stood a couple of steps into the room at the foot of the cot. “What did they do to her?” he growled. Xaja had never heard him sound so protective. Hell, she’d never heard anyone that protective over her. She was usually the one doing the protecting.

Doc frowned at Theron, saw Xaja’s nod to give the diagnosis with the spy listening, and went back to his datapad once the Jedi’s arm had relaxed somewhat. “Most cases of carbonite sickness ease up within about forty-eight standard hours from the time of thawing. A lot of those symptoms are sensory: heightened sensitivity to sounds or lights, or dulled senses. Blindness shows up every so often too, but that usually goes away on its own.”

“I haven’t had any of those reactions,” Xaja said with a frown. “Maybe a bit of photo-sensitivity, but it’s been lightheadedness and muscle spasms and headaches. I can’t kriffing use the Force, Doc.”

“And something’s wrong with your ability to regulate your body temperature,” Theron added. “You keep showing signs of being cold, even if you’re not complaining about it. I think the only time you didn’t was in the direct sunlight when we got here.” Xaja quirked an eyebrow at her spy, then looked down at her slim frame, only now registering how she was holding her arms and legs close as though to preserve her body heat. Doc had made her take off her jacket for the examination, and now she wanted it back, despite Rishi’s heat.

“I’m not too familiar with Force-user illnesses -- we’d have to find a Jedi healer for that.” If any of them still live went unspoken in the room. “But the rest of your symptoms…” Doc looked up from his datapad, and Xaja felt her heart leap into her throat when she saw the grief in his eyes. “They botched your freezing.”

“What?” Xaja heard her pulse pounding in her ears, over the sound of Theron reaching a hand out to her shoulder supportingly.

“You’re showing symptoms of severe carbonite poisoning. A little bit might have been expected from a normal freezing, even if you’d been there for a decade or longer, but this much poisoning in only two years suggests that your carbonization process was flawed. Obviously the Zaks didn’t kark up badly enough to kill you right away, but… it’s affecting your neurological system. The muscle spasms, the dizziness, constantly feeling cold -- and chances are, your inability to use the Force right now -- they’re all stemming from significant damage to your nervous system.”

Doc sat down in a chair and ran his hands through his neatly-combed dark hair. “If Sha- if Theron had rescued you much later, it probably would have been too late to save you, unless he’d had a cure on-hand to give you the second you were out. As it is, if left untreated…”

Xaja looked over at Theron to see his hazel eyes wide with horror, then back at Doc. She was barely aware of her hand reaching up to Theron’s on her shoulder and gripping his fingers tightly. “But there is a cure for this? It’s treatable, right?”

Doc didn’t answer for a long moment, and Xaja felt a thrill of fear run through her when he finally spoke again, his voice low and heavy. “I can slow down the progression of the damage, maybe stop the symptoms temporarily. But with what I’ve got available to me, I can’t fully stop it or repair the damage that’s already done. There is a cure for carbonite poisoning, but it’s incredibly difficult to make or find. Even before the war, it would have cost millions of credits.”

“And now?” Theron’s voice was tight, almost as tight as his grip on Xaja’s hand.

“Now, you could probably ransom a small moon with it.” Doc looked back up at them and Xaja wanted to cry when she saw the despair in her friend’s eyes. “I can try to make a workaround for this, but with damage this extensive…” He abruptly stood up again and moved to one of the storage cabinets against the wall. “At the least, I can keep the symptoms at bay and slow the damage until we can get our hands on a permanent cure.”

Xaja looked back at Theron, then at Doc again. “What about Force-healing? If we can find a skilled Jedi healer -- or Hells, even a Sith healer -- could they do something?”

“They’d have to be damn good at what they do to fix this.” Doc’s mustache twitched as he thought. “Then again, an exceptionally well-trained healer might be able to undo some of the damage that’s already been done. If we can find any of the Jedi survivors…” He came back around to Xaja’s side with a handful of stims and drugs in hand. “Okay, sit tight, this is probably going to sting a bit.”

“It can’t be worse than the spasms,” Xaja mumbled as she gingerly rubbed her abdomen where the spasm had made her stop breathing only a few hours ago. “Do your worst.”

“With you? Never. What kinda doctor do you think I am?” Doc almost sounded teasing as usual then. “Does the SIS have any leads on where the rest of the Jedi might be hiding?” he asked with a pointed look at Theron.

The spy shrugged. “If they do, I’m not privy to it. I’m not exactly with the SIS anymore. It’s a long story.”

“You what?” Doc stared up at Theron for a second, then shook his head. “I don’t wanna know. Can you find out about Jedi survivors anyway?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Theron let go of Xaja’s hand with a final squeeze and stooped to kiss her cheek. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. Xaja could tell he was trying to be brave for her. “We’re not giving up, no matter what.” He gave her a small, if worried, smile as he stepped back out through the doorway, already pulling his datapad off his belt.

Doc shook his head again as Theron’s back vanished down the hallway, then started administering the medication to his patient. “Okay, first up’s for the vertigo and the headaches, and then this one’s ‘cause I know the first one will make you nauseous.” There was silence for a few seconds as the drugs were injected into Xaja’s bloodstream, then Doc spoke again. “So… you and him still have that thing going?”

Xaja nodded and tried not to wince as a third syringe was emptied into her arm. “Yeah, it is. He’d apparently been thinking of me the entire time I was gone, and I’m still not sure how he found me to get me out.”

“Hmm. He either makes you smile without caring who sees it, or he’s the reason you stop smiling. No middle ground with this one, hmm?”

“Ziost wasn’t his fault. Neither is this.” Xaja watched as Doc readied another medicine-loaded syringe. “Please tell me that one’s not for my leg…”

“I could, but you never cared for lying. You know the drill. Why you’re with a professional liar still confuses me.”

“Theron’s not -- okay, yeah, he’s a spy, but he would never lie to me.” Xaja lowered her trousers down enough for her hip to be accessible and yelped as the needle found its mark -- no matter how many times Doc had done that on her over their years of traveling together, it still hurt and she still hated it. Doc muttered an apology as he finished administering the medication. “So… two years gone. I’m half surprised there’s no lady around for your affections.”

Doc shrugged and didn’t meet her eyes as he put the empty syringes away. “Had a couple of flings, but nothing felt right. I’ve been keeping myself busy here with the clinic -- there’s always lots of people who need a doctor. Besides, the busier I am… the less I can think. Hurts less that way.”

Xaja reached over and grabbed Doc’s hand, making him freeze in mid-motion. “I thought you all were dead,” she quietly said. “When Theron said he hadn’t been able to locate any of you… I thought I lost my best friends.”

“We weren’t gonna die nearly that easy, not while we had to make sure you lived on somehow.” Doc squeezed her hand and gave Xaja a small, but genuine smile. “If I made it, I’m sure everyone else did too. We’ll find them.”

“The galaxy would have been a worse place without you in it.” Xaja returned the smile. “You’ve always been one of my best friends, Doc -- I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Wouldn’t have minded being more than ‘best friends’, but I’m not looking to get murdered in my sleep by the current boyfriend for trying it. At least he’s better than Kota was.” Doc finally let go of Xaja’s hand and resumed putting away his medical equipment. “Okay, the doses I gave you should hold you for a few days, but I’ll need to keep re-administering it to make sure you stay alive. I don’t know how well you’ll be able to use the Force, but you should be able to function otherwise.”

“Thank you so much, Doc.”

“Anytime, Red. It’s the least I can do to have you back and alive.”

Theron wasn’t expecting to be greeted with several notifications of mail, most of it marked urgent. He frowned and tapped the notification to bring up the messages, putting aside his search for Jedi survivors for the moment. Nobody should have been sending anything to me while I was in hyperspace. Korin knew I was on comm silence, and nobody else knew where I was- why are most of the messages from him or my father, and even one from my mother? Did something happen?

His outbox was blinking too. Theron’s frown deepened. I didn’t send any messages! He tapped on the icon to figure out what was wrong... then saw the cheery notification of his timed messages being automatically sent right on schedule, three entire standard days ago. He felt the blood drain from his face. “Fuck,” he whispered as his heart stopped for a second. Oh no. Oh nooooo. I forgot about the suicide notes. Oh, fuck, Korin’s going to kill me if my parents don’t first…

He quickly pulled up the tab to compose a message to his parents and best friend, but was interrupted by the sound of something large and heavy smashing into Kimble’s front door. The datapad went back onto his belt as he ran back toward the entrance of the clinic, nearly colliding with Kimble as the medic hurried in the same direction. “Who’d you piss off this time, Kimble?” the spy asked as he drew a blaster.

“Hey, some of us don’t go around actively getting into trouble, Shan. Everyone in Raider’s Cove loves me… I think.” Kimble poked his head around the corner and winced when he saw how badly dented his front door was. “That’s gonna be an expensive repair bill.”

The door shuddered again as a heavy fist pounded against it. “You got ten seconds to open this door, Doc, or we’re comin’ in!” The voice was rough and loud, with a tone that hinted its owner was quite used to bellowing orders.

“Hey, hey!” Kimble yelled back at the intruders. “I’m happy to give you medical attention, but form a kriffing line and wait your turn, dammit!”

“We don’t want no medical things! We want them two you’re hiding in there!”

Theron exchanged a worried look with Kimble, seeing the doctor’s eyebrows go up as he shouted his response. “Haven’t you heard of patient confidentiality? I’m not clearing my patients to leave my care or have visitors.”

“You think you’re gettin’ a choice in the matter? We’re takin’ the girl an’ the guy with her, an’ maybe we won’t shoot you on the way out. You ain’t worth fifty million credits like they are, but maybe we’ll see if someone wants you dead too.”

Kimble’s eyes bulged as Theron felt his heart thud in his throat. “Wait, how much?”

“Fifty mil. Each. You let us in, maybe we’ll cut you a bit of that.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Kimble looked at Theron. “Who the hell did you piss off this time?” he lowly hissed at the spy.

“I didn’t even blow anything up, and the Zaks shouldn’t have been able to identify me!” Theron whispered as he started edging backwards. “You got a back exit?”

“What kind of an overly-trusting idiot do you think I am?” Kimble raised his voice. “Gimme a bit. You morons wrecked my door and it’ll be a pain getting it open.”

“We’ll be here, doc. You can buy a whole new door after we’re done.”

“Delightful.” Kimble engaged the secondary lock on the door, then turned and hurried back down the corridor with Theron. “They’re gonna catch on soon,” he muttered. “Down the hallway, in the sublevels, the code to access the basement is 3-7-9-1-2-0. It’ll dump us out on the beach itself. Get Xaja out of here while I grab my gear.”

“How much gear do you need?” Theron asked as they rounded the corner into the clinic. Xaja was sitting up on the cot, already looking less weak and frail, but pale now with worry.

“To keep her alive? A lot.” Kimble opened up one of the storage lockers and retrieved an old rucksack, which he started filling with his medical gear.

“What’s going on?” Xaja stood up from the cot, looking back and forth between Theron and Kimble. “Did the Zakuulans catch up?”

“Someone did,” Theron said as he tossed the Jedi her jacket, then handed her the twin lightsabers. “Either the Zaks or someone else who’d pay fifty million for your head.”

“And yours,” Kimble helpfully added as he dived into another storage unit.

“Wait, what?” Xaja’s eyes went wide as she attached one lightsaber to her belt, but kept the other one in her hand. “Fifty million each?”

“Apparently.” Theron looked over his shoulder at the sounds of another thud against the mangled front door. “How much more do you need to grab, Kimble?”

“How about my kriffing credsticks?” Kimble ran out the clinic door and hauled ass toward his living quarters. He returned in under a minute. “Let’s move before --” He cringed at the sound of the door splintering. “That.”

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever agreed with you on anything,” Theron muttered as he followed the doctor and Xaja toward the sublevel access. The feeling of his datapad bumping against his hip reminded him of his grievous error, but he didn’t have time to call his parents or Korin to reassure them he wasn’t dead. At least he had enough experience with forming messages on the run that he could send a short note through his implant connection. Not dead yet. Can’t talk, will explain later. Sorry. T.

The sounds of booted feet clicking on the floor of the Citadel echoed through the cavernous hallways, red banners on the walls doing little to absorb the echo. Normally Lana disliked the audible sign of her approaching presence to anyone who might be listening, but today, she didn’t care. Her focus was given less to who could hear her coming and more to the news she carried.

She wasn’t stopped by any of Darth Imperius’ guards as she marched into his private office. With he, Vowrawn, and Acina being the only survivors of the Dark Council, she considered him her direct superior. Sith didn’t generally trust others, especially not other Sith, but they also did not generally charge into another’s office in the middle of a Taungsday with homicidal intent. It helped, too, that Lana knew Imperius well.

The tall human looked over from his holocom conversation as Lana entered his office, his brow furrowing in a puzzled frown. He’d all but given up on wearing Kallig’s mask, and he’d pushed his hood back. The light revealed a tired face, long brown hair in a nerftail, and lines under his eyes. “You know the plan and your orders, Andronikos. Contact me with any developments.” The little blue hologram of Captain Revel vanished, and Imperius looked back toward Lana. “I thought you’d left to investigate the new resistance cell that you heard rumours of on Ryloth.”

“I still plan on heading out soon,” Lana said as she extended a datapad, and tried to ignore how her hand was shaking. “But this just came through on Intelligence’s networks… you need to see it.”

“From my father directly?” The man known to perhaps two dozen people in the galaxy as Sorand Taerich accepted the datapad with a frown and pulled open the file.

“No. I haven’t had any updates from your father since he met up with your brother and the resistance cell on Tatooine. I’ve forwarded this to him as well, and I expect he’ll want to take a personal look into it.” Lana clasped her hands in front of her and waited, having to force herself to not fidget like a mere acolyte.

“Huh.” Sorand leaned back in his chair and scrolled through the message. “A terrorist attacking the Spire and running off with the so-called Outlander assassin? I’d thought the assassin was a myth.” He blinked as he read further. “Fifty million credits says apparently not.” He looked up at Lana. “So, it is possible for someone to strike Zakuul deeply enough to spook Arcann. This is good news.”

“Keep reading. The fifty million credit bounty on each of their heads isn’t why I ran back here to show you this.”

Sorand frowned, then tapped the datapad to bring up the rest of the message. Lana watched as the other Sith’s face suddenly fell slack, his eyes bulging, and face draining of all colour. “Impossible…” he whispered. He looked back up, as startled as Lana had ever seen him. “When did this come in?”

“I received it half an hour ago. Our sources date it as only two days old. This intel is fresh.” Lana frowned at the datapad. “I thought your father had said that Theron Shan was dead, according to your brother.”

“So did I. Either Theron’s still alive or he’s got a twin somewhere. But kriff Theron…” Sorand looked back at the datapad, then at Lana again. “My sister’s alive?”

“Unless she has an exact lookalike somewhere, it appears that she is not only alive, but the Outlander assassin herself.”

Sorand set the datapad on the desk and ran his hands through his hair, disbelief and shock and maybe hope revealed on his face. “She…” He abruptly stood up. “I need to contact my father and make sure he’s heard this. You haven’t heard any reports of where they might have escaped to?”

“Not yet.” Lana fell into step beside Sorand as he hurried for the more secure holo console. “But the resistance group on Ryloth is rumoured to have Zakuulan defectors within it -- perhaps they can tell us more about your sister.”

“Good. I’ll let my wife know about the new bounty posting. She may be able to get her people looking for them to protect them.”

“Are you sure there aren’t Mandalorians who would try to collect on one of those bounties themselves?” Lana asked with a concerned frown.

“None with any sort of self preservation instinct. Shara would shoot them for trying, if I didn’t get to them first. I think most of them know that.” Sorand’s smile was predatory in nature. “Confirm the presence of any Zakuulan defectors with the Rylothian resistance. If they’re not with that group, keep looking until you track them down. Let me know if there’s anything you require.”

“A clone,” Lana deadpanned, and Sorand snorted. “Thank you, my lord -- you and your father will be the first I contact with any new information.”

Sorand nodded. “Good luck. May the Force guide you.” He started tapping in the codes for a secure transmission to his father as Lana hurried back down the corridor, and made sure the room was closed and private before the old agent answered the call. “Dad, I don’t know if you’ve seen Lana’s new intel, but it’s big…”

Reanden disconnected the call with his younger son and sat down hard on a chair, running his hands over his face. He didn’t want to entertain the hope that his missing daughter might be alive, years after her disappearance; a second bout with such heartbreak would kill him, or so he felt. It was too risky to assume that Xaja might still be alive. But Lana’s intel seemed to check out, and Sorand certainly seemed to believe it.

The old Cipher pulled up the transcript of the bounty posting and studied the two attached images of the supposed assassin and terrorist, currently leading Zakuul’s Most Wanted list. They weren’t the greatest of images, clearly taken from security cameras as the two fugitives escaped the Spire, but they were clear enough to show faces. Yes, the male did resemble Theron Shan, down to the implants and the stupid hairstyle. Terrorism and attacking civilians isn’t Shan’s style though. Unless he’s actually gone completely off the deep end, not just rogue. His contacts in the SIS had confirmed that Shan quit his job and vanished from Coruscant only a couple of weeks after the siege ended, over a year ago. This was the first solid rumour as to where he’d gone since then. (And oh, how Kothe had been ready to punch the younger agent, ex-Jedi or not.)

The woman with him… The hair was right. The facial structure was correct. The fact that she apparently stood head and shoulders shorter than her male cohort was a point in her favour. The worried frown on her face… it could have been his wife’s expression. Even the armour resembled what she’d reportedly been wearing when she’d been killed. A ghost? No, a ghost wouldn’t show up on a security camera. He couldn’t confirm it without seeing the girl in person, but she resembled his missing daughter so closely, his heart ached within his chest. Xaja…

He needed to see her in the flesh to confirm if this was an impostor or if Xaja had somehow survived the destruction of Darth Marr’s ship. A quick strokes into an encrypted channel sent a ping out to his extensive network of contacts and spies in the galaxy. Attached were images of what looked like the identical twins of Xaja Taerich and Theron Shan, and a message: Need any news on these two for their protection. Compensation will be arranged.

Within minutes, he received answering pings from his contacts on various planets. Nothing seen yet on Nar Shaddaa or Hutta… a possible resemblance on Denon… then one from Rishi. Male target sighted. Inquiring re: medic for wife (?). Unconfirmed sighting of female target.

Shan wouldn’t have gotten married -- the boy’s a diehard bachelor. ‘Wife’ must be a cover. If that is Xaja with him… is she ill or injured? Why would Shan be asking about a medic for her? Reanden’s eyes narrowed in thought, then glanced down at another ping, this one from Corellia. No sighting yet. Targets subject of bounty posting from Zakuul. Advise speed if you want them alive. 50 mil spends well.

Fierfek. Reanden shot to his feet and plugged in Korin’s holo frequency as he started typing in the coordinates for Rishi. “Are you sure Theron’s dead?” he asked as soon as his older son answered the call.

“I tried sending messages to his account. He never answered them or picked up a holocall.” Korin still sounded despondent over his friend’s supposed suicide. “Why do you ask?”

“Take a look at the file I’m sending you.” Reanden sat back and waited while Korin accepted the transmission and pulled open the file on his datapad. The younger man froze, paling visibly. “Breathe, son.”

“How… that’s not… both of them?!” Korin dropped the datapad and raked his fingers through his messy hair, then snatched it back up to stare at the images. “Kriff. That’s him, unless he’s got a twin somewhere. And Xaja…”

There was a sudden series of excited beeps, and Reanden frowned as a familiar looking astromech came into range of the holo. “Is that her droid?”

“Oh. Yeah. I, uh…” Korin shifted uncomfortably. “I may or may not have stolen Tee-Seven from the Order. It wasn’t like Xaja was using him… dammit, that means I’ll have to give him back if that’s actually her.” Tee-Seven beeped his excitement.

“Whether or not they actually are Xaja and Theron,” Reanden said as he shook his head at his son’s actions and prepped his hyperdrive for a jump, “they’re both worth fifty million credits to that half-metal pain in the ass on Zakuul. We need to find them first if we’re going to get our answers.”

“I’ll put out feelers with my miscreant buddies. Pays to know most of the underworld.” Korin put the datapad back down and turned to start plugging at his navicomputer. “I’m due to be making a supply run for the cell soon anyway. Got a friend who considers herself queen of the underworld, so she’ll know things sooner than we will. What’s your plan?”

“One of my contacts claims to have seen Theron on Rishi. I’m heading over to investigate.”

“Yeeesh. Rishi’s not going to be dangerous at all for them with that kind of money on their heads and pirates everywhere.”

“Let’s hope most of those pirates hate Zakuul more than they love credits.” Reanden knew that was a long shot, but it was still a tiny hope. “I should be there within a few hours. Keep trying to raise Theron on comms and let me know if-” He frowned as the cheery ping of a new text message suddenly sounded. “Was that yours or mine?”

“Mine.” Korin opened up the message and froze, the expressions on his face shifting from shock to disbelief to confusion to joy to pure, unadulterated fury in the space of about two seconds. “I’m going to kill him.”

“What?”

“Dad, would you not say it’s a bit more polite to say more than ‘Not dead, can’t talk, chat later’ when one’s just faked his suicide and then rocked up on the other side of the galaxy? By the way, I can confirm Theron at least is alive, or will be until I get my hands on his kriffing neck.”

“The idiot.” Reanden sighed and shook his head. “I’ll punch him for you if I catch them first.”

“Please do. Good luck.”

“You too. Happy hunting.” The agent disconnected the call and jumped to hyperspace, the Shadow disappearing among the stars. Shan, if that’s actually you, I’m going to sit back and let Korin strangle you to death. Xaja, if you’re alive… I’m coming, baby girl. Stay alive until I get there.

[ellanainthetardis]

And It’s A Wrap For The Hayffismas Week!

Hayffismas is over but what a blast it was! I want to thank you all for participating and making such awesome arts and fics! I’m so glad we managed to come together like this, I hope we can do it again soon. Perhaps in the summer? I don’t mind organizing as long as people are willing to play! Anyway… It really warmed my heart to see everyone not only producing but also giving feedback and encouraging others… It was truly an awesome hayffie week! Thank you all for participating!

And if you still have stuff that would work for the week that you didn’t have time to post or finish yet please feel free to do it! The week may be over but I think I speak for everyone when I say there’s never enough hayffie stuff.

As for me I leave you with a bonus hayffismas fic, just a little fluffy thing, an early Christmas present to my fandom if you would. Whether you celebrate or not, I still wish you a merry Christmas/holiday/Week-end, I love you and thank you all! [ff] or [AO3]

Gifting Christmas

Effie surveys her work with a small pout, nowhere near satisfied. The lone pine tree branch on the dresser actually looks rather pathetic, like something someone ought to clean up instead of exposing like this; the golden stars she painfully cut herself from left over glittery papers she found in her bedroom look misshaped where she taped them to her newly repaired windows; the cheerful carols are slightly distorted by her banged up stereo; and there’s a glaring hole where the Christmas tree ought to be.

Added to the fact half of her furniture is broken and her apartment still looks… Well. It looks like it has recently been caught into a war and ransacked several times by Peacekeepers and looters alike. It’s been a long time since she reconciled herself with Haymitch’s decision to have her brought to Thirteen – around the time she saw what happened to the captured victors – but every time she lets herself think about her beautiful apartment, she feels a rush of gratefulness. She can’t know what the Capitol would have done with her – although she has a good idea – but regardless of that, spending the war alone in the city would have been terrifying on more than one account.

The surrender has been official for weeks, Paylor has taken over as elected President, and while the conditions in the city for Capitol citizens aren’t as bad as they would have been had Coin survived… Panem is still railing back from a revolution. Nothing is as it was and it is impossible to forget, mainly because their whole days are spent preparing Katniss’ defense during the upcoming trial and worrying about how the girl is doing in rehab.

Effie crosses the living-room with a sigh and leans against the window, somehow reassured to feel the thickness of the glass against her shoulder. It was the most expensive option but Haymitch insisted, arguing that electricity still isn’t reliable and that without a regulated weather, winter would be cold.

And winter is cold.

She had no idea winter could be this cold.

The snowflakes delighted her when they first started falling. Never before has there been any real snow in the city. It used to be controlled, poured on command, synthetic and fake like everything else…

Soon though, it started piling in the streets making traffic impossible given that there are still craters and collapsed buildings… A lot of people are trapped in their apartment and Effie almost ruined herself stocking on cans of food that have already been overpriced since the war. Haymitch is unfazed by it all. To him it’s not a real blizzard and they’re all being ridiculous.

There’s a lot of things he finds ridiculous, of course.

Like her insistence they should celebrate Christmas even though she must be the only one in the city thinking about it.

She just loves Christmas. The illuminations, the cheer, the gifts, the decorations, the music… It’s a whole package to her. She cannot remember one single holiday when she didn’t tour the town to admire the city in her Christmas outfit. She loves wrapping her apartment in tinsels, hanging red, green and gold baubles on the biggest tree she can make fit in her living-room, putting on garlands and buying a sea of gifts… She loves it.

District people barely celebrate usually – which she can understand given that there’s little interest in the holiday without its fanfare – and thus the Capitol isn’t dressed for Christmas this year, which she finds sad and depressing.

At least there is snow.

She tried to find a tree and some baubles to replace those that have been destroyed during her apartment’s ransacking but food is scarce, a lot of people are living in shelters and every time she asks about Christmas everyone looks at her like she is crazy.

Maybe she is.

Still, she won’t be discouraged.

Singing cheerfully along to the next song that came up, she tries to move the homemade stars around so it will look less like a scissor happy five years old made them. She hears the jingle of keys turning in the lock but she doesn’t stop, used by now to Haymitch letting himself in. They haven’t really discussed it or made it official but for the time being he lives with her and the experiment is, so far, not too disastrous.

“You know… One of the things I like about you is that you never quit.” he mocks as he comes into the room.

She doesn’t turn around, knowing he finds her Christmas obsession equally as ridiculous as everyone else does. Still, when he wraps his arms around her waist, she leans against him a little, her singing morphing into a distracted humming due to the three kisses he plants on the side of her neck. His beard scratches her skin in a familiar comforting way and she finds herself nuzzling his neck.

“You are late.” she observes. “Is everything alright? There was no new development, was there? Katniss is…”

“She’s hanging on.” he shrugs. He’s always in an odd mood after going to the Training Center to check on the girl. Her withdrawal from morphling is a slow and painful one that is only complicated by how suicidal her sister’s death made her. They’re not allowed contact, which they both rose hell about, because surely the girl would have been better off surrounded by people who love her… “No real change.”

“Oh.” she comments and she feels her Christmas spirit fading.

Probably sensing her changing mood, Haymitch lets go of her after pressing one last kiss on her neck. “Got you something on the way back.”

She does turn around this time, glancing at the couple of shop bags he has tossed on the couch. She blinks because she can count on one hand the number of times he gave her a gift – actually, she can count it on three fingers – and then she beams because she does love gifts.

“What is it?” she asks, making a beeline for the couch, clapping her hands in her enthusiasm.

Haymitch snorts and shakes his head, his lips stretched into a smirk.

“You’re a child.” he accuses.

“Guilty as charged.” she accepts easily, grabbing one of the bags.

She pulls out golden tinsels out of it. There are bauble underneath. She checks the next bag and finds it full of Christmas decoration. The third one contains cacao powder, cinnamon and a bottle of fresh milk – the third one isn’t a problem but cacao has been very hard to find lately. And inside the fourth… Inside the fourth there is the smallest artificial Christmas tree she has ever seen. The baubles will be too big and it will look absolutely stupid but…

“Seemed so important to you…” he mumbles awkwardly.

She’s on him before he can even finish his sentence. Arms locked around his neck, hopping to wrap her legs around his waist, her lips crashing on his…

“You brought me Christmas!” she exclaims between two kisses. “I cannot believe it! You brought me Christmas!”

He answers to her kisses willingly enough, propping her against the wall so he can deepen them, his hands roaming under her thighs…

“Don’t read too much into it.” he warns. “I’m just trying to get into your pants.”

“Of course, darling.” she humors him, still beaming. He must have moved heaven and earth to get all that. She’s been trying for weeks. “And you will be thoroughly rewarded. After we decorate.”

He groans but doesn’t protest, more amused than he wants to let on by her antics.