#i watched his draw requests from his followers so i hope i have some merit as to when i'm saying that he might not have been as good as i

[seijorhi]

hello, i love your writing and was hoping if u could write a yandere kuroo x reader where he corners her in a corner and kenma is there and is getting off from it 😳 thank u !

Asdfghjkl this was supposed to be posted on Sunday I’m sorry, bby!! I hope it’s worth the wait! 💕 also, loved this request so thanks for sending it in 😊

Kuroo Tetsuro x Female Reader, Kenma Kozume x Female Reader

TW dub con, coercion (kinda?), stalking, humiliation

Helping Hand

There’s a certain peace you find in the looming stacks of the library after the sun sets. It’s quieter then, less people milling about. You don’t have to fight for space or books, and considering you have midterms soon and essays coming out of your ears, that makes it the perfect study environment.

It’s only a little after eight, the library’s still open for another two and a half hours, but on the fourth floor it’s almost a ghost town - just how you like it. There’s a professor tucked away in the back corner, piles of books built up around him, an older librarian with her trolley, slowly re-shelving books, and two other guys around your age sitting huddled at a table a few down from yours - the textbooks and highlights spread across their desk having been long since abandoned in favour of literally anything else.

Honestly, you’d wonder why they’d bother coming to the library at all if it wasn’t an almost daily occurrence. Most days you were there, so were they - usually together, although it wasn’t uncommon to see just one of them camped out between the stacks as you made your way to your desk. The duo, one tall and lean with a shock of messy dark hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and the other smaller, more reserved, with bleached hair and dark roots in serious need of a touch up, seemed to prefer this time to study too - not that they ever seemed to actually do all that much studying.

Usually the blonde ends up absorbed in his switch while the other casually thumbs through whichever book is closest.

So long as they were quiet and didn’t disturb you, who were you to judge?

You don’t really remember when they’d started to appear, only that they’d quickly become a fixture in your refuge - distantly familiar presences like strangers travelling on the same bus to work each day. They smile (well, the dark haired one does) and nod whenever you happen to look up from your notes and catch their eye, and while you’ve only spoken a handful of words to the both of them, they always seemed nice. 

Nicer than the clearly overworked professor muttering away in the corner at any rate, which makes them the logical choice to approach when you find your bladder uncomfortably full halfway through your self imposed study session. Realistically, you know at this time of the night nobody else is likely to make their way up to the fourth floor, much less have any interest in your shitty, old laptop or the five whole dollars in your wallet - yet you find you making your way over to the twosome’s table anyway, a faint blush dusting across your cheeks.

“… don’t want to,” you overhear the blonde mutter, his attention wholly focused upon the game in his hands. “Things are fine, why change that?”

His friend sighs, “Because you can deny it all you want, but I know you better than that. I know I’m not the only one who wants more. You can’t just sit back and…” he trails off suddenly, hazel eyes flickering over to you in surprise. 

Confused by his friend’s sudden silence, the blonde lowers his game and glances up - only to still at the sight of you.

You swallow down your nerves, plastering what you hope is a friendly enough smile across your face, “Hi, uh… sorry to interrupt you guys, but would you mind watching my stuff for a few minutes while I go to the bathroom? I won’t be long or anything, I just don’t like leaving my stuff out in the open,” you say with a sheepish laugh, well aware that you’re rambling like an idiot. 

It’s the dark haired one who answers, a wide grin breaking across his face as he nods, “Yeah, no worries. We’d be glad to.”

You smile back, ignoring the faint fluttering in your stomach (he does look kind of cute grinning like that), thanking him again before rushing away in the direction of the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long for your thoughts to drift away from the duo back to the essay you’re mid-way through drafting. You have a sinking feeling that the argument you’re trying to use in the fourth paragraph is essentially a just rehash of the point you made in the first. By the time you unlock the stall door and make your way over to the sink to wash your hands, you’re starting to debate the merits of scrapping the whole thing and starting fresh with new ideas.

You still technically have time, it’s not due until the end of the month, but you just kind of want it done so you don’t have to think about it anymore. Then again, that’s kind of your feelings towards the semester as a whole. 

Who are you kidding? University’s kicking your ass this year.

The ancient hand dryer’s almost deafening as it clicks on - it masks the sound door swinging open and the footsteps that echo out from the tile floors.

It’s only when your eyes flicker up to mirror that you see that you’re no longer alone-

Standing right behind you is the guy from before; the tall, dark haired one. 

- and jerk in surprise, stumbling backwards with a choked yelp.

It doesn’t hit you right away - no, that’s relief that has you drawing a hand over your chest and letting out a shaking laugh. “You scared the hell out of me!” you say, bracing yourself over the sink to try and calm your breathing.

No, it doesn’t hit you quickly. Realisation is slow - creeping through your veins like ice as your eyes flicker back up the mirror. 

He hasn’t moved. 

He’s smiling, grinning really, but there’s something… something off about it. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes… Why isn’t he saying anything?

W-why isn’t he moving away?

Your heart, still hammering from his shock of his sudden appearance, squeezes uncomfortably and your eyes slowly widen.

“Wh-”

A rough, calloused palm slaps across your mouth, smothering whatever words you’d been about to speak. “Ah, ah. Gotta keep it down, sweetheart.”

He winks at you in the mirror, taking a tiny step towards you and you squeak, breathing in sharp, shallow pants through your nose as a warm, muscled chest presses against your back. “You’re a nervous little thing, aren’tcha?” he chuckles. “Relax a little - promise I don’t bite.”

With one hand wrapped around your lips the other creeping across your waist, his words don’t exactly bring you a lot of comfort. 

It makes no difference either way - you’re paralysed, shaking and trembling, but utterly unable to move as he noses at the column of your throat, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You could scream, but there’s no guarantee anybody would hear you. You could try and fight him off, but he’s taller than you, and you’re willing to bet stronger as well.

Will he hurt you if you try and resist?

Is he gonna hurt you anyway?

You’ve heard the stories before about men who follow women into empty bathrooms and the awful things they do, but you never...

Those things don’t happen in places like this. The library is supposed to be safe, he- he’s been-

Your stomach drops.

Weeks. 

He’s been visiting the library with his friend, sitting across from you for weeks.

His eyes bore into your reflection in the mirror like he can hear every terrified thought that passes through your head, and with excruciating slowness you’re forced to watch as his lips brush a kiss against your cheek, lingering and sweet - a mockery of tenderness. 

A scared little whimper is all you can manage, and even that is swallowed up by the sound of the bathroom door squeaking open once more. 

Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening.

A faint burst of hope flickers to life.

You might not be a fighter, but this might be the only chance you have. You shriek again, the sound woefully muffled, and writhe against your captor’s tightening grip as slow footsteps round the corner.

Please, you think as tears stream silently down your face. Please help me.

What little hope you have is quickly - brutally - extinguished as your would be saviour steps into view.

Your legs shake and you’re almost positive that if it wasn’t for the strong arms wrapped around you, you would have crumpled to the floor.

It’s his friend, the blonde, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, watching the scene before him - you struggling against an iron grip, gagged and terrified - like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. 

Your captor chuckles, relaxing his grip as his hand drifts upwards to palm at your breast and you want to die. “Glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

“Shut up, Kuroo,” the blonde groans as he makes his way over, but he barely glances at his friend before his catlike eyes come to rest on you.

Your cheeks are burning, a potent mix of shame, nausea and dread churning in your stomach as you’re crudely felt up, but under the blonde’s attention you freeze.

While his face is a blank mask of apathetic disinterest, those golden irises are piercing in their intensity as they study you.

The glint in his eyes is as unmistakable as it is stark; anticipation - like a house cat watching a golden canary flit restlessly in its cage.

The hiccuping sob comes unbidden, choking at your throat as you wail against the palm at your lips. You’ve never wanted to disappear so badly in your entire life, to slap yourself awake and realise that it’s nothing but a stress induced nightmare because this can’t be happening.

Why you?

What could you possibly have done to deserve this?

“Relax,” Kuroo repeats, leaning down over you again, “we’re not gonna hurt you. Just wanna have some fun, that’s all.” You think he’s going to try and kiss you again, but instead his tongue darts out and he licks at the silvery tear tracks, groaning softly.

You shoot the quiet blonde a desperate, pleading look. He hasn’t lifted a finger to stop what’s happening, hasn’t done anything other than stare at you, but even as his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile you hold out on the shadow of a prayer that maybe, just maybe-

Kuroo follows your wide, panicked gaze and almost snorts. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, baby. Kenma’s not gonna help you. He wants this just as badly as I do.” His thumb slides across your cheek, brushing away more tears, “C’mon, on your knees.”

He doesn’t give you a choice - the hand on your shoulder forces your shaking knees to buckle and you fall down to the bathroom floor.

The tiles are cold against your bare legs, but the shivers that wrack through you have little to do with the temperature. It’s far too late to regret the short skirt you’d thrown on that morning.

Kuroo hums appreciatively, lifting his palm to tap it a few times against your cheek like you’re an adorable little puppy who’s just learned its first trick, “It’s a good look for you, baby, but I think it’d be even better without this-” his fingers tug at the collar of your top and his grin widens, “- in the way.” 

Yet he makes no move to take it off for you. One look into his eyes, the glittering amusement darkened with lewd desire and you know that he won’t.

He wants you to do it, to play along in their fun - to be an active participant in your own humiliation.

And really, what other choice do you have?

It’s impossible to ignore the bulge straining against his jeans as your trembling fingers grip the hem of your top and reluctantly yank it upwards. There’s a sharp inhale - Kuroo you think - and a whistle as it comes off, baring your lacy bra and the soft skin underneath to their hungry gazes. 

Only for a moment. 

Staring resolutely at the floor you’re quick to try and cover what little modesty you have left, bringing your arms up to wrap around your chest-

Except a hand catches at your wrist and tugs it back, and when you glance up you find it’s Kenma’s. 

“… Don’t,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”

You let your arms drop, hands clenching into shaking fists in your lap, fingernails biting into your palm.

The sound of a zipper being pulled undone is almost deafening in the quiet bathroom. Fresh tears sting at your eyes, but you can’t bear to look at either of them as Kuroo reaches inside his pants and frees his cock.

The hand that cups your cheek is surprisingly gentle as he coaxes your face back towards him and the achingly hard member in his grip. “See Kenma, I told you - change ain’t always a bad thing.”

His dark eyes flicker back to you and he grins, “Open up, sweetheart.”

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Choose Me

Pairing = Richard x GN reader 

Words = 1.4k

Summary = You meet Richard at a fancy-dress competition 

Warnings = some mistakes, I wrote this quite quickly

A/N = Prompt no. 18 requested by @phoenixhalliwell​ as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much for the request, hope you like it! Prompt was “Choose me” w/ Richard and bolded in text. First time writing him, hope it’s ok! 

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

Fancy dress competitions were the worst. 

And your sister, Hannah, had decided to throw a fancy dress competition in her garden, all to raise money for charity. Which meant you couldn’t complain and you had to make an effort. 

It was all part of an annual summer party she threw, starting in mid-afternoon, finishing late, with children running around, a barbeque for the food, and a couple of games. And this year she’d also chosen to do fancy dress. Conveniently she was exempt, because she was going to judge. 

When you’d asked why you couldn’t judge, she told you “Too many cooks spoil the broth.” And also that “it would be embarrassing if the host’s family didn’t dress up!” But apparently not that embarrassing, because neither she nor Hayden, your brother-in-law, had dressed up. 

It wasn’t the dressing up that bothered you so much, more it was deciding what to wear. What if everyone else had much better ideas, or went along with a theme, or…? 

In the end you’d chosen a simple costume, finding a ghostbusters jumpsuit in town and deeming it to be good enough. You were regretting all your life choices at the moment, however, the sun beating onto your shoulders in the late afternoon heat, and you were sure that your tank top and shorts underneath were soaked in sweat. 

The garden had been decorated nicely, bunting around the boundaries, fairy lights pinned up for later in the evening when it turned dark. But for the meantime, you were left standing next to a stranger who was more interested in talking to the person on their other side, leaving you feeling like a lemon, standing there, not knowing anyone. 

You glanced back to the darkness of the kitchen, where it was no doubt much cooler, and aimed a glare at where you were sure Hannah was standing. What was taking so long you had no idea, but you could see her talking to someone else. 

Your nieces, nephews, and their friends milled around in front of you, a couple chattering about the merits of each costume in amusing seriousness while they ate the treats available. Hayden was playing a game of football with a couple of kids in the shade at the other end of the garden and you huffed in impatience. 

Hannah had claimed she’d choose a fair, impartial judge (and you ‘didn’t fit that criteria’, when you’d opened your mouth to argue), someone she knew from work, she’d said, but you weren’t prepared for who stepped out of the kitchen with her. The first thing you noticed was his moustache, big, but neat. His hair was curly, and greying slightly, a stray curl flopping onto his forehead. 

He looks nervous as the two of them step out of the house, and although you don’t care, you never did, about this competition, suddenly you really, really want to win. 

They took their time going down the line, accepting donations from each of the entrants and marking something on their clipboards. 

Finally, finally, they reached you. 

“This is Richard,” was all you got by way of introductions as you handed over your donation. You gave him your hand to shake, smiling and telling him your name. 

“Nice to meet you Richard.” 

Hannah had already seen your costume, so she soon returned back to the cool darkness of the kitchen, so you walked up to Richard, where he was watching the football game, clipboard hanging at his side.

“Dare I ask who you picked as the best?” You ask, standing next to him. 

“That would be telling.” He has nice eyes, you notice, dappled brown in the sunlight and with laughter lines at the side which crease as he talks. 

“Choose me.” You say. “Choose me and…” You flounder for a second, flirting a strangely unfamiliar territory after so long without practice. “... and I’ll give you a kiss.”

Your eyes meet his before he ducks his head, a faint blush rising up his cheeks. “I … ok.” The words are quiet enough that you nearly miss them, but, regardless, you lean forwards and give him a quick peck on the lips. 

You don’t give him a chance to do anything about it, drawing away, opening your eyes, and watching as he leans forwards slightly, trying to follow your mouth. You grin and Richard’s suddenly fascinated by the football game, shifting his feet, while you can’t help but grin wider. His lips were soft, and his moustache tickled you, but he moves closer so the backs of your hands were touching. 

The rest of the afternoon is spent flirting, and you learn that both of you are rusty when it comes to flirting. The winner of the fancy dress competition is announced just before dusk after some passionate arguing between Richard and Hannah, before you are given second place, and the winner is a friend of Hannah’s, wearing an elaborately patterned Belle gown. 

You can’t be bitter, she does look good. 

“Sorry you can’t take back your kiss.” Richard has approached you this time. 

You bite back a smile. “Maybe you could walk me home and kiss me properly as compensation? Away from all these children?” 

Richard leans forward into your personal space as his eyes flick down to your lips, again. “I’d like that.” 

So the two of you say your goodbyes, a short process considering you both know a combined total of 5 people at the party, leaving the glittering fairy lights and light music behind for the yellow of the streetlights and sounds of distant cars.

Hannah had given you an annoyingly knowing look as you’d said goodbye, hardly able to contain herself with excitement. “Coffee tomorrow?” may have sounded like a perfectly innocent request, but seeing as Hannah was just short of winking, you knew exactly what she wanted, rolling your eyes but nodding in agreement. 

“I’ll text you,” you promise, already walking away, turning to go through the house, where you can already see the outline of Richard through the glass in the front door, waiting for you. 

It’s cooler this side of the house, less people, and a lack of fire, but you prefer it this way. You didn’t dare take off your costume all afternoon, not even to wrap it around your waist, and the cool air feels light on your face. 

The sky is clear and beautiful, stars peeking out between the glow of the streetlamps as you and Richard walk home. There’s still a faint glow of orange sun peeking over the horizon, casting deep purple above the two of you. You stay quiet for the most part, and you know that you’re too busy thrumming with anticipation to think of something to say, although you can’t speak for Richard. 

“Well this is me.” You’ve made it to your house, and you suddenly think that you don’t want the night to end. Standing at the edge of your front yard, you glance back at the house. “Do you want to come in? For a … for a drink?” 

When you look back at Richard, he’s stepped closer. “Better not,” he says, and you can’t help but feel disappointed. “Maybe I could take you out tomorrow night though?” 

His voice is soft, and you bite your lip so you don’t grin like a fool, nodding your head. His eyes are starting to close a little, darting around your face, centering on your lips. 

You close the space between you, pulling your arms around his neck and kissing him. 

It’s ten times better than the one earlier. 

His lips are still soft, but he takes more agency this time, biting your bottom lip, and when you open your mouth, eagerly dipping his tongue in. His arms are on your body, hands feeling like they’re running everywhere, like he can’t get enough of you, can’t believe he’s actually touching you. 

It’s messy, and a little desperate, and you feel a bit like a teenager again, having to kiss out of sight of your parents. Your bodies are pressed against each other, and it takes all your self control not to wrap a leg around his waist. Richard’s pressing into you, and you can feel the weight of his stomach against yours, the way he purposefully keeps his hips away from yours. 

Your hands thread into his hair, tugging a little when the two of you separate, gasping for air. “Meet me here at 7?” You ask. It takes a minute for him to remember what you were talking about before he nods, eyes sparkling in the growing darkness. 

You steal another quick kiss before you leave him, and when you invite him in the next night, he doesn’t say no. 

***

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

[freckled-petals]

The Relationship: Part 1; Talbott/Reader

Summary: When Talbott’s “fan club” causes him trouble, Penny’s idea for you to step in causes quite the uproar.

Word Count: 3970

It was a brisk, fall afternoon at Hogwarts, half way through the semester. The castle was lively with students running to classes and to meet with their friends, and there was still enough interest in school before the winter holidays brought that interest to a halt.

You were on your way to your last obligation of the day - a study period in the great hall. It was probably your favorite time of the week, mainly because it allowed you to get quite a bit done and have a place to hang out until dinner time arrived.

After entering the large hall, you made your way over to your typical spot by the fireplace, unsurprised to find Penny there waiting for you.

“Afternoon,” you hummed, placing your things on the table before dropping into your seat. “All right, Penny?” you questioned, and she finally looked up. It usually took a few tries to pull her attention when she had her favorite potions book in hand.

“Hi!” She chimed, flashing a smile before turning back to her book. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

“Always predictable,” you grinned, pulling out a few books of your own.

“There’s a really interesting part here on Mandrake root—“ she began, but you were quick to interject, lest she go off on another one of her tangents.

“No Charlie or Liz today?” You questioned. “Talbott?” You added as an afterthought. The two of you had become friends at the end of last year - at your insistence, of course - and he’d been occasionally joining your group during this period. Glancing around the hall, you didn’t see any of your other friends.

“Charlie and Liz stayed to help Professor Kettleburn,” Penny answered, creasing the corner of the page she was on before closing the book. “Something about an angry Bowtruckle,” she giggled.

“Of course,” you grinned, adjusting your robes as a chill blew through the hall.

“And Talbott?”

“I’m...not sure,” she trailed, her lips forming a pout. “He’s been skipping class again, you know. I hope he’s all right...”

You frowned as Penny elaborated on Talbott’s whereabouts - or rather, her lack of knowledge on that. Based on what he’d told you, you were pretty sure it didn’t have to do with the reason he’d been skipping last year - it wasn’t near the anniversary of his parent’s passing. Then again, he hardly spoke, so you were at a loss.

“Hm,” you hummed in thought, resting your head on your hand. After he’d opened up to you just the slightest bit last year, you’d realized just how fragile the silent boy was. You couldn’t help but be a bit concerned for him. “I’m sure he’ll turn up,” you said, though Penny had already returned to her book. 

——

The study period passed...unproductively. You learned absolutely nothing from the passage on the history of wandlore that you’d been trying to read, and you found yourself glancing towards the door more often than not. By the end of the period, you’d all but decided to go hunting for Talbott.

Then you scoffed. Why were you thinking so hard on this? You barely knew him, and you were hardly friends. Hell, you were only friends because you’d practically forced it on him. He certainly hadn’t been keen to the idea.

The next hour and a half dragged on dreadfully slow, and Talbott had yet to make an appearance. Your huffy attitude had once again given way to concern.

“Hey!” Penny suddenly called, jolting you from your thoughts. Looking at her, then the direction she was suddenly waving, your eyes settled on the slender form of Talbott, now failing to slip into study hall unnoticed from the attention Penny was drawing.

He hurriedly made his way over to the two of you, ignoring the frown Professor Sprout was sending him.

“You’re too cheery, Penny. It’s a real fault,” Talbott grinned at the Hufflepuff before slipping into the spot beside her.

“This is a perfectly appropriate tone, thank you very much,” she responded indignantly, though her smile didn’t fade. Sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder how the two of them became friends.

“Sure,” he responded simply.

You couldn’t help but watch him as he settled in. He let out a deep sigh, definitely looking a bit stressed. He didn’t look nearly as hopeless or distraught as he had last time, though. He pulled out a book and ran his fingers through his hair before looking up, his eyes meeting with yours. You quickly opened your mouth to ask him something - anything - to cover up for your blatant staring, but thankfully, Penny had beaten you to it.

“You weren’t in potions today,” she spoke, turning towards Talbott.

“Is...everything alright?” She questioned, her concern evident on her face and in her tone.

Talbott turned, clearly looking taken aback by her question. Maybe he was surprised she had even noticed.

“I...” he began, casting another glance at you, then Penny again, before his gaze settled on a spot of nothing on the table. “It’s a long story,” he sighed, scratching the back of his head. He didn’t elaborate further, so you spoke up.

“Is it...about your—“ you began, though he was quick to look up and shake his head.

“No, no, it’s not,” he said, continuing to shake his head. You were vaguely aware of Penny glancing between you in confusion. You raised an eyebrow, prompting him to elaborate.

“It’s...?” Penny trailed.

“It’s these bloody third years!” Talbott erupted, surprising both you and Penny with his outburst.

“Excuse me...?” You questioned, your brow creasing in confusion.

“Talbott, you’re not making any sense. You’re going to need to explain to us what’s going on,” Penny said, her voice soft and caring.

Talbott let out a huff, rubbing his forehead in an act that looked almost like annoyance. It wasn’t long before his expression morphed into one of embarrassment.

“There’s these third years...a few Ravenclaws and one or two Slytherins - it really depends on who they grab at the time...” Talbott sighed, shaking his head as if to rid himself of a bad dream. “They won’t leave me alone,” he frowned.

“Are they...bothering you?” Penny questioned, clearly following just as well as you were.

“Jinxing you...?” You offered, your confusion evident. You didn’t understand how a group of third years would keep him from class.

“They won’t leave me alone,” he repeated. “Following me everywhere, leaving me notes. I think one tried to sneak me a love potion,” he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh, which clearly wasn’t the right response, because Talbott shot you quite the glare.

“Come on,” you said, glancing between him and Penny. “They’re just third years. How bad can it be?” You questioned.

“Love. Potion,” he repeated unhappily.

“Have you tried...I don’t know...asking them to leave you alone? Expressing your disinterest?” Penny suggested, clearly trying to help.

Talbott sighed again, pursing his lips. “I think they like it when I get annoyed,” he frowned. “Like they want a rise out of me.”

“Talbott Winger, the ladies man,” you grinned at him. He shot you another look before turning back to Penny.

“I barely have a moment to think before one of them’s chirping in my ear or—“

“Ruffling your feathers?” You grinned, unable to let the opportunity for a bird pun fly by.

“You’re as bad as them,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So words don’t work on them...” Penny hummed, ignoring your bantering. “Have you tried actions?”

“I don’t follow...” Talbott frowned, his thick brows knitting together.

“Well, you can tell them you’re not interested all you want, but maybe it would sink in if you showed them you’re not,” Penny mused, her eyes bright like she’d just successfully brewed Draught of Living Death.

“...meaning?” Talbott frowned, glancing over at you briefly before looking back at Penny.

“You need a girlfriend,” she said simply. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing aloud, especially at the flustered look on Talbott’s face.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose, Pen? He clearly doesn’t want that or he wouldn’t be complaining about all of this,” you said, continuing to giggle in amusement.

“I certainly don’t want to date third years,” Talbott responded, his eyes narrowed.

“It wouldn’t be real, of course. Just a show. You know, to get them off your back,” Penny said, tapping her chin in thought. “But who would fit?” She hummed.

“I don’t know about this...” he frowned, glancing between the two of you at the table.

“Chiara, maybe...?” Penny continued to muse, ignoring his hesitation. “Just for a few weeks to get the third years to leave you be...”

“It can’t be that bad getting attention from some girls, can it?” You questioned him. His eyes met yours and you felt a slight jolt at the intensity of his gaze.

“You know I don’t like attention,” he responded, quirking his lips. It was true, you did know. You knew just how much he preferred being left to his own devices. It was his way to avoid getting hurt. But maybe Penny’s plan did have some merit. He definitely needed some more friends, as far as you were concerned.

You listened to Penny list off names, watching as Talbott remained stoic, as usual. The more you listened, the more you felt a slight nagging in the back of your head. The thought of Talbott with a girl - real or not - didn’t quite sit well with you. You didn’t want to dwell on why that was the case, though.

“Maybe Badeea if we want to keep it in your house...” Penny hummed.

“No,” you spoke up quickly, drawing looks from both of them. “I-I mean,” you frowned, clearing your throat. “Who would go along with this? It would be an odd request to approach someone with. Plus, those girls don’t know him that well.”

Talbott caught your gaze, holding it for a moment before you quickly looked away.

“Its just...I mean to say that it might appear fake, and then the third years would never leave him be,” you quickly tried to clarify, ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Penny hummed, quirking her lips. “It can’t be just anyone,” she hummed. “They’d have to play the part well, and it has to be someone the third years wouldn’t walk all over. Someone well known and respectable,” she mused.

“Sounds like you, Pen. You’re the most popular witch in our year,” you chuckled, scratching the back of your head. Mentally, you were kicking yourself for even suggesting that. You saw the looks she and Talbott would exchange on occasion. You couldn’t help but wonder if there was something there between them. Penny was his first friend at Hogwarts, after all.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Penny offered, turning to Talbott with a warm and inviting smile. You suddenly felt nauseous.

“You’re too bubbly for me. No one would believe it,” Talbott grinned at Penny and she playfully stuck her tongue out at him. You couldn’t help but think of how couple-ish that exchange looked.

“Actually...I was thinking you would be perfect,” Penny said, and your eyes doubled in size when you realized she meant you.

“Wh-what...?” You asked dumbly, chancing a look at Talbott who was silently observing you.

“I don’t know why we didn’t think of it sooner. You’d be perfect!” Penny continued.

“I...I hardly think I’m someone people would respect or anything like that,” you denied.

“Rubbish. You’re a top-notch student, prefect, everyone’s seen what a star you’re becoming at Quidditch,” Penny rambled, your cheeks darkening as she went on. It didn’t help that Talbott was staying silent on the matter either. “And how many cursed vaults have you broken in to? Everyone’s heard about that and I’ll tell you: everyone’s impressed. Shall I go on?” She grinned.

“N-no, that’s quite alright,” you murmured, quirking your lips. You chanced a look in Talbott’s direction, finding his gaze still locked on you. It was...unnerving, to be honest. “Well?” You questioned finally with a relenting sigh. “How ‘bout it?”

Talbott gazed at you for a long, hard moment. You felt as though you’d melt on the spot. “Alright,” he finally spoke, and you released the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Great!” Penny chimed, clearly looking pleased with herself. “This will be fun,” she added and you caught Talbott rolling his eyes.

“Fun,” he scoffed. “I fail to see the fun part,” he drawled.

“You’ve got a fan club and a new girlfriend. How is that not fun?” You questioned sarcastically. Talbott shot you a look, though for a moment, you thought you saw amusement flicker in his eyes.

“So, how should we go about this...?” Talbott questioned, turning back to Penny.

“Well, you two will need to get close. Really close,” Penny grinned, glancing between the two of you. “In fact, you should be sitting over there,” she told Talbott, pointing to the spot beside yourself. “Go,” she nudged, grinning at him.

Talbott let out a grunt, pushing himself up from the table before walking all the way around it.

“You’re way too excited about this,” you drawled as you waited for Talbott to rejoin you.

“It’ll be fun, trust me. Messing with a couple third years? Pretending to be in a relationship? It’s all very amusing. I wish I had someone to fake-fancy me,” she giggled.

“You passed on the opportunity,” you reminded, just as Talbott slid into the spot beside you.

“Sit closer,” Penny urged, a bright grin on her face. Maybe the fun was just going to be on her end, you thought.

Talbott begrudgingly slid closer, his arm momentarily brushing yours. “Okay?” “Well, you have to look happy about it. She is your girlfriend, now,” Penny hummed, and it was your turn to scoff.

“He’s never happy,” you drawled. You could feel Talbott glaring, but you forced yourself to keep your eyes on Penny.

“What’s going to sell this? The third years are unrelenting,” Talbott grumbled. “Obvious things. Things only friends wouldn’t be doing,” Penny grinned, looking between your two. “Hold hands, keep the physical contact whenever you can, longing looks - no more glaring, Talbott,” Penny giggled.

By this point, your cheeks were on fire. It hadn’t sunk in before that you’d actually be doing all of this. You suddenly felt very self conscious.

It certainly didn’t help that in the next moment, Talbott had reached over and taken your hand. Without thinking, you quickly snatched it back, ignoring the pleasant jolt you’d felt from the brief contact.

“What are you doing?” You asked hurriedly. “There aren’t any third years around now,” you said, though you felt your face growing hot.

“You two really should practice,” Penny frowned at the exchange. “So it’s believable when the third years are around,” she said.

You couldn’t even glance at Talbott in that moment. You were embarrassed and unsure of why the contact had felt so nice. Sighing, you reached for his hand, allowing him to take it once more. You watched his hand shift for a few moments before his fingers ended up slipping between yours.

“More comfortable that way,” Talbott mumbled, refusing to look directly at you.

“So cute,” Penny giggled. “Besides, the more people that see you acting like this, the better. Word travels, you know,” she hummed.

“You probably shouldn’t tell your friends about this,” Talbott spoke up, glancing down at you beside him. “That it’s not real,” he mumbled.

“Good point,” Penny chimed, nodding her head. “If your closest friends believe it, there’s no double the third years will too!”

“This all seems rather involved, don’t you think?” You drawled, letting out a sigh.

“Come on. It’s just for a week or two until the third years lose interest,” Penny said. All you could do was sigh.

“If they lose interest,” Talbott grumbled, turning to his unopened books.

——

Eventually the study period came to an end and the great hall began filling with students eager for a meal. You friends began filing in as well, each one casting glances at where Talbott’s hand remained linked with yours. He hadn’t let go once, and you were sure your cheeks were a permanent shade of red at this point.

“Evenin’ everyone,” Charlie chimed as he joined you and your already seated friends, including Talbott and Penny from before, plus Ben, Liz, Barnaby and Tonks. “This is...new,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow as he gazed at your linked hands.

Despite the looks, none of your other friends had remarked on it yet, and you felt a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“Thank Merlin someone said something,” Tonks exclaimed, slamming her hands on the table in excitement. “I thought we were all gonna avoid the giant hippogriff in the room!”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Penny supplied, grinning brightly. “They just told me this afternoon,” she hummed.

You glanced over at Talbott who was clearly trying to melt into his seat, though he hadn’t dropped his hold on your hand. You quirked your lips, unamused he wasn’t speaking. This was all for his benefit, after all!

“Yup, it’s true,” you said, resting your head on your palm.

“I didn’t know the two of you were that close,” Barnaby remarked, looking over at you curiously.

“Well, Talbott’s a very private bloke,” you playfully drawled, patting his hand that was linked with yours.

“You should have heard him gushing during our study period,” Penny grinned at the two of you. You felt your cheeks burn - clearly, Penny was determined to mortify you.

“Good on you, mate,” Charlie said approvingly before beginning to eat. The rest of your friends quickly followed, changing the conversation to an array of things that thankfully did not focus on your new relationship.

“Maybe next time you can speak up,” you quietly grumbled to Talbott, shooting him a look before beginning to eat.

About half an hour passed - both you and Talbott remaining awkwardly silent. Well, at least with each other. You chatted with a few of your other friends, though they didn’t miss the opportunity to ask a few questions about you and Talbott along the way. You were definitely looking forward to hiding in your dorm for the remainder of the evening. This was far too much for one day.

“That’s them,” Talbott’s deep voice spoke quietly, his hand clenching the slightest bit around your own. Looking up, you found him staring across the hall at the table on the far side of the room. Penny turned as well, craning her neck to get a good look.

Huddled in a group were three Ravenclaws and two Slytherins, just as Talbott had initially described. They were giggling loud enough that you could hear them from across the hall, waving their wands exuberantly.

“You have your own little fan club,” you grinned, observing the third years with interest.

“Very funny,” Talbott grumbled. “The blonde is the ringleader,” he jutted his chin in the girl’s direction. You observed the girl he singled out, inspecting the Ravenclaw girl with long, curly blonde hair and deep dimples. She was truthfully, very pretty. You were surprised he didn’t have at least some interest in her.

“That’s Isabella Mott,” Penny said. “Her parents work in Hogsmeade,” she informed. Leave it to Penny to know everything about everyone.

“She’s a pain in the arse is what she is,” Talbott scoffed. “Can’t even sit in the common room in peace anymore.” You couldn’t help but grin at his frustrated remark.

Beside the blonde was another Ravenclaw with short, red hair and a Slytherin with jet black hair and sharp, arched eyebrows. Penny was quick to identify them as Ella Wilson and Avery Thorne.

Amelia Stevens and Madison Lee were the remaining Slytherin and Ravenclaw, respectively. The former was quite small with frizzy chestnut locks while the latter had a thin face framed by dark hair with slight waves.

The group chatted boisterously, unaffected by the looks they were garnering from a few surrounding students. You could definitely see how Talbott found them annoying.

“They’ll leave you alone soon enough,” Penny tried to assure the unamused Talbott. “This plan will work,” she nodded.

“That remains to be seen,” Talbott drawled before letting out a sigh. You could tell he was at his wit’s end with these girls and you couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for your earlier teasing. You were quick to decide that you’d make sure to see this plan though as best as you could.

——

By the time dinner had finished, you were beyond exhausted. Keeping up a façade in front of your friends wasn’t as easy as you’d been anticipating, but you supposed it was good practice.

Letting out a small yawn, you stood and bid good night to your friends, only for your brow to crease when Talbott pulled himself up as well. You turned to give him a questioning glance, but he was silent packing up his things.

“What are you doing?” You frowned, speaking just loud enough for him to hear.

“I’ll walk you,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “It’s a boyfriend’s job,” he added cheekily.

“Have a good night, you two,” Tonks called, a knowing smirk on her face. You felt hot all over again.

Once you had your things gathered, Talbott was quick to reach for your hand once more. Thankfully, you didn’t pull away as you had earlier. After holding his hand for the last few hours, you supposed you were used to it.

You headed out with Talbott, hearing your friends playfully jeering behind you. When someone let out a whistle, you were sure you’d die on the spot. It caused multiple people to look and you just wanted to hide.

You quickened your pace, forcing Talbott to hurry as you slipped out of the great hall. You were quick to drop his hand, flexing your fingers to ward off the stiffness that had formed.

“Well, that was something of an event,” you said, turning to glance at him as you slowed your pace, the two of you headed for the grand staircase.

Talbott cracked a smile, nodding his head as he continued gazing straight ahead.

“Do you...think it’ll work?” You questioned softly, pursing your lips.

“I...would hope so,” he murmured, casting you a glance as you climbed onto the first staircase. “It has to,” he said, steeling his voice. You offered a nod at his determination.

“Well...I’ll be as convincing as I can,” you said, leaning against the railing after moving to the next set of stairs. “Where do you usually see these girls?” You questioned, gazing at him steadily. He looked as exhausted as you felt, maybe even more so.

“After potions. One o’clock,” he responded shortly. “When I’m trying to leave. They have the period after me,” he said. “Then of course, they always seem to find me around the castle,” he sighed.

You quirked your lips, nodding intently as you listened to him. “Alright. Tomorrow at one. I’ll meet you after your class,” you said.

“Huh?” He questioned, confusion spreading across his face.

“I’ll meet you,” you repeated with a slight laugh. “We’ll let those third years get an up-close look at us,” you grinned. “Sound good?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure,” Talbott nodded, gazing down at you. “I...” he trailed, biting his lip. “I didn’t, y’know...thank...you...for doing this...for me,” he stuttered out, unable to meet your surprised gaze.

It only took you a moment to recover before you offered him a smile. “Have a good night,” you responded simply, just as you reached your house’s portrait. “Boyfriend,” you added, before quickly ducking inside. It was only then that you allowed yourself to acknowledge how fast your heart was pounding.

[de-profundis-ad-astra]

Next Chapter | Project Masterlist

Word Count || 3.5k Author’s Note || These first two excerpts I’ll be posting aren’t exactly chapters, but they’re not quite a prologue either--primarily because of their length. But it’s an introduction to the story and the world and the characters nonetheless. After these first two parts the excerpts will be much shorter; I can’t be giving you all the information about the project ;)

Anyway, enjoy!

Kerri Stevens gripped the edges of the lectern and braced herself for a fight.

“We are on record for review of disciplinary case D08-493214. Please present yourself for the panel,” said a man in a charcoal gray suit, his voice echoing through the spacious, mostly-empty chamber.

From their perch at the elevated, curved table, the four members of Kerri’s disciplinary panel had her well and truly surrounded. The looks on their faces suggested they, too, were here for a battle. Calling upon every ounce of confidence she had, Kerri straightened and faced down the panel of suits.

While it certainly was not her favorite place to be, if she was here, it meant her prison sentence was about to come to an end at last.

The high-ceilinged council chamber was all but a new environment to Kerri. At first glance, it appeared warm with expensive wood paneling tastefully integrated with the modern interior and well-lit atmosphere. She knew, though, that looks did not match the grim nature of several meetings held here. Her job had called her to Austin, Texas frequently as a representative of her region for new inductions, retirements, and the occasional, dreaded, dishonorable discharge. Today, the chamber was empty, save for Kerri, the panel, and a lone guard standing near the only entrance into the room. Whatever was said today would be for her ears, and her ears only.

Drawing a deep breath, she willed her racing heart to slow, and answered, reciting the words she’d been rehearsing over and over again to herself since that morning. “Kerri Lynn Stevens. Call number: 493087. Codename: Foxtrot. May it please the panel, I move to present a defense.”

“If we were interested in hearing a defense, Agent Foxtrot,” another voice, this one from the center of the panel, chimed in, “we would have called for a hearing less than thirty-six hours after the initial infraction.” Kerri’s handler, Director Lawrence Ward, closed one of the buttons on his immaculately tailored midnight blue suit. “Not wait three months.”

Kerri gestured towards the first speaker of the meeting. “As Director of the Southern Reach, it was Director Shaw’s decision to authorize such a severe consequence without providing me with an opportunity—”

“The motion was decided outside of your presence, Agent,” Director Shaw dismissed with a wave of his hand. “We will not be hearing a defense.”

Kerri said, “I followed every directive from the panel without requesting an audience for three months when probationary periods, historically, have been half that or less. Does that not merit an explanation? Or a chance to present my side of the story?”

Director Ward lifted a hand before Shaw could respond. “Why do you push so hard for this motion, Agent?”

Kerri leaned into the podium, the quick flex it required of her muscles stimulating the blood flow necessary to cool the burn that seeped into her muscles from inactivity. “It’s never been denied in the past.”

Bracing his forearms on the long table, Director Ward leaned forward and regarded Kerri through narrowed eyes. “So you would assume that we should continue to follow protocol down to the letter, even when you, yourself, seem to think you are above such things?”

Kerri swiftly backpedaled, “I never meant to assume—”

Director Shaw bade her to be quiet. “The panel determined that your continuing disregard for expected conduct in the field was grounds for increased severity of disciplinary action. We will cover the specifics at the designated time. Concerning your defense: your obedience to directives as a result of your ongoing behavior warrants you no such privilege.”

Kerri’s mouth opened and closed several times over, searching desperately for a response but finding none. None that would be to her benefit, at least. The cavernous room remained unvoiced for another moment, the fluttering of turning papers from the panel filling the void before they turned back to her. She sought out Director Ward for solace, but found none in the hard lines of his face.

She said directly to her handler, “Director—”

“This is a review of your disciplinary case, and nothing more,” said the woman to the right of Director Shaw. Her nameplate identified her as Adeline Kim, Director of Active Agent Relations. “We are not here to listen to your agenda.”

Kerri bristled. “If helping others sounds like an agenda to you—”

“You broke protocol to fulfill needs that were not pertinent to your direct orders, Agent, did you not?”

Kerri, desperate to get a word in edgewise, huffed, “I’d say they had some relevance.”

“Now is not the time to play Devil’s Advocate, Agent. Did you, or did you not, break protocol?”

Everyone already knew the answer to that question, which made it redundant and, most infuriatingly, unproductive. Time and time again, the panel seemed to think that making Kerri confront and acknowledge her disobedience in the field would prevent her from putting herself in this position again. And yet they always seemed to find themselves here, each side waiting for the other to relent only for nothing to change. They were better than this. She was better than this.

She had taken accountability for her actions. Just not the way they might have wanted her to.

Kerri clamped down on her tongue before she could say any of that out loud. Doing so would only put herself at greater risk for more punishment. She strangled her features into neutrality, straightening her back as she faced down the panel of directors.

It was futile to hope that she could hide her true intentions here. Everyone here knew her secrets without her having to open her mouth.

Which meant lying would be pointless.

“I did.” Kerri squared her shoulders and stood with as much authority as she could muster before the imposing panel.

Kerri had been in this position enough times to know that controlling the room was a hopeless endeavor. So she clung desperately to what she knew she could control.

Director Ward pressed, “How, precisely, did you breach protocol?”

Kerri masked her groan with a sigh. “I deviated from the mission plan.” She stuck to the facts. “It was not a misinformed decision. I did it of my own free will.”

As she said it, Kerri looked towards the remaining member of the panel. Director Rachelle Frost had supervised her training during her earliest days in Legion. If there was anyone who could vouch for her, it would be Frost. The look she gave Kerri was unreadable before she made a note on her legal pad. Kerri felt her confidence wane at the gesture.

Ward’s voice called her back to the present. “And this, deviation, was to interfere with bystanders, correct?”

“I specialize in defense,” Kerri replied. “Shouldn’t my priority be the wellbeing of the people we’ve sworn to protect?”

“We aren’t looking for your mission statement, Agent. Answer the question.”

That was it.

Kerri snapped, “If by interfere you mean assist with the evacuation of a collapsing building, then yes, the deviation involved dealing with bystanders.”

“Do you understand the risks associated with your actions, Agent?” Director Kim sounded as exasperated as Kerri felt.

Averting eye contact, Kerri drummed her fingers against the underside of the lectern. “Yes, Director,” she said through a wired jaw.

“Elaborate for us, please.”

It was as if they wanted to humiliate her.

“Because my actions have again put Legion at risk of exposure.” She resented how robotic her voice sounded as she delivered the answer.

“Again.”

Director Ward’s voice was a low force. Kerri’s stomach tightened, the sensation drowning out the otherwise distracting thought of whether she’d have been able to hear him if she’d elected to not wear her hearing aids that morning. What was worse was the way he said it as if he was embarrassed on her behalf. Embarrassment which then transferred to Kerri. Clenching everything from her jaw to her knees, Kerri began keeping count of her deep, even breaths.

Director Kim said, “This is your fifth offense of this caliber in the past five years you’ve served in this capacity. Legion cannot continue under this pattern, nor can we afford to keep erasing any documentation of you every time you wander in front of a camera.”

“This manner of conduct can be forgiven once, maybe twice,” added Director Shaw. “The only reason you are still standing here is because Alpha has determined that you are more of an asset than a liability when you do follow directives. She is concerned that the scales may be tipping out of your favor. This kind of behavior is unacceptable from someone in your position.”

“All due respect,” Kerri said, “but are those who share my rank not expected to make challenging decisions when faced with a crisis?”

“Those who share you rank, Agent Foxtrot,” Ward countered, “are expected to make those challenging decisions in order to see their missions accomplished. Not go out of their way to get caught on camera.”

“So you would  stand by and watch innocent people die over something they can’t control?”

“Agent!”

The moment she said it, Kerri knew she’d crossed a line. But the blatant disregard for human life was something she refused to stand for.

Director Kim said, “People die in the name of the greater good frequently, Agent—”

“Not if they don’t know what they’re dying for!”

“And you must understand that there is nothing we can do to change that!”

Kerri went silent, absolutely stunned at the ignorance of the panel. Was there anything she could say to remind them that what she had done was good? Perhaps against instructions, perhaps dangerous. But those whom she’d saved from an untimely death or lifelong physical ailments might have told a different story.

Though three months had passed, she still remembered clearly how it’d felt to be inside that building—wood crackling and popping all around her, her eyes streaming from the onslaught of smoke, sparks and tongues of flame licking against her hands when she reached for a trapped child. Heat filling her lungs until she thought she might burn from the inside out. But most importantly, the frightened screams and cries from others. Frantic coughing and hacking  from those without proper protection. The terror etched into their faces… and then relief. Relief that, because of her, not all was lost.

Yes, she understood that she could not keep everyone she came into contact with from dying. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. It was her duty, the duty her employer, to try.

That was the Legion she’d signed up for. The tales of daring heroism, the best of the best fighting for peace, woven for her by her father on the balmy Texas nights. Not… this political mess.

Ward’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Do you understand, Agent Foxtrot?”

Despite her efforts, she could not wrest back the memory that took her back to fire and rot and decay and the crushing guild that she could not save them all.

No. She did not understand why she faced punishment after punishment for doing the right thing.

Letting out a long breath, Kerri forced herself to nod. “I understand, Director. I will improve my conduct where it is necessary.”

“Make sure those improvements align with your code of conduct, not your personal morals,” Ward sniped.

In a perfect world, those two might have overlapped. But they hadn’t hired Kerri for her morals, apparently, just her ability to shoot straight and win in a fight. She stared straight ahead and strangled the urge to scowl at her handler.

“Commitments to improve are well and good,” said Director Shaw, “however, this panel is not in a position to turn you loose and trust you to not cause any more problems.”

“What can I do about this?”

“Ward.”

Director Ward pushed a slim, manila colored folder to the edge of the table. The motion drew her attention to where he sat. Her gaze flickered back and forth between the file and her handler’s face, which was still heavily shrouded with an emotion she could not entirely place.

She felt her heartbeat thrum over her body. Another assignment? So soon after being cleared?

His hand remained flat over the cover of the folder. “You swore an oath to support and defend our corporation. To bear allegiance to us and no others. Do you still swear it?”

Anxiety—equally powerful and equally terrible—filled Kerri’s chest. “I do.” She forced her voice to remain steady.

“You swore to serve as a living example of this organization’s philosophies and beliefs and to uphold these values at all times. You took this obligation freely and of your own accord. Do you still swear it?”

Freely. Of her own accord. “I do.”

“Do you swear to give yourself wholly to this assignment and swear to complete the request of its commissioner?”

“I do.”

Ward removed his hand from the file and said, “You may approach the table, Agent Foxtrot.”

Slowly, Kerri stepped around the podium and approached the panel with slow, stiff steps. What normally might have filled her with a sense of honor and duty was now tainted with doubt and uncertainty. She felt acutely aware of every pair of eyes on her, burning hotter and hotter with each step that took her closer to the table. Ward gave a small nod as she took the file. She quickened her pace as she walked back to the podium and settled the file against it, eager to be as far away as possible from the ones who held her fate in their hands.

Flipping open the folder, Kerri was immediately faced with the image of a smiling woman. Her skin was pale, smooth, which brought out the green of her eyes and the mane of bright red curls framing her attractive face.

She turned the page over, and found in the following pages little information outside of basic information and demographics about the stranger. The panel waited, scrutinizing every action as Kerri skimmed the folder.

“What’s the assignment?” asked Kerri after finding nothing indicating why, precisely, she was looking at this woman.

“This,” said Director Ward, “Is your newest target.”

Kerri’s stomach flipped. She knew precisely what that meant.

Almost four years had passed since her last commission for an assassination in her five year career. Overall, she’s only ever completed two. One as a part of her initiation trials to earn her Name, and a second one year later. Both had left a bad enough taste in Kerri’s mouth that she’d requested to only be assigned to them if it was a last resort. Shockingly, Legion had obliged her. It seemed it was time to break that streak.

But she imagined they’d start her out with something small, quiet. Literally anything but an assassination.

She had to tread carefully, moving forward. Everyone was on edge. “All due respect,” she said slowly, “but perhaps this is a job better suited for someone not just cleared to re-enter the field.”

“We don’t have the time to call in another Named Agent to an area already occupied by one.” A beat passed during which Ward rubbed his chin. “I expected more enthusiasm from you about being put on a job.”

“I am honored by the panel’s show of trust in giving me an assignment with such a high degree of urgency.” Kerri looked down at the photograph inside the cover of the folder. Her target’s smile was so broad, so unlike the headshots from her previous assassinations which contained scowls and frowns. She looked, shockingly, friendly. “But what has Charlotte Moore done to earn a hit from us?”

Indeed, there was nothing in the file indicating that Charlotte had done anything so abhorrent that it warranted Legion’s attention. Her criminal record included little more than a few cases of petty theft and arson. Since when did they concern themselves with such relatively minuscule matters?

“Everything you need to complete your mission is in that file,” said Director Ward. “Can you show us that you can do your job?”

Although rare, it was not unheard of for agents to turn down assassinations. Kerri was a living, breathing example of that. Her jobs, which tended to focus on protecting life rather than ending it made her more likely than the average operative to do so. It was an interesting thing to be said of someone who worked for a company willing to kill others in the name of world peace.

And she might have said no, were it not for her audience. There simply was not enough information in the file for Kerri to accept a job with such heavy ramifications in good conscience. She was already on such thin ice as it was, she wasn’t willing to take the risk of saying no when tensions already ran so high.

Kerri’s eyes snapped up to Ward’s as she bit back, “Of course I can.”

As if sensing her discomfort, Director Shaw said, “Understand that all we are asking, Agent Foxtrot, is that you complete the assignment as it has been given, and there will not be an issue.”

Kerri’s fingers clenched around the lectern so hard her knuckles hurt. “An issue with what?”

“Given your acts of impotence in the field over the past half decade, Alpha has decided that it is in Legion’s best interest to move up your re-evaluation concerning your standing as a Named Agent.”

Terror wrapped its icy claws around Kerri’s chest and clenched, driving the air from her lungs. Every five years, Named Agents were put through a series of evaluations and assessments as a means of checking their skills and overall functioning. The results were used to make a recommendation concerning whether that agent was in good enough standing to continue serving in such a demanding, high profile capacity. Really, it was just a fancy way of saying “are they fit enough and sane enough”. Kerri’s evaluation, which had been scheduled for the end of this year, had hardly crossed her mind, until now.

At her silence, Shaw added, “Consider this a test run.” His tone was not warm. “Complete your mission with no infractions, and we will consider moving forward with considering you for a renewal of your credentials. If you fail, you will be immediately discharged.”

The world stopped spinning beneath Kerri’s feet. Gripping the lectern for support, she looked at each member of the panel. Nothing in their faces, their posture, indicated that they were being facetious. She actively struggled to maintain straight, untangled breathing—her mouth and through suddenly bone-dry.

After all she had done. All she had given to these people, this organization, this was what it came to?

A new voice, this one female, spoke up, calling Kerri’s spirit back into her body, “Perhaps this is a consequence we should reconsider, Director Shaw.”

“You have something you would like to add, Director Frost?”

Director Rachelle Frost straightened, pursing her plump lips into a line. She glared at Director Shaw with eyes so dark they seemed black. “I had the privilege of overseeing Agent Foxtrot’s training in my facility. She was one of my youngest and fastest graduates. She has done more than enough to earn her title.”

“It’s no question whether she earned her title,” said Kim. “That is separate from being worthy of keeping it.”

“Losing her would be a detriment Legion. I would recommend that the panel considers a customary demotion.”

Shaw said, “The order came directly from Alpha; she did not ask for the panel’s input on the matter. Agent Foxtrot has become too much of a liability to consider keeping her around, even in a smaller capacity. Our job as a panel is simply to pass the motion.”

Kerri pushed her hands into the podium, exerting as much pent up energy as she could without physically leaning into it. Doing so would only call more attention to her. Her lungs suddenly felt too small for her chest, and her breath came out in short, patchy puffs. Charlotte Moore’s face stared back up at her, her green eyes seeming to pierce into her as if she stood there in the flesh. Kerri swallowed when she felt her breakfast crawl back up her throat.

“All in favor, say aye.”

A chorus of ayes filled the empty space, punctuated by a single nay. As the echo faded from the chamber, Kerri felt she was truly in danger of emptying her stomach onto the floor.

“The motion passes,” said Director Shaw, flat. “Do you understand your task, Agent Foxtrot?”

With trembling hands, Kerri flipped the folder shut. Though it covered Moore’s face, she still felt her eyes burning into her through the thick cardstock. She hoped the podium covered her movements well enough to conceal that small detail. Her voice felt oddly detached from her body when she said, “I understand.”

“Best work on getting the color back into your face, Agent,” said Ward without a shred of sympathy. “If you’re serious about keeping your job, you’re going to have to watch her die.”

Despite her best efforts, she could not muster the strength to look away from her handler’s face. She locked her knees, pleading with her body to stop shaking.

“We want a confirmed kill in seventy-two hours. Get it done.”

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[senbons]

(belated) Shikatema Week

/new tsafv2 chapter: on Spite

(on ao3 and ff.net too)

It’s only a second in the grocery store, a momentary glimpse in her periphery, but somehow, Temari is attuned to her. And Temari knows, even as she walks past one aisle and over to the next one, that it can’t be, because it makes no sense for her to just see some ponytail out of the corner of her eye and think, oh, her.

It’s not as though the girl is particularly enticing. She isn’t glamorous like some of the other women in Konoha; and she isn’t distinctly attractive, nor does she carry herself in any superlative fashion that might draw Temari's eyes to her — and yet, tonight, Temari finds herself foolishly backtracking and looking over her shoulder because she can’t tear her eyes away.

God. It’s not like Temari isn’t confident or anything of that sort. She isn’t worried.

She knows their relationship is solid.

Well, maybe not solid, but at least, she knows that he loves her.

And she knows that Shiho had never even stood a chance against Temari, if one considered them to be competing at all. Which they shouldn’t. They had never been adversaries — and not because the girl just wasn’t worthy of competition because Temari was so much better, but because Shikamaru had been the one to pursue Temari in the first place and so she hadn't actually had to fight anyone off.

But surely Shiho had stood a chance in general, hadn't she?

She is… kind? And definitely smart. Smarter, in the ways Shikamaru could be, than Temari (in books and patterns and dedication to the minutiae).

She watches as Shiho makes her way, her back to Temari, down the aisle and over to the checkout line.

Temari holds her breath. Her heart is pounding, as though she has been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been doing.

Without thinking, she reaches to her right and grabs an extra-large box of condoms. She doesn’t even look at the brand. She isn’t even in need of condoms right now. But she does it. And, joining her ice cream, vegetables, and bag of apples, she leaves the box on top and follows Shiho to the checkout.

By the time she rounds the corner, the person before Shiho is paying.

Temari pauses, still not seen, and straightens her dress around her hips, brushes a stray hair back, and licks her lips.

She knows, she knows, she is being ridiculous. Foolish.

"Good evening, Shiho.” She says, grin plastered on her face and shoulders pulled back.

The other girl turns and gives a noise of surprise. "I didn't see you there! Oh. Hi, Temari.” She smiles in kind and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Shiho’s groceries, laid out on the counter, consist of mostly greens and a surprising amount of cereal and instant ramen.

“Where are you off to?"

Shiho looks down at her food and then back at Temari. She is shorter, her shoulders slimmer. ”Oh, uh… I'm cooking dinner for my niece. She's visiting."

Temari continues to smile, unsure what to say now that she’s approached the woman. Why did she come over here in the first place? It isn’t as though she really had finished buying all the things she’d set to buy and she was ready to check out. And it isn’t as though she’s defending any territory. Staking a claim or whatever. Shikamaru isn’t hers to claim. No one ever is, in general, but especially not him. Not to her.

"That's sweet of you."

"And you? I didn’t know you were in town.”

Temari looks over her basket. “I’m only here for a few weeks. Nothing too interesting planned.”

When she'd first come to the register, she'd had every intention of laying out everything from the basket, predominately the condoms, perhaps hoping to spite Shiho; as if to say, hello, yes, we have sex all the time! Like maybe it would demonstrate something to Shiho, something that would make her jealous of the relationship Temari has.

But now that she’s here, she doesn’t want to do that anymore. This is clearly Temari’s own… insecurity, maybe. And so, she stacks the box of condoms behind the apples on the conveyor belt and tries not to draw attention to it.

Shiho smiles.

"How have you been?" Temari asks as the checkout man started to ring up Shiho's basket.

"Good, good." Shiho adjusts her glasses again. They’re so thick, it’s hard to see her eyes.

"And how is work? How is the cryptanalysis team these days?"

Shiho perks up at that, the words working as a switch. “Great!” She breathes. “Hokage-sama just approved our request to start a sub-unit to go through all the archives of letters intercepted from the First Shinobi War that were never deciphered!"

Temari frowns. "Is there any use to going through old letters?"

“Well, uh,” she pulls out her wallet as the man rings her up. “No current use, which was why we kept being denied. But now that there isn't much work for us, we have time to look through everything. It’ll be so much fun!”

Temari laughs, stepping forward as Shiho moves to gather her first bag.

“I’m glad this is so exciting for you guys.”

Shiho blushes and looks down. After a moment, her gaze moves back to Temari, brows furrowed. "Shikamaru doesn’t — Yurika and I both asked him for help, but he said he doesn't understand the point of going through old records like that unless we need to. I guess he has a point. I mean, it’s not like other countries still use the old systems."

Temari shrugs. "They might again, who knows. If the cyphers were never broken, why wouldn’t they come back?”

There is a pause as Shiho groceries are fully bagged and the cashier hands her her change.

“Frankly, it’s not particularly likely. But you’re right. It is possible.” She smiles to herself and turns back to Temari. “Cryptanalysis was always the most interesting past-time for me.” She looks back down. "So any opportunity is welcome."

Temari smiles. If she could offer up Shikamaru, she would.

No. No. Nevermind. She could offer up Shikamaru. Maybe not technically, but that’s never stopped her before. She volunteers him all the time! At least once a week. She could easily say he’ll help, easily promise him, or at least, she could promise to talk to him. But she doesn’t. She keeps her mouth shut.

“It was good to see you.” Temari does say, after a moment, as Shiho takes her bags. And then, “I’ll tell Shikamaru you said hi.”

Shiho blushes, her shoulders rising to her ears. “I, uh, yes. You too! Good to see you too!”

That’s it, and then she is gone and Temari’s few items are being run up and put in a bag.

She wants to slap herself.

What the fuck was that? Why did she say that? Was that a nice thing to say? After all, there is no question that Temari would be speaking with him… Shiho must know that…. Or was it better to let things lie? To not acknowledge the other’s relationship to him at all?

Why is she being like this?

Temari sighs and watches, not paying attention as she goes through the motions of buying her groceries and then walking home down a mostly empty street. It’s early evening on a Friday and, while many people are still out, there is a lull between work and going out for dinner or whatever the youth do these days (Shikamaru never wanted to go anywhere — she had no idea what most people her age did on their off-time) so there are only a few people about.

Here’s the thing: Shiho is a good person. At least, as far as Temari knows. She’d only met her a few times and all except one, at a birthday party for Shikamaru, had been in passing. And that party was long before she and Shikamaru had gotten together, and Temari had spent a good hour or so in conversation with Shiho. And then she’d noticed Shikamaru’s eyes on her (they had always been on her, didn’t Shiho know?!) and Shiho’s eyes on him. And they hadn’t spoken much after that.

But from what she understands, from what she’s seen, Shiho is kind and wickedly smart and is very compatible with Shikamaru platonically. They make good coworkers. And when he was in the cryptanalysis unit, he was happy. Even now, he is happy to be consulted by them, even if only on occasion. He likes work where he can go at his own pace, where the people around him also want to keep the human interaction down to a minimum.

Temari is nothing like that. It’s nothing like their relationship. And in the end, it was nothing like Shikamaru. As far as she knows, from what she’s seen, he may enjoy that type of work, but deep down, he needs more. He’s led an army. He is never going to be satisfied behind a desk like that.

She turns the corner and there is no one on this street. Temari shifts the bag of groceries from one hand to the other.

She wishes she understood why she had done that. Why was her instinct to buy more condoms than she’ll need? Honestly, she is only here for a week. There is absolutely no way they will go through all of these. Though, she supposes, they could be saved for whenever she makes her way back.

But that’s not important. No. It’s not about stupid household purchases. It’s about why she wanted to do it, why she felt the need to buy them and gloat them in the first place.

She genuinely doesn’t understand it. Not fully. She knows, objectively, that she has become softer since dating Shikamaru (he softens her, her brother once said). She knows she is more emotional. But she is still more rational than that! There is no excuse for whatever wayward and misplaced jealousy that whole thing was… that whole, consuming feeling was. It makes no sense. And feeling it is absolutely without merit.

After all, Shiho is just a woman. Surely there have been more people who’ve had crushes on him. It can’t be helped. He is wonderful… mostly. And maybe, if (when) they do break up, eventually, he will find one of them.  

When she arrives at his house, she finds the door unlocked. There are no lights on and the place is silent. Temari turns on the light in the entryway and, still holding the groceries in one hand, looks into the living room. Shikamaru had been at work this afternoon, but he’d said he would take off early so she expects him back by now. Still, she’s surprised to actually find him asleep on the couch.

Temari huffs and walks around the couch to the front, staring down at him. He’s on his back, legs up on the far arm and face serene. Behind her, on the coffee table, is a cup of tea. She touches the mug. Still warm. He hasn’t been asleep long.

She leans down to nudge him back, pushing at his hip. Without opening his eyes, Shikamaru groans. He does move though, rolling onto his side and scooting to press the back of his body into the back of the couch, giving her more room.

Temari drops the bag of groceries on the coffee table and turns to take a seat in the middle of the cushions, her tailbone against his hips, letting him curl his body around her.

He is breathing slowly and she knows, if she stays still for only a minute, he’ll fall back asleep.

She looks at him. He’s always been so beautiful. She’s always found him attractive. She hates, sometimes, that it took so long for her to actually tell him that. She hates all that time she wasted wanting him and doing nothing about it.

This is what Shiho wants. This is it. She wants to be sitting here, against him, being loved by him.

On the one hand, she wonders what is so special about him anyway? He’s often a pain. But on the other, she wholly understands. He is everything.

It’s been almost a minute since she sat down. She doesn’t want him going back to sleep.

Temari reaches out and grabs his chin, turning his face to hers fully. She looks at him, looks at the lines of his features and the beard he’s beginning to grow.

“You should shave.”

Slowly, Shikamaru opens his eyes, blinking, trying to bring her into focus. “You don’t like it?” He asks, voice gruff from rising from his nap.

Temari turns his face again, observing another angle and then lets go. She shrugs. “No.” She says, but she does kind of like it. No use giving him compliments though.

Shikamaru closes his eyes, slowly, lids heavy, completely unaffected by her comment. He shifts, moving further up the couch, so his head rests closer to the armrest. His knees bend as the top of his thighs press against the side of hers, allowing his whole leg to fit on the cushions.

“I saw that girl you used to work with,” Temari says, after a moment. She hadn’t wanted to say anything, but it’s on the tip of her tongue, as though waiting to be said. She recalls their meeting, and her ridiculous reactions, like a twinge in the back of her neck, right at the base of her skull. She’s embarrassed about it.

“Hm?”

“From the Konoha Cryptanalysis Team.”

Shikamaru makes a noise in his exhale and nuzzles his head into the cushions, eyes still closed. “Shiho? How is she?”

Temari stares at him. Why is she still doing this? Why is she pretending?

“She wants your help decoding some old cyphers. Or code. Whatever.”

“I know.”

They’ve obviously approached him. Shiho had said as much. And he’d turned them down. She wonders if Shiho is the one who spoke to him. Did she call? Send a letter? Stop by the Hokage’s or by his house? Had Shiho ever been to this house? When they’d spoke, at his birthday party years ago, it was at his parents… so Shiho had been there. Had she been here? Had she sat on this couch? Temari, after all, doesn’t live here. He must have people over when she is gone. She has people over all the time without him.  

“She likes you, you know.” There is a bitterness to her tone that even she can hear. “Has a crush on you.”

Shikamaru, much to her chagrin, doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even move.

“She blushes when she talks about you.”

Temari doesn’t know why she wants the rise. She doesn’t know what she wants him to say.

He opens his eyes now, brow furrowed. His body is warm where it is touching her.

“Temari,” he says, and he leaves it hanging even though his tone implied there was more of the sentence to come.

“Yeah?”

He continues to stare at her, frowning, trying to figure something out. Then, after a long moment, he looks away. “Nothing.” He says. “Nevermind.”

She sighs and leans back, pressing what she can of her back against the couch, but she is limited in her comfort by his hips. He’s right. He hadn’t even said anything, but she feels it anyway.

Shikamaru has resettled, closing his eyes again. Temari tips her head back to look at the ceiling and drops her hand to the back of his neck, gently brushing her fingers to his skin, back and forth up the line of his neck. He makes a noise when she scratches him lightly, but otherwise stays silent. Maybe he falls back asleep.

Temari, though, is too caught up to wake him up again. She blinks up at the ceiling, taking in the wood panels and the stains on it.

What the fuck is wrong with her? Why on earth would she do this? Why is he turning her into this…this person? What is it about him that turns her into this?

She regrets everything about that interaction. She regrets all of it. She has never been this person. There is no need to feel threatened. There never will be. If they break up because of a third-party, that’s on them, not on the interloper. And, while possible, she has no inkling that that potential third-party would ever be Shiho. Acting otherwise — considering otherwise —, being so cruel, even if only in her head — it is unacceptable. Why does she hate Shiho so much?

Shikamaru, apparently not asleep, reaches for her hand, pulling it away from his neck and using his grip to tug her down. Naturally, Temari adjusts, letting him pull her so that she is lying against him, back pressed to his chest, held by him.

It’s easy, now, to relax into his grip, to be comforted by his touch, to let the parts of his body fall in against the parts of hers. She can feel his breath against the back of her neck, the beating of his heart against her spine, hand holding her sternum, fastening her tightly against him.

How lucky, she is, that he wants her too. How lucky, that she doesn’t have Shiho’s lot. How lucky. Because if he didn’t want her, wouldn’t she be in the same position? Would she not want him, still, as Shiho does? Wouldn’t she also spend the days waiting for him to look her way, like Shiho seems to?

Because there’s no reality, she admits, only for a moment and only to herself (she’ll never say anything so naive to Shikamaru), in which she doesn’t love him.

It’s hours later when they wake up. They’ve slept through dinner and all the melted ice cream she’d bought, not well-sealed apparently, has ruined the box holding the condoms.

[crazycat-88]

Male Dragon Ode x Male Reader Part 1 (SFW)

This one is set in a medieval(ish) high fantasy style setting, it’s plot heavy and already sitting at 5,455 words.

Content: Mentioned - War, Death, Murder & Injury. Also contains Disturbing Imagery. Part 1 is SFW but there is an underlying hint of sexual themes. 

On that note, please enjoy!

It was the sound of the warning bells ringing that woke you from your slumber and after dressing you hurried outside where the villagers were screaming and running in all directions in fear, falling all over each other in their panic. A glance up at the sky revealed the reason for such panic and confusion. Dragons. With two of them on the horizon and closing in fast, it was no wonder the villagers were hysterical.

Hearing the chink of armour and of swords being unsheathed, you turned to watch as a group of the kings knights raced towards the dragons. You considered drawing your own sword in aid but you were no knight and you had no desire to die today. Instead you tried to help your neighbours, many of which were to hysterical to seek shelter and many stood frozen watching the chaos unfold.

Fortunately, it seemed that neither dragon was interested in the village itself and as one stood fighting the knights and batting them away like flies, the other headed straight towards the castle sailing high over the defences and crashing straight into the north tower. You were too busy to see what the dragon was after but not ten minutes had passed when suddenly it was all over.

The village itself was unscathed and the villagers only injuries had been caused by their own hand. The knights were not so fortunate, many of whom had to be carried on stretchers to the village hospital. It was surprising that there were very few casualties, with two dragons you’d have expected more carnage, and you wondered what had brought on this attack. It had been years since the dragons that lived up on the mountains had come down to this village, despite the ongoing war between your two species.

It hadn’t always been this way. When you were a boy, dragons had been an everyday sight. The dragons had been your kingdom's allies and the king and his knights would ride the dragons into battle. It had been your dream as a child to become a knight and be a dragon rider, but then everything changed and war had broken out. The details of why were unclear, the king had said that the dragons had betrayed the kingdom but the dragons claimed the opposite had happened.

Many rumours had spread through the kingdom as to the reason for the war, some had merit, while others were completely ridiculous. Whatever the truth, the day the war had broken out you knew four things for certain; One - The queen was dead, having died giving birth to the princess. Two - The leader of the dragons was dead, killed by the king himself. Three - You would never become a dragon rider, and four - The dragons who were once cherished and revered, were now hated and feared and had returned to their homes in the mountains or had left to new lands.

No one was sure how many dragons remained in the mountains, they were rarely seen and the knights and squires that ventured up there in the hopes of bringing back a dragons head rarely returned. The lucky few that did never spoke of seeing more than one, likely the reason they had survived the trip. Taking on one dragon was stupid, taking on more was suicide. Still it seemed every month produced a new, young, foolish squire that ventured up there with the hopes of coming home to be knighted by the king for their supposed strength and bravery.

You had never become a squire, your mother did not have enough coin and no knight had been willing to accept you as their page due to a slight limp you had acquired from an accident as a young boy. Instead you had become a mercenary, a soldier available to hire for the right price. You rarely worked with a crew, finding the other local mercenaries lacking in morals. A little hypocritical perhaps but still, there were things even you were unwilling to do.

--------

The following morning you caught sight of a group of knights making their way up to the mountains. The dragons must have really upset the king this time you thought as you watched their progress until they were out of sight. The knights returned the following day, the group half its original size and those left sporting a number of injuries. This went on for three days, until finally on the fourth, you and every other mercenary in the kingdom were called to stand in the king's banquet hall.

You stood there waiting, gazing around in discomfort. It was the first time you had ever entered the castle and you were not expecting to see mounted heads of dragons decorating the walls. You had heard rumours that the king had gone mad with both rage and grief after the death of the queen but you had never been one to put much stock in rumours. Perhaps you should of you think, cringing at the sight before you. Your fellow mercenaries seemed just as disturbed as you and you all shifted uncomfortably while waiting to discover why you had all been called there.

The king had not been seen outside of the castle for years and you are surprised to see him looking so old and haggard when he makes his entrance surrounded by guards. His voice is strong however as he welcomes you and he states that he has called you all here for an important mission. He claims his daughter, the princess, has been taken by the dragons and he asks that you all journey to the mountains to rescue her. He offers a high reward for her safe return and you listen as the men murmur amongst themselves.

It is not a job you would usually accept having no interest in taking on a dragon, however when one of the men refuses the job outright it is made clear that it is an order and not a request after all. The men gathered wisely stay quiet after that but you wonder just how many will abandon the quest once you reach the mountains. As you leave the castle, the king makes one last request, he asks that when you do find the princess, you do not look upon her. With that confusing request he leaves the hall followed by his guards.

On your journey to the mountain the men talk amongst themselves, separating naturally into groups. You end up riding alongside a crew that had just been passing through the kingdom and had no intention of actually going up the mountain. They were quiet, a stark contrast to the crew riding ahead of you, who are jovial about going up the mountain. This crew are locals and you can hear them boast to others about having faced dragons before and it being an easy job causing you to snort dubiously.

‘‘I’d heard the rumours that your king had lost his mind but I didn’t believe it until today… I’m Gadaric by the way,’’ says the half orc next to you. ‘‘And these boys are Frederic, Laodamas and Meuric,’’ he continues, pointing to each of the men as he introduces them. Nodding to each of the men, you introduce yourself.

‘‘Do you plan on going up the mountain?’’ Frederic asks you quietly.

‘‘I suppose I’ll have to if I wish to return home,’’ you reply. You do consider leaving it all behind but there is also the matter of the princess’s life. While you do not know her, you feel obliged to at least try and save her.

‘‘Good luck,’’ Gadaric says. ‘‘I’ve gone up against dragons in the past and it's never ended well.’’

‘‘Thank you. I'm hoping to avoid the dragons to be honest,’’ you reply.

‘‘That’s your best bet. Let the others cause a distraction, then sneak in, save the princess and get the hell out of there,’’ Frederic whispers.

You just nod at him in agreement. Honestly that had been your plan, you had no desire to face down a dragon. You may be skilled with a sword but you did not believe yourself competent enough to take down a dragon. You also had no desire to kill such a creature, you had always thought them to be magnificent and majestic, and you knew they were capable of great acts of kindness. It had been a dragon that had saved your life when you had your accident. Your whole life you had felt conflicted when you thought of the dragons, you knew they were now your peoples enemy and that you were at war with them but you couldn’t separate the new knowledge from the old feelings.

As you approach the base of the mountain, the men break off into two groups. The crew you were talking with leaves riding East towards the next kingdom and many of the other men move to follow them. You knew many of the men wouldn’t stay but you are still surprised when only eight of you remain to make your way up the mountain.

‘‘Why do you think the king asked for us not to look at the princess?’’ One of the men asks quietly.

‘‘Maybe she’s really ugly,’’ laughs another loudly. You recognise this one as a local mercenary, who’s always been a brute with no morals. He’s also the one that boasted of killing a dragon before, though you’re confident that he was talking out of his arse.

‘‘Or… maybe the rumours about her are true,’’ says another one of the men.

‘‘What rumours?’’ asks the only non-human left amongst you.

‘‘They say she isn’t the king's daughter… that she isn’t completely human,’’ answers one of the men.

‘‘Wh-what?’’

‘‘Who says?’’

‘‘That’s all utter bull crap.’’

‘‘You’d believe anything.’’

Everyone speaks at once. Some of the men are guffawing loudly, and one pushes another. If they carry on at this rate the dragons will you hear you coming a mile off. That is assuming they don’t already know you’re here.

‘‘Everyone shut up! Do you want them to know we’re coming,’’ hisses one man, echoing your thoughts.

It’s far too late though, as just as he gets the last word out, you all hear a mighty roar and a large green dragon appears breathing fire towards the group. Everyone scatters, with some of the men ducking behind rocks, others raise their shields, draw their swords and race towards the dragon. Seeing this as an opportunity, you scan the rocks searching for an entrance to the tunnels and caves inside. Finally spotting one, you make a dash for it, reaching the entrance unscathed. None of the men follow you inside, which you’re glad of, but you do hope that the majority of them make it home in one piece.

Luckily the entrance does in fact lead to a tunnel, though it is tight and obviously not used by the dragons and you carefully squeeze your way through it. You know you are on the right track when you see the glow of firelight up ahead. Slowly, unsure of what you will find, you follow the glow, breathing slowly until you reach an opening in the tunnel. Beyond that, you find an enormous cavern and you can hear the rumbling snores of a dragon far too close for comfort.

Torches line the cave walls thankfully providing light, however you can still feel your heart pounding frantically as you search the cave for the source of the rumbling snores. You almost miss the dragon at first, your gaze skipping over him before you do a double take. He is lying fast asleep amongst his hoard of gold coins and other trinkets, the colour of him blending in to the rock like camouflage. You feel your heart skip a beat and the first word to come into your mind is beautiful.

He is magnificent and large, a grey-blue colour, with two long white curved horns upon his head. Two smaller white horns sit just beneath those, jutting out from the side of his head and on each of his four legs, he has a set of sharp white claws. His long neck, bat like wings and sharply pointed tail are tightly curled around his body while smoke billows from his nostrils as he continues snoring, your presence for now going unnoticed.

Shaking your head at your thoughts, you note that he is not one of the dragons that had attacked the kingdom, both of those had been green, and you see no sign of the princess here. Searching the large cavern for another exit, you curse internally when you see that the only other way out is directly behind the dragon and you consider your options. Do you try to get around the slumbering dragon to the opening which likely leads further into the caves and hopefully to the princess or do you go back out the way you came, not knowing what’s outside, and try to find another opening.

Deciding you’d rather face a sleeping dragon than the angry one outside, you press yourself close to the wall and cautiously inch your way along it. Every time the dragons rumbling changes in pitch, you stop holding your breath hearing your heart pounding in your ears. Just as you think that you are going to make it, the dragon suddenly snorts awake and his amber eyes open, his gaze narrowing when he sees you.

‘‘Human,’’ he growls, standing up on his four muscular legs, claws scraping over the stone.

Shit! You did not appreciate his sheer size until he stands facing you, he’s not the largest dragon you have ever seen but still, he’s double your size. You raise your shield but do not draw your sword, hoping if you do not pose an immediate threat he may not kill you just yet. Eyeing the opening you wonder if you should make a dash for it but he follows your gaze and blocks the way by unfurling his wings, caging you in.

‘‘Have you come for my head or my hoard?’’ He growls snarling, lips pulling back revealing his maw full of very sharp teeth.

‘‘Neither… I came for the princess,’’ you gasp, standing frozen with your heart pounding and gaze fixed on those teeth.

‘‘Ah... You’ve come for the girl. How chivalrous,’’ he rumbles, tilting his head to get a better look at you.

‘‘Do you know where she is?’’ You ask.

‘‘Perhaps…’’ he rumbles, sitting back on his haunches and folding his wings back.

You dare not move though, as his tail trails dangerously close to your body. Alert, as if waiting for any sudden movement.

‘‘Will you tell me where she is?’’ You ask him hopefully.

‘‘What makes you think she wants to be saved?’’ He rumbles in amusement, his tail twitching side to side, occasionally brushing against your legs.

‘‘Um… because she was kidnapped by a dragon?’’ You reply blinking, confused by the question.

‘‘Humans,’’ he growls in reply. ‘‘You are all the same, rushing in to save the day, assuming the worst.’’

‘‘I… Are you saying saying she doesn’t need saving?’’ You ask, shifting your weight uncomfortably. Since it appears that he has no intention of killing you, you relax a little and lower your shield.

‘‘Hmm… Would you believe me if I said yes?’’ He asks, watching your movements carefully.

‘‘I’d believe it if she told me herself,’’ you reply frowning.

He growls, tilting his head again, studying you for a moment, before rumbling, ‘‘Strange little human… engaging in conversation with the enemy… Do you not wish to see me dead?’’

‘‘No…’’ you say honestly. ‘‘Now can I speak to the princess or not?’’ You ask.

You manage to keep your voice steady, trying to sound braver than you feel but as he stands and lowers his head so that his snout is in front of your face, you can’t help but tremble wondering if he may just kill you after all. The heat that blows from his nostrils is stifling and you nervously break out in a sweat. Fortunately he just chuckles and turns towards the opening.

‘‘Follow me brave little human... and leave your sword and shield behind.’’

You watch him move, exhaling in relief as he leaves the cavern and you debate whether or not to trust him. Figuring if he was going to kill you, he would have done it already, you reluctantly drop your shield and sword, hoping you won’t regret leaving them behind and follow him through the opening which leads to another tunnel. As you quickly catch up with him, he lets out another rumbling chuckle which causes you to tremble for an entirely different reason, the sound of it vibrating through your body.

Trying to ignore it, you pay close attention to where you’re going, keeping track of all the twists and turns in the tunnel in case you need to make an escape later. Suddenly you make a turn into a tunnel which isn’t lit and as you move further along it the light from behind dies out, leaving you unable to see. You start to panic slightly, trying to see by sound but even the dragons footsteps are silent, and you stop, no longer following.

‘‘What’s wrong, why have you stopped,’’ the dragon rumbles a second later.

‘‘I can’t see,’’ you explain.

You gasp, tensing as you feel something wrap around your waist and touching it you feel the rough scales of what can only be the dragon's tail. He surprises you by tugging you towards him and you collide with the side of his body.

‘‘I forget you humans can’t see in the dark,’’ he rumbles quietly. ‘‘Just relax and let me lead the way.’’

Laying your hand on his side, you let him lead you through the tunnel, sighing when you realise that you will now be unable to get out of these tunnels on your own. Absently one hand strokes along his tail while the fingers on your other knead into the ridges on his side. You only realise what you’re doing when he rumbles out a noise which sounds strangely like a purr. You stop what you’re doing immediately, embarrassed, but fortunately the dragon doesn’t comment.

‘‘What’s your name,’’ you ask, trying to distract yourself and tired of referring to him as dragon.

‘‘Ode,’’ he rumbles in reply. ‘‘What is yours?’’

Telling him, you listen as he repeats it, before he chuckles, ‘‘I think I prefer little human.’’

Shaking your head, you walk the rest of the way in silence. It feels like you’ve been walking for miles, when eventually you see a light up ahead. Sighing in relief, your legs now sore and your limp more pronounced, you remove your hand from Ode’s side and step away slightly. You expect him to remove his tail from around your waist and you're surprised when he doesn’t, eyeing him subtly you watch as he continues you walking, not acknowledging that you have moved away or that he still has a hold of you.

The light leads into yet another tunnel, this one lined with torches, finally at the end of it is another cavern similar to the one you found Ode in, wide with high ceilings, and immediately upon entering your gaze goes to the large green dragon, who’s head swings in your direction growling. Then you notice the human standing beside the dragon and gasp.

‘‘Ode… Why have you brought a human here?’’ The distinctly female dragon growls.

You don’t hear Ode’s reply though as you’re to busy examining the only other human in the room, though perhaps human is the wrong word. She’s tall, with curved golden horns that sit above her ears, and skin that is dappled with black scales. Then you notice that she has digitigrade legs and a tail, also black, that curls behind her. You feel Ode’s tail leave your waist as you approach her slowly.

‘‘Princess Adelaide?’’ You murmur questionly.

You hear the dragon beside her growl at you and feel the heat of Ode behind you but are far to distracted looking into the eyes of the princess in front of you. It’s like looking into the eyes of a dragon and you cannot believe the rumours are true, that she is half dragon, but she nods in reply to your murmur before frowning.

‘‘You are not a knight,’’ she says.

‘‘No,’’ you agree. ‘‘And you are not what I was expecting either.’’

As the green dragon growls at you again, the princess runs her hand along her snout. ‘‘It is alright Estrild. It’s understandable that he is confused,’’ she says to the dragon before turning back to you. ‘‘Did the king send you?’’

‘‘Yes, he’s very concerned for your welfare princess.’’

‘‘I highly doubt that,’’ she snorts.

‘‘I… do not understand,’’ you murmur.

‘‘Come sit. Let me tell you a story,’’ she says, leading you over to sit by a stream that runs through the cavern. Both dragons follow behind you, and while Ode lies behind you, his head at your side, Estrild lies beside the princess laying her head over her lap. You watch this with interest, wondering just how close the two are.

Princess Adelaide then offers you a cup full of mead and you take it gratefully, sipping it slowly while you wait for the princess to get comfortable.

‘‘Hmmm... where should I start,’’ princess Adelaide mumbles, staring down at her cup.

‘‘The beginning is usually the best place princess,’’ Ode rumbles amusedly.

‘‘Thank you Ode,’’ she chuckles in reply. Then looking at you she continues, ‘‘My mother and the king were betrothed… they had no love for one another and that never changed. She was treated as a possession and while he was known for being a strong and fair king, he was not a good husband… My mother sought comfort elsewhere and found it with the Dragon leader Arthfael. They fell in love with one another but they tried to keep their relationship platonic, knowing it would be wrong for them to be together…’’ she says sighing, and then taking a drink.

‘‘One night they gave in to their desire and while they never regretted it, they swore to never let it happen again. Soon after, my mother discovered she was with child, but assumed it to be the kings, believing it impossible to be Arthfaels… When I was born, the king discovered the truth, he murdered my mother in a fit of rage and then Arthfael. It is unknown why he spared me, but he certainly did not raise me, I was kept locked in the north wing and whenever our paths crossed he treated me with derision’’ she sighs, her gaze unfocused.

‘‘How… how do you know all this?’’ You ask, stunned at her story.

Shaking her head and with her gaze focusing, she looks you in the eye. ‘‘My mother’s maid was her one true friend and confidant. She became my nanny and as I grew older I kept asking her questions about my mother, the dragons and why I was different. She eventually told me everything just recently.’’

‘‘And the dragons?’’ You ask questionly, glancing briefly at Ode and then Estrild.

The princess smiles and looks down at Estrild smiling and stroking her head, before saying, ‘‘They knew of Arthfaels love for the queen, when he was killed by the king they left for the mountains, the alliance over. They would have left it alone but the king, still mad with rage wanted every dragon to be punished… People say the king went mad after the queens death but servants in the castle would tell you he was always this way.’’

‘‘How did you come to know Estrild? And the other dragons?’’ You ask. Everything you had heard so far was interesting but it did not explain why the dragons would come for her now and how she seemed to close to Estrild.

‘‘I discovered a secret passageway out of the castle a year ago, I have been sneaking out, meeting with Estrild in secret,’’ she giggles. ‘‘They never knew I was Arthfaels child and you can imagine their surprise when I met them. I always returned to the castle though, my nanny is very much like my own mother... Then I got caught trying to sneak out one night and I was locked in my room. Estrild came for me with her brother Dew when I failed to meet her as we arranged… but I never expected it to cause all this trouble.’’

‘‘The king has sent most of his knights after you and now he’s moved on to mercenaries… He seems determined to get you back,’’ you say frowning.

‘‘He does not want anyone knowing the truth, nor does he want me to be happy,’’ she says sadly.

‘‘What will you do now?’’

‘‘Most of the dragons have already left these mountains to a land across the sea, the rest remaining are planning to leave in a matter of days and I am going with them.’’

‘‘What of the king? He’s going to keep sending men here after you,’’ you ask.

‘‘I know and I worry for the dragons if more come before we leave,’’ she says, frowning before suddenly sitting straighter with an excited look. ‘‘Will you return and report to the king that I am dead?’’ She asks hopefully.

‘‘I… You want me to lie to the king?’’ You ask, worried about the consequences of such an action.

‘‘He won’t know it is a lie. Please, ’’ she begs, and you find yourself unable to refuse especially with Estrild eyeing you like she might eat you if you do.

You spend a little more time there talking with princess Adelaide, you ask how she met Estrild and she asks what life in the village is like. Ode and Estrild mostly stay silent, only occasionally adding to the conversation. Dew, Estrild’s brother, eventually makes an appearance and you are introduced. It is evident that he was the dragon outside that took down the rest of the mercenaries and that he is most displeased to discover that you managed to evade him.

He is huge, the largest of the three, with only one eye and a broken horn. You leave soon after his arrival, feeling uncomfortable as he glares at you distrustfully. Ode escorts you, leading you back into the tunnel from which you came.

‘‘Did you injure your leg?’’ Ode asks, as he notices your limp.

‘‘No, it is an old injury. It has just been exacerbated by the journey here and by all the walking,’’ you explain.

‘‘Climb onto my back, I will carry you the rest of the way,’’ he rumbles, stopping and looking at you expectantly.

‘‘That is not necessary, I can manage,’’ you protest, though secretly you would love to ride him and feel your heart race at the prospect.

‘‘Get on,’’ he rumbles. ‘‘We will be in the dark again soon enough and you cannot see where you are walking.’’

‘‘Alright,’’ you say, withholding a grin. ‘‘You will have to help me up though.’’

He does so by wrapping his tail around your waist again and lifting you straight onto his back. You hold on tightly as he lets go and starts walking, finding it surprisingly comfortable. Now he is no longer looking at your face, you grin widely. It may not be the same as flying on a dragon but it certainly comes close.

‘‘Alright back there?’’ He rumbles questionly.

‘‘Yes, thank you Ode.’’ You reply, still grinning happily.

In the dark you stroke the scales on his back, finding them rough to the touch, while Ode rumbles a purr that seems to vibrate straight through you. The journey back to Ode’s cavern passes far quicker than you hope and you reluctantly slide down from his back when you reach the cavern and he stops laying down to aid your descent.

‘‘It is late, you should stay here for the night,’’ he rumbles.

‘‘I… well if you don’t mind, thank you,’’ you say, not liking the idea of traveling back to the village in the dark.

‘‘Not at all… it has been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of another’s company.’’

‘‘What about the other dragons?’’

‘‘We tend to keep to ourselves… Dew and Estrild are the exception. I speak to them both on occasion but we are not close,’’ he explains, and you nod accepting this, knowing that dragons are generally solitary creatures. ‘‘There is a small stream towards the back of the cavern is you wish to bathe,’’ he says, standing and leading you over to the back of the cavern.

‘‘I would, yes,’’ you say, eager to clean yourself. After the journey here and walk through the tunnels you cannot imagine that you smell particularly fresh and you wonder if it bothers him.

‘‘I will get you a cloth that you can use to clean yourself and a cloak to wear,’’ he rumbles, moving around a protruding rock which is large enough for him to almost disappear behind it.

Removing your tunic in preparation, you are bare down to the waist and debating whether to remove the rest of your clothing, when he returns, bundles of cloth clutched in his claws. He stops when he sees you, his widening as he stares at your torso. You feel a thrill run through you as he eyes you in what seems like appreciation before cautiously approaching you and pushing the bundles towards you.

‘‘I will go hunt while you bathe,’’ he rumbles, before turning and heading out of the cavern, tail scraping along the stone.

Smiling you bathe before pulling on the cloak that he has brought you. While you wait for him to return, you have a look around the cavern finding it to be even larger than you first thought, with corners that lead to more areas that contain items of his hoard. Around one corner you find bundles of fabric which have been arranged into a makeshift nest.

When he returns, you help him build a fire on which to cook the meat he’s brought back with him. He may not need it cooked but you certainly do and as you do that you ask him about his life up here in the mountains and about what his life was like before the war. You sit by his side, comfortably leaning against him as you listen to him talk feeling his chest vibrate with every breath.

You are surprised to learn that he is considered young in terms of dragons but old enough that he has already had young that are now fully grown and have since left. He has been on his own ever since, hunting and sleeping the days away except for the brief time he spent with the humans. You have many questions for him and he answers them all patiently before he loses interest in speaking about himself and instead asks that you tell him more about your life in the village and the work you do.

‘‘So you’ve never battled a dragon then?’’ He asks, as you finish telling him about your previous jobs.

‘‘No, I’ve never wanted to. A dragon saved my life when I was a boy and…’’ you say, trailing off.

‘‘And what?’’

You chuckle self consciously. ‘‘He was my first crush. Strange I know but…’’ you say, turning to look at the fire.

‘‘Not so strange,’’ he rumbles amusedly, turning your head carefully with a claw. ‘‘Surely you noticed that the princess and Estrild are more than just friends. And I… I have always found you humans beautiful… so small and delicate.’’

‘‘Ode,’’ you whisper questionly searching his eyes, as you feel him shuffle slightly, wings twitching.

‘‘Get some sleep little human, you need it for the journey back tomorrow,’’ he rumbles standing. ‘‘It is more comfortable in my nest, come.’’

You frown as you follow him to the nest you saw earlier, confused at his sudden withdrawal. Not wanting to push your luck or upset him, you settle down in the nest, finding yourself yawning. You are tired and while you would rather be engaging in more interesting actively, sleep is the next best thing.

‘‘Stay?’’ You murmur questionly, as Ode turns to leave. He eyes you for a moment before laying down next you. When you tuck yourself closer in to him and stroke along his snout, he lets out a purr and wraps his tail around you.

‘‘Good night little human,’’ he rumbles, as quietly as a dragon can, sounding just as tired as you feel.

‘‘Goodnight Ode,’’ you murmur in response.

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

Thanks for reading! As always please reblog. Likes & Comments are also appreciated,I love to hear what you guys think.

My Masterlist

[ragewerthers]

Worth

Summary: Regis can't stand his father's new bodyguard Cor Leonis. He's too young, too inexperienced and too much of a stick in the mud for the young Prince.However, the worth of a person can't be measured in outward appearances alone.

A/n: This is for a prompt from my friend @bgn846 and a fantastic prompt she gave me for our F3S!!! Her prompt was: ”Random thought what if when Cor was working as Mors bodyguard Regis didn’t like him until he saved his life or something and then there were BFF’s forever.” This was intense to write and I hope I was able to convey all the feelings I had when I read the prompt! You can also read it on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823827 Happy reading!!! :D

Word Count: 6607

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

Regis snorted himself awake as he sat beside his father in the Council room.

Gods, but this was the most boring meeting he’d been to in a long time.  He couldn’t help but to let his mind wander now and again.  What 21 year old wasn’t allowed to daydream while doing something they found tedious?  Granted… most twenty somethings didn’t have quite the weight on their shoulders as he did or needed to stay focused quite as intently as he should’ve been… but that was for future Regis to worry about.  The here and now Regis was debating if he could warp strike over Councilman Nevus’s head and out into the hallways without anyone noticing.

Half the members in attendance today were already nodding off, the other half doodling in lieu of taking actual notes pretending that they were honestly interested in the change in fertilizers being used in Duscae for the upcoming harvest seasons and what it meant for trade with Insomnia.

Regis actually found himself smiling a bit in amusement at the scene, letting his gaze move around the room and taking in everyone’s inattentive features until his eyes landed on him.

Cor Leonis.  One of the youngest, if not the youngest, members to ever join and rise up the ranks of the Crownsguard.  He was only sixteen, but had already accomplished more than half the men twice his age.

And Regis couldn’t stand him.

There was just something so… off about him.  Regis had never once seen Cor crack a smile.  Never seen him with his guard down or joking.  Never seen him as anything other than a silent, brooding figure always stood to the right of his father, King Mors.

Mors had seen something in the kid, and granted he did have some qualifications behind him, but honestly!  How could his father think that some… sixteen year old punk had the merit and strength to protect him and stand as one of the King’s bodyguards?

Regis could tell he was glaring, perhaps he even hoped that Cor would notice and react or do something, but he never so much as got a single twitch out of him.

Grumbling a bit to himself he was only drawn out of his stupor when he felt a nudge to his side.  Glancing to his left he noted the subtle look Clarus was giving him and sighed, refocusing on listening to all of these fertilizer changes.

Surely one clean warp strike would get him out of the room… two if Councilman Nevus shifted to the left...

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

“I can’t feel my legs, Clarus,” Regis groaned as he and his Shield stood just outside of the councilroom.  The meeting had only just adjourned and there was a slight chance that both of his legs and possibly one buttcheek were never going to get the feeling back in them ever again.

Clarus snorted at the dramatics, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Obviously you can or you wouldn’t have been able to walk out of there, your Highness,” he pointed out simply, making Regis scowl over at him as he leaned against the wall just beside the open doors.

“There is no length I wouldn’t go to get out of there, even if it meant hobbling out on legs that don’t work,” Regis shot back.

Clarus only hummed before quirking an eyebrow at him.  “You were thinking of warping out of there again weren’t you?” he asked in a tone that said he could read Regis like a book.

“And what if I was?  Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have joined me,” Regis said lightly, earning a little snort from his friend.

“I’m your Shield, Regis.  Obviously I would’ve followed you.  Nitwit that you are,” the man joked in return.

Regis opened his mouth to retort only to quiet himself as he watched his father exit the room to head toward his main office.  His eyes instantly narrowed as he watched Cor Leonis follow, trailing just behind his father as they moved away.

“You’re doing it again,” Clarus remarked simply, startling the prince from what he was doing if for only a moment before a lighter scowl made its presence known.

“Doing what?  I’m not doing anything,” he replied, waving a dismissive hand in the air before beginning to follow the same path his father had just taken down the hall so that they could head to the elevators.

“You know what I mean.  You were giving Cor that ‘look’ again.  The one you were giving him in the councilroom.  The one you give him every time you two are within a ten foot radius of one another.  What have you got against him?  He’s just a kid?” Clarus asked, inadvertently hitting on the crux of the problem and making Regis bristle.

“That’s the exact reason!  He’s a kid!  A… a teen!  And yet my father thinks he is completely capable of protecting him and willing to put his life in the hands of a child and what’s worse!  What’s worse, Clarus, is that the kid thinks he can do it!”

“You’ve heard of what he’s done.  The kids got heart and skill.  Just because he’s young shouldn’t take away from what he’s accomplished, Regis,” Clarus tried to reason, but the Prince was having none of it.

Regis merely snorted and lifted his chin a bit higher, unable to take the words to heart after the impression he had already cemented in his mind of Cor.

“All I’m saying is that while he has indeed done a few things in his time in the Crownsguard there are people with far more experience and far more merit who would be better at protecting my Father.  You have to admit that I’m right on this point, Clarus.  There are bigger, stronger, tougher soldiers with more military background who would be far more adept at the job then… that kid.”

Sadly, Clarus really didn’t have a rebuke for this because it was true that there were more seasoned soldiers who could do the job that Mors had given to Cor.

Seeing that no comment was forthcoming, a cocky little smile appeared over Regis’s lips and he chuckled. “See?  Even you have to admit I’m right sometimes,” he joked.  Though after scoring a point in this little argument he couldn’t help but to speak his mind a little more.

“I’m surprised my Father’s kept him around for so long.  I know that if it were me I’d have gone mad being followed around by someone with the emotional range of a stump.  I mean… I’ve never so much as seen him crack a smile or say anything other than ‘Yes, Majesty’.  Really, I can’t think of a larger bore than Cor Leoni-...”

Just as they were rounding the corner, Regis found himself almost face to face with the very person he’d been making comments on and glaring at for the better part of the afternoon.

Cor took a quick step to the side, allowing for the quick adjustment of them suddenly appearing and keeping them from colliding.

Regis had actually balked at the sudden appearance and had stopped mid sentence.  Obviously it wasn’t princely behaviour to make such comments out and about where anyone could hear you, but surely the kid hadn’t heard him, right?

The problem was that Cor’s expression held the same seriousness that it always did.  No mirth, no anger, no sadness, just that stony expression that looked foreign and odd on such a young face.

“Your Highness,” the young soldier greeted with a bow.  “His Majesty wishes to speak with you about the upcoming Sylleblossom Festival to be held in Somnus Park this upcoming week.  He requests your presence in his offices.”

“Oh… uh… yes.  Of course.  Thank you,” Regis got out after his moment of shock and slight embarrassment.

With another bow, Cor pardoned himself from their presence before making his way back down the hallway from which he’d come on the King’s errand leaving Clarus and Regis to stand staring at his retreating back.

Regis could feel the moment Clarus’s eyes were turned back on him and he growled slightly in his chest.  “Don’t give me that look, Clarus.  How was I supposed to know he was just around the corner?” he sniped, looking over to see his Shield practically glowering at him.

“What if he heard what you were saying?” Clarus asked after a moment, only getting a little huff from his Prince.

“I doubt it.  Apart from having little to no personality I doubt he actually has feelings to hurt.  If a bodyguard can’t stand up to a critique then he definitely can’t stand up for anything.  Now, let’s get to my father’s study before he sends that kid to come looking for us again,” he said, trying to brush off the incident, though the sickly feeling of guilt was already easily settling in his stomach like a rock.

Perhaps his penance for saying such things out in the open for anyone to hear would be having to go and talk to his Father about the speeches they were to make at this upcoming festival.

Sadly as they continued to walk toward his Father’s office in silence he knew that he’d made an error, but he was far too proud to own up to it.

Besides… was he really so wrong in what he said?

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

The day of the Sylleblossom Festival was one that the majority of Insomnia loved to attend.  It was always held in early summer, the streets lined with even more vendors selling everything from flower shaped hats, to stuffed animals, to foods that were far too unhealthy for any normal person to eat on a regular basis.

There was also a carnival set up in the center of Somnus park with rides, games and all sorts of attractions to draw the attention of Insomnian citizens.  All in all it was a celebration for celebrations sake.  A time to just have fun and enjoy the day without worry.

However, even with all of the frivolity of the day there were still certain royal duties that had to be held.  One of which was a speech to be given by both the King and his son to their citizens, mostly thanking them for all that they had done for Insomnia and giving a days pardon to all to simply go out and have a little fun.  It wasn’t that anyone needed an official pardon from their job to come and enjoy the festival, but there was a certain thrill from hearing a king tell you that you were allowed to miss work, for even one day, to enjoy yourself.

Currently, King Mors was in the middle of his speech, commenting on a few things that had the crowd chuckling and even bringing a little smile to Regis’s lips.

Glancing over the Prince caught sight of Cor, his face still as expressionless as ever as he stared out into the crowd.

Seeing such an expression Regis couldn’t help but to think that a day like today was utterly wasted on someone like him.  He probably couldn’t wait for all of this to be over with so that he could go back to being a statue by his Father’s side.

However, the sound of something strange caught his attention and he turned his head back toward his Father.

It had sounded like those little firework poppers that children throw onto the street that snap and crackle, utterly harmless, but by the way things progressed, Regis soon found out that he was horribly mistaken.

In the blink of an eye, his Father’s Shield had instantly rushed to the front as screams rose up from the crowd below.

Regis watched as Mors was pushed down to the ground by his Shield as shouts began to rise up from the surrounding Crownsguard.  The soldiers in attendance on the balcony around him were shouting, calling for backup or simply calling out to each other as chaos continued to build around them.

Lost for a second in the commotion, Regis instantly stood up from his seat, moving forward quickly to check on his Father.  He didn’t notice the red dot lined up on his chest, he didn’t register the look of fear on his Father’s face as the man looked up to see him coming closer nor did he hear the shout from Clarus behind him to get down.

The only thing that registered was the fact that something had just slammed into his side like a freight train and he was unceremoniously tackled onto the ground, his head dizzy from the quick upheaval as he tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened?!

Looking around he could still see people running for cover and he could see his Father struggling to get out from the cover his Shield to get to them.  He himself tried to move and found himself pinned and only then did he register that he was being covered by Cor and not just that, the kid was complete dead weight on him.

Regis’s eyes widened as he saw the blooming red starting to spread out from Cor’s shoulder, his head trying to register what was happening even as he found himself incapable of doing so much as shout for help or for someone to get a medic.

But just as quickly as this first bout of chaos happened, a second one was quick to follow.

Confirmations that the gunman had been taken down began to flood into the small balcony and soon a flurry of movement happened all at once.  Guards moving forward to help lift Cor and carry him back into the building as the King’s Shield and Clarus began to try and get the royals up and into the building as well.

“Regis?!  Regis are you alright?  What he fuck were you thinking running toward the balcony like that?!” Clarus shouted at him, but Regis still felt dazed.  Everything had happened so fast and now it all seemed to slowly be coagulating together.  Looking down at himself and the red that had seeped into his clothing he felt sick.  He looked between his closest friend and the door before shaking his head, opening his mouth to speak as no words came out.

Clarus shook his head and helped him up, covering him in case there was another threat and leading him down a back staircase toward vehicles ready to carry the royals back to the Citadel.

“What…. What just…,” Regis tried to speak, but all coherent thought seemed to be sapped from him as Clarus bustled him into a waiting vehicle before quickly sliding in next to him.

“Cor Leonis just saved your life is what happened,” Clarus growled out, slamming the door shut as the driver of the car instantly sped off toward safety.  “That soldier you found lacking just took a bullet for you without a second thought.  Do you dare want to tell me again why you find him so unfit for his position?!”

Regis flinched at the tone of his Shield.  Clarus’s words were sharp, fueled by adrenaline, but Regis took no fault with them.  The man was right.  Cor Leonis… the kid he’d said had no place being by his Father’s side, the kid he’d mocked a few days ago… had just put his life on the line for him without a second thought.

The guilt and shame from days ago that had settled itself in his chest blossomed into complete shame at his past words.

How could he have been so crass?  So rude?  So shortsighted as to denounce someone like that?

Now all he could do was pray that he got the chance to make up for his past transgressions.

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

It was days after the attack before Regis was given permission to go to the medical ward.

After arriving back to the Citadel after the attack they’d only been able to get little tidbits of information here and there on Cor as the most pressing matter at hand had been trying to figure out the motive and if others may be involved.

Eventually they’d gotten word that Cor had been transferred from emergency surgery and was in the ICU to recover.  The bullet had passed through his right shoulder, but blood loss had almost been his downfall.

Now, with Clarus following nearby, Regis made his way toward the young soldiers hospital room.  He’d been moved from the ICU a day ago and the doctors had been keeping them updated as to his condition.  It appeared he would make a full recovery though his right arm was probably going to be out of commission for awhile.  Rest followed by physical therapy were on order for him, but the doctors all agreed that there was a promising outlook for his future.

Standing outside his room, Regis paused, unsure exactly what he was going to say when he entered or how it was going to be received.

Clarus’s temper had calmed since a few days ago as well and now as he stood beside his friend he offered a little smile.

“Go on.  I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture,” Clarus offered kindly as Regis felt unease taking over his chest.

“Ah yes… what bedridden person doesn’t want to see someone who spoke ill of them while they’re recovering?” he said sarcastically, before feeling a hand lightly cuff the back of his head and making him look at the Shield with a narrowed expression.

“Quit sulking and get in there.  I think this little meetings been a long time coming.  I wish it was under different circumstances, but… this is where we’re at now.  So get your royal butt in there and make things right or so help me our next few sparring lessons are going to be the things of nightmares,” Clarus warned, a smile on his face though his eyes warned that he meant every single word.

With a little gulp, Regis nodded before taking a deep breath and entering the room, only to be met by the sound of grumbling.

Brow furrowed he closed the door behind him and wondered if perhaps he was interrupting another persons visit in which case he would apologize and leave as soon as possible.  But as he made his way closer he could see who… or rather what the young soldier was having an argument with.

Cor was sat on the edge of his hospital bed, back facing the door as he held a shirt with his good hand and berated it for apparently not bending to his will to get over his head and his shoulders.  It was no wonder it couldn’t.  Aside from only being able to work with only one hand the gauze and bandages wrapped around his shoulder and chest only immobilized him more.  As Regis took in the sight he also saw that the young soldiers back was lined with scars that he never would’ve expected.

That’s when he remembered the stories of Cor going to the Tempering Grounds, facing down Gilgamesh, the first Shield to the Kings of Lucis.  It was one thing to hear stories about such an endeavor… it was another to see firsthand what such an endeavor had cost.

Regis felt his stomach lurch and he must’ve made a noise of some kind, perhaps as he’d taken a step back to let Cor have his moment, because soon piercing blue eyes were trained on him and for the first time in his memory he saw something other than that stony, unwavering expression he’d grown to associate with Cor.

In that one moment he saw surprise, shame, pain and anger all wash over the young man’s before being replaced by that mask of nothing that he wore in his every day.

“Y-Your Highness.  I apologize,” Cor said as he made to stand, Regis quicklys stepping forward and shaking his head.

“No, no!  You have nothing to apologize for.  Please, don’t… I mean… just take it easy,” he tried to placate.  Gods he was bad at this.

Cor watched as the Prince moved forward, but something about his demeanor seemed even more guarded than Regis could remember.  Clearing his throat, the Prince tried again.

“What… are you doing anyway?  The doctors said that you were on bedrest for the next few days and that you should keep movement to a minimum,” he said as he went to stand next to a chair beside the hospital bed.  Allowing himself to glance around the room he noticed the lack of any sort of visitors.  No ‘Get Well!’ cards, no cheesy stuffed animals with casts, no sign that anyone aside from the doctors and nurses had been in to check on him.

Nothing about that sat right with the Prince, but he kept his mouth shut as he watched Cor shifting to look over at him.

“I need to get back to work.  I can’t just sit around doing nothing,” Cor said simply, looking back down at the shirt that was thwarting him from achieving such a goal.  “I’ve got a job to do and an oath to follow.”

Regis felt struck for anything to say to that, especially with the conviction with which Cor had spoken.  This sixteen year old kid was trying to sneak out of his hospital room after sustaining such an injury to get back to a job that most grown men couldn’t handle. “Don’t you think rushing ahead like this is a bit rash?” he asked after a moment, trying to find the right words to get him to see that what he was doing only going to cause more harm than good,  “You need to rest.  I doubt you’d be able to pick up a pencil at this point let alone a sword.  The last thing we need is for you to hurt yourself more when you should be focusing on trying to get better.”

Apparently even if his words had been meant to calm and reassure the young man, they had done the exact opposite.  Those piercing blue eyes were trained back on him and the mask of indifference he wore was now cracking with a barely concealed look of determination.

“If I can’t use my right arm, I’ll use my left.  If I can’t pick up a sword I can still be a pawn or diversion.  I have a duty to uphold to the King and I refuse to let him down,” he spoke, his voice leaving no room for argument.

However, Regis were more than willing to try.  Clarus could attest to his stubbornness and inability to just leave something be.

Stepping closer the Prince shook his head as he stood to his full height.

“You will be of no use if you don’t take the time to rest and recover.  You’d be more of a hindrance than a help if you try to go back to stand by his side,” he shot back and the determination that had been in Cors eyes now turned to anger.

“Why do you care?!” Cor shouted back, finally standing to face the man head on, his shirt still clenched in his left hand as his arm trembled.  “Aren’t I merely the ‘kid’ to you?  The one who lacks merit and credentials?  Why do you care if I rest and recover?!  I need to get back to my job before I can be cast aside!”  As soon as the last words left his mouth he blanched, gripping his shoulder and growling as a wave of pain moved through his arm, making his knees go weak threatening to drop him to the floor.

Regis instantly moved around the bed, wrapping his arm around Cors waist to help him sit back on the bed.  Unsure of how much more his guilt ridden heart could take at this point.

He was the reason Cor was hurt.

He was the reason the young man was trying so hard to get back to his job.

Cor thought that Regis was going to take this moment of weakness to replace him.  To remove him from a station that he’d earned through harsher means than Regis had ever even tried to imagine.

Once he’d gotten Cor settled back on the bed he took a seat next to him, neither man really all that familiar with talking so plainly and so openly about matters of this nature.

“I… owe you an apology, Cor,” Regis finally spoke, breaking the silence between them, his eyes still cast down to the floor.  “I judged you before knowing you and I never made the attempt to get to know you better.  I measured your worth based on only what I could see and that was incredibly shallow and unbecoming of myself.”

Cor glanced over at the Prince and shook his head.  “You don’t have to apologize, your Highness,” he said quietly.  “You’re not the first person to say those things and you won’t be the last.  I know that I’m young… that there are others out there who have more experience than I do and that’s why I take everything I do so seriously.  It’s why I work so hard.  I will not falter.  I will not let down my King.”

Regis nodded at that and turned to look at the young man beside him, offering him a little smile.  “I still owe you an apology for my words.  And I also owe you my thanks for saving my life.  For a kid you have a mean tackle,” Regis offered lightly, watching as the barest hint of a smile appeared over Cor’s features before the younger man shook his head.

“For a Prince you have a poor sense of self preservation,” Cor said back, but the heat in his voice from earlier was replaced with something lighter that only made Regis smile more.

“I’d argue with you, but Clarus has already reminded me countless times that I’m an idiot for what I did so I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to try and counter your point,” he said, earning himself an honest to gods chuckle from Cor who winced as his shoulder jostled, making Regis frown instantly.

“It’s alright, your Highness.  I’ll be fine,” he reassured and Regis nodded, relaxing only marginally.

“If you say so,” he offered though until he knew that Cor was out of here and back at the Citadel he probably wouldn’t be resting easy for some time.  “I should probably leave you so you can rest and… I hope you can believe me when I say that I have absolutely no intention of trying to replace you in your absence.”

Cor paused a moment, looking over the Prince as if weighing and measuring him before giving a small nod.  “I believe you, your Highness,” he promised, making Regis wrinkle his nose.

“You don’t always have to use my title, Cor.  You can call me Regis..,”

“Or Prince Charmless.  Whatever suits you at the time,” came a voice from the doorway making both men turn to see Clarus entering the room.

Regis thought he heard a little snort come from beside him, but he was too busy glaring at his Shield to enjoy the fact.

“First of all, I have more charm in my pinky then you have in your whole body.  Second of all, aren’t you supposed to be my most loyal retainer?  How could you betray me like this!” he asked, making Clarus roll his eyes.

“I betrayed nothing.  I think Cor already knows more than enough about you, but we have to get back to the Citadel.  We’re still under strict orders right now while the investigations continuing,” he said honestly to which Regis nodded.

“Alright,” he agreed, turning back to Cor and seeing that look of determination back on his face.  Obviously hearing that there was still all of this going on, it must’ve relit the fire in him to get out.

“I’ll be taking this,” he said simply, reaching over and taking the shirt that Cor had been battling earlier and tucking it under his arm as he stood to move toward Clarus.

Cor watched him with wide eyes, surprised by the quick movement.

Regis turned back to him with a smile and quirk of his eyebrow.  “We are fine while you recover, Cor.  I trust you will stay here and look after yourself in the time being.  I”m merely taking this as insurance,” he said, lifting the shirt back up and handing it to Clarus who took it with a confused look.

Cor could only shake his head, but a little smile did appear.  “Understood, your Hig-.... Regis,” he said after a moment and Regis could only smile more at that.

“We’ll be back tomorrow.  I’ll make Clarus sneak in some palatable food for you as well.  I’ve seen what they serve here and I don’t think you it’s befitting of a bodyguard to the Crown,” he said simply as Clarus glared at the back of his head.  “Until then, rest.  We’ll speak later, Cor.”

With that Regis turned to leave, Clarus following behind them as Cor listened to the bickering down the hall.

“Why are you going to make me sneak in the food?!”

“What?  Can you imagine how it would look if the Prince of Lucis was caught smuggling in contraband food to a patient?  It would be unseemly.”

“You’re already unseemly.”

Cor couldn’t help chuckling a bit more as he listened to the sounds of the two moving down the hall and after a moment of thought he did move to settle himself back down in the bed, allowing himself a moment to focus on getting better.

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

By the time Cor was released from the hospital he had to get help from one of the nurses to carry out some of the get well trinkets that had slowly collected in his room.  A couple of ‘Get Well’ cards, a ridiculous looking stuffed chocobo with a cast on its arm that said ‘I hope you’re O-kweh!’ as well as a few other odds and ends that he had received from the King, the Crown Prince and his Shield.

Today was his first day back at the Citadel and he had been surprised to find quite a number of people greeting and welcoming him back with a warmth he’d never really experienced before.  It appeared that his heroism on the balcony had made the news and his bravery had been the talk of the Citadel for awhile.

Needless to say he didn’t allow it to get to his head as he fell right back into his duties.  After reporting back to King Mors who welcomed him back to his post, he found himself stationed outside his offices as he met with an Ambassador from Altissia in regards to some Nif activities.

Standing watch he could hear the echoing footsteps of people bustling from place to place, small bits of conversation drifting past and easily ignored until he heard his name.

“Can you believe Cor’s back?” a nasally voice echoed from down the hallway to the left.  

“Yeah, the little soldier that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I’d have thought he’d have been replaced by now!”  Another voice spoke up after the second, this one a bit deeper, but no more pleasant than the first.

“Well he should be, shouldn’t he?  I mean, who is the King trying to fool?  He’s what?  Sixteen?  It’s an embarrassment.  After that whole debacle on the balcony you’d think he would’ve been pushed out!”

“Exactly!  What kind of soldier gets hit that easily?  He should’ve used a warp to cover the Prince, everyone knows that!  It’s elementary stuff!”

“Well he’s a child so he’ll make childish mistakes.  It’s just lucky that his lack of skills didn’t lead to someone getting killed.  I mean, yeah the bullet grazed him, but really if it had been me...”

Cor felt a familiar ache in his chest that he refused to acknowledge.  It was the same old thing regardless of what he did.  Behind everyone’s smiling facades and fake words there was always this doubt about him.  That he was nothing more than a child playing soldier.

“And what if it had been you?” a booming voice asked, even startling Cor out of his thoughts as he heard it.

It sounded like Regis.

And the Prince sounded pissed.

“Oh, u-uh… y-your Highness!  I was only saying…,” the nasally voice began before the sound of crackling could be heard and a yelp soon to follow.  Refusing to abandon his station outside the door, Cor could only wonder what was happening around the corner when he saw two figures come backing up around the corner, their hands raised placatingly as Regis followed, eyes glowing in a way that spoke of the Crystals magic.

Judging by the static making the two Crownsguards hair rise, they must’ve just bore witness to bit of elemental magic at the hands of the Prince and now were fleeing lest it be used on them.

“I heard what you were saying,” Regis spoke, his words low and dark, the wrath of Ramuh written all over his features.

Even Cor had to admit the look in his eyes was foreboding.

“If memory serves didn’t I see you, Inbellis, turning and running as soon as the commotion started?  And Fugio, if I recall correctly it took the reassurance of two of our Glaives to get you to leave the safety of the womens’ bathrooms after this all transpired.  So don’t you dare to critique the actions of another far more capable soldier when you failed so miserably in your own stations!”

The hall shook with the force of his words and was enough to send both Crownsguard running for their lives lest they literally meet their end here under the wrath of the Crown Prince.

Cor watched them race past, their footsteps soon disappearing down the opposite end of the hall, momentarily struck for what to think of what he’d just witnessed.

“Was it really necessary to singe the tapestry to make your point?”

The voice of the Crowned Princes Shield broke through and Cor turned his head to see Clarus making his way from around the corner looking more amused than anything.

Regis was still fuming in the center of the hall, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths.

“It was.  Let them dare to say something like that again in my presence,” he growled, though as he opened his eyes they no longer held the ethereal glow from the influx of magic.  His eyes glanced over to see who had bore witness to his outburst and when he saw it was none other than Cor he instantly had the decency to look sheepish and his cheeks tinged pink.

Clarus noticed the change and turning his head he saw the young Crownsguard staring at them in a bit of shock and awe and couldn’t help chuckling, a beaming smile on his face at what had just happened.

“You got yourself a bit of a fan now, Cor!” he called over as Regis instantly turned around and shushed him before turning back around to face the young soldier.

“We were coming down to see how your first day back was going and… I overheard those two idiots.  I’m afraid my temper got the best of me,” he explained simply.

Cor was still a bit shocked at having witnessed the Prince standing up for him.  This was an entirely new realm that he had never been in before and so he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“It’s alright.  As I said before… I’m used to it.  They won’t be the last,” Cor said, trying to brush it off, only to be met with a look from Regis that made him realize he might have said the wrong thing.

“If I have anything to do about it, it will be,” the Crown Prince promised.  “You have more merit and more heart than most of the men who serve us.  If they take issue with you then they take issue with me.”

Something in Cor’s chest warmed to hear such words.  He’d worked hard to make it here and to do his job.  He’d sacrificed a lot in his young life and to be recognized for his work and to be offered this… camaraderie… was unexpected, but something he realized he’d cherish and carry with him.

“Thank you, your Highness,” Cor said, bowing to the Prince, missing Regis’ embarrassed look and hearing Clarus chuckle.

“Hey… what did we discuss the other day?” the Shield asked with a quirked brow as Cor straightened and the young Crownsguard couldn’t help but to fight a smile.

“Oh!  Right.  Thank you, Prince Charmless,” he offered instead, watching as Regis’s embarrassed expression turned to one of shock as he turned to face Clarus.

“Look at what you’ve done!  You’ve warped his innocent young mind!  How am I supposed to be respected when I am surrounded by people like you?!” the Prince complained as Clarus continued to laugh at his expression.

Cor couldn’t help chuckling a bit more before shaking his head and standing back at his post.

“Okay.  I think you two are trying to distract me from me from my job now.  Beat it,” he said, his stone faced mask back on even as his eyes sparkled a bit in mirth.

 Clarus and Regis both slowly turned to face him.

“Dear Clarus I think we’ve just been issued a challenge,” Regis said, quirking an eyebrow.  “If young Cor here thinks we’re ‘trying’ to distract him I’m afraid we have no choice but to continue until we succeed.  What do you think?”

Clarus hummed in thought, before nodding.  “I’m afraid I don’t see another option.  It wouldn’t do for a bodyguard of the King to be easily distracted.  We’ll have to do our best from now on.”

Regis smiled smugly even as Cor quirked an eyebrow at the two of them.

“You have been warned, Leonis.  You called down the thunder… now get ready for the boom,” Regis warned even as a spark of mischief still remained in his own eyes.

The two older man then bid him a good day, though Cor knew that he probably hadn’t seen the last of them.

Upon walking away, Clarus turned to Regis a little smile on his lips.

“What?” Regis asked as he caught sight of the Shield, the man merely shaking his head.

“Nothing,” Clarus assured, though the smile remained.  “You’re starting to treat him like a little brother.”

Regis couldn’t help snorting a bit at that, though a smile appeared over his features as well.  “And?” he prompted, looking back over to Clarus.

“And… I’m glad to see that you’ve managed to get off of your pedestal long enough to see the worth of someone lies past their looks and age,” he said simply, watching as Regis’s expression changed, his expression softening.

“I deserve that.  But you’re right.  I shouldn’t have acted as I did in the past, but that will never happen again,” he promised with a little nod before shaking his head, a look of determination on his face once more.

“Now… we need to work on operation distraction!  I don’t think lightening will work this time, but I think something colder might suffice,” he said with a little grin that spoke of ill intent.

Thus the Great Snow War of Citadel Tower West began… and so did a lifelong friendship.

[catgluue]

Chapter One: Coincidence

Happy Royai Week! In the spirit of pushing myself to do ridiculous things for no reason, I’m using the prompts as chapters in a longer fic! No promises that I’ll actually complete it this week, but I’m certainly going to try. 

Read on A03

Chapter One: Coincidence

Riza Hawkeye hadn’t expected to see the spring of 1916, and yet here it is.

It’s not quite spring - not yet - but it’s headed swiftly in that direction. The days are getting longer, she’s seeing green return to the trees, and she recalls that this time last year she was glorified secretary to a homunculus, awaiting The Promised Day.

It’s strange how life now is both normal and irrevocably transformed. The team, excepting Falman who chose to remain in the north, is back together but with new ranks and a new office. In his new capacity as Brigadier General, Mustang has merited a private office, which in Riza’s mind only impedes her ability to make sure he stays on task. If anything he’s more distracted when removed from all possible stimuli, and she sometimes invents reasons to check up on him just to make sure he’s not sleeping at his desk. It’s happening less and less, though, and she knows this means he’s able to sleep more at night.

She is too, although her sleep is still punctuated by nightmares. Recently it’s been nightmares of Ishval, which is a refreshing change of pace from the nightmares of the gold-toothed doctor and the General’s stricken face deep under the streets of Central. This is undoubtedly because they’re heading to Ishval as soon as summer is over, finally, to begin the long and futile process of redemption. She both dreads and longs for the penance of rebuilding something they’d once destroyed, knowing that absolution is impossible but hoping to find it anyway, somewhere in the desert.

She’s early to work again today, in part because of another nightmare, and goes to the mail room as a matter of course. There’s letters for the General as always - he actually gets fan mail now, which is a concept she finds so wholly repulsive it’s all she can do not to throw the letters directly into the trash. Mustang, for his part, doesn’t seem to mind, even reading parts of the amorous letters aloud, usually while throwing furtive glances in her direction. She always does her best not to react, unsure why he is under the impression that she cares. She doesn’t.

Maybe a little, only because they distract him from work.

Her heels click against the tile in the mostly empty hallway as she heads to the office, leafing through the mail, and she almost stops when she sees something addressed to her. She has no family to speak of, and her friends are all here in Central. Winry sends her regular letters but this one has a distinct lack of crayon drawings on the envelope. Who does that leave to be sending her mail?

She’s still poring over it when everyone else starts to come in. First is Fuery, a minute or two early, still yawning as he puts his bag down and gives her a casual good morning salute.

“Captain Hawkeye,” he says. “What’s that?” she folds the letter more times than is necessary and places it in a drawer.

“Nothing much. How is your report on the potential for crops in Ishvalan soil?” she asks; a far less prying question. He launches into an explanation as the letter in the drawer of her desk throbs in her mind like a heartbeat.

Captain Riza Hawkeye,

Apologies for interrupting your busy schedule, but I must relay that this past week suspicious activity has been reported on your estate. On one occasion figures were seen near the house but frightened off by the constable. I have of course ordered that a closer watch be kept on the house but it is my opinion that it may be time to sell the property as it’s been in disuse for so long.

Regards,

Ernst Meyell

Mayor

In all honesty she has half-forgotten that the manor house, probably falling down and overgrown, is her responsibility. She hasn’t given the old house much thought at all in years, apart from a nightmare she sometimes has wherein she wanders the empty halls like a ghost, calling out for her parents. She has to think harder to remember Ernst, finally recalling that he’d written to her a few years ago, saying he had taken over Mayorship of Werthem, the small town northeast of East City that Riza is from. As the others trail in and Fuery’s attention shifts, she pulls out a leave form and hastily fills it out, being purposefully vague. The General will know what was going on by the look on her face alone; this is purely a paper trail.

She waits until he comes in, says his hellos, and disappears into his office before slipping in with a coded knock. He doesn’t even look up, the knock telling him all he needs to know.

“Captain,” he says, by way of greeting, eyes still fixed on his pile of paperwork. “What can I do for you?” she slides the request on top of the pile and directly under his nose, before stepping back, hands clasped behind her back. He studies it for a moment before responding teasingly, “You’re getting sick of me already?”

“I need a week to clear out my father’s house before I sell it,” she says, and the tense silence that follows is palpable.

“Is that so? Are you going alone or is Catalina going to help?” he asks, knowing full well Rebecca is far too busy as the Furher’s assistant.

“Just me,” she tells him. “It shouldn’t take long; my father didn’t keep much around the house.” He looks like he considers this for a moment - looks like being the operative phrase here - and leans back in his chair, thoughtfully tapping his pen against the top of the desk, and her ears prick up. Tapping is their way of cluing the other person in that there’s going to be code or subtext in the talk to follow. This is an old practice, from when they still needed a signal, but one they’ve carried on for years.

“You know I’ve been thinking about taking some time off too,” he says casually and she resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“I think you should hold off until I get back,” she tells him pointedly, and he meets her even gaze with his own. He’s steepled his fingers and is peering over them as though they were in a chess match and he’d just made a bold move. “Someone has to run the office.”

“And what makes you think I’ll get anything done with you gone?” He asks, a smile ghosting his lips. They often joke about his lack of work ethic, how ‘useless’ he is without her (and he isn’t useless, only unmotivated) but something about his tone now gives her pause. He sounds almost flirtatious but underneath something in his eyes causes her stomach to knot and she realizes they’ve been practically glued to each others sides for a year.

“You’ll live,” she says sternly. “I’m sure you’ll cope how you always cope and waste time talking to some woman or other. Anyway, will you approve it?” A smile slowly spreads over his face at her implicit approval of a few coded phone calls, and the sickly-sweet feeling in her stomach intensifies.

“All right,” he says at last. “I guess we’ll have to manage somehow.”

-x-

The house is just as she remembers it, and a lump forms in her throat as she walks up to the front door, getting the key out of her pocket and fitting it into the lock with hands that nevertheless remain steady.

It’s like walking into a tomb - everything frozen in time, sheets still over the furniture from when she had placed them there almost ten years ago. She’d been a child then, she thinks, moving through the house and pulling the sheets off furniture, opening curtains to let the light in. Everything of her was pretty much gone from this place - she had taken what few possessions she wanted and simply left the rest. Her father wasn’t a material man but even after his death she’d stayed away from the study. Even now she isn’t looking forward to clearing it out.

So she doesn’’t, not yet anyway, choosing instead to start on the ground floor. She had decided on the train ride here to sell the place furnished, and so it’s only a matter of taking small things, sorting them into boxes to either donate or throw away entirely. Photos, books, knick-knacks. She does not have a box for things to keep.

She gets the first phone call about half an hour after arriving, and as she heads to the phone, still sitting on the table off the hallway, she thinks wryly that someone must have checked the train times. It certainly wasn’t information she’d included in her leave request.

“Hello?” she answers neutrally to be safe, unsure if this is an official phone call or if it’s General Mustang trying to reach his old flame Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth, it’s been a long time,” a flirtatious baritone dances down the line and her annoyance melts away.

“Yes, Roy, it has,” she replies in kind, slipping easily into the familiar character. There’s only a slim chance now that his calls are being listened to - slim, but possible - so she plays along. She, Riza, has never referred to the General by his first name in her adult life, but Elizabeth is another story. It’s almost thrilling, and while she isn’t sure she imagines that he enjoys it as well. “To what do I owe the pleasure of hearing from you?”

“The workload is light this week; my Captain is out of town,” he explains. The Captain in question leans against the wall, holding the old fashioned earpiece up with a smile playing across her mouth. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Not at all,” she replies, tone light and breezy. “I’ve just been doing some packing.”

“Packing?” he replies. “Not moving, I hope?”

“Not me, my cousin,” she tells him smoothly. “I just got back from her place. I was about to take a shower, actually.” Elizabeth is shameless. “Moving is hard work, it turns out.”

“I bet,” he says and she can hear him grinning. “Well if you never need any brute strength I’m available this weekend,” he offers and she knows it isn’t directed towards Elizabeth. “You can save all the unpleasant work for me, I’d be happy to come help.” She’s quiet for a moment, thinking of the study that needs to be cleaned out eventually.  “Elizabeth?” his voice comes through, softer this time. “I mean it. Say the word and I’ll help any way I can.” She takes a shaky breath.

“Thank you, Roy,” she says, and means it. “But I- we’ll be fine. There’s not too much left to do. It was nice hearing from you,” she adds. “Feel free to call me more often.”

“I will,” he says. They say their goodbyes, her managing to squeeze in another use of his first name, and she returns to the work at hand, feeling somewhat comforted by the coded phone call.

The second call comes around dusk, surprising her as she’s leafing through a photo album that had to have been her mother’s. Pictures of Riza as a small child line the album, and stop abruptly when she’s about eight. Her father had clearly had no interest in finishing the book. She makes her way to the phone, wondering for only a second who it could be.

But of course, she knows.

“Checking up on me again?” she purrs into the mouthpiece of the old-fashioned phone, already in character.

“Multitasking,” he says briskly. He wasn’t calling Elizabeth, then, and she feels a flush of embarrassment for jumping the gun. “Captain, we’ve gotten orders to check up on Munin, and then we’re moving on to Werthem on the Fuhrer’s orders. I guess there was a break in at the house of a retired state alchemist and for some reason Grumman thinks Werthem could be a target.” She can hear the shrug in his voice, but without him in front of her it’s impossible to read what he’s thinking. It’s no accident that Grumman is sending Mustang’s crew to her tiny hometown; he would of course know precisely which alchemist lived in Werthem and would have reason not to want that alchemist’s work stolen. “We should be there in the morning.”

“Do you mean you’ll be in town or that you’ll be here as in my house?”

“I’ve got to go, Captain, have a good night!”

“Wait, General-”

There is a click as he hangs up and Riza slams the receiver down, irritated. She wants to believe he’s smart enough not to bring their entire team to her father’s house. She wants to, but she isn’t sure he has that kind of restraint. She spends most of the night cleaning up the ground floor, looking for any traces of him in the tarnished frames and worn leather albums. It’s not until she’s dug deeper, clearing out a disused drawer in the kitchen that she finds a solitary piece of paper with alchemical equations scrawled lazily in familiar handwriting. She means to throw it away, but instead fondly folds it up and tucks it into her pocket.

-x-

Chapter Two: Mortal/Immortal

[helencake35-blog]

how does anime work?

I think it is important and interesting to find out the fundamental aspects of the environment that we most have a passion for, and one of the most critical questions is: how is cartoons built? For me, specifically recently, this became a using up question and I ended right up doing some detailed analysis. For the sake involving other anime followers together with the same question, My partner and i thought about sharing my own benefits. So if you want the bullets in order to fire again the subsequent time you receive ensnared upward in a debate with regards to the merits of anime, or you want some sort of new way to watch cartoons, I hope this article is useful to you. In often the last year roughly, my personal growing interest in this kind of side of points seriously opened my eyes to the skill, art, passion, and splendor found within Japanese animation. This great article will focus on anime-TV manufacturing, but the same general process can be applied to videos in addition to OVUM. That claimed, there can be numerous variations between studios and even individual musicals or plays. The approach of doing an anime is difficult, with quite a few steps and development. This specific graphic from the AIC English website is the good image image involving what I will certainly focus on: The cartoons generation course of action. Preproduction: This process will depend on which promotes an concept in addition to who supports this, they can be animation companies, coupled with sponsors, although quite a few animes are manga arrangement or mild novels, throughout which case in advance writing costs (including costs). proven on television stations). This production corporation (eg Aniplex) gathers personnel, sponsors, and even looks at adverts together with merchandise. While numerous persons describe the galleries because cheap, only about half the budget is often this anime studio, the sleep is handed down by exhibits and other giving companies. Streaming costs are surprisingly high, according to this ghost blogger of roughly 50 million yen for an evening schedule in 5-7 discussions for a good 52-episode line. You can certainly see why anime is usually an expensive company. For instance, Whole Metal Alchemist, which will acquired a space in Saturday on 6: 00 p. n., had a good total budget of five hundred million yen (before more costs). When the core staff is arranged, these people meet and plan his or her anime, work on collection make up (how the cartoons will play in each tv show as well as throughout the series), and select bigger employees, such as character or maybe mecha designers.. One connected with the most crucial employees is the director. In order to fully grasp the role involving film fans, you can consider of them for the reason that film fans of a movie, yet instead of dealing together with the celebrities, they deal with the computer animators that make the characters inside the movie. Their participation is frequently attending conferences and producing decisions to manage the particular anime's schedule, budget, and even level of quality. After the 1st panoramic sessions, models will be created (character, mechón, fancy dress costumes, etc. ). Types will be obviously an important factor within developing a good cartoons. Character designers are requested with simplifying manga / example of this designs to turn out to be suitable for animation or maybe, in the case of the original anime, for you to create a fresh character placed based with director / manufacturer information. Character creative designers generally keep on to advise animation film fans on toon fixes, which must be made for you to stay near their character models (in which circumstance they are normally credited as animation movie director intended for the series). Once typically the tale and drawings can be attracted, the first episode is managed. production: The first step is in order to write down thier script for this episode. Following the synopsis and plans for your episodes, this entire sets can be prepared, both by a single person with regard to the entire series, or perhaps by means of several different writers based on the outlines of the script's normal examiner (staff credit: composition in the Serie). The examples are usually analyzed by means of this movie director, the suppliers, in addition to possibly because of the author of the original get the job done before it is completed (after 3 or maybe 4 drawings, often). The episode movie director, supervised by the CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER, takes this backbone on the instance and has in order to plan exactly how it will really look on tv screen. Even though the home has the last word and participates in production gatherings, the particular episode director features the many involvement inside the development of often the tv show. This stage will be expressed as a storyboard (a visual scenario), plus the storyboard marks typically the beginning of actual animation manufacturing. https://www1.gogo-anime.ac/ to draw: Often the script is created by often the director, which means that an event is really that director's perception. But generally, especially around the television anime, separate storyboarders are used to be able to attract them. This can be because the pieces of software usually take around 3 2 or 3 weeks to make a normal duration television anime tv show. Art work meetings and creation appointments are held together with the instance director, collection director, yet others about this specific episode. The circumstances happen to be drawn on A-4 papers (in general) plus incorporate most of the vital obstructions of a anime: lower numbers, movie star activities, digital camera movements, such while zoom or even pan, normal gardening to organic (taken in the stage) together with the span of each one photography (or cut). ) throughout terms of seconds and even glasses (which we will explain later). Because this number of drawings readily available for an episode is frequently determined for the sake regarding budget management, the particular number of frames can be also carefully considered from the storyboard. The cases are usually more or less drawn and are seriously the key to deciding how an cartoons will play. The clippings send to the single picture through the camera, in addition to a good average television cartoons event will generally consist of all around 300 discounts. More cutbacks don't necessarily mean a better quality event, although will generally indicate considerably more work for the home / writer. Illustrations involving storyboards from To Aru Kagaku no Railgun. Anime stories have 5 copy. From left to best: the cut number, the style, the action, the discussion, and ultimately the runtime (in time and frames). Types are drawn nearly since they are managed by different designers in the future production step. factors: Not as much well known is the particular set up process, which grades quick imaginative production. Within simple terms, model enhancement refers to the location with the cylinders to turn out to be used in the slice and the background approach that is required, offering typically the ultimate model of what the final photos can look like. Discounts happen to be made exactly the same size while the computer animation paper and include cell phone location facts, accurate points of digital camera movement, and other options. In relationship with often the director and maybe the manufacturers, the lead animators draw models (or occasionally employees are credited especially with design drawings), and the photos are named where typically the figures / characters will certainly be positioned and the way a cut will stick to... to be framed. The basic structure of the qualifications art (for example, a new shrub here, a good mountain there) is drawn, plus the factors in this storyboard are indicated within the design to support express the cut. Sometimes various stages of often the script could be expressed inside a single drawing, providing it's not too complicated. The pv cells are shaded around hot colors, the backdrops can be dark in nice colors. Once approved by simply the director, these themes are copied and switched in to the record department (receiving originals) plus key animators. The art work director and assistants work towards painting the background works based on the model's rough images, whilst the rest of the production process remains at the same time. Right now the shape of every trim is decided: the roles of the characters, the setup, what they may do and how the photograph will be captured (camera angle, zoom and even panorama). Although one associated with the most expressive plus vital parts of the production continues to be: animation.

[randomly-random-jen]

Uncalled For Actions (14/?)

A Girl Genius fanfic

When Gilgamesh Holzfäller is fourteen, he’s taken on as an apprentice to Baron Wulfenbach as part of a program to produce the next generation of leaders in the Empire–a group that will hopefully get along (although most see this as wishful thinking on the Baron’s part). He’s learned a lot over the months of shadowing the Baron, but nothing has prepared him for his most challenging assignment: confronting the skeletons in his closet.  

[Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | Part 15 ]

Part 14

"Not taking the bait, huh?" he continued, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Aren't you just a dedicated little thing? I wonder how dedicated, though." He stood, rifling in his coat while his companions--probably the same idiots from yesterday--snickered at his side.

There was a swish of metal on metal that made all of the hairs on Violetta's arms stand up and then a dagger landed ten centimeters from her left pinky. She didn't flinch--just glared at the knife. More feet entered her field of view while interest grew in the confrontation. She was sure some people were taking bets, and she didn't like her odds at the moment.

Another knife landed with a thunk between her hands, setting off additional rounds of betting. She never hated anyone more than she hated Martellus at this moment--him and his stupid games and always trying to make Violetta look bad.

What is his problem? She very nearly gave in to the urge to blurt the question but bit her tongue instead to keep quiet.

A moment, later, a third knife dropped past her face, wedging in the ground between her thumb and forefinger on her right hand, getting the tiniest twitch in her fingers. Sweat coated her skin and dripped into her eyes, forcing her to blink to clear them. She wet her chapped lips, tasting the salt then swallowed hard.

Martellus disappeared behind her where a knife skimmed her leg, landing near her knee. Another settled near her left boot while a third suddenly appeared next to her wrist--this time drawing a trickle of blood.

"Oops," Martellus said, "did that hurt?"

Violetta called on every training exercise she normally despised to keep still and control her breathing. She wasn't too worried about Martellus right now--he wouldn't do anything to seriously injure her with all of these witnesses, but he would enjoy humiliating her which just fueled her need to show him a fool.

"Damn, I'm out of knives," Martellus called. "Anyone got a spare or three." He laughed at his own lame joke as the other kids clamored to appease his request.

Violetta focused on her reflection in the large dagger directly ahead of her and prepared for the next knife to drop, but Martellus decided to change things up. The knife he dangled before her was more of a small sword. He pressed the flat side to her forehead--the steel feeling cool to her clammy skin then slowly he slid it up then over the top of her head and across her back.

He settled it between her shoulder blades, hilt resting against her tailbone and the tip scraping her collar.

Martellus pressed his mouth to her ear--his breath hot and heavy. "You should really learn to mind your own business, Violetta."

The implied threat froze her insides, setting off panic alarms in her head.

“Let's see how still you can be," he said loud enough the crowd could hear. "That point is sitting a millimeter from your brain stem--the smallest tremor could move it which would be very, very bad for you, little dumpling."

Violetta's arms ached as she fought to keep still and the knife was heavy enough to throw her balance off--nevermind all of the blood that had been pooling in her head the last half hour. Worse than the physical pain was the edge of panic wedging into her subconscious. She had no idea how she was going to get out of this short of Martellus showing mercy which was a hell of a long shot.

Her only option was to hope she could hold out long enough that he just got bored because she knew no one was going to take her side over Martellus--not even her own brothers who were somewhere in the cavern already doing nothing.

If Tarvek were here...

But he wasn't, and she had told him she didn't need him to protect her. She almost laughed at the irony and redoubled her efforts because she didn't want Tarvek finding out about this and proving him right. It would go right to his already-fat head.

Martellus squatted down in front of her again and tapped her nose. "How you doing, Violetta? Ready to admit defeat--you just have to say the words."

Not a chance in hell, she thought but kept her jaw clamped tight. Somewhere to her right, a boy shouted then a scuffle broke out, forcing the crowd to shift away from them. Violetta watched a boot come precariously close to stepping on her fingers. She still refused to move.

"Sounds like the natives are getting restless; you could get trampled. Just say the words and you're free to go. 'Martellus, you are so much better than me in every way, and I bow to your superiority.' Of course, you'll have to actually bow, too--it's only right."

Violetta rolled her eyes--he was so full of himself, and she bowed to no one except maybe Tarvek, but she worked for him, and there would need to be circumstances.

Someone suddenly bumped her side, causing the knife to slide down her back, the point now pricking her skin. A trickle of something slid over her neck, but she couldn't tell if it was sweat or blood.

"Uh-oh," Martellus said with a laugh that made her want to punch him.

Of course, most things he said and did made her want to punch him.

"What is the meaning of this," a voice boomed, echoing around the chamber.

The other students scrambled back to their stations, giving Violetta her first clear view of things. Several kids had stayed in their positions like Violetta, but most had given up and were now trying to decide if it was worth the effort to fake it.

Next to her, Misha lifted himself back onto his hands, but Viktor just stood at attention behind her. Martellus hopped to his feet, snatching the daggers from around her as he turned to the front of the room.

Herr Delmeck strolled purposefully through the chaotic lines. "Martellus von Blitzengaard, why am I not surprised? I was under the impression you graduated from my class already, but perhaps you've realized the sad conclusion that you don't know as much as you think you do."

"I've missed you, too, sir," Martellus answered smoothly.

"Then perhaps you'd care to join us."

Martellus started to walk away, the knives nowhere to be seen. "I'd love to, Herr Delmeck, but I'm needed at the summit."

"That wasn't a request, von Blitzengaard--in formation now."

Several kids snickered as Martellus cringed then slowly turned to take up the ready position next to Violetta.

Delmeck studied them a moment before returning to the head of the room. "Maybe you can help us in our lesson today."

"Which is?" asked Martellus sounding more bored than anything.

"We're having a discussion on the merits of routine versus spontaneity in the field. Half of the class believes in following routines because it's as it always has been while the other half responds to sudden changes because that's what was demanded. What are your opinions?"

Martellus thought it over a moment. "Routines, training, dedication-" he side-eyed Violetta "-are good starting points in any engagement. It's what you know and can keep you safe by reacting without thinking but being able to change based on circumstances is how you win because real life is nothing like training--it's unpredictable.

“On the other hand, following orders just because someone yells them could get you killed--you have to learn to trust your instincts.”

"Very good, Herr von Blitzengaard," Delmeck said with a nod.

"What?" Viktor shouted, his voice cracking in his apparent anger.

"Wait," said Misha, now sitting, "you mean there's no right answer. It didn't even matter if we followed the routine or did the flip?"

Delmeck stopped in front of Misha. "Ah, but you did neither, Herr Dohvoshki--you are dead."

"What was even the point?" asked Viktor.

"The point was to make you think. Training can take you only so far; you must learn to react to sudden changes, and as Martellus said, trust your instincts."

"Well, my instincts told me to be confused," Misha muttered.

"Yes, and that's why you are dead--your instincts need to be worth listening to before you act on them."

This got laughs from the other kids.

"Your instincts told you to follow my commands," he said to Violetta," because you trust me."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, ashamed of the way her voice quivered with exhaustion.

"And you stayed in this position because?"

Violetta swallowed hard, hoping her voice less croaky this time. "Because you didn't dismiss us yet."

Delmeck didn't respond right away, just strolled off.

"Such a suck up," Martellus said under his breath. "You learn that from Tarvek or does it come naturally?"

Violetta growled as her patience wore dangerously thin, but before she could give in to the urge to react, Delmeck returned to the front of the cavern.

"Class," he shouted, "at attention."

Despite her aching muscles, Violetta shot upright, back straight, arms at her side. Martellus and the others did the same without hesitation either.

"Violetta, Carmine, Delia, Warner, and Sanjay," Herr Delmeck called, "the five of you remained at your commanded positions even after I left and von Blitzengaard commandeered my class. I commend your dedication and your instinct to obey your trainer. You are al free to go."

Violetta let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders relaxing.

"The rest of you obviously need more lessons."

Not waiting to see what lessons the trainer had n mind, Violetta darted for the exit, snatching one of Martellus' daggers still in the floor near her foot. She bypassed the Smoke Knight dorms and didn't stop until she was on the other side of the castle.

Again, her instinct was to find Tarvek to tell him what happened so maybe Delmeck was wrong about her. She ignored the urge, instead, creeping through passages until she found her way to Tarvek's empty lab.

Chemistry wasn't her strong suit, but Tarvek had tutored her extensively for her last exam. That with the textbooks and equipment here she could try to analyze her potions to figure out what went wrong with her interrogation.

She laid her vials on a table then gathered her supplies using the lists Tarvek had her memorize for the tests then she stood there staring at the mess.

"I can do this," she said out loud but didn't feel much convinced. Before she could dwell further on her sure-to-be-failure, she forced herself to set up the burners and prepare samples like Tarvek showed her.

"I can do this," she repeated with more force. “I don't need Tarvek to hold my hand through everything." She still didn't sound too convincing but the longer she messed with the equipment, the more confident she felt

While the first test did its thing, Violetta finally allowed herself to relax, tossing her cloak onto a chair and stretching her sore shoulders. When her fingers brushed over a raised spot at the base of her skull, she vowed to make Martellus pay, and for that, she might have to ask Tarvek for help.

* * *

The afternoon meeting got off to a slow start. Gil skirted through the door just as the guards closed it, but the Baron and Prince weren't at the table. He took his seat beside Tarvek but neither acknowledged the other.

A servant arrived to fill the ink wells and deposit extra stacks of parchment then disappeared without a sound. Gil nearly asked the boy if he could get a snack--a piece of bread would do--but managed to hold his tongue. Minutes passed with nothing happening which gave Gil too much time to think about everything that had happened the last two days and wonder at what catastrophes lay ahead. 

He opened the folder in front of him and found his schedule for the week. Today's meeting was to end at six in the evening. According to the clock on the wall, it was half-past two--three and a half hours to go then no doubt countless more hours finishing his translations Tarvek had so kindly volunteered him for. Supper was to be served at seven in the guest dining hall or private quarters.

The next morning, smaller workshops were scheduled on various topics, but it looked like the Baron would be having private meetings. Gil didn't know what that meant for him--maybe more translating. More workshops and more meetings filled the afternoon with Thursday being more of the same.

Friday was another day of long meetings in the summit room with presentations by various apprentices. He groaned when he saw his own name penciled in at three--he had no idea what to do his presentation about. His father hadn't given him a choice when he made Gil an apprentice, but he'd thought it would be at least more exciting than school.

He was wrong.

With a sigh, he slipped the schedule behind his other papers and tapped the folder with his pen. Why weren't they starting yet?

Having nothing to do was almost worse than having too much except he had things he could be doing like translating or eating or sleeping off the growing headache. His other fingers joined the rhythmless beat of his pen while his grumbling stomach offered a counterpoint.

Tarvek suddenly grabbed both his hands, crushing all of his fingers together then signaled with his other hand to a guard. "Do you have any idea what the delay is?" he asked the older man.

"Apparently several apprentices are missing--they're attempting to track them down."

"Who's missing?" Gil asked, struggling to free himself from Tarvek's grasp.

"I do not know, sir."

"Thank you, sergeant," Tarvek told him, waiting until he returned to his station before releasing Gil.

Gil swiped half-heartedly with his pen, but Tarvek easily deflected.

"Any idea who's not here?" he asked.

Tarvek glanced around the room--people were milling about, obviously curious of the delay and bored. "No."

"There's only like fifty of us and aren't you related to half of these people?"

Tarvek sighed like the teachers often did with the younger students on Castle Wulfenbach. "There are actually fifty-six including you and me, and I may be related to many of them, but I'm not their keepers."

Gil frowned at his folder. "Wait, there's fifty-five apprentices for the Fifty Families? Do you people even know how to count?"

"It's complicated," Tarvek said with another sigh.

"Family always is," Gil muttered then quickly added, "or so I've heard." A couple minutes passed before Gil found himself tapping again. "But weren't some of them sick?" he asked suddenly, remembering that detail from yesterday morning. "That would narrow the field."

"Holzfäller, let it go--I have no idea who isn't here."

"I'm bored," Gil protested, "work with me here."

Tarvek pinched the bridge of his nose. "How are you even here? Of all the people, why did the Baron choose you when you can't even sit still?" He grabbed Gil's tapping fingers again and squeezed. "I can't figure out his angle. Seventy-five percent of politics is tedium, and the rest is schmoozing and you can't handle either. All of your fumbling around just looks bad on him and the Empire, so why you?

“My only conclusions are he picked your name from a hat and is unfortunately stuck with you or he's completely lost his mind."

Gil tugged his hands free, glaring. "I'm sitting right here."

"I know, and it's totally baffling. You should quit."

"What?"

Tarvek continued to watch the room, avoiding Gil's gaze. "I'm not trying to be rude, but you're not cut out for this life--being a ruler is-"

Gil crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not here to be a ruler."

"Then why are you here?" Tarvek asked, finally looking at Gil.

Because I'm going to lead this Empire some day. He didn't say it out loud, though, and before he could formulate an acceptable answer, the door behind them opened and their fathers took their seats, bringing the meeting to order.

The afternoon progressed with little time to dwell on Tarvek's veiled insults or the fact that he sort of agreed with the weasel--Gil wasn't sure he was made to be a leader. It's a thought that haunted him at every meeting he was dragged to.

Finally, four hours later, recess was called for the evening and Gil was dismissed. He didn't wait around to be hauled back to the library to translate but had no idea where else to go so he followed the other delegates back to the guest quarters where they were preparing the dining hall for supper.

"Hey, Holzfäller," someone called, running up behind Gil. "You going to the party, right?"

"Party?" Gil frowned, racking his brain for a memory of a party listed on his itinerary.

"Yeah, a bunch of us are getting together tonight--strictly invite only."

A momentary thrill shot through Gil at the thought of being included--how often had he wished for that as a kid? "Sure," he answered without really thinking, "I'm in."

The kid clapped his shoulder then headed for his next invite just as a little sense cleared Gil's head. "Hey," he called after him, hesitating slightly until a name popped into his head, "Erik, is Sturmvoraus a part of this?"

"Prince Stick-Up-His-Butt-" Erik said with a laugh, "hell, no." Then he winked. "But his sister is."

"Okay," Gil said not sure if he felt relieved or disappointed, and the fact that he couldn't decide worried him almost as much as the sudden flare of anger over Erik's insult of Tarvek.

Why do I care what the other kids think of him? Plus, they're right--he's a stick in the mud. No one wants him around. Except a tiny part of him kind of did, and he hated it. He shook his head, veering towards his room to change--after all Anevka would be there. The thought made him smile as he snagged a buttered roll from a wheeled cart outside the dining room.

Maybe the day could be salvaged after all.

* * *

Gil waited for Barkley to go on his midnight walk before slipping out of their suite and following the barely legible directions scribbled on a scrap of paper he'd found after his shower. His heart raced as he snuck around the castle, reminding him of all the adventures he had as a kid--funny how Tarvek had been there for those, but now that they were in his house, he was nowhere to be found.

Which was for the best Gil reminded himself because Tarvek would probably ruin the fun somehow.

Taking a left, Gil found himself in a large sitting room with an entire wall of windows looking out onto a dark patio. According to the directions, he needed to cross the patio to a mirror sitting room. At least he thought that's what it said--he was worried about the literacy of whoever wrote the note.

He'd made it three steps into the room before someone grabbed his arm, yanking him to the floor behind a sofa, a hand slapped over his mouth as someone else shushed him just as a guard stomped through the room.

"That was close," said a girl--Celeste he remembered from a meeting last month.

"There's still two more," said the girl that shushed him.

Gil pulled away from the hand over his mouth to get a better look at the familiar voice. "Zulenna? What are you doing here? You're not an apprentice."

Zulenna scoffed. "I should think not, but my father and brother are here so the Baron allowed a pass to visit our families. Theo is here, too," she said, nodding past Gil.

Gil squinted over his shoulder just making out the glowing white eyes and teeth of his friend in the darkness.

"Hey, Gil," Teho whispered.

"Aren't you kind of young to be going to parties?"

Theo crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. "I'm twelve... and a half."

Gil snorted. You sound just like Seffie."

"Who?"

"Nevermind."

"Shh," Celeste hissed, ducking further behind the sofa and squishing Zulenna into Gil who fell against Theo. Another guard entered the room, looked around then exited onto the patio.

"What are we doing?" Gil whispered.

Celeste peeked over the back of the sofa. "We need to get across there, but the guards are changing shifts."

"They're very unpredictable--Uncle Aaronev says it keeps people on their toes."

Of course, she's a cousin, Gil thought. "Guess we know where Tarvek gets his sneakiness from," he muttered.

"We need a distraction," Theo said excitedly, eyes sparkling as he started snatching things from around the room. “I could totally make a misdirection gun from this and this-"

Gil slapped his hand over Theo's mouth as his voice pitched up an octave. "Calm down, Sparky," he said.

Theo mumbled something into his hand so Gil slowly pulled it away. "I just want to help."

"I know, but the solution doesn't always have to be so complicated. Watch and learn." Gil picked up a small solid glass orb from a dish on the side table then tossed it over the sofa towards the open patio door.

The four of them peeked over the sofa as the orb smacked the door frame, bounced across the room and into a large wall clock, setting it off then ricocheted off of a bookshelf into a lamp that wobbled precariously but didn't fall, and finally crashed into the patio door, spreading spiderweb cracks across the glass.

The guards, attracted by the noise, came running just as the large pane shattered.

"Oops," Gil mumbled.

"I'm watching, Gil," Theo said, "and learning so much."

"Stuff it, both of you," Celeste hissed then shoved them towards the patio where a window sat slightly ajar.

They crawled behind the guards' backs as they argued and discussed the broken door then one-by-one left out the window and scurried through the potted plants and mostly leafless trees. Back inside the castle, Celeste guided them out of the sitting room.

"This way."

"How do you know?" Gil asked. "Do you have a map or something?" He twisted his written instructions sideways and upside-down but they still made little sense.

Celeste grabbed the paper, crumpling it. "I memorized it, simpleton. Now let's go before the next guard rotation comes through here." She marched off, leaving Gil blinking after her.

"I like her," Zulenna said, hurrying after Celeste.

Gil sighed and followed.

"I'm still learning so much," Theo said with a grin.

"Oh, shut up."

"Both of you shut up," Celeste said without slowing. "How the guard hasn't caught the two of you with as much noise as you make is beyond me--no grace at all." The last part was said to Zulenna who nodded.

"You have no idea. On Castle Wulfenbach, I've been trying to get them to implement much-needed poise and etiquette lessons, but they don't listen."

"Not everyone can be as brilliant-" Gil said catching up to the girls.

"Or perfect," added Theo.

"-As you, Zulenna. You should definitely keep pressing the issue."

"Really?"

Gil nodded vigorously, Theo mimicking the move. "Oh yes--the Baron always wants to know how things are running on the ship, and who better to tell him about the school's shortcomings than the brightest student."

His father would kill him if he ever found out Gil's part in this, but he couldn't help himself--Zulenna was such an obnoxious brat, she deserved the Baron's personal attention.

"This way," Celeste commanded at the next intersection, turning right.

"What happened to being quiet," Gil asked.

"This part of the castle isn't used in the winter," she stated confidently.

No sooner were the words out of her mouth when a guard shouted, "You kids, halt!"

Celeste froze, color draining from her face. Zulenna looked between her friend and Gil with wide, frightened eyes that made him wonder if she ever stepped out of line and got caught. Well, Gil wasn't waiting to find out.

"Scatter," he yelled, grabbing Theo's arm and darting down the hall, taking a left not knowing where he was going but anywhere away from the guards was good with him--he was in enough trouble with the Prince already.

The two boys made it halfway down the hall when two guards appeared at the other end. Gil shot through an open door, Theo on his heels. The room appeared to be some kind of storage for the castle servants--filled with cleaning and maintenance supplies and no exit.

Great. Gil's eyes darted around, looking for any way out, anything to keep them from being caught.

"Now what?" asked Theo.

Heavy booted feet stomped down the hall as Gil's gaze landed on some barrels just inside the door. He used all his strength to swing a barrel around, tipping it on its side as he did.

"Now you get ready to run."

[ Part 15 ]

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

A System of Sides Chapter Six

A/N: Hey, I’m almost done editing this monster! ^-^ This took a lot of work and I’m so proud of it, and I’m thankful to every last one of you readers for motivating me to keep posting! We’re almost halfway through, time for things to get real! *evil laughter*

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Words: 3,471

Warnings: One instance of yelling, general hostility of a character

Logan thought it might be easier to live in the Mind Palace once the truce was signed. He wasn't expecting overnight change, of course, but he expected that the tension in the air would be lighter and that there would be less in-fighting on general principle.

He supposed he was right on the in-fighting point, if only because everyone seemed to be refusing to talk to each other.

It was most apparent in the common room, where Logan was sitting and musing over the facts of the situation. While he might share the space periodically, Patton coming in to head to the kitchen or to wherever he went to influence Thomas or cofront every once in a while, or Roman sitting on the other side of the room reading the script from a play, no one acknowledged that anyone else was there.

It was mildly unsettling to walk around the Mind Palace and have everyone look away so as to not make eye contact with you, though Logan supposed he was guilty of doing this as well. He didn't want to spur on an argument so soon after the truce, so he was sitting here and thinking, pretending to read a book abandoned in his lap.

A bird twittered outside the Mind Palace and Logan looked towards the windows in the room. That was the most noise he had heard outside his head for the past...what? Hour? Two? Why? Why hadn't he heard anything? And why was he so worried?

That last question unsettled him the most. He was the logical personality, he wasn't supposed to have feelings. He was supposed to be able to analyze things completely rationally and come to rational conclusions. He wasn't supposed to get worried. And yet here he was. Sitting on the couch, a book abandoned in his lap, a bird twittering outside, and his stomach twisting itself into knots.

He stood. This was ridiculous. "Patton?" he called. He could have sworn he had just seen the moral personality walk by. "Patton!"

Patton poked his head into the common room. "Yeah, Logan? What's up?"

Logan frowned in consternation. What was he supposed to say? "Is everything all right? It feels...quiet."

Patton fully stepped into the common room. "I didn't notice anything wrong when I was cofronting," he said. "So I don't think there's some sort of secret emergency. Roman is off exploring, or else he's helping Thomas with his lines, one of the two. Virgil is...somewhere. I don't know. He doesn't make a lot of noise to begin with, though."

Logan hummed. "It's still...off, though, is it not? Something in the air feels...different."

"Has to be a weird side effect the truce," Patton laughed, eyes darting around as he scratched the back of his neck.

"That's a lie and you know it," Logan snapped. "What's wrong?"

Patton swallowed. "What's...?"

"What's wrong," Logan repeated, patience wearing thin.

Patton looked around guiltily. "I think it's Virgil, to be honest," he admitted quietly. "He's upset about something, maybe the truce? Except I'm not sure how he'd know about it already, because I wasn't planning to tell him until he needed to be a part of it and I got the arguments between you and Roman out of the way...Wait! I didn't mean it like that! It's just the two of you often don't see eye-to-eye and I didn't want everyone trying to talk over each other at once and--"

Logan held up a hand and Patton shut up, red in the face and the ears. "I don't take offense to that," Logan said. "I know Roman and I often have different views on Thomas' well being, and the correctness of those sentiments is not something to be debated at the moment. I told Virgil about the truce the day you brought it up to me." Patton squeaked but Logan spoke over him before anything Patton could have to say saw the outside of his mouth. "I thought you would have spoken to him about it sooner or later and didn't realize he wasn't going to know about the first part of the truce until it was over. That was my fault, and I take full responsibility. But I don't think that explains everything. No one really wants to talk to each other. No one is looking anyone else in the eye when they get approached. It's like everyone is on..."

"Unstable ground?" Patton supplied. "You're not the only one feeling it. It's weird. I thought the truce would mean less arguing, but it feels like the arguments are still going on even though they're not happening verbally."

"It's the thought of them happening again, perhaps?" Logan mused. "No one wants to start an argument and therefore they feel like they can't start a conversation?"

Patton shrugged helplessly, his eyes showing hidden guilt. "This is all my fault...but I might know how to fix it."

Logan looked at him with interest. "How? This atmosphere is unsettling, to say the least. I can only imagine how much more amplified it would be for someone who feels emotion."

"What would happen if we worked on the second half of the truce, do you think? Bringing in Virgil and finalizing the last piece of the puzzle might help. Then Virgil might be sulking less, at least."

Logan had to admit that Patton's idea had merit. Virgil could influence Thomas, so it made sense he could also influence Patton or Logan or even Roman if he tried. They might just be dealing with emotions seeping from one personality to the next, and if that were the case, it could easily be remedied by bringing Virgil into the metaphorical fold. "How do you propose we do that?" he asked.

"We--you're helping?" Patton asked, shocked.

"Well of course. If Virgil agreeing to the truce helps us all operate at maximum capacity I have an innate duty to help him sign it. How do you propose we do this?"

"Well we need everyone to sit down together in order to make it clear what we're going to need to adjust in the truce, if anything," Patton said. "And there might need to be adjustments, especially if the fronting turns are off."

Logan nodded. That made logical sense. "How do you suppose we get Virgil to agree to this? If he is upset over the truce he may not want anything to do with it."

Patton deflated some. "Oh, dear. I didn't think of that...Well, I guess I did a little bit, but I was hoping that wasn't a real possibility we had to think through..."

"Patton," Logan said, drawing the personality away from his introspection. "In the here and now, please. We need to find a plan."

"Right," Patton agreed. "Everything goes better with a plan, especially a foolproof one, but even a regular plan would work here, I think, with enough trying."

"We will see if that's the case once we come up with something," Logan agreed. "Now, how to approach Virgil about the truce?"

"Well, now that I know he knows, we can skip the explaining part unless he has the wrong idea about what it is, right?" Patton asked. "That's not exactly a plan but it's an example of what not to do which could lead us to what we need to actually do."

Logan nodded. "Agreed. I assume a straight-forward approach would be of use. Confirming he knows about what the truce is and then requesting he become a part of it. How hard would that be?"

"But what if he says no?" Patton asked. "Because not everyone sees the world the way you do, Logan. He might not be logically weighing the benefits of this and just be upset that we didn't ask him to join us in the first place."

"But that's completely irrational," Logan said, brows furrowing. "Even when I feel unsettled I approach that feeling with logic to find the source of the issue and fix it." He wasn't going to bring up the times he got unreasonably angry for no good reason and started following his anger rather than logic. That ended in yelling and exhaustion and emotions that Logan would rather not dig up.

"I know that, and you know that, and the way you handle things is great, but just because you handle things that way doesn't mean that Virgil does it the same, you know? He might be more left-brain oriented but he still bases a lot of what he does in emotion."

"He does?" Logan asked. This was news. He knew Virgil heightened Thomas' anxiety but he thought it was from over analyzing literally everything he could rather than some sort of...gross feeling emotion.

"Yeah, he operates based on fear, didn't you know?" Patton asked, looking confused beyond belief.

Fear? Virgil operated based on fear? Logan had always assumed that Virgil caused fear from over analyzing, not that his over analyzing was caused by fear. How well did he really know Virgil if he didn't understand that? He felt like he had betrayed his ally in some way, but...that was ridiculous. Virgil never showed any desire to get close to any of them, so why would Logan make that effort instead?

Because you're the one who likes to learn new things, his mind helpfully supplied. Just not when it comes to people you might start to care about, huh, Logan?

He growled internally for that thought process to shut up. He didn't need any internal self-loathing to start up based on nothing but emotions, which were baseless on principle. When the thoughts wouldn't go away on their own, he forcibly squashed them down and sought to change the subject of his and Patton's conversation. "So if he does say no I can bring up logical benefits and you can come up with...emotional ones. I'm sure that will get through to him."

Patton looked uncertain but nodded anyway. "It couldn't hurt," he said with a shrug. "Let's try it now."

Together they walked to Virgil's room, and together they stopped at the closed door. Logan stood right alongside Patton, uncertain as he watched the other personality retie his sweater around his neck. "You ready?" Patton asked.

"Of course I'm ready," Logan lied. "Are you ready?""

Patton let out a breath of air and nodded. "Yeah," he said, voice wavering. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Liar," Logan muttered under his breath as he knocked on Virgil's door.

Virgil roughly opened the door just wide enough Logan could see one of his eyes. "What," he said flatly.

"Virgil, we have a proposition for you--"

"No, Logan, I don't want to be part of your stupid truce," Virgil spat. "Not if you're not going to include me from the start."

"Virgil, that was my fault, and I'm sorry," Patton said, putting a hand on Virgil's door to keep him from slamming it. "But I made sure to reserve time for you in the first part of the truce, and you can even have equal time to the others if it means you'll join."

What? Logan's head whipped around to Patton. "Patton, you'd be sacrificing your time at front entirely were Virgil to--"

"I know," Patton said softly, though his resolve was firm. Logan wasn't going to get any more out of him, though, because he moved to address Virgil. "But we need you in this truce, Virgil, the whole Mind Palace is off with you not in on it. Heck, the whole Inner World is off with you not in on it!"

"Not my problem, I'm used to everything feeling off," Virgil said. "Go away."

"Virgil! Just hear us out!" Patton ordered.

Logan froze. Virgil froze. It felt like the entire Earth stopped turning. Patton never ordered anything from anyone. But Patton's eyes held sternness Logan had never seen, as well as a fierce determination. His chest was rising and falling drastically, but it was in a decidedly steady rhythm. If Logan didn't know any better, he would say that Patton was angry. But Patton was never angry; Patton never experienced any negative emotion to the best of Logan's memory, which was pretty impressive. There was so much he apparently didn't know about the system, it made him wonder just what else he was missing when it came to knowledge of the others?

Virgil opened his door all the way and leaned against the door frame. "Okay, Patton, you have my attention. Why should I join your little clique when you obviously didn't want me there at first?"

"It's not a clique," Patton said. "It's an agreement that we're not going to fight over who fronts when. And the only reason I didn't have you there in the first place was because I didn't think I could handle a three-way argument. I didn't mean to leave you out or make you feel excluded, and I'm sorry that I did. But I saved some time for you in the original truce, and if you agree to be there for any revisions that are necessary, we can make sure that everybody is even, no one has to deal with getting the short end of the stick. I just needed Logan and Roman to come to a vague agreement on how they weren't going to fight first, because...well, no offense, Logan, but you and Roman cause the biggest problems."

"None taken," Logan said. "I am well aware that the magnitude of the fights between me and Roman are greater than fights between Virgil and me, or even Virgil and Roman." Internally that made him start to wonder, though. Why were Patton and Virgil sharing things that Logan was not privy to? What caused them to have this sort of inside knowledge? Because this seemed vaguely like an inside joke without a punch line.

"This was nothing against you, Virgil, you know that, right?" Patton asked.

Virgil shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. You keep on insisting that it's not, so I guess there's something to what you're saying."

Patton's mouth twisted sideways and Logan internally agreed with that expression. There was no way that Virgil bought what they were saying if he was speaking like that. It just wasn't an option. "Is there anything we can do to prove to you that we want you around, and we want your help?" Logan asked. Maybe emotions weren't going to change right away, like they sometimes irrationally did. But if he could change them with logic...

Virgil shrugged. "Not really, nerd. Just leave me alone and we'll call it even."

Logan opened his mouth to say something else but Patton beat him to the punch. "We know you want to help Thomas, Virgil, and we really think that this is going to help him. What else would work besides a truce?"

"Actually getting along," Virgil said, before slamming the door closed so hard Patton's hand was actually forced off as it rattled in its frame.

"Well, that...was not an optimal outcome," Logan said, crossing his arms.

"Maybe, but I think Virgil might have given us a way to prove ourselves," Patton said.

Logan furrowed his brows. When it came to the intuitive leaps Patton made through emotion, he was completely lost. "How?"

"By being nice to him! Getting along with him, you know?" Patton explained.

"No, I don't know," Logan said, crossing his arms. He might have looked petulant if it weren't for the blatant confusion in his tone.

"Oh, boy, I forgot you weren't one of the ones who socialized well when Thomas was a kid," Patton muttered. "Look, getting along with Virgil generally involves doing what he wants to do, giving him a turn picking a movie, making dinner that he might like, things like that. You don't have to become his servant or whatever, and you're still allowed to do stuff you want to do, but you take him into account as well."

"Why didn't you just say that it was a compromise on social expectations and actions?" Logan asked. "I have done those before, especially when I find we are both trying to influence Thomas."

"Really?" Patton asked skeptically.

"Of course," Logan said. "Why do you think I would let Thomas take breaks in his thirst for knowledge when he was younger, or give him a week to just play outside with his friends once his homework was done?"

"I...guess I never really considered that something you had a hand in," Patton said, looking to the ground. "Huh. That's interesting. Sorry. Why do you never do that with Roman?"

Logan was once again confused. "What do you mean? Of course I've compromised with Roman."

"How?" Patton challenged.

"All the times Thomas studied theater and read up on plays, whether or not they were ones he was in? Learning the intricacies of lights and sound on stage was fascinating when Roman wanted to discuss the play he was doing with some of the tech kids in high school. It's all really interesting when you can learn something in addition to just memorizing lines--"

Patton held up a hand, deep in thought. "That's...not what I was expecting," he said.

"What were you expecting?" Logan asked. "Not being able to come up with any times at all?"

"Well...kind of, yeah. I never saw you two as some sort of unit who would work together on that sort of thing."

"Sure, we separated more as Thomas grew older, but Roman and I used to get along quite well, remember? I would learn new things in class with Thomas and Roman could help act out testing those things, or putting them to use in stories. Back in the day we were quite a formidable force," the smile on Logan's face as he recalled these events slowly faded. "Some days I wish I knew what happened to split our views on what was best for Thomas. But we may never know. If Roman does, he's certainly not sharing."

Patton frowned. "I...need to think on that. Maybe I could figure it out."

Logan shrugged. "We don't have to. The truce means we don't have to get along, but we don't fight, and that's all we really need in order to function correctly. At least, it should be, provided we can get Virgil on our side."

"But...but if I could figure it out, would you try and fix things with Roman?"

"What is there to fix?" Logan asked. "It's just a fact of life, Patton. Roman and I no longer get along, this is just something that we all have to come to terms with. It's better than all of us hating each other and not speaking to anyone else, isn't it?"

"I...I guess..." Patton said, looking extremely uncertain and possibly uncomfortable at the implication that two people not liking each other was something that would be okay.

"Patton." Logan took a deep breath, not wanting to burst the personality's bubble but feeling an obligation to educate him. "Not everyone can be friends, and this is fine. If everyone could be friends right off the bat, then there wouldn't be nearly as many interesting things in the world. Conflict occurs, but it brings better things because of it. For instance, both Roman and I are more passionate about our pursuits because of each other. You became an excellent mediator, despite often being led by your heart rather than your head. Virgil...well, Virgil has survived despite running more or less on fear for twenty-three years. Had we been different we might have gotten along better, but this isn't anything we can change with the wave of a wand and a magic spell. Even if we could magically change things so that everyone got along and never fought, ever, I wouldn't, because there are benefits to this, even though they might not be obvious at first glance. You don't have to fix everything, okay? Some things? Just can't be fixed."

"But...?" Patton asked, voice wavering. "But...but..."

"Patton, it's okay," Logan said, putting his hands on Patton's shoulders. "You have done all you could for now, and we will work on, ahem, 'getting along' with Virgil. Don't worry, okay? We will make this work."

Patton bit his lip but nodded, and walked off, posture slightly slouched in defeat. Logan shook his head. There was so much about this system he needed to learn about. Perhaps at some point, he could ask Virgil about it, he seemed to be around for as long as Logan could remember, and he had referenced helping Logan form at one point, so he could be a valuable resource...but for now, he had work to do.

Tag List: @loganpatton @lilbeanblr @kittyboof8 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @sanders-trash-4ever @hamilspntrash @lizzysperil @tree4life25 @nyxwordsmith @docetuga @wingedkuriboh27 @virgilient @cookieartcannon​  @jordandobbertin

[challito]

The Tavern - Triumvirate Pt. 1

In the tavern are many wines – the wine of delight in colour and form and taste, the wine of intellects agility, the fine port of stories and the cabernet of soul singing. As three companions shared their spirits and their spirits, they felt the wineskin of ego break and the pouring began.

Clio recounted her studies and trials at the Pantheon with only the slightest embellishment. Plied with the taverns finest drop she wove stories into stories until every detail was painted large and wide as a temple fresco. She blamed her dwarven heritage for the intricate and lengthy telling.

Though the truth of her claimed heritage was clear in her height and a few other endearing traits, most of her features were Elven. With gentle ribbing and encouragement, Clio bounded through her recollections, vibrating with charisma. She never vied to be the center of attention, but she did love it when she found herself there.

Daphne laughed freely and smiled constantly. She seemingly bore no baggage that so often accompanied one cursed with the marks of a Tainted. Though, she did bear the marks. Light pink skin covered everything below the curving ram horns that adorned her head to the tip of her snaking tail. Holding mulled wine to warm her hands and her heart she joked and jested until her companions were just as jovial as herself.

Kai watched mostly. His heart was full. The two people he loved most in the world were happy, healthy and by his side. His jokes came half as frequently, and his stories lasted half as long as his companion’s. He preferred to listen. To share their joys and do what he could to increase them.

As an Aquan, the novelty of Terran life never ceased. Just the same, he found himself to be a novelty to most Terrans. From the way he talked and what he wore, to his cerulean, seal-like skin and gills. As Clio began a second backstory to one of the “quick things” she had to tell them, and Daphne poked harmless fun, Kai just sat and smiled. He nursed mead, thick and sweet as he was himself. Most of all, he enjoyed it, being lost in that moment. He felt a weight slide easily off his shoulders as he listened and drank and laughed.

The rest of the tavern shared that energy. Losing themselves in the evening until everything else was naught but a faint memory. Not all evenings were like this, but they were becoming more frequent. Such a thing often happens when an incorporeal feeling of foreboding scratches at a collective’s sixth sense. They bury their heads in revelry as though it were sand and hope for the dread to blow over. For most that night, it did just that.

Not all creatures were like this, but for Matu – those mortal races that include Humans and Aquans and Elves – it was most often true. In contrast, the wild creatures – animals and beasts and birds – listened keenly when the Mother Huntress whispered her warnings. Even an imagined feeling of danger would have a herd of antelope on the move in less time than it takes to pour a mug of wine.

Matu, for the most part, are not like this. So, when Godly whispers or instinct urged Kai to leave the tavern, he did not. He nestled himself deeper into his chair, took another long draw from his mead, and laughed doubly loud at Daphne’s next joke to push instinct and Gods from his mind. If he had known what was to come, he would have listened to instinct then and there, but he did not. Instead, he played the part of the ignorant fool with a trouper’s grace and drank and drank again.

Death blew through the tavern on a cold wind and was welcomed like an old friend. The door slammed opened. Silhouetted in the entrance stood a traveller framed by fog and lamp light. He was wearing an emerald chiton with gold lining and an expensive fur cloak. His walking staff was well polished, its head adorned with amber. The pleasant din of merriment shut off quickly as all heads turned to the figure. Then, the traveller announced:

“A gift from my master. A round of drinks for all with ears to hear or eyes to see.” 

His accent was thick and foreign. His choice of syntax, old and musty, like lines chosen from a history tome. Though, no one paid that any mind as he walked with heavy steps directly to the bar and dropped a jangling purse on the counter. A cheer went erupted. Clio, Daphne, and Kai added their voices to the chorus. They toasted between themselves and drank deeply, unaware that the stranger was making his way to them.

“By chance, are you the triumvirate, Daphne, Clio, and Kai?” He said in his thick accent when he arrived at their table.

Surprised, the three companions looked at each other before Clio answered.

“We are.” She said. “How did you recognize us so quickly? I can’t say I remember meeting you before now.”

“My master has sent me a great, long way to request your aid. If you be the heroes of the stories that are told, please lend your aid in this dire time.”

As the triumvirate looked to each other, all equally confused, the traveller reached into a fold in his cloak and produced a sealed letter. He placed it down on the table between the companions and took a seat next to Daphne. As Clio took the letter, she noticed a foreign brand in the wax that held it closed. She showed the brand to Daphne and Kai but between them they could not give it any recognition.

Inside was a letter written in an elegant, cursive hand. The tone and structure were heavily antiquated, to the point of parody. Though instead of offending the emissary by remarking as such, Clio simply read the contents aloud.

“Hail to thee of might and valour.  I, humble servant of my people, desperately plead for your assistance. My wife, Helen of Bris has contracted an affliction so dire that none on our island can remedy. She languishes from her wound and I would have her healed and returned to me in the persona I have come to cherish.

I offer the whole of my state’s fortune as recompense if thou but answer our plea. Make haste, I beg of thee, her time is close at hand. The saviour of my beloved shall be paid the highest expense and greatest honour.

Sincerely, Anax Arimnestos of Bris.”

A long silenced followed. To the triumvirate, it was difficult to understand why they would have been sought out. Their few and petty deeds could not have caught the eye of the Brisian leader. Especially not one who used such archaic honorifics as Anax. Yet, here sat his emissary, at their table, flaunting his master’s wealth by plying the whole tavern with spirit. Eventually it was Kai that asked:

“Why us? There are others of higher merit that would accept this.” Kai pointed to the letter and apparently had no qualms with looking a gift horse in the mouth.

“Yet I have found none. It is known that pirates patrol the waters between Illios and Bris. I have found not a one who would brave crossing their path. Truly, the cowardice of heroes is a terrible thing.” Said the emissary.

“And there’s the rub.” Daphne said, sipping her mulled wine.

“I know a safe path.” Hurried the emissary. “It is how I arrived, and how I intend to return.”

  The triumvirate looked between each other, long and silent. The presence of pirates was well known to Illosians. They inhabited a collection of islands east of Illios, until now Kai had assumed Bris was one of them. The strength and naval presence of pirates were so fearsome that they wielded a similar militaristic control over their waters as most established countries’ navies.

To get caught by a pirate raiding vessel was a nightmarish thing. So much so, that the horrific tales of survivors would occasionally include supernatural embellishments to make them all the more frightful. The Ghost King’s Trireme and Banshees of Black Sails were popular songs in an Illiosian bard’s repertoire. 

“You’re sure you know how to avoid them?” Daphne asked.

“I would not be speaking to you otherwise.” The emissary nodded.

“In that case, I’m for it.” Said Daphne.

“I think it’s worth the risk.” Clio agreed.

There was a silence then. Clio and Daphne looked to Kai, who was in turn looking at the emissary. To all three companions, the emissary seemed desperate. Though, Kai couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was eluding him.

“How did you come by our names, exactly?” Kai asked.

“On arriving at Illios, I paid my respects at the Pantheon. It was Priestess Circe that recommended Priestess Clio. ‘A truly gifted healer’, she called you. I pray she did not make too great of a claim.” He said in earnest.

Kai chewed on his lip for a moment. He looked at Clio, who nodded. Circe had been a good friend and tutor during Clio’s time at the Pantheon. The story held merit and according to Clio’s body language, Kai deduced that she felt it was a likely turn of events.

The three companions had spoken earlier in the evening of potentially attempting some kind mercenary work. Each of them had developed quite a dynamic set of skills and abilities, over the last few years especially. If they picked their jobs carefully, they could enjoy a fairly carefree travelling life. For a time at least.

“And how do we know this is not some elaborate pirate ploy to lure us back to your den of thieves?” Kai asked.

“I admit our location is unfortunately close to the scourge of the sea. Our people often suffer their raiding parties as result. However, if you should witness our ship on the morrow you will know us to be good, honest men and women. 

“Moreover, what use would a band of pirates have with three adventurers such as yourselves. Surely there are more profitable persons to kidnap if that were our desire.” The emissary seemed to become more nervous by the moment. “I of course mean no offense.”

“Okay.” Kai agreed after a moment. Then he looked seriously at the emissary. “But so, you are aware; should I happen to suspect you of piracy I will not hesitate to call the most fearsome sea creatures under my control down on you and yours.”

It was a lie, of course, but it was a very good lie. Kai watched the emissary suppress a shudder and reconsider all he knew of Aquans. At times, the ignorance of Terrans could be a wonderful thing. Clio and Daphne eyed Kai surreptitiously, knowing much better than the emissary. Kai even saw a nearby eaves dropper go slack jawed in surprise. He surely would be spreading the falsity to his table eagerly at the first break in conversation.

“I assure you my intentions are nothing, other than to escort you safely to my Master.” The emissary bowed his head.

“When do we leave?” Kai asked.

“My vessel, The Twilight Mist, leaves the dock at first light tomorrow morning. Will I expect to see you all there?”

The companions nodded and bid farewell as Arimnestos’ emissary left the tavern. They sat in silence for a while after that. Clio read the letter again before Daphne read it once for herself. Kai drank and tried to discover what secret he felt about the strange foreign man. Whatever nagged at him was deeply hidden within his psyche and he did not succeed at uncovering its warning.

“I think this will be good for us.” Clio said finally. “It’s just what we were talking about.”

“Exactly.” Said Daphne, putting down the letter.

“Exactly.” Clio echoed.

“But who on Land and Sea still call themselves Anax?” Daphne laughed, Clio laughed at that too.

“Did either of you find something suspect about that emissary?” Asked Kai.

“I think his life is tied to that of the Anax’s wife. If we had refused him, who knows what this Arminestos would have done to him.” Clio said. “That and he talks as though he just stepped out of the last age.”

“You think this Arimnestos to be a particularly cruel leader?” asked Daphne.

“Love makes Matu mad.” Clio quoted.

Kai only drank. He had noticed behaviour in the emissary that suggested the Anax to be a cruel master, but that was not the thing that nagged. For now, whatever it was, was as intangible as the wind. So, Kai drank, and when a herbalist did his rounds and peddled his wares Kai bought enough smoking leaf for a very long journey.

[ciceroprofacto]

10 Lams, please! (or you can stick it in your Alex in Albany series if you're still doing that)

10-“Teach me how to play?”

Late October 1776

A month ago, Hamilton had drilled his company in this courtyard. Dressed smartly in his artillery uniform and cocked hat, he was certainly unrecognizable right now, coatless with his shirt slovenly half-tucked.  He could pass for a drunkard or a vagabond street boy.

It was effective.

Even if the locals in the Manhattan recognized him as the student, soldier and writer he’d been before the British invasion, he’d darkened his hair with ash before leaving the inn.  Unrecognizable.  Most of the locals left in the city were firmly Loyalist anyway- the sort of people that had stopped associating with Hamilton after his first flurry of pamphlets.

Most of the locals…

Reverend John Mason, Susanna Lossing, Doctor Thomas McDougal, Hercules Mulligan, Miss Annie O’Sullivan, Catherine McLane- though he smirked to recall she’d been ‘Kitty’ to him for a night- now Governess Phillis Ogden…

Hamilton had already worked through the names of merchants that would know him only by work with Creuger.  Those contacts were a simple matter of discreetly slipping a note of his request and hoping they would remember he’d done good business. These names though, these hinged entirely on the good faith of impressions he had made in person.

And Phillis would be far more inclined to his request than her husband- far more capable of smuggling useful information out of the city.  When she spotted Alex across the courtyard while walking the three boys she kept as charges back from their lessons, her eyes held on him a moment longer than a stranger’s.  So, he’d made the right choice.

Phillis kept walking to usher the boys home, but when one of them dropped his uniform coat where he’d slung it over his arm, she saw it- and left it on the ground…

Hamilton lurched up and took the long route around the yard, weaving through passersby, allowing the daily rabble of New York City to cover his movement.  He swiped the coat off the ground as if he’d dropped it himself, swung it up over his shoulders and stepped off after the Governess.

The nanny of the newly reinstated Governor, Phillis would have access to political information that passed through that office. But, her charges were still boys, and while the general population of the city may not know their faces or names, they’d know their ages and Hamilton probably couldn’t pass for fifteen anymore…

He bumped deliberately into a large man passing him, using fall to swipe a boyish twill cap from a rack outside a taylor’s shop. He put it on.

The motion nearly lost him his sight of Phillis as she led the boys towards the front walk of the Governor’s estate.  They departed from her and ran up the lawn. Then she glanced back for him and gave a small nod, walking deliberately up the street towards the bakery- a cite they were both familiar with.

Alex pursued, but before he could get close to the shop, a unit of the light foot infantry marched by, dropping several redcoats in front of the building, obscuring the path inside. 

Hamilton fixed his cap at an angle and patted his cheeks rosy before jogging up to the youngest of them.  “Sir?” he said, knowing the man was a private and didn’t merit the title. “Could you give this to the Governess, please?” he held out the note, rocked forward on his heels, “She just went inside and ma said we’ve to be home by supper or she’ll have our skin- especially with the curfew…”

The soldier gave him a small indulgent smile and accepted the packet. “Your lessons?” he guessed.

Alex nodded.

The redcoat gave ‘the boy’ a pat on the arm and turned into the bakery without question.

Backing up with a satisfied grin, Hamilton shucked the coat and dropped it on a fencepost for Phillis. Then he watched, as best he could through the windows, the soldier in his bright coat making his way through the crowd inside.

“I like the hat.”

Hamilton started, nearly forgetting that Meade had been off securing their horses- forgetting he’d brought company at all.  Then turned with a grin, “Ah, thank you, I just picked it up,” swiping the twill cap off his head, he set a clipped pace back through the crowd.

Meade turned back to the bakery. “Wait- did you hand that note off to a regular?”

Hamilton waved a dismissive hand, “A private, 80th light foot, even if he can read it, he wouldn’t think to.”

Meade still stood stiff as if he was ready to bolt if the redcoat stepped outside with any posture of suspicion. Then after a reluctant moment, he stepped in beside him and they walked. “Did you tell him I’m your father too?”

Alex grinned, “You’re still upset about that?”

“I hardly look old enough to be your father!”

“Ha, no but you are about the right height.” Alex dropped the cap back on the stand he’d nicked it off and dug in his pocket for his list of names, “about.”

Meade punched his arm.

When he’d first set out, back into the occupied city, he’d been apprehensive of bringing the partner that Washington’s aide assigned him, especially with his fears of what he’d find on this mission…about himself…about what he’d done…

So, he’d researched Fitzgerald’s man, found their history of service together in the Virginia Regiments, considered the aide’s biases in making the assignment and anticipated ineptitude based around Fitzgerald’s fondness of him.  But, Meade had been nothing but helpful, loyal when needed, and generally uncurious- attractive company even outside his flirting humor and cheek.

Meade leaned over his arm to read his page. “Who’s left on your list?”

Hamilton folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket. The last stop on his list wasn’t a name. It was a place.

…

Fighting Cocks Tavern had been an escape for Alexander as a student, a source of income when he’d learned a man could place wagers on his own fightring matches, a recruiting tool when he’d needed men for his artillery company…and a tinderbox when the army had needed to escape…

Last he had seen Whitehall Slip, he’d been marching what was left of his company and their cannons towards freshly-dug fortifications, following Major Burr to Harlem Heights.  These buildings had been aflame…

“Remarkable how quickly they rebuilt…” Meade said.

“Bars and brothels.”

“What?”

Hamilton guided their step directly into the taproom, immediately hit with the wave of noise and smell.  The tavern was filled with British regulars, just released from their duties after supper.  

They didn’t slow down- couldn’t afford the attention it would draw to hesitate. 

“Bars and brothels, Meade.  When cities are destroyed, they’re always the first to rise again, the places where men express their darker selves.  It’s necessary to the survival of civilization- that there’s a place, designated solely for containing such things…”

“When cities are destroyed? As though you’ve seen this sort of thing before.”

Hamilton wove past a table of general officers, stepped to the counter and laid down a coin for two drinks. “You know what I admire about you, Meade?”

“-I wasn’t aware you admire me-”

“-That you don’t ask questions.”

Meade pursed his lips, but the drinks were set out a moment later and Hamilton pressed a glass into his hands and patted him on the shoulder.

“I’ve got this one on my own,” he said.

Meade hesitated, and for a moment, Hamilton feared his face was betraying him again, that some part of his apprehension about this place- about what he was to learn here was showing in his expression.  But, he relented, “You know the signal? If you need me…”

“I did make it, Meade.”

“But you’ll use it?”

“Yes, mother.”

He turned from the bar and slipped into the crowd, finding his mark at a table of officers playing cards. From a distance, the game seemed innocent enough, but Hamilton knew the reputation of this place- he knew the owner- and his son, seated at the table himself.  The place was called ‘Fighting Cocks’ for a reason. When things had been desperate, Hamilton had earned more than his fair share of gambling money here before the practice was shut down.

Even if no money was being exchanged, he’d chance himself with a different sort of gambling, sidling himself beside the son, even though the proximity made his skin crawl. “Teach me how to play?” he said.

The table turned to him, and for all the gall he was risking, no one suspected a patriot officer would plant himself in the middle of this crowd.  He was nothing- just another young man over tipsy with drink.  The son stared at him a moment before recognition seized his features and shock overtook him.

Whatever interest Hamilton had in making Christopher Stokes an informant disappeared, though he doubted he’d have any interest in working with him anyway. The cards were dealt and, for all that Hamilton slurred his words and laughed raucously, the officers obliged his company for the few minutes it took to play a round of spades.

Stokes grabbed him and lifted him from the table under the guise of retrieving water for an unruly patron. He dragged him past the counter and into the back room, meant only for staff.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Hamilton raised his hands in surrender, but it didn’t stop Stokes from shoving him roughly against the barrels of stored rum. “Will you allow me to explain-”

“I was hoping to never see your face again-”

“-reasonable.”

“But you’re here to haunt me then?” Stokes’s eyes were creeping suspiciously towards Hamilton’s throat.

Alex didn’t wait to be choked, struck down on both Stokes’s arms at once.  He spun out of his grip and stepped back, holding his hands up in warning. “I’m unfortunately less of a ghost than you might like,” he said. “But, this isn’t…” it would have been an offer- a different sort of recruitment than what Stokes had allowed Hamilton to employ in his father’s tavern before, but obviously whatever fond memories Stokes might’ve had of Hamilton’s company- or the entertainment he provided the business, were forgotten.  After his last visit, Hamilton didn’t blame him, “it’s a social visit.”

Stokes scoffed.

Alexander dropped his hands and gave a pleading look- an honest one, “I was in the area, doing work for Washington-” this admission received an unsurprised look, “and, I only wanted to know… I wanted to ask how it went that night-”

“What we did?”

He said it as though he thought Hamilton might regret it, but Stokes had been in the unit at King’s. They’d trained for militia service together- at least briefly before he’d deserted.  He should know the strength of Alexander’s resolve.  He should know that Lieutenant Jay had wanted it.  General Greene had wanted it.  As much as he would deny it, General Washington had wanted it…the city to burn before it’d fall to British hands. 

“Five-hundred houses thereabouts.”

“And St. Pauls…?”

“It survived.”

Hamilton nodded, and Stokes glared at him, for the guilt he now bore on his conscious.  Alex sympathized intellectually with the feeling, tried to display understanding to ease this hostility, “I understand…that staying here, watching the struggles of your neighbors and friends to rebuild the destruction that I caused-”

“We!” Stokes said. “We caused- you asked me to start the fire, but I did it, me!”

“And the army thanks you for your service.”

“I want you gone.”

Stokes was leaning towards him threateningly. Hamilton sensed that it wasn’t negotiable.  Though, Stokes had seen him in more than one cock fight in this place and he had to know that Alex could be resourceful when he needed to- it wasn’t a fight he should take on lightly, not with what Stokes knew about him.  “Yes, alright, but…before I go, there’s one thing.  Only one thing I needed to ask. Washington’s man-”

Stokes laughed, a bitter thing, “Of everything you have to answer for? The spy?”

Hamilton clenched his jaw. The way Captain Montressor had practically laughed at their feeble attempt at espionage. Stokes didn’t need to know Hamilton had met Cunningham’s man under the white flag himself. He didn’t need to know this was personal.  “The report said he was captured that day…”

“During the sweep, yes,” Stokes said.  “Anyone who was seen outside in Manhattan that morning was taken in for questioning after the fire started spreading, so I imagine they caught him then…because of the fire.”  Hamilton looked away, barely hearing it as Stokes went on, his voice echoing as if Alex had plunged his head underwater.  “They wouldn’t have had a reason to keep him if they hadn’t found notes on him for Washington, confirming him as a spy.  So, they made a show of his death, as a warning to any patriots still left in the city…like me-”

“I won’t ask any more of you today,” Hamilton said quickly, words rushing together in his haste, he couldn’t meet Stokes’s eyes.  “My being here…itself is…a risk to you, I’ll go-”

“Now wait!” Stokes grabbed his arm before he could turn and escape. Hamilton spun on him like a storm twisting the skin of his arm. “How do I know you’re still holding to our deal?” Stokes demanded.  “How do I know my name’s still safe and you won’t tell no one what we did.  You only came here for information?  I’m to believe that?”

Hamilton swayed back another step towards the door- towards Meade and safety. “Yes,” he said. “Remember, you have…just as much leverage over me as I have of you.  We agreed to that.”  He pulled on his arm, “Now please…”

Stokes frowned and dropped his hold.

And, Hamilton hastened to find Meade.  Hastened to disappear from this place for the last time.

[drunkdragondoes]

Prompt: First time, m!Robin x Flavia

@esauwest

To Lord Khan Flavia,

I have not seen you since the Fell Dragon had been put to sleep. I pray this letter finds you well.

I will keep my introduction, however, short. In my eyes have failed when I did not end myself. A time borrowed of ten thousand years is still borrowed, never our own. Yet Lord Chrom and the Halidom see it fit that I be lauded as a hero. He has made a point of it again and again - there will be another time to make it right.

He has asked that I take a leave of absence, to explore the land a little on my own. As my dearest friend, I shall entertain his notion and have chosen to make Regna Ferox my first place to visit, should you deign it fit to have one such as me.

I understand that letters and papers are not your preferred method of diplomacy, but I felt that this notice would at least let you respond should you decide to allow me to visit.

Flavia accepted his request without a second question. It was true that his method of asking for passage and the request to stay was not the preferred way of her land. Diplomacy was often face to face, and letters were looked down upon. But she mirrored him and sent a letter in return. And in a moon’s time he arrived in front of her throne, kneeling at her feet.

“Grandmaster Robin, I’m glad you made it. Coming to Regna Ferox in the near dead of winter is no easy task.”

“It’s just Robin, for now,” his mop of white hair bobbed just a little lower, as if bowing again, before looking up at her. “I prefer not to have that title while I am on leave. Still, thank you for your kindness for one such as I. I did not think you would accept me so readily.”

She didn’t tell him that Chrom had sent a letter even earlier than he did, detailing the full extent of his concern for Robin’s wellbeing. The man had become a mess in light of his ‘failure’ to truly defeat Grima. She had been there that day. Some time before the dragon was weak enough, Robin had been incapacitated. There was no chance for him to even strike, and it ate away at him to this day. Chrom had all but begged in his letter for her assistance in his plight to help Robin back to his feet.

She had some ideas, but for now the man in front of her needed rest. She would begin her plan the next day.

The next morning she had invited him to her breakfast table, and the two had a conversation. Amidst the chewing and smacking of lips, though, Flavia set her plans into motion.

“Robin, one of the things that I recall the most about you was your sword arm. I’m curious to see if you’re still up to par. Care for duel?”

She watched as his jaw slowed to a crawl, no doubt chewing and thinking upon her words. Finally, he swallowed and spoke. “I remember us having a match once,” the words came out slowly, thoughtfully. “Others might have called it close, but I recall a fair trouncing. Sometimes I think my arm still hurts from blocking your blows.”

But two could play at that game, and her lips perked upward. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He thought for a moment longer before spearing a piece of egg with his fork. “Well, if you’re so inclined to beat upon me, I see no reason to turn down a request from my most gracious host. However, I do wonder why you are so inclined to see me beaten.”

“Well, then, when I beat you in our duel, how about you grant me a favor?”

That got Robin to raise his eyebrows. Smiling even, she dared to consider. “You speak as if you’ve already won.”

“Didn’t you just admit to it?”

“Hmph,” there was a definite smirk on his lips. “Then do I get a favor if I win?”

This time, Flavia gave a quick laugh, her heavy voice rumbling from her chest. “I’m not a cheat when it comes to words, Robin. That will always be fair and square. But you better get ready for this duel. I’ve been known to approach them like it’s life or death.”

It was clear to Flavia with how Robin moved that, in spite of his own self-inflicted shame, he saw it fit to continue training, perhaps down to the bone. Though he had his own clothes with him, he had removed his traditional dark purple cloak, something she had almost never seen him without and leaving him in his paler shirt. With his arms bared, she wondered how much muscle he had beneath his clothes.

But as soon as the wooden practice sword came into her hands, all that lay before Flavia’s mind was the upcoming duel. It was a little heavy, just the way she liked her swords, gripping it with both hands. When he finally picked out his weapon, she saw that it was one that mirrored hers.

“You ready to begin?” she barked.

“At your leisure, Lord Khan.”

With only a few onlookers present, the two began their match and they circled around each other. They watched each other like hawks, eyes never leaving the other. In a battle it was different - there were soldiers by their sides and by their enemies. But a duel was different. It let her drink in his features, the muscles on his arms seeming even more prominent. Every step of his was calculated and heavy with confidence.

In the end, though, it was he who made the first move. It was just a quick swing, aimed at her thigh and easily blocked. But it was to test her and she knew it. Before long another strike came down, this time towards her shoulder, and she raised her sword to meet it before stepping to the side and letting the blade slide down harmlessly.

Yet before she could retaliate, Robin had already drawn himself back, resuming their circling game. She flexed her grip on the handle. He seemed faster than before, maybe even stronger. Robin once again proved that he was no slouch in combat.

But neither was she. Regna Ferox’s title of Lord Khan was not carried without merit, after all. She tested him with her own strikes, looking to set the pace of the match, to keep him off his footing. Soon it came into full swing, their blades locking and unlocking, backing away only to reenter so soon.

It was not long before fatigue began to make its slow way into their muscles. Her blonde hair, tied back to reveal the scalp of her dark skin, became matted with sweat. Likewise, Robin’s hair had begun to clump and stick to his forehead. Sweat coated their skin, and his shirt clung to his chest.

She took another breath and stepped in. Raising her blade high, she slammed it down with all her might. Robin want to deflect the blade away from him, hoping to use her force against her. But with a resounding crack, his sword was smashed into a myriad of pieces. With a triumphant breath, she brought up her weapon against his neck-

...only to find that it had shattered as well. All she held was the handle of a broken piece of wood with the rest of the blade hanging by a thread.

“Did…” Robin trailed off, droplets rolling off of his brow as his confused and incredulous eyes looked into hers, “Did we come to a draw?”

For a moment she paused, doing her best to think of an answer and to catch her breath. But when she did, she pressed the splintered tip against the skin at his collar, summoning forth the tiniest pinpricks of blood. “Not after that.” A smile spread across her lips as she watched Robin roll his eyes.

“Fine, fine,” he said after a series huff. She had a feeling that he would have smiled were he not so tired, but she could hear it in his voice and that was enough.“What would the great Lord Khan Flavia ask of this lowly man?”

For a while Flavia held onto the request, both dangling it in front of him while playing the role of host. If there was anything he wanted or needed, she had it provided to him. But as spring began to make its way into the cold lands, she planned a hunting trip into the wilds, bringing Robin along. She took him west and south of the seat of her throne with her best hunters, letting him survey the regrowing land that was beginning to break free from the ice and snow.

And while she didn’t say anything about it, she could see the change slowly taking place. By seeing the growth and recovery around him, his countenance changed little by little. He was still caught up in his own failure, but she could see just a bit of him attempting to move on.

They were sitting next to each other at a campfire one night when it happened, after a long day of hunting. They had finally killed their first deer and were celebrating. By fate Robin had landed the finishing blow and was gifted with the first bite of meat, even before Flavia.

“You brought me out here for a reason, didn’t you Lord Khan?”

His stomach was full and just a little heavy with ale from a nearby town. He would never have been so direct otherwise. She didn’t respond with an answer, but instead just smiled, letting her hand ghost over his. But before the night was over she placed a kiss on his lips.

She didn’t make her request until after they had returned, not until a few days before he would return to his country. He was still undecided if he would visit other lands of the continent or resume his work, but he was sure that Chrom would be happy to see him again. She figured that a warm bed was better for the two of them, as it was still cold after all. And while Regna Ferox valued strength more than other aspects discretion was still wise, for the man would return to Ylisse after all was said and done.

Flavia rapped upon his chamber door with her knuckles. She doubted that he was sleep, though it would be of no consequence if that were the case. She would just try again the next night. But she was right, and Robin opened the door. His room was still lit with candles, perhaps for reading or writing before the night was over. But he had already settled into his modest nightclothes, perhaps closer to sleep than she guessed initially.

In comparison, she had only a coat of furs wrapped around herself.

“L-Lord Khan.”

This was the first time she ever heard him stutter and she vowed to take it to her grave. “No need for the title, Robin. I’m just Flavia tonight.” She stepped into the room and felt her neck turn to face the bed. “Besides, I’m here to follow upon my favor.”

He was a smart man, and she didn’t need to look at him to know that the gears were spinning in his mind. She remained silent, but was rewarded when the door shut behind her and he spoke. “This is surely a scandal.”

Her lips smiled as she quipped a return. “You’re still in the room with me.”

“I…” he faltered. “I admit that I am willing to at least hear you out.”

“You know, Robin,” she whipped her body around to face him, blonde hair gently raking upon her skin. She held the opposite sides of her fur coat and kept her body covered. “That’s the second time you’ve fumbled with your words tonight.” Slowly walking over, she tucked a chin under his finger, her dark skin gently contrasting against his paler complexion in candlelight. “I think I’m having an effect upon you.”

“I would like to think that anyone would think twice about their words when the most powerful person in Regna Ferox visits their bedchamber at night.” His cheeks were slowly reddening and he made to turn away, but her finger stiffened and pushed him back to look into her eyes.

“Me being naked doesn’t scare you?”

“Well,” his eyes fell down across the top of her body for the briefest of flickers and he turned even brighter. “... That, too.” It happened again as he turned his head away, and this time she let him go. “Would it be safe to say that your request is both more amorous than I expected and yet fully expected at the same time?”

She chuckled, her hand falling back to her coat and letting it expose just a little more of her shoulder. “You can say no if you want.”

“I’m… I’m surprised you’d have one such as me, Flavia.”

There it was again - that condescending tone he used towards himself. “Man, woman, doesn’t matter. As Lord Khan I can have anyone I wish.” Her hand fell onto his shoulder, gently kneading beneath the pads of her fingers, feeling his strong muscles. “Besides, you’re cut from a hero’s cloth, Robin. You are exactly what is desireable in Regna Ferox. I’m surprised no one ever tried to pick you up while we were on the march.”

His tilted down in embarrassment, his eyes trying to trace her toes against the cold stone tile. “I… It just never came to the table for me.”

“Not even Tharja?”

He quickly shook his head. “Not like that. I never saw her-...” he bit his lip, “not like that.”

Flavia felt her voice soften, going quiet. “So you’ve never been with someone.” Her hand rose to his cheek, gently letting his skin fall against her calloused palm. “Would you like to change that?”

One last breath, one last blink, one last darkening of his cheeks.

“... Yes.”

She smiled, her hand falling to his and dragging him towards the bed. “Well, come on then, no need to stand here in the cold. And just relax. Let me handle everything.” Letting go, she climbed upon the mattress and beckoned him towards her. “Here, lay down.”

Robin did as he was told, and now that the full weight of the situation was bearing down upon him his shyness had begun to fade away. But he became aware of the looseness of his pants, cloth peaking at his arousal and turned his head to the side again.

To remedy this, Flavia moved herself over him, placing her hips over his covered length and slowly let the fur coat fall. “It’s okay to look, Robin,” she said, answering the question she knew he had in the back of his mind, and slowly he turned to face her.

Her breasts were the first to be exposed to the night chill. As the front of the coat parted, though, the next was her toned stomach, abs pressing against her dark skin. His eyes were glued to the edges of the parting cloth, slowly drinking in everything from her body. But when it finally pulled away to reveal her hips and the folds of her core, she watched as he gulped and barely suppressed a chuckle. She let her legs relax, pressing herself against his hardened member and he twitched.

“Go on. Isn’t curiosity one of your traits?”

It was like a dam had opened up. His hands, unsure at first yet gentle and probing, trailed all over her exposed body and she shivered and languished under his touch. The air was cold, but she felt her body becoming hot as he explored. She grinned when he raised his head to have a better look at her breasts, feeling the soft flesh bend and squeeze in his hands. She gave a short laugh when they trailed down over to her stomach, taking in their firmer feel.

And when he finally gave in and looked down, she leaned back a little to expose her wetting flesh. He was careful, slow, like when he was approaching a wild beast on their recent hunt. But finally his thumbs went to both ends and gently pulled them apart.

“Some of the cruder men…” he gulped, “they speak of… I mean, I know what they put in, but-”

“You mean fingering?” she did her best to sound gentle yet impartial.

His blush turned darker, but he nodded. “Yes… that would be one of them.”

Her hand softly grasped a finger and placed it at the entrance. “Go on, then. Give it a nice, slow wiggle.” She didn’t expect him to be good, and while she was more than rearing to take him in now, foreplay would most likely be necessary in his future encounters.

And when he took a breath and gently pushed in, she shuddered and gave a low hiss. She was no stranger to the act, but another person’s touch always trumped her own. And as he explored, slowly satiating his curiosity, she began to undo the front of his top, gently plying the buttons apart. Her reward was his toned chest, strong from the war and training. Her own hands explored his body slowly, mirroring his movements from before. But she did her best to remain slow - Robin had never been with another after all, and too much at one time might lead to finishing too soon.

But she knew she was ready now. Gently grasping his wrist, she pulled it away and moved her body back a bit. Then, holding the hem of his pants, she pulled them down, letting his cock spring up, rigid from anticipation. Leaning in close, she grasped its base and examined her prize.

“It’s nice.”

Robin’s lips opened and closed, but he said nothing. With a small smile, Flavia let out her tongue and gave it a slow drag from base to tip, watching him flinch beneath her.

“F-Flavia…”

She didn’t think he’d last if she continued that way, and she laughed as she raised her body over his length. “We’ll save it for another night.”

“Y-You mean to say… we might do this again?”

“Of course,” she quickly responded, dragging her wet opening over his tip. “As I said, you’re a desirable man.” Finally, though, she stopped over his head and looked him in the eye. “Are you ready?”

He nodded, and she slowly let herself descend. She let out a low moan, but Robin let out an even louder one. It was short, though, and he pursed his lips. Finally, though, she had taken as much as she could from this angle. She knew from the start that he would finish well before her if he remained still, and she spoke again.

“Touch me.”

“W-Where?”

“Everywhere.”

He didn’t need a second command. His hands rose to her chest again, softly apprehending her flesh. They fell to her hips and thighs, squeezing them with each slow rise and fall of her body. He let out low hisses, and in those moments he would freeze up, trying to calm himself and she patiently waited it out.

But soon his eyes and hands fell over her filled entrance. Grasping his hand again, she guided his thumb through the small patch of blonde and to her clit, leaning back. “Keep brushing it. Right there.”

And this time when she moved her hips, just a little faster, Robin did his best to keep up. His voice escaped his lips, her name ghosting through the air, but his hand never stopped. One of her own hands hastened to grab his other and brought it to her chest, and she felt him squeeze.

And for a moment, it was a heavenly rhythm between them. But she knew Robin wouldn’t last long enough. Not on his first night with another.

“F-Flavia!” he let out a panicked cry. She could see his body tensing, feel it tensing beneath and she pushed harder. Her body moved past the pace they set, and for all the good it did he tried to keep up. But it was for naught. In seconds she felt his cock twitching inside her. His white hot seed spilled out onto the two of them, the slaps of skin becoming even wetter.

But in spite of all this, perhaps he hung onto her commands, for he stroked and squeezed her even more. He was well and finished by the time she felt her body snapping over him, the walls of her pussy coaxing whatever was left from him. But it was enough and it was good.

When the act was done, her breath regained, Flavia let herself fall to his side. She wondered if he was still coping with the sensation as she dragged the blanket over them, but such concerns were put away for the time being as her eyes closed to rest.

Robin would dig himself out of his pit. She was sure of it. But a little help went a long way. And it was certainly appealing to know that she had forged a bond with him that would not be put aside lightly.

To Flavia,

My mind still drifts to that night sometimes. Again, I thank you for all that you’ve done for me since my visit. Some days I still struggle, but to know that many others, and especially you, have faith in me is a gift unparalleled.

But I think I can put those times behind me now. You see, I have found a visitor most strange, and I think it would please you very much to see her. I seek to return to your seat immediately at your earliest convenience. After all, was it not you who mentioned that a hero is desirable for a Feroxi?

I eagerly await your reply.

Your lover, Ex-Grandmaster Robin

A/N: Whew, sorry for the delay. But surprisingly once I got started it kinda just spilled out. I think I was worried about not getting back into the FE swing of things, but perhaps it was severely misplaced, haha.

Just one more smut prompt left!

[bsdblogger]

What You Need to Know about Dazai Osamu and The Dark Era

this needed to be done

if you do not intend on reading Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era (translated beautifully by @nkhrchy here on tumblr), i implore you to at least read about the juiciest missing details so you can do the following with me:

love Oda more

love Ango more

suffer more 

ship more??? hmmm??

i was thrilled when i found out the Dark Era was getting an anime adaptation. i just had the chance to watch everything from the second cur this Christmas break college devoured my free time and ate my soul, and i was tremendously pleased with the execution and the art. i did have a couple issues with it, but i can’t really complain. and four episodes???? god, we are so blessed. amazing. now everyone may know of Oda and we can all suffer together

DEEPER DETAILS FROM THE LIGHT NOVEL, HERE WE GO:

Oda: 

ahhhh, so much about oda. for starters, there’s so much great inner Oda dialogue.

“Because the one who has gone missing is intelligence agent Sakaguchi Ango.”

If there was someone who could look into my heart, they would be lucky to see the image of a majestic, erupting volcano. Countless question marks burst forth from the volcano’s mouth, filling the air.

In reality, I curl my fingers a little. 

Source: translation by @nkhrchy

^this passage sums up Oda pretty well actually! much of the ln is narrated by him. in the anime, we get some of Oda’s inner dialogue, but not the true bulk of it. he’s definitely a deep one and doesn’t let on that much about his emotions and feelings

the passage above also shows Oda’s faithfulness to Ango as a friend—you get a little bit of his faithfulness in the anime, but not to the extent in the ln. after they discovered the gun in Ango’s safe, Oda constantly struggles with the idea of Ango betraying them:

Why did Ango disappear?... I roam Yokohama’s streets looking for a non-existent glimmer of hope.

In another scenario:

Why would Ango want to betray the organisation?

During former intelligence wars, in order to get a member of the enemy organisation to betray them, money, sex, family, self-esteem, a sense of belonging could all become an obstacle. As long as all of these are struck down, the other party would agree to defect. So what is Ango’s reason for defecting and seeking refuge with Mimic?

To find the answer, I look beside me at Dazai.

Dazai continues to keep his head low, in deep thought. His expression—

Dazai is—

“—Hahaha!”

Laughing.

“I initially thought it was just a normal criminal organisation – but if it’s an organisation that Ango would seek refuge in, that means they’re not the sort of people to come crying and begging for forgiveness after a little lecture. On top of that, Ango as an enemy won’t be an easy adversary, not at all. Isn’t this exciting? It’ll definitely force me into desperation, and then—“

“Dazai!”

Hearing my call, Dazai stops talking. It’s not that I want to say something, but just to get him to quit it.

^this scene is a huge example showing how much Ango’s questionable disappearance bothers Oda. he doesn’t want to think of it as betrayal, let alone have Dazai laughing about it

even as Ango betrayed Oda right in front of his own eyes, Oda still feels tremendous pain at the thought of Ango abandoning him:

With my numb tongue, I say a few words towards Ango’s disappearing back. As to what I said, I don’t remember myself, but an indescribable loneliness fills my heart. My emotions feel like they’re at the end of the universe.

i also felt the anime underplayed how much Oda understood Dazai: 

There is no one who knows Dazai’s inner self.

In the mafia, no one will look at what’s in their colleagues. This is an unspoken rule. They will not open up the lid over one’s chest to look at their heart and comment at the darkness stuffed within. This is a merit of the mafia.

But maybe that is wrong. At least it is for the man sitting beside me. Perhaps someone should persistently tie Dazai up, open the lid over his chest and stuff the head of a vacuum cleaner in. They have to let Dazai, who should be screaming in pain and resisting, settle down. Following which, the difficult things in his heart must all be dragged out under the sun and stepped on mercilessly.

mind you, this is a pretty unsettling passage, and @nkhrchy mentioned that translating it was a bit awk, but nonetheless—it goes to show that Oda understands how greatly darkness plagues Dazai. he knows Dazai is a dark and merciless mafioso, but he also sees him as being human

Oda really examines what Dazai reveals about himself too:

“I’m not upset... Things worth pursuing will always disappear the moment before you get them. Nothing is worth prolonging a painful life to pursue.”

I look at Dazai intently. Although we have known each other for very long, this is the first time Dazai has spoken about himself. One can see something as sharp as a giant fishhook piercing and gnawing into Dazai’s life.

but the best example of how much Oda understands Dazai comes after the mimic sniper scene, when Dazai dared the sniper to kill him. after Dazai had called it acting, Oda reflected on the incident and thought this: 

As Dazai pointed to his forehead and approached the muzzle, the look on his face – like that of a child about to burst into tears – had already been branded upon my eyes. 

Oda knows that little go-ahead-and-kill-me didn’t just come out of nowhere 

The last particular thing I wanted to mention about Oda was the part when he visited his orphans before they all died *sobs*. perhaps it’s just me, but Oda came off rather stiff and serious? don’t get me wrong, he definitely thinks to himself, “I need to show them just how terrifying a true mafioso is.” however, he doesn’t say it to the kids. and, well, this doesn’t happen:

(for the record, he does tickle the one kid until he surrenders) 

i get the point that the anime was trying to convey though. in the ln, Oda mentioned that the oldest boy wanted to be a mafioso when he grew up. so if you interpreted Oda as being too stiff or serious in this scene, just know that he was only trying to steer them from a life violence and death—to protect them. you should also know that Oda’s whole point of staying in the mafia was to earn enough money to provide food and shelter for these young orphans, just until they grew up and became independent and oh my god Oda is really too pure for this world

Ango:

oh god, you must understand how much Ango still wanted to be friends with Oda and Dazai

after Oda saved Ango from the exploding building, Oda gave him a handkerchief for his injury. then, after Oda fell into the magical temari ball trap, Ango tucked the handkerchief back into his hand, BUT WITH A NAPKIN FROM THE BAR. it’s as Dazai explains:

“A napkin from this store was wedged inside. It’s too obvious! Information agents will use unexpectedly dated methods sometimes.”     

and if this does not show that Ango valued their friendship, let it be known that there was a scene in the ln with Ango looking at photographs after Oda’s death. and i mean, come on, they have to be the photographs Dazai requested they take at the bar. Ango was reminiscing over their friendship

The orphans:

i’m sorry, but you must know this

in the anime, the bus exploded right after Oda went back outside. however, in the ln, there’s a chase prolonging your hopes that the orphans live that ultimately serves to only crush your spirit 

Oda ended up chasing the bus, and he somehow got on top of a minivan in front of the bus. he actually got the bus to crash into the minivan, but before he can reach the bus—the force of the explosion throws him into another car. Oda literally talks about wanting to get there before the explosion because (presumably) he saw it six seconds ahead of time through his ability Flawless. he thinks to himself, “Even if it’s one second earlier, I want to run to the bus.” which that, of course, would have killed him. the tragic thing about this though, he couldn’t physically do this because he was too injured to move and get there

and okay, i felt such things with the extra details in the light novel. this is what Oda describes before chasing the bus:

Through the gaps of the curtains, I can see someone sticking their hand out...

The boy notices me and widens his eyes. It is the oldest boy who said his dream is to become a mafioso. When he notices my gaze, he pulls the curtain open forcefully without hesitation. Behind his back, I can see all the kids. The young boy has pulled the curtain open for me to see this sight.

identifying the boy who had opened the curtains as the one who wanted to join the mafia is like an additional stab in the heart

Oda’s death:

okay, so you know this thing in episode 23:  

okay, i actually don’t know what that is, but in the manga, it’s either a cigarette box or a matchbox with a city on it (maybe Yokohoma?) anyway, this was the very last thing Oda did before his death: 

With trembling fingers, Odasaku draws out a cigarette from his coat, bringing it to his mouth in a strenuous action.

and so i believe Dazai was holding Oda’s cigarette box in the manga. something that was probably on Oda’s very person at the time of his death. so, to me, the box is a symbol of Oda — not a symbol of his memories at the bar with Oda and Ango. and for the record, Oda had given up smoking, but he found the old box and lit up one of the cigarettes as he was saying his final goodnight to the orphans. i think of it as like lighting a candle in their memories

A stream of faint purple smoke rises from the cigarette silently. I watch it.

“Sleep tight in the quiet place where you all are. I’ll take revenge for you all.”

I hold the cigarette between my fingers, watching the smoke. The cigarette finishes burning and the smoke disappears.

details from the light novel may also give you more to ship

perhaps you have missed two shipping candidates while watching the anime adaptation. have you ever entertained the shipping of OdaGide? don’t write this ship off until you read this post. no one writes about OdaGide better than @nkhrchy, our kayak captain 

Additional thoughts on the anime arc:

Ages: this is a minor thing, but i was a bit disappointed that Dazai, Ango, and Akutagawa did not appear that much younger in the anime. i know it’s only a four year difference and it’s not that great, but the light novel had six illustration pages and i really enjoyed seeing the manga version of 16 year old baby Akutagawa in them. idk man. i need more baby Akutagawa. i also wanted younger Dazai because it’s such a pleasing thing to see a young soul already so dark? you can see the light novel illustrations here, as scanned by @akutagawaprize

Sound: okay, well this is just a random thing, but there was a lot of slow music and soft talking. it was fitting, but i expected a bit more playfulness in some parts. especially with Dazai’s goofy parts. i get it’s the dark era, but it didn’t feel so despondent that early on in the ln?

wow, what a long post. forgive me. i have so many feelings about this.