#it is frankly a relief to meander a bit

[elsanna-shenanigans]

October Contest Submission #16: Castaigne

Words: ca. 3,900 Setting: post-F2 AU Lemon: No CW: death, gore, horror, suicide, angst, violence 

Author’s Note:  the story was censored from its original version

Anna’s eyes fluttered open as she tried to make sense of the blurry world around her. She blinked once, twice, thrice, but found the blur renewed every time her eyes shut. Resolving to simply let her vision clear itself, the next thing she felt was a dull ache in her skull. Her limbs felt heavy and leaden, and she could not bring herself to reach up and touch her head.

Lying in her difficult stasis, untired but wishing sleep, she turned her head to the side. Expecting nothing, she was surprised at the figure before her. There, Elsa sat, holding vigil. A small smile spread across her face when she spotted Anna’s eyes open. 

“Anna, you’re awake!” 

A sigh of relief escaped Elsa’s mouth, and Anna’s heart swelled with love. Of course she was here, Elsa was always there. And she, in turn, made it a mutual affair. Why then, was she too tired to reciprocate? Why didn’t Elsa reach for her with soft hands? Was she currently so fragile as to only be able to bear the emanations of love from her sister?

She lay there a while, thinking, wondering, loving. Then, in the same moment as she contemplated this, a heavy drowsiness draped itself over her and thought was quickly lost to sleep.

________________

When Anna woke up again, she found that Elsa was gone and the fire in the room had been stoked. She sat up, still feeling somewhat feeble and looked around the room to try and reorient herself. There was nobody, not even an attendant or Kai.

Reaching a hand up to her head, Anna felt the sensation of clean bandages wrapped over a gauze pad. So she had definitely been injured, but how? A curious gap in her memory seemed to withhold the information, and the last she remembered was inviting Elsa over.

Still, she felt rather alright and thus, threw her legs off of the side of the bed. Whatever happened, it was time to find the royal physician and maybe send a letter to Elsa. Wait, wasn’t she in the castle? 

Anna nodded to herself and agreed that yes, Elsa must be in the castle. Why wouldn’t she be, if her little sister had been injured? And she had seen her earlier, so yes, Elsa was in the castle. Also she had been invited.

She wandered over to the hall, meandering and slow. Coordination seemed so difficult with rubbery legs and dazed thoughts. Her entire mind swirled with questions and confusion, wondering how this happened and dreading why.

The hall ran long, paintings stretched, and the horizontal plane seemed eternal. A slight layer of dust marred the beauty of the handsomely decorated walls, betraying the lack of maintenance. Dust motes swirled about Anna’s head, dancing in strange patterns and lending the hall an ethereal quality.

Anna blinked and the hall returned to regular proportions, if but with a hint of its surreal self. Where was everyone? The castle hadn’t been this empty since before Elsa’s coronation. There was an eerie silence that took the place of bustling and hustling and the sounds of people.

At the end of the hall she turned and braced herself, irrational thoughts imagining a monster around the corner. There were none, excepting of course, the royal physician himself. But he wasn’t a monster, just uptight. You’d be uptight too if being uptight was the difference between death and discomfort.

Behind him, she spotted Elsa at the far end of the hall, who waved. She waved back. The royal physician, confused by this interaction, turned to look back. Anna bit back a giggle as Elsa left before he could see her, wearing a mischievous grin. 

The physician blinked before turning back to Anna, adjusting his glasses.

“Ah, Queen Anna, you are awake.”

“Oh hey, Lege! Yes, I am,” Anna swallowed and pointed at her head, “Am I okay?”

“Well…” the doctor hesitated, “Quite frankly, no. You suffered a terrible blow to the head and we worried for your very life. It is lucky you emerged with seemingly no more than a concussion. Nevertheless please, you must rest. It is not good for one to be up and about in such a state.

“Oh geeze, I- oh geeze. So is Elsa going to be queen while I recover?” Anna asked.

The physician’s eyebrows twitched. 

“That would not be recommended, your majesty. It is currently not ah, a good time.”

“Why not? She was right there.”

That made him pause before saying, “She was?”

“Um, yes?” Anna said, frowning.

The conversation fizzled there, and Anna stood for a moment. Gosh, she felt so dizzy and oh, was that swaying? She was definitely swaying, and his words were filtered by water. When did that happen?

Oh dear.

________________

Anna and Elsa sat together on Elsa’s bed, opening letters and answering them when Anna rolled over and looked at Elsa. A goofy smile hung over her lips and she basked in the presence of her sister. 

Reaching up a lazy hand, Anna booped Elsa. Life was good: the kingdom was thriving, and she was spending time with the love of her life. The Southern Isles hardly bothered them and Weselton wouldn’t even dare. What more could she ask for?

‘Hey Els,” she said, smiling.

‘Hey Anna,’ replied Elsa.

‘Do you wanna go do something?’

‘Oh? Like what? Are we building another snowman?’

‘No silly, what if we went on a picnic or vacation? Oh! A picnic vacation!’

Elsa laughed and said, ‘Yes, a picnic vacation. And where shall we take this, your majesty?’

‘Well I was thinking maybe one of the clearings in the forest nearby? Not the enchanted one, though that one is good too! But a normal forest, so we can see squirrels and ducks!’

‘I don’t think ducks live in forests, Anna.’

Anna gave her an incredulous look before she said, ‘Yes they do, there was a mother duck and her ducklings outside during your coronation. Mother Quack and her ducklings deserve respect too.’

‘…Huh.’

‘Right?’

‘But yes, I do accept your invitation to go on such a trip, your majesty. It would be my pleasure.’ Elsa gave a faux bow as she spoke.

________________

Anna woke for the third time, but this time she found herself in her own plush bed. The royal physician fretted above her, hands waving while Kai and Gerda listened to him. 

What happened? Well, she had been talking to Lege and then fainted. She must have, otherwise how would she have gotten here suddenly? Strange. Was this a symptom of a concussion? It must be. 

‘I don’t think I like concussions much.’

She watched him speak, spittle flying at a particularly impassioned plea, but could not make sense of the words. Were they about her? 

‘Urgh, head injuries are the worst. And where is Elsa, anyways?’

Just thinking about Elsa made her heart hurt. The pain of missing made her wish for Elsa dearly. What she would give for a kiss, much less a mere hug! Even a little touch would make her feel better.

Alas, no kiss came nor hug embraced her, and she was left propped upon plush pillows as the others left. Time stretched into eternity as she lay, no books in reach. Even the book she left on her dresser betrayed her, taunting her, sitting far away on its hoity toity pedestal.

Lying there, she drifted mentally, imagining a trip with Elsa. It seemed so lovely, even accounting for that weird memory gap. But what happened before? She had to- needed to know. Something important could have gone down!

Unfortunately, as hard as she strained, Anna could not force any of the memories to dredge themselves up. Thus, she was stuck, half-focused and with a headache.

At least, that was until the door slowly opened and Elsa made her way inside. Ethereal beauty and wisps of shining hair heralded her presence followed by steps softer than a whisper in the wind. Her smile was so full that Anna could not help but feel invigorated.

Elsa sat next to her bed in a proper manner, legs crossed, and above all elegant. By all rights, if not for apotheosis, she would be the true queen. Anna observed quietly, stricken with awe and wonder. Half-blinded, she closed her aching eyes despite the urge to leap into her sister’s arms.

“Elsa, you’re back! Oh thank goodness, I missed you so much!”

“I guess I am. How are you feeling?”

“Good! I mean bad, but also good because you’re here now and you always make me feel better!”

Their discussion went no further as Anna drifted back to sleep. She could have sworn she felt soothing fingers running through her hair.

________________

Crash!

Anna held some heavy object as she turned in horror, extending a hand and grasping at nothing. 

‘-No!’

________________

Anna’s eyes burst open as she let out a ragged, gasping breath. What on earth was that nightmare? Fleetingly short but it felt like an eternity that weighed heavily on her soul. Worse, Elsa had left her alone yet again.

Now though, she felt strong enough to stand. Unsure though she was on how long she had slept, she knew that Arendelle needed tending to. Like a shepherdess took care of her flock, so too must a queen have ensured her kingdom’s wellbeing.

As Anna left her room, she noted that her sword no longer lay upon the mantle. Strange, for she had always kept it there ever since General Matthias taught her how to use one. It made her feel safer, and capable of protecting herself and others.

Once more she traversed the meandering halls of Arendelle castle, and once more she noticed its strange, desolate state. Deserted and silent excepting her own footsteps, the castle consumed her with its now oppressive atmosphere. Black curtains covered the windows and the only other living resident seemed to be a thin black cat that meandered past.

If Anna didn’t know any better, she would have said someone died. But who? Gerda, Kai, and Lege were all alive. It wasn’t like Elsa could even die (could she?), and she felt rather certain she herself was not dead. Maybe there was some sort of symbolic event going on?

Whatever it was, Anna felt strange and shuddered to even ponder them. 

Eventually, she was able to escape the deathliness and find a room with other human beings in it. Her advising council often brought great frustration, but few were the times she had ever been happier to see another person than then.

They all turned to regard her with mixed expressions of shock, confusion and pity? Why would they pity her, they had no reason! Well, maybe they did, after all she was the one who hurt her head. Maybe they felt bad because she had a concussion.

One hesitated and looked between themselves and the rest before speaking up:

“Your majesty? We had not expected you to grace us with your presence today. It is, however, a pleasure to see you awake.”

‘Wait, did they watch me sleep? That’s so creepy,’ thought Anna, before she said, “It is a pleasure to see you as well. What are we to do today?”

“We’ve to set up trade routes today, due to the ah, rerouting,” replied the advisor. 

“Oh, didn’t we have one with the Northuldra? I mean, I’d imagine that the goods we exchange will be maintained during this redrawing since Elsa is our main connection,” said Anna.

This remark made all of the advisors pale and glance between themselves. Anna felt as if there was some grand joke she was not privy to.

Finally, one of the advisors spoke up, the stilted words falling from his lips.

“I do not think that… well, that we ought to do that. It would not be very viable currently.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Elsa said the Northuldra were perfectly willing to trade!�� Anna shouted.

“Th-they are, your majesty, but you yourself ordered the ending of the route b-before your accident,” the advisor stammered back.

“I did?” Anna asked, puzzled.

“Yes,” said the advisor, “You did. It was what we had always advised, but it was only then you took it.”

“But why?” 

“I do not know, only that you finally listened to sense.”

Anna seethed, temper flashing as she remembered the many arguments she had about the Northuldra not being ‘savages’ or ‘uncivilized folk unfit to trade with’ or ‘barbarians’. It didn’t help that many people hardly knew of them outside of tales from Runeard’s time.

Barely maintaining her composure, she finished addressing her council before flouncing away. White-hot anger spiked through her like a fireplace poker. How dare they? How dare they act like this? In a moment of weakness, she should have known they would capitalize!

No. 

No, this reaction was wrong. She may have been a firebrand, she may have been rash, but she wasn’t like this. Anna was not a paranoid person nor was she quick to anger, Hans notwithstanding. So what were these frightening changes to her very self?

Anna reached a tentative hand to her head in terror, touching the tender spot where her troubles lay. Was her accident so terrible as to make her a different person? Had she changed before or after, having gained or lost traits? 

Tears sprang unbidden as she thought about the fact that she might have lost her self in the accident. She couldn’t even remember it, and she still felt the same. Was she the same? Did Before Anna die and Now Anna come to be in her place? Was a self something capable of being lost?

She didn’t feel demented. She didn’t feel different, or mad, or even like her perspective changed even though it must have during the fainting spell. Why? What happened? What cruelty didn’t allow her to know and remember?

In the distance, a familiar blonde color flashed in her vision and turned a corner. Anna all but sprinted to catch up to Elsa, but by the time she arrived, Elsa was already gone. Anna quietly sank to the floor and allowed herself a moment to cry.

________________

The drum of beating hooves raced away from the palace. The desperate rider clutched the reins with white-knuckled hands. Behind shrank the tallest of towers, and before rose mountains of wintery treachery. There was no care as to where, only so long as it was away.

She tried, she had tried so hard. To do the next right thing, to be a good queen that Arendelle and her neighbors deserved. But the Northuldra didn’t deserve her petty desires, even less because of her actions. Corona should not have to bear the weight of her indulgence, and the Southern Isles could rule better than she.

But she failed, and she knew that there was no atonement. Wherever God lay, he did not interfere with her grief. 

There was, however, a sole respite. 

It felt good to steal away in the late evening and nights, away on her horse where her troubles could not pursue quickly enough. A surge of adrenaline and cold wind knocked away all her troubles until it was time to return, refreshed and prepared to face new hardships. Despite everything, she would never abandon her people.

Tonight however, she felt was different somehow. Her horse seemed spooked and though she hesitated to leave, she pushed through the fear. It would be alright.

But there was to be a change in the winds of fate, the breeze shifting ever so slightly. In the new realm, her horse misstepped and tripped over a root, rearing up. In that timeline, Anna fell off violently.

A massive hoof came down on her face and all went dark.

________________

Anna steeled herself, still shaking from the returned memory. She had to get up. She had to continue for her own sake and the sake of Arendelle. Perhaps it would have been better for her to remain in ignorant bliss, but possible changes to her character frightened her.

She stumbled, taking a step, half-step,and leaned against the wall as her body rebelled. Anna knew she should return to bed, but chose instead to go to the stables. Intuition told her she would find her answers there. 

Oh, but it was so hard to focus and see where she was going. The hall seemed to undulate in width, having grown and shrunk before her very eyes. And yet, it seemed as if there were snowflakes before her.

Yes, yes it seemed a constant trail of the snowflakes she had known since childhood. Was Elsa guiding her somewhere? It didn’t matter, she trusted Elsa with her life. So, Anna followed the snowflakes.

Finally, after a seeming instant-eternity, she found herself in the stables. Her horse nickered softly as he saw her, and greeted Anna with a nuzzle. Anna returned the gesture by feeding and petting him, spending some time alone in the stable.

The time came though, and she saddled her horse and mounted him. She knew not where she was going, only that it had to be away. The rough leather of the reins reminded her hands of a specific other feel.

Like smoke, the acrid memory filled her mind as she remembered the incident. Her hands twitched, the visceral feel reminded her muscles. God, how could she have forgotten? It had been burned permanently into her mind.

________________

It had been a wonderful time, she and her sister traveling along a forest near Arendelle. It was a lovely place in the summer with warm, green, and dappled rays of light that smelt of woody pine. They were traveling along one of the paths to find a clearing, when disaster struck. The loud shouts of angry men reached their ears as they found themselves ambushed and surrounded.

Anna and Elsa stood back to back, prepared to take them on. Anna drew her sword and Elsa raised her hands, both prepared to defend the other to the death. 

The first of the men struck, but they were quickly downed individually. Wisening, the rest chose to attack as a large group. In that moment, Anna’s blood roared in her ears and her adrenaline kicked into high gear.

‘The left!’ Thought Anna, before parrying the strike. Using the momentum from her parry, she struck at the bandit’s belly and quickly took him down . Behind her, she heard the sound of crackling ice and the screams of cuffed men as the ice wrapped around their bare wrists.

As soon as she turned from the dropped bandit, she found herself spinning and blocking and dodging, having engaged her very best footwork in order to out-fight the bandits that highly outnumbered them. 

In that scenario, dodging was crucial, as proven by the near impalement she suffered. Luckily, Anna jumped back at the last minute. So continued the fighting until finally, the relative silence of a forest reigned once more.

Anna sighed and nearly relaxed when a twig snapped behind her. Instinctively, she whipped her sword behind her in a high arc.

In a moment so terrible, her mind turned grey. As if in slow motion, she knew she had made a mistake the second the sword began to swing. Unable to stop herself, she could only move helplessly. In the end, her swing became easier as if a weight had been removed.

A sudden horror gripped her as she turned to look and heard the faint scream-gurgle-wheeze of pain. 

Before her, was the headless body of her sister, head grotesquely knocked to the ground, paler still in death. The body soon keeled forward and hit the ground with a thud, splattering her boots.

Frozen in shock, Anna could only stare at what she had done, what she had committed. The bloodied sword slipped from her soiled hand into the dirt. That couldn’t be happening. She killed her own beloved, covered in the ichor of the one she loved.

She never got to give her a kiss good-bye. She never got to hug her, nor whisper sweet nothings, nor even say ‘I love you’ one last time. So much was lost in the span of a single mistake. And it was all her miserable fault.

Anna collapsed, sobbing, to the ground.  

________________

Anna nearly screamed, the weight of what happened falling onto newly unprepared shoulders. If truly, that was what happened, then she understood now where the horse had taken her.

Through the trees and the brush and the creeks, the horse had brought her to the top of the tallest cliff. Here, she knew, she could either return to her duty or achieve atonement for Elsa’s death. Alas, she knew she could not before for she had a duty.

But now? The void called ever so strongly. All she had to do was get out of the saddle and fall. Who was she, a mere imposter-Anna whose mind had been damaged in an accident? Who was she in comparison to Elsa?

Her foot trembled in the stirrup.

Her palms began to sweat.

Her eyes performed a laser focus.

Anna turned away.

Even with an injury, she was still Anna of Arendelle who loved her sister, her subjects, and herself. Even despite her gravest of mistakes, she was still the queen who brought prosperity and tried to do her best to help. Forward was the only way, and the way forward was the way back.

Watching the woods as she prepared to leave, Anna spotted ‘Elsa’ walk up to her. Ah, the specter followed her. Why?

Anna watched her, throat dry, and croaked, “Who?”

“It’s me, Elsa.”

Anna shook her head, “Elsa, you’re dead. Why- how am I seeing you here?”

“I’m the fifth spirit, silly. Even without a physical body, I’m here.”

“But I killed you.”

The statement so simple, hung like the judgement of an executioner.

Elsa shook her head and hugged Anna tightly. Anna found herself unable to reciprocate.

“Oh Anna, you know that doesn’t matter to me. I’m just glad you’re safe. I’m so, so sorry for what happened with your horse, but promise me, okay? Please, please don’t be afraid of yourself.”

Elsa let out a morose chuckle before continuing, “Trust me, I learned the hard way. You’re still you, Anna, even with a head injury, even if you were thirteen seals and a bird, you’d still be Anna. And I want you to know that no matter what, I love you. You are worthy.”

Anna nodded in near shock, “I promise, but how can I see you? Nobody else can.”

“The fifth spirit is a bridge between the human and spiritual, after all.”

Anna hesitated before saying, “I love you Elsa. More than anything.”

“I love you too, Anna. I’ll always be here for you.”

A kiss found its way onto Anna’s lips from Elsa’s ghostly visage. For a moment, all was right in the world as Anna basked in the love. Then, when she opened her eyes, Elsa was gone.

Anna swallowed and turned her horse back to the castle. It didn’t matter. Whether the Elsa she witnessed was a mere vision of an addled mind or something truly from beyond, her calling was here, in the physical world.

All she could do now was take the next right step. No matter how difficult, no matter how much it hurt. She knew she could, she had to. And one day, someday, she knew, she would heal.

Taking a deep breath, Anna nudged the horse’s sides. It was time to go.

[sunnywritesstuff34]

At Times,

(Oh boy oh boy, another installment in the “Sasuke is raised by the Akatsuki au” yay. This one is a little weird and underdone but I. I tried. Also sprinkled some mythology in there because i wanted to. hurrah. Anyway, here is some fluffy stuff, yeah. good ole fluffy. next one probably won’t be. but you know. also I am jumping all over the place this timeline is not linear i will be jumping all over the damn place so you know. @ghostjellyfishheart i made another one.)

TW and CW for: child injury, semi-gratuitous depiction of serious injuries, sort of amnesia, fucked up sleep schedules/habits, kidnapping, distress, probably ooc characters, this is a long one brace yourself but its mostly fluff i swear, tell me if I missed anything. 

Sasuke woke up alone, for some reason. He opened his eyes carefully, sitting up. That action wasn't without pain of course, suddenly it felt like liquid fire had been poured into his veins, specifically his arm. He hissed through his teeth and looked blankly at it. His arm looked the same as the last time he looked at it, except a lot worse. A lot worse. Broken, it was clearly broken at the elbow. Well, it looked like he wouldn't get to sleep in afterall. Sasuke looked around him to try and get a grasp on his surroundings, and found that he was sitting in the middle of the woods, propped up against a tree. He groaned as he tried to get to his feet, scanning his surroundings again. He didn't see anything or anyone, but forced his sharingan away regardless. What happened? He couldn't remember. He must have gotten separated from the others, he’d been on a mission with Sasori and Deidara, right? And then… something happened. Sasuke felt panic grow in his chest. There had to be somewhere close he could go to collect his thoughts. His arm was beginning to scream, the numbness from unconsciousness wearing off. He was awake now, and the pain was only going to get worse. He gritted his teeth. Oh well. He’d been through worse. Conveniently, when he looked around, he found a path not too far from the tree he’d woken up at and began to follow it. He felt… heavy. Sasuke reached into his pocket, trying to figure out what he had on him should the need to defend himself arose. A couple of kunai that he nearly stabbed his fingers on when he reached into his pocket, and… something else. He pulled it out and his face twisted in disgust. A Hidden Sand Village headband. Was that who found him? Maybe? He was half tempted to throw the band into the brush but decided against it, tucking it back into his pocket. Not too far away, he came to a town that he… recognized. Degarashi Port, he realized. How did he get to Degarashi port? That's in the land of tea. Where is Sasori and Deidara? Itachi? Where is… anybody? Fuck, he’d really stepped in it now. He couldn't remember if something had happened, couldn't remember how he ended up here. Well that's head trauma for you, he thought bitterly. He probably had some type of head trauma. That was a good explanation. He was wearing his traveling clothes, his cloak and a sun hat he could use to cover his face if he needed to. Walking through the town, he tried to go over what he could remember. He’d been with Deidara and Sasori in tea country to assassinate some major leader. They had been scouting out a piece of land to see if they could camp there. And then… and then Sasori shouted something, and the scorpion tail, and then Deidara’s face looked more alarmed than Sasuke had ever seen it… and then nothing, for a while. And then… he paled. Fuck. something had happened, something bad. He’d been captured by someone who recognized him somehow, for what he was, who he was. Something about his eyes, something about the sharingan, forcing him to show it to them. Somehow he managed to get away; either he killed them and ran or stole away. Either way, he was in public now, so getting kidnapped wasn't so much an issue anymore. No one would snatch a kid in broad daylight in front of everyone, or at least, he didn't think so. 

He meandered down the road, trying to clear his foggy head and look for a plan of action. His broken arm was tucked under his cloak, safely out of sight. Other than that, he didn't look like anything out of the ordinary, for the most part. He turned a corner into an alleyway, leaning back against the wall. He knew this place like the back of his hand because of how many times he’d been there, it was kind of ridiculous how many bloodthirsty people there were in a place called the land of tea. He needed to get back to the land of Wind, he needed to get back to the lair. Deidara and Sasori had to be somewhere else. Whoever captured him had been smart, they probably led them to somewhere that was a dead end. He had to get back on his own, and Sasuke could do that. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully. No, he had to. He would. He would get home. Whatever happened was important, he knew that. He had to get back home because of… because of what? Couldn't remember, whatever it was, he had to get back to the Akatsuki lair. When had he started calling it home? 

“Oh my god, hold on, I know that kid!” Sasuke turned around just in time to lay eyes on four people. One of them was tall, white haired with an eyepatch and a bored expression. The other three were kids, around his age. One of them was dressed in a long sleeved crop top and his skin was so pale and grey Sasuke almost thought he was dead. After a few seconds of looking at him, he understood better. Black hair, serious eyes, fake smile. He's seen that before. The third person is a girl, short pink hair and wide green eyes. And the fourth… he felt his heart jump up into his throat. Blond, blue eyes. A stupid, stupid fucking smile. His mind flashes back years to being stranded at a boring hotel with an obnoxious boy around his age. Part of him wants to disappear, and the other part is grateful to see someone who’s just a little bit familiar. The blonde ran over to him. 

“Sasuke!” he called. “Hey, hey Sasuke! It's me, it's Naruto!” He remembered that name, and he remembered that face from a long time ago out in the country side. Sasuke must have been around twelve then, bored out of his mind because of how long Kisame and Itachi were taking to get a job. He didn't have a single friend his age at that point, (he still didn't, but he wouldn't think about that) so it was kind of refreshing to meet someone else like him. Even if it came in the form of a loud annoying boy with the brain of a toddler that screamed his name constantly and had no idea what it meant to keep his voice down. 

“Naruto,” Sasuke said bluntly. “I um- I can tell. That it's you.” The other three people followed behind and Sasuke did his best to figure them out. The girl, pink hair, is looking at him with something like admiration. He couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The other two seemed more cautious, the black haired one still smiling blankly but more on guard and the white haired adult… Sasuke got the creeping feeling that he was being analyzed right back. He tucked that into the back of his mind for later. This person was dangerous. He knew that much. 

“Who’s this, Naruto?” the girl asked. Naruto glanced at her. 

“Huh? Oh! Sakura, this is Sasuke.” He turned back to his friend. “And Sasuke, this is Sakura, Kakashi, and Sai. Sasuke’s a friend from a while ago, on that journey with Jiraiya?” Sasuke’s head was turning particularly slow. He blinked. 

“J-Jiraiya? Like the legendary Sannin?” Naruto’s smile grew wider. He probably thought Sasuke was impressed by his trainer, but in reality, Sasuke was thinking well, the last time I met a Sannin, he tried to cut out my eyes and/or use me and Itachi for creepy ritual stuff, that was not a good time. Of course, Naruto didn't need to know the inner workings of his mind. In his confused and half delirious state, Sasuke wondered idly if Naruto had a similar experience with Jiraiya. He doubted it, frankly. 

“Hello. My name is Sai,” the black haired boy said robotically. Sasuke didn't trust him, and he didn't trust that smile. At all. Still, he gave a half wave with his good hand. 

“Sasuke knows Ninjutsu!” Naruto said proudly. White hair, Kakashi, raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh? And what village is he from?” Naruto frowned. Sasuke tried not to grimace. He remembered his interactions with Naruto very, very clearly. They traded techniques, beat the hell out of each other a little bit, had a lot of fun and shared memories and thoughts they hadn’t ever shared with anyone before, and then… and than Sasuke noticed the leaf headband and disappeared without a word. He used any excuse to be anywhere else, because this kid was a leaf ninja. He couldn't risk it. He could never have been friends with someone like that. 

“Hey, I never gotta ask. Where ya from anyway?” Naruto asked.

“H-Hidden Sand,” Sasuke said quickly, pulling the almost forgotten badge from his pocket and showing it to them. Kakashi seemed to approve, and Naruto smiled. 

“Damn, Sunagakure? I've got some friends from there, that's-” 

“What's a Sand village ninja doing this far south?” Kakashi asked contemplatively.

“Lets just say I got… separated from my squad,” Sasuke told them, a plan beginning to form in his foggy mind. “I know the area here, I could help you get back to Fire Country. Do you think you can help me get back to Suna? I… erm… a sort of… diplomatic mission?” Naruto smiled wider, something Sasuke hardly thought was possible. 

“Sure! Gaara’s the Kazekage, he’s like, my best friend. No problem at all!” Kakashi sighed.

“Okay, what could possibly go wrong? Just a little pit stop at Suna, nothing more, nothing less…” Sasuke felt himself let out a breath of relief. At some point they started walking back towards the woods after Sasuke pointed to a couple of spots on the map, and at one point or another, the pain in Sasuke’s arm began to build. He stumbled on the forest path. 

“Woah there kiddo, what's going on?” Kakashi asked. The sensei gently moved him to a tree and had him sit down against it. The girl, Sakura, moved forward, and after examining him for a second or two she uncovered his arm. Kakashi raised an eyebrow as Naruto and Sakura winced. 

“Y-You're arm is broken!” Sakura exclaimed. Sasuke blinked at her blearily. 

“Uh… y-yes,” Sasuke managed. “It… it is.” She picked up his arm gingerly and began to look over it with a solemn expression. “I need to set it, and then apply some medical jutsu. It's a bad break. Why didn't you say something earlier, stupid?” she demanded. Sasuke blinked at her again. 

“S-Sorry. Today has been… rather trying,” he muttered. 

“Yeah, sure seems like it,” Naruto muttered. “We should make camp, the sun’s setting anyway and it's dangerous to go down these roads in the middle of the night,” he glanced at Kakashi who sighed and nodded his ascent. 

“Hate to admit it, but you're right. Sai, come on, let's go find a clearing.” Sasuke looked over at Sakura, the pink haired girl. Her eyes were clouded with worry, concern. He didn't understand it. He didn't know her. Why was she… Sakura sighed and put a hand to his forehead. 

“Sleep, okay?” she breathed. “You look exhausted, and it won't do the healing process any favors if you try to stay awake. Just rest, you're safe now.” You're safe now. It had been so long since anybody had said that to him. He didn't know if he liked it. He wasn't safe. Sasuke… was never safe. He had never been safe, never would be. But then chakra flowed from her fingertips, and he was lulled into… something. His eyes closed. Consciousness slipped through his fingers like sand. 

When Sasuke woke up, he was more tired than he had been in a long time. His periods of rest were typically dreamless and seemingly endless, unless they were plagued by nightmares that left him screaming for help and tasting blood. This time, he woke up slowly, almost… gently. He woke up to a forest ceiling made of leaves belonging to trees he had never seen before. He sat up slowly, not wanting to strain himself. 

“You're awake, teme!” Sasuke blinked and looked to his right, just to find a very enthusiastic Naruto looking back at him. He frowned and his answer was instinctive. 

“Of course I am, dobe.” Naruto only grinned more. He looked like he did when they met all those years ago. That pale kid, Sai, walked over. 

“Hello,” he called, and Naruto turned to look at him. 

“Sasuke’s awake!” Kakashi walked over too, surveying all of them.

“Yes, it appears that's the case,” he mused. “I hate to say this Sasuke, but you should probably try to go back to sleep. These idiots only have a few more hours of sleep left before we have to head out.” Sasuke only nodded. If there was one thing he was familiar with, it was weird sleep schedules. He was used to waking up at the crack of dawn or the middle of the night at the drop of a hat. That's just how he’d lived and had to live. He suspected that these ninjas must have lived a similar way. It certainly seemed that way. He had to fight the waves of rage that crept into his chest at seeing their headbands. Leaf soldiers. They were leaf soldiers. In any other circumstances he would slit all of their throats and run, but he needed them. And besides, he didn't know if he’d ever be able to do that to Naruto. Ever. It was disturbing, how averse he was to hurting this Konoha dog. It didn't feel right. He only nodded at Kakashi’s instruction and laid his head back down on the bedroll, frowning. 

“What… where did you get this extra bed roll?”

“It's mine! I let you sleep in it,” Naruto chimed in. Sasuke blinked at him. 

“And… why did you do that?” Naruto rolled his eyes.

“Uh, you were injured. You obviously need it more than me.” Sasuke couldn't help but smile. 

“That's… thank you.” He rolled over and froze after a moment. He sat up again. “Where’s- where’s my sword?” Naruto frowned and went rummaging on the other side of his sleeping area. He produced the chokuto, scabbard and all. Sasuke breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Geeze, all that for a blade?” Naruto muttered. After a few seconds of looking at it, he asked another question. “Why’s it so important?”

“I made it myself. Forged it with some help. It's called Kusanagi.”

“That's a cool name.” Sasuke closed his eyes and laid down. 

“It means grass cutter.” He mumbled, thinking of old stories his brother used to tell him in the dead of night. “There’s a whole story about it. Once there was an old god who roamed the plains of earth. He met some younger gods when they told him about a giant snake that terrorized them and kept eating their daughters. They offered their daughter’s hand in marriage if he could defeat the snake. When he did, he found out that there was a sword embedded in the snake's tail, a sword that could control the wind. He used it to ward off flames rising in the dry grass plains, that's why it was called grass cutter.”

“Wow,” Naruto muttered. “That's a cool story.” 

“Mhm,” Sasuke mumbled back. “It was one of my favorites.” They both nodded off soon after, and Sasuke fell asleep oddly well for being with the enemy. Better then usual, anyway. 

[freewheelshippin]

FIC: “be proud”

Let me indulge in the fantasy that I got to help, just a little bit, in making one of the only ballads on this earth I like. More “utapri characters that aren’t ranmaru” content than usual, especially Ai, since this is vaguely based on their Idol Songs album! 

Content warnings include an allusion to home invasion, Ranmaru’s usual backstory things (i.e. dealing with debt), and some eating/meal scenes. 

Ranmaru was surprised to receive the package, a fairly big box from someone he never expected to get mail from. Something in the pit of his stomach half-expected it to be everything he’d sent her, unused and returned to sender. 

For a second, he thought he was right. It was a similar array of trinkets and colors as the merch she’d designed for his album, but it quickly became obvious this wasn’t his merch, but hers. Trinkets from her shop, like patches and pins, and one of those handmade prints she liked making on weird paper. Candies he didn’t recognize, some American snacks he did, a little box of something that looked homemade with a hand-scrawled label on it. At the bottom, a shirt, printed with a cleaned version of an album art draft he’d especially liked but the agency didn’t approve. Folded within it, a note, written in English on one side and clumsy Japanese on the other. 

Yo, Kurosaki! 

I know I already messaged you thanks for sending me my comp copies of everything, but I wanted to return the favor! You really didn’t have to go out of your way get it to me like that, much less pack in all the other shit you did. But I’m glad you did! It arrived on the day I got another rejection, one I was really hoping would pan out. I got back all the time I would’ve spent feeling sorry for myself and instead just wanted to try again. That’s kind of the message I got from the sound of your album, so I guess it’s appropriate! 

Honestly, even if it was tough figuring things out sometimes, I had more fun on that job than any other one I can think of. You don’t have much to apologize for, I’ve survived way worse than some grumpy e-mails from a cool client, and you actually had pretty good feedback to offer. I think the end result was pretty metal. (Or well, rock, since it’s your shit, after all.) 

If you’re cool with it, I think it’d be fun to keep sharing our work with one another, outside of just being a client and artist. Get some fresh perspectives, you know? You know where to message me if you think so, too. 

-- M 

P.S. You’re the first person to get this custom pick I got designed. Be grateful (LOL). 

Taped to it, there was a pearlescent pick, red and black with white lettering. Ranmaru took it off, careful not to tear the paper, and ran his fingers over it. It wasn’t even close to the type he’d tolerate using if he wasn’t going to finger-pluck his bass. 

He clasped it in his hand, pausing for a moment, before he let out a ‘hmph,’ equal parts amused, relieved, and a little bit giddy. 

--------- 

“...Ranmaru,” Ai said, looking at him with those big saucer eyes. Sometimes Ranmaru felt like the guy never blinked, which made his curious once-overs scarier than he’d ever admit to. 

“What,” he growled back. 

“...according to every piece of data I know about you…” he started. He already didn’t like where this was going. “Nothing would point to you being the cell phone charm type.” 

“So?!” he barked, frowning at Ai as he self-consciously stuffed his phone into his pocket. It buzzed from a message notification, as if on disastrous cue, making a plasticy noise as it rattled against the charm. “What’s your data know about the real heart of people, anyway,” he continued, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. 

“It hasn’t been wrong about anything yet.” Ai tilted his head. “Why do you have a charm all of a sudden?” 

Because I saw she uses one of mine, Ranmaru answered frantically in his head, thinking back to the video chat they’d had where she showed it off. His hand was in his pocket, muffling his phone buzzing as more messages came in. He ran his fingers over the smooth pick, the subtle grooves where the letters were, the jagged hole he’d poked into it, the string that ran through it and knotted into a hole on his case.  Because she told me about how much she liked it, so I wanted to return the favor. 

“Why is this so goddamn important to you, Ai?” Ranmaru bristled. “Can’t we just get on with work already?” 

Ai stared at him a moment longer before shrugging slightly. “I’m simply curious. What would motivate you to act against your usual protocol seems interesting. But if you won’t tell me, I suppose there’s no use prying, especially when we have work to be done.” 

Ranmaru grunted back, leaning back to the table and looking over the notes. “We’re decided on what we wanna do for our duet, but we still have to decide on a direction for our solo songs on the album. Something that makes each of us stand out but doesn’t ruin the cohesiveness of the whole thing.” 

“You should do something slow,” Ai said, after a moment of thought. 

“Why should I?” Ai should know by now Ranmaru wasn’t about that sort of sound, especially when Ai already had the sad lullabies more than mastered. “Nothing about that’s very rock or wild. It won’t work with my image. Or do whatever that “gap” shit is that people like…” 

“Really?” Ai looked at him again. “Ballads are an intrinsic part of rock music, and wouldn’t it be ideal for communicating feelings that aren’t as energetic as your usual work?” 

“You should’ve just said power ballad in the first place,” Ranmaru grunted, but he had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea. “It’d work better with your usual style. And the duet, from how it’s going so far.” The biggest problem Ranmaru could think of was he couldn’t imagine what on earth he’d want to sing about in one. 

“Then it’s decided,” Ai said decisively. 

“...Oi, Ai, when did I say I agreed to this?” The kind of thing he’d rather shape into a ballad instead of his usual, urging style was a complete mystery, which Ranmaru didn’t like the idea of committing to in a partner project and on a deadline, even if it was months away. But like hell he’d admit that to someone else in Quartet Night, much less Ai, who’d just give him “logical” suggestions Ranmaru already knew he’d hate.  

“Was your reasoning not enough?” Ai tilted his head. Ranmaru met his eye. Something about the curiosity on that blank face felt less pointlessly prying this time. Now it was more like someone who just wanted to see something new. 

Ranmaru couldn’t fault him for that. And he was due to challenge himself in this way, anyways. 

“....Fine. Whatever. That means you can’t do your usual sentimental stuff. You should do something that’ll lift everyone up after the heaviness of the other songs.” 

“That sounds logical,” Ai replied. His eyes moved to Ranmaru’s pocket as it buzzed once again, but quickly turned back as they brainstormed ideas. 

-------- 

He wiped his eyes as he leaned back from the computer, surprised by how quickly and unbidden they came. He hastily tore up a strip of paper and hung it over the camera built into the laptop -- he knew it wasn’t on. This wasn’t a video call. But the idea of someone seeing him like this felt surreal and, frankly, too scary to confront right now. 

They chatted a lot more, now. It’d been about half a year since they’d started talking outside of work. It wasn’t just occasionally sharing art and music with each other anymore, either, it was a big stew of ideas, inspiration. A lot of breaking down what they liked in all the albums they shared with one another, and how they wanted to integrate all that in their work. Her siphoning gear and singing tips off of him, while she broke down expressions and visual composition to a science to help him out with modelling. And amid all that, something easygoing. Complaining about work, about weird clients, about shitty train rides, but also the nice parts of their days, too. 

He’d gotten short with her today, and she got frustrated with him. They argued -- for the first time since they’d tossed aside client-and-professional for friends-and-colleagues -- and it turned out she was as passionate a spitfire as he, assuming she got in the right mood. 

And in the middle of all that furious typing, she paused. 

M: You know, it’s kind of relieving to argue with you like this. 

Ranmaru was so startled, he forgot the point he was making. 

R: what the hell are you talking about?

M: oh, come on, we both know I’ve used diplomacy to handle your grouchiness before, and that worked fine enough then. But I just appreciate that I trust you enough to not take such a safe approach, for once, and the thing you’re most upset about is that I didn’t feel comfortable calling you out on your horseshit sooner.

Ranmaru didn’t have an answer for that as she typed on and off. He imagined if this were a verbal conversation, this would be the point where he’d just listen while she strung her thoughts together -- wordily, but getting to good enough of a point that it was worth letting her meander. 

Instead, she cut right to a point he wasn’t expecting. 

M: hey, I’m not taking back anything I said, but I probably should’ve asked sooner. Are you doing OK? You always get stuck in asshole mode for a reason. I don’t have classes to teach today, so you can bend my ear if you need to. even on voice chat, if you like, japanese or english. 

An uncomfortable wave of relief washed over him. He hadn’t told her about it, but things were the kind of stressful that pushed his stoic approach to its limits. Too many deadlines at work. Too many people there talking, too few saying anything he gave a damn about. Money was tight this month -- the debt collectors suddenly hiked up what he owed, and they’d banged down his door to “tell” him that. And another shitty argument with Camus, after he “freed” all his bananas for some ridiculous flambe parfait he just had to have for lunch on a day when Ranmaru couldn’t afford any. 

This was just how things were. Why was he upset about it now? He was beyond cursing how things had turned out for him. Making useless wishes when there wasn’t anything to do but work and survive until he didn’t have anything to lament. 

M: alright that’s a suspiciously long amount of time between messages for you when you’re riled up. are you OK? It’s fine if you’re not, and it’s fine if you don’t wanna talk to me about it, but i’m here if you want. If something’s really eating at you, that’s more important than me being mad. (for now, anyway)

It felt surreal as he leaned back to the computer and felt his fingers find the keys as he started finding the right words. 

R: it’s not a light subject R: and it’s not on you to deal with it M: LOL bro c’mon. M: I eat heavy for breakfast, and I said I’m here for you. M: lay it on me

He wiped his tears away with his sleeve. It’d been long enough since he’d cried that he didn’t even think about how it’d smudge his makeup and stain his clothes, but he didn’t especially care as he started to explain himself, the words coming out hesitantly until they coalesced into a small cascade of short, tight sentences, heavy with years of restrained sorrow he’d ignored so aggressively until now. 

--------- 

Recording Haruhana went well. Ranmaru expected it to, somewhat. Ai’s cold problem-solving could be annoying, but they never got in the way of the heart of his vocals. Their voices blended into an interesting harmony, and the acoustic guitar bridged their styles into a bittersweet sound they slipped into easily enough that recording sessions went uneventfully. 

“It does not surprise me, but.“ Ranmaru couldn’t bring himself to outright glower at Ai as they stopped recording and stepped away from the mics. “You’re very good at conjuring a strong, wistful image with your voice.” 

“Then why do you look surprised…” he grunted back, loosening and lowering the mic for whoever had it next. “...You do it well, too, but we already knew that.” 

“The heart of things you’re so obsessed with,” he said plainly. “It wouldn’t do if we couldn’t bring truth to the emotions we write about.” 

Ranmaru hadn’t given much thought to why Ai’s songs were so lamenting and sad, for the most part. He’d acknowledged they were genuine, had a tone color that suited him right, and made the fans happy. Truthfully, he’d only thought of those songs in the context of work -- Ai was a rival and a colleague he respected enough to sing with and not want to lose to, so he’d only looked at his songs from that standpoint, too. But Ranmaru realized better, now, just how good Ai was at sharing sadness that wasn’t so heavy it dragged people down with it. Wistfulness that grasped forward towards something, like a greater understanding. 

“How’s the ballad going?” 

Ranmaru clicked his tongue. “How’s your synthpop bubblegum bullshit going?” he shot back. 

“Well,” Ai replied, unfazed. “I have the chord progressions and kits mapped out.” 

“Good for you, then,” he grunted back. Great. So Ai was making good progress while Ranmaru hadn’t made any. 

“Are you struggling?” 

“Isn’t that the point of a ballad?!” Hopefully Ai couldn’t argue with that and would leave him alone from there.  

“Shouldn’t you defer to a composer or lyricist if you’re stuck?” 

Ranmaru glared at Ai. “If it’s a ballad, I should write it myself, not leave it to someone who’s just gonna put words and music I don’t mean into my mouth.” 

“Past data suggests you won’t back down about this,” Ai said smoothly, stacking the notes and papers they’d brought into the studio neatly. “I suppose I should wish you luck, in that case, and remind you this is my album, too, and it’s the fans who are most important.” 

“I know that,” Ranmaru spat, long done fussing with the mic. 

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

R: you hate ballads, right  M: I sure do! :D  R: why  M: too slow for my tastes, sentimentality done like that isn’t my thing, don’t always feel genuine, you know   R: that’s literally every problem i have with the big project at work right now M: oh no you have to make a ballad?? Like….poppy enough for shining agency and all that? Oh boy.... R: what’s your advice to making a ballad you don’t hate, then  M: HMMMMMMMMMMMMM M: pass a kidney stone  M: WAIT RANDY COME BACK I’LL HELP FOR REAL  R: If you want to help why are you calling me randy?!  M: suffering is the root of all good ballads. I’m helping   R: can you at least remind me what the one ballad you like is  M: oh, turn on your light  M: judas priest M: it’s always judas priest  R: so why don’t you hate it R: other than it’s judas priest  M: oh, nothing big  M: my first gf just made me a mixtape and confessed with it is all M: and that was my entry point into western metal  M: sealing my fate forever as a queer metalhead and thereby forming the foundation of all my aesthetic, social, musical, and auditory sensibilities forevermore M: and some other stuff  R: oh is that all   “We are about to arrive at ____ station, please make your way to the doors if your stop is ____ station....” 

R: what’s the other stuff M: oh dw about it  M: it’s, you know, the stuff everyone brings to listening. the mushy baggage that lets ‘em connect with strangers. you know how it is

The train arrived right after that message went through, and he had to put his phone away over questioning her further. Recently, he’d felt more irritated with himself than usual. He knew he got this way when he felt he owed someone and hadn’t done his part to even the score. 

He was kind of in the same camp as she when it came to slow songs. Rock was about energy, passion, an urging sense of power, and even if he could understand why those slower songs were important, it didn’t mean they had to always resonate with him. He thought about their exchange. She dropped art into their chats a lot because, as she insisted, it helped having a musician look at her work, instead of another illustrator. And he liked her perspective for the same reason -- more personal than a fan, but more refreshing than everyone else at the agency. 

Really, it sounded like what made the ballad feel genuine was the context she could apply. It wasn’t just a song, but a personal gesture that singled her out from the millions of other people who’d hear the song and imagine it was for them. 

Ranmaru frowned as he exited the train station. The solution to his ballad problem was simple, so obvious he felt stupid for overlooking it. If he expected people to connect to his music, he had to give people something to connect to. All he had to do was what he always did -- just go for what his heart told him to. No frills, no fancy trimmings, just something he wanted to honestly express. 

He strung basslines in his head as he walked to his apartment. Let the music-making guide him, instead of demanding it follow rigid instructions. As he pushed the key into the lock, he caught the faint stain of his eyeliner on his sleeve. 

Don’t look at me … while I dry my eyes....

His stomach lurched a little, but moreso he felt his body surge with the truth of the song he wanted to write. The same rush of a surging venue, somehow, but with the kind of wistfulness and earnest desire he appreciated in Ai’s work more now. 

Tama had started to squeeze through the little crack in the door, investigating why Ranmaru had just stood there like an idiot for so long. 

“...c’mon, you little dope,” Ranmaru said softly, surprised how breathy he needed to keep his voice to get past the tightness in his chest. He squatted down, scooped the soft little creature up, and walked straight to his workspace. He did the once-over his apartment he’d gotten in recent habit of, seeing if anything had been seized by the collectors while he was gone, before depositing Tama on a cat tree where Mike was sitting. He hummed a melody that was quickly taking shape, his hands barely keeping up as he grabbed a scrap of paper, scrawling notes as fast as his hands would let him. 

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

Reiji looked up at Ranmaru in disbelief. Ranmaru scowled back. 

“If you don’t want it,” he growled, reaching for the box he’d put in front of Reiji. “I’ll fucking take it back.” 

“No! No no no, Ranran, I’m so grateful!” Reiji exclaimed, scrambling to slide it out of Ranmaru’s reach. 

“Humph! If I didn’t know of your peasant tastes,” Camus started from across the table. “I’d just tell you you’re better off skipping this slop.” 

“Oi!” Ranmaru pointed a spoon threateningly at Camus. “You don’t have to eat, asshole! You still owe me for ruining my bananas, and as far as I’m concerned this just means you owe me another meal!” 

“You think your pauper’s tongue deserves the fineries I’d select, I see,” Camus said challengingly, tilting his head and crossing his legs. Ranmaru was a hair trigger away from just throwing the box with Camus’s portion right at him. Maybe it’d ruin that stupid suit and he’d learn to shut up. 

“He-heeeey, Ranran, everything smells super good….I’m so excited to dig right in, but are those sauces I see?” Reiji interrupted. Ranmaru clenched his fist around the spoon as he turned his glower towards him.

He slammed the spoon down in front of Reiji. “Which sauce do you want, the spicy chili one or ketchup,” he managed through gritted teeth. 

“O- ohhh, wow! So gourmet! We have options!” Reiji cheered, in that singsongy way he did when he was trying to smooth over disasters. “Ranran, I knew you could cook, but I never knew you were so talented! I wonder what’s in ---” Ranmaru was losing his patience, and he grabbed the bottle of homemade chili sauce, hovering it above Reiji’s portion. The bottle sputtered as the air escaped, and Ranmaru’s grip threatened to explode the whole thing right then and there. “ -- I’ll have just a little bit of the spicy one, haha…” 

Ranmaru held his gaze a moment more before he focused back on the food, squeezing a reasonable amount onto Reiji’s portion. He opened the box with Camus’s, already dressed with a mountain of sweet chili sauce, stabbed the spoon into it, and slid it over. 

“Is this omurice?” Ai asked. Ranmaru handed him his own box.

“Is the rice in the omelet?” he grunted. “It’s just a stuffed omelet you eat with rice.” 

“Mm-mm! So good! I’ve never had spices quite like these! Is this a secret specialty dish you’ve been hoarding to yourself?” 

Ranmaru, at this point, just wanted to sit down and eat. “No,” he grumbled, hoping they’d get the picture. 

“I can’t recognize this preparation against any recipe I know of. Did you make it up yourself?” 

“It’s one from a friend, alright? She sent me a bunch of chilis and herbs and I had to make something to use them all up. If you don’t like it, then you don’t have to eat it. Stop asking questions and let me eat!” 

They ate quietly for a while, much to Ranmaru’s relief. Camus, of all people, was the one to end the silence. 

“Kurosaki,” he said, taking an odd tone for a conversation with Ranmaru. “....You will share the recipe for this sauce immediately,” he said, an odd hush to his voice. 

“And what if I don’t,” Ranmaru sneered back, feeling just a little smug. “You gonna pass out from a sugar crash and finally give me some peace?” 

Before Camus finished his reply, Ranmaru took a bottle from his bag and tossed it at Camus, who disappointingly kept his composure through the surprise. “Maybe you’ll learn to eat some meat, now that you’ve got a way to slather it in sugar.” 

The rest of Quartet Night all stopped again in surprise, the same way they did when Ranmaru said he’d made them all lunch for today. Their eyes burned on Ranmaru as he went back to his meal, and he tried very, very hard to not let it bother him. 

“...Ranran, you’ve been acting different lately. Did you--” 

“No,” he growled. “Whatever you think it is, no.” 

****************************** 

M: oh dang M: wow dude M: i really don’t know what to say 

Ranmaru stared at his phone in the dark, waiting as feedback from the other side of the world came in. 

M: you fucking nailed it. I don’t know how you did it, like a week ago this wasn’t anything. M: now it’s a whole new side of you i don’t think your discography’s shown off yet  M: the fans are gonna go apeshit 

The rest of the song came to him in the kind of exciting, passionate fervor where his hands couldn’t keep up with the ideas. The melody followed the bassline very naturally, peppered in by flashes of lyrics that slowly built and reorganized themselves. And from there, more instrumentation became evident. What he had now was just enough to make the soul of the song clear, finished late tonight in the studio. 

Already his head was filled with what more he could add, but they blended into blur of ideas he was too tired to separate. 

M: can I confess something? I mean, i don’t know why I’m asking, you’re probably already asleep  M: what you have here already made me cry a little bit  M: i don’t know what you did, but you made a ballad that works so well. It really feels personal and so full of the soul everyone loves you for, but there’s something really sad and kind in there that makes my heart squeeze.  M: and that’s even in the lyrics! (what i can understand of them, anyway haha) but you know how saccharine I find ballad lyrics most of the time!!!   M: then again, it is you. I don’t think there’s anything you could ever make that would feel disingenuous lmao  M: is it too late to ask if i can illustrate this album too....would Ai and the agency let me do that…. M: i can draw something that’s soft and rock as shit!!!!  M: anyways M: you’re probably dead asleep but just know this: good work, dude.  M: it really felt like you were saying something very heartfelt, even in this rough cut, and i think how personal that voice is is gonna make everyone feel such a feeling.  M: it sure made me feel one!

He locked his phone, tearing himself away from the slow stream of messages coming in. He laid on his back, phone facedown in the blanket, as he stared up into the dark swallowing the room back up again. Every part of his body felt like it was on fire, burning to get back into the studio. 

The lyrics weren’t complete yet. He wasn’t the poetic type, so it’s not as if he’d let himself overthink his words and lose their heart in too many revisions, but there were still blanks. The phrase that’d pull it all together, the words that summarized the message of the song, they still weren’t there, but he could feel himself getting closer. 

It was about paying an unspoken debt, and it was about shame, but above all, it was about pride. In himself, for letting himself reach this point, and in someone else. That was the sort of connection he could sing himself to tears with, whether on the stage, the studio, or the clean, edited album, and for that, he was proud. 

[arxaris]

Reincarnation AU drabble

*Related to my gladiator fic

Thanks @let-me-wander for this adorable idea and that last little bit with Kirishima that I absolutely had to include ❤️

* * *

“Let’s go on a graduation trip, Katsuki!” Kirishima said, his stupid pretty eyes shining bright. “I wanna see other parts of the world before we start working!”

“That’s dumb,” Bakugou growled out. “We should be training, moron.”

“Pleeeeease, Kat? It’ll be fun, I swear!” He pleaded.

Bakugou, the masochist that he was, had grumbled out a reluctant agreement. And that’s how he ended up in Rome, waiting in line to tour the Colosseum with his best friend.

His best friend, who also happened to be the love of his life.

A fact that was seriously complicating the ‘fun’ Kirishima had promised him.

Well, sort of. He was still having a good time, because how could he not be? Having Kirishima all to himself, being the only one graced with the sight of his eyes lighting up and his mouth hanging ajar as they took in the beautiful ruins and sculptures and fountains of Rome, getting to share bottles of wine with him over dinner and watch his cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink as they neared the bottom.

However, along with all that came the obscene way he ate his gelato, licking it straight from his hand as it dripped in the Roman sun; the soft moans he would let out at the first bite of every delicious meal; the private budget rooms that never had a second bed; and the fact that Kirishima slept near naked, apparently determined to kill him as he fell on top of the covers in only his boxer briefs.

Yeah, Bakugou was dying, and it had nothing to do with the July heat.

He jumped at a pressure on his forearm. Kirishima, grabbing onto him unnecessarily to get his attention, as always. Add that to the list of reasons Bakugou was certainly going to die an early death.

“Come on, the line’s moving,” he said excitedly.

They made their way through security and were finally set free to explore. Kirishima flitted around excitedly, as he always did, while Bakugou made his way methodically out to the fighting area on the first floor, taking in the giant arches of the outer wall, only half of it left standing, a ghost of its original grandeur.

In addition to his jumbled feelings about his friend, Bakugou had been plagued by a sense of unease all morning, since the Colosseum came into view. The disintegration of such an amazing structure made his heart ache for reasons he couldn’t explain, the holes in the exterior stone and the crumbling bricks causing his vision to blink red in anger.

He rounded the corner and the arena came into his sights. Or, what was left of it anyway. The floor of the stage had given way, revealing the maze of the cellars beneath it and leaving only a reconstructed sliver of the sandy fighting ground in its place. Bakugou’s fists clenched at his sides.

Who let this happen? He thought in outrage. It used to be so beautiful.

Bakugou stopped in his slow stroll around the perimeter of the pit.

What?

He shook his head to clear the strange thought away and resumed his step. Lifting his camera, he snapped picture after picture to distract himself from his odd emotional response, from his very personal-feeling offense at the destruction of the amphitheatre. He hardly flinched when an arm wrapped around his shoulder.

“Isn’t this crazy?!” Kirishima said, voice bubbling with excitement and wonder. “This place feels alive, ya know? Man, I wish we could spar in the pit!” He laughed.

Maybe everyone had strong feelings towards the place, then. Important history and all.

“I’m gonna go find the entrance to the arena!” Kirishima exclaimed, pointing towards the reconstructed semicircle of stage. And then he was off again, running around the edge of the stage and away from Bakugou.

Normally, Bakugou might have followed him, but as he looked around, he felt himself more drawn to the second level. He wanted to see how the pit would’ve looked from above, what the spectators would have seen.

Bakugou meandered up the stairs to the second level, finding himself in a small museum exhibit that curved its way around the part of the outer wall that was still standing. The pieces were showcased in chronological order. He enjoyed the first part, from the Roman Empire, immensely. He must have stood in front of the bits of engraved stone, seat markers for the upper class’s reserved spots, for five full minutes, staring and taking photos.

The fractured stone that said ‘Caesa-’ sent chills down his spine. He didn’t even know which Emperor it belonged to, as the name itself had broken apart from its title long ago. Perhaps, he supposed, it was simply knowing that such an important figure had sat directly under the engraving that made him react so strongly to it.

When Bakugou reached the end of the Roman Empire era, however, and the exhibit began to focus on what had happened to the Colosseum since Ancient Rome’s fall, he found that he couldn’t continue to read. The harvesting of lead and iron for Catholic construction, later troops using the structure as fucking target practice. He was shaking with anger by the time he jerked away from the text display. He practically ran through the rest of the exhibit, heaving a sigh of relief when he burst into the interior and back into the sun.

Bakugou walked robotically along the railed path, but he felt himself relaxing quickly as he took in the view of the pit. Frankly, it was beautiful, even with the metal scaffolding and most of the floor missing. The curved walls, lined with their beautiful arches, made him feel oddly safe and protected for housing an arena where countless people were brutally murdered.

Bakugou reached a terrace that stretched out over the pit, and his breath caught in his throat. He turned into it and beelined toward the edge.

Was this where the Emperor himself would have sat, watching the games from a marble throne as his servants fanned him with palms, Bakugou wondered. Was this the spot from which he would have pardoned injured gladiators from fighting, or have them put to death, based on the whims of the crowd? Connecting with his people through the enjoyment of theatrical bloodshed?

Bakugou threw himself at the flimsy railing when he reached it, leaning over it and feeling it shake beneath him. The couple taking photos next to him shot him annoyed glances, but he couldn’t care less. His heart was beating hard in his chest, his eyes scanning the pit, frantic, searching.

Braids, he thought manically. Braids. Where are his braids?

And then Bakugou found him, a giant smile on his face as he play-fought with a pair of kids, no older than seven or eight, using plastic swords from the gift shop. Bakugou’s heart swelled in his chest, and none of it was correct because these were children and Kirishima’s braids were nowhere to be seen and he wasn’t supposed to be wearing a shirt, only his arms were ever armored, but he looked so happy that Bakugou couldn’t bring himself to care.

Gods, he loved him.

His heart ached in his chest; he wanted to tell people, but he couldn’t.

Bakugou shook his head to dispel the odd thoughts; of course he couldn’t tell people, Kirishima himself didn’t even know.

Kirishima fell to the ground in a dramatic fake death, laughing all the while, and Bakugou’s head felt like it was splitting. Anger and joy, past and present, he was seeing and feeling double, pain lancing through him like a spear at the image of Kirishima on the ground while he reveled in his happiness all the same. Bakugou clung to the railing for dear life.

Kirishima, still lying on the ground, handed the plastic swords back to the kids and said his goodbyes with a smile. Then he pushed himself back up and looked around. He seemed like he was searching for something, too.

And when his eyes landed on Bakugou’s face, it was clear as day that he’d found it. A smile stretched over his features and he raised a hand to the sky, waving openly at him.

Bakugou’s heart stopped. His breathing stopped. Time itself must have stopped. One second he was watching his friend waving cheerfully at him, the next an image of him, standing dirty and bloodstained and victorious in that same spot, raising a fist to salute him.

His smile was no longer carefree, but determined, brave, and feral.

Bakugou hurried to throw a fist up as he returned his grin with the same intensity.

And as fast as it happened, it was over, leaving Bakugou hanging over the railing with a raised arm for no apparent reason. The tourist couple scurried away from him as he lowered his hand slowly. He would feel like an absolute idiot, if only Kirishima weren’t blinking up at him, fist still in the air, looking dazed and confused.

Bakugou wasn’t exactly sure where his courage came from, but he suddenly hopped down from the railing and started running from the remains of the Emperor’s box. To find Kirishima.

To tell him.

Kirishima was his, and it was about damn time that he knew it.

He met him halfway up the stairs, and Bakugou felt as surprised as Kirishima looked as he heard himself blurt out a confession with all the confidence in the world.

However, Bakugou’s nerves barely had time to kick in before he was being met with such an adorable and uncharacteristically shy smile that his heart threatened to burst out of his chest.

* * *

When their allotted time was up, Bakugou and Kirishima left the Colosseum hand-in-hand, both still unable to hide their happiness. They strolled down the Piazza del Colosseo, talking and walking, no real destination in mind.

“God,” Kirishima sighed. “I’m so happy we don’t have to hide our relationship anymore.”

Bakugou’s brows knit together in confusion.

“Hah? The fuck are you talking about?”

Kirishima stopped in his tracks, looking as confused as Bakugou felt. He blinked at Bakugou, and then laughter bubbled up out of his throat.

“I have no idea,” he said. “Sorry, today’s been a little weird for me.”

Bakugou squeezed his hand even as he called him a moron. He could certainly empathize with that.

[breadcaaat]

part four

Jeongguk x hybrid!reader

| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

Words: 3.5k

Genre: action, fluff, eventual smut if i’m brave enough??

Warnings: nudity (again,) blood!!, violence, foul language

“You what, kid? You have three jobs already. Take this and you won’t have any time for sleeping, eating… anything not-working. Seriously, what’s up?”

Jeongguk fidgeted, “I, I need the money.”

Yoongi spat his cigarette butt onto the pavement and crushed it with one hard bootheel, wondering out loud what the hell he’s spending all his money on with a growl. Hookers? Cocaine? Clothes? Food? Probably food. Jeongguk doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. 

He wiped at his lips and thought about it. It’d be nice to have him around, and it’d be good to keep an eye on him. He could also force the kid (not that he wasn’t more than four years older, cough) to take a nap every once in a while, pay him some bonuses so he gets out of that nasty convenience store. 

Thing was, he was already at full staff except for a few shifts, and those weren’t ones he wanted the kid working. Gloss may be a barbershop by day - and a good one, dammit - but at night it served as a tattoo parlor, which was, frankly, illegal since he wasn’t a “licensed medical practitioner.” Those were the times he had shifts open. 

He sighed and glanced over at Jeongguk. Yoongi had met him about a year ago when the kid had walked in one day with a too-shaggy bowl cut asking to borrow a pair of scissors. He’d lent them, curious as to what Jeongguk would do, until the kid walked outside and tried to cut his bangs so he could see properly for work. No mirror. Kitchen scissors. Yoongi had just about had an aneurysm. He’d snatched away the scissors, dragged Jeongguk inside, and made him sit through a proper haircut. The kid had complained the whole time, too, trying to sneak away when he wasn’t looking and moaning about not being able to afford these things, to which Yoongi had sat him back down with a glare and continued each time.

“I’m not charging you jack shit. Sit down. Next time your hair gets like this come back here but for God’s sake don’t take a pair of kitchen scissors to it again.”

Since then, Jeongguk had dropped by every so often - delivering breakfast, finishing the odd task here and there, light drinking on his days off. He was endearing. Sweet. Hard-working. Undeserving of all the shit this city had put him through but hey, those were the motions.

“When are you free?”

Jeongguk visibly deflated in relief. “Saturday, Tuesday, and Friday night, and then all day Sunday.”

“Is Sunday your day off normally?”

Jeongguk puckered his lips, not wanting to say yes but physically incapable of telling a lie. Yoongi huffed.

“Jesus, okay. Keep Sunday. Come in on the other three an hour after the shift before it ends, I don’t really care. Does blood make you squeamish?”

“How often is there blood to see in a barbershop?”

“You know what the night shifts are, Jeongguk.”

“Oh. Oh! The tattoo thing?” Yoongi nodded, and he continued. “No, doesn’t bother me.” Yoongi squinted at him until he broke. “Not that much,” he corrected. 

“Good. Start whenever, and I’ll officially employ you.”

“... No interview?”

“Do you want to be interviewed?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then congrats,�� he patted Jeongguk on the back as he passed him to head back inside Gloss, “ - you’ve got the job.” The bells jingled behind him as he exited that conversation, shaking his head. God, he really was worried about him. It’s not like Yoongi was particularly good at remembering to take care of himself - there’ve been plenty of times he’s accidentally not slept for a couple days or forgotten a few meals. It’s just different with Jungkook, because, well, it’s Jungkook. Yoongi can piss on the temple that’s his body all he wants because it’s his, but Jungkook needs to take care of himself. He’s got an ambiguous future full of possibilities ahead of him, and he’s still growing.

“I’m forcing him to take a nap when he comes in,” he mumbles to himself, sliding behind the front desk to check when his next appointment is.

“I want a new name.”

Jeongguk and Stripes were both lounging that night on opposite sides of the bed, Jeongguk exhausted after two long shifts at the breakfast place and the moving company and Stripes restless from staying inside all day since she didn’t have clothes of her own. Jeongguk was going to try and get some hand-me-downs from Miyun, he just needed a proper excuse to not sound like a weirdo. Until then, she was stuck here in her boredom.

He shuffled, turning on his side to look at her. “Why?”

“I don’t like mine. I want a new one.”

“Well,” he scratched at the side of his nose. “What do you want your name to be?”

She paused, tracing the leather in her hands. When she’d discovered the collar that Jeongguk had salvaged on his kitchen table, she’d been admittedly surprised. Since then she’d been holding and thinking about it, reflecting on her past experiences with it.

Her thumb brushed across the tag, a small brass plate bolted into the front of the collar. On it, it had her name, breed, label as a cagedog, and seller.

“Stripes”

CAGEDOG

Tiger - 牧羊犬

Stripes. She hadn’t realized how much she hated being called that until she was looking at the letters, tracing their place on the shackle that’d kept her a slave for the past three years. Her brushing paused. Stripes was a shackle too.

He grunted questioningly, and she sighed, chucking the collar away somewhere near the balcony. “I’m not sure. Just… not Stripes. Only bad people have called me that.”

He nodded, grabbing his phone from the bed stand.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Looking up one of those baby-naming sites. Let’s start by nationality and go from there, yeah?”

She smiled faintly, scooting over a bit. They weren’t exactly comfortable enough with each other to touch in any sense.

“Alright,” he mumbled. “Any, uh, letter you want?”

She shook her head.

“Let’s just browse, I guess.” So, they did, moving through the alphabet and reading the odd one off here and there. It was probably the most comfortable they’d been with each other since meeting (he hadn’t completely forgotten the restaurant but figured that her saving his life was proper moral retribution) though by no means was it chummy. Just… not anxious.

It’s a start, they thought. Seemed the last week was full of new beginnings.

His scrolling thumb paused, and he tapped at a name thoughtfully. “... What about Y/N?”

Y/N. 

Her tail thumped against the duvet and she smiled a bit. Y/N. That name felt like home. “You like that?” he asked. She nodded, then yawned and turned over onto her stomach. He plugged the phone back in and set it aside.

“Alright. Goodnight Y/N.”

She didn't answer verbally, but gingerly let her tail brush his belly like a thankful pat on the shoulder. She's a lot sweeter than she looks, he thought, and fell asleep.

Despite all the exhaustion taking care of another human being cost him, Jeongguk was happy to see changes in Y/N’s attitude and appearance. They were still a little skittish around each other - hell, the way they’d met was so fucking strange in retrospect - but there were moments where things were almost domestic. Little things. Like the way he woke up more often than not with a tail brushing his waist or a finger twisted in the strings of his hoodies. The manner in which whenever he made or brought home food she gravitated towards it with the end of her nose twitching and gleaming eyes. Like how after baths, she’d sidle up to him and stare until he got the message and blow-dried her hair for her, which was both strange and weirdly cute. Her voice had also polished up, and she could speak normally without the no-speak husk to it. These were good days, of course; on others she’d stay on the other side of the room, or escape to the roof, or hide in the bath for a while, speaking very little. More and more good days happened the longer she stayed.

It was as if once she deemed him not-a-threat, all the hostility faded away. He was able to see it now - the bloody, ruthless, tiger-girl act - for what it had been: a survival tactic. She filled him in here and there on how her world had been, and it sounded like it had been honestly horrible.

“Past three years ago, I don’t remember anything.”

“Wait - none of your childhood? All gone?”

“All gone. My life just kind of started up then, and I was living… living a lucid dream. In and out, here and there. This lab, that owner. They groomed me and turned me into something pretty, then sold me to nasty people as a pet.”

“A pet?”

“Mhm. They kept trying to train me - yeah, I see you know what I mean - but I was so angry, it was all I knew. I hurt one of them really bad and got sold off again, a year in, to a cagedogger society. There I was passed around by wealthy cagedoggers until the trade in the ramen shop, when I escaped. I’m the first I’ve ever known to do it. Those men were the poorest and sloppiest of the bunch.”

Hearing all this helped him understand her and her world better, bit by bit, and also offered some surprising closure to the trauma he’d been subjected to in the ramen shop. Has he completely forgotten it? No. Does he not get queasy at the sight of blood anymore? Also no. But it’s so much easier to cope with seeing people die when they’re villains.

Beyond all this, he also found that she had different needs and attitudes decidedly inhuman. Example: the scratching. Two weeks in, Jeongguk had woken up one night to hear her claws picking at the carpet as she stretched, and had woken up to see it all stringy and ruined. He’d scolded her lightly - not really knowing if they were close enough for him to really scold her without her taking off - until she’d explained that she needed to. Stretching, grooming, scent-marking. All very inhuman traits that put him in a bit of a daze. Minutes after, they were meandering over to a pet shop to buy scratch posts. Scratch posts.

There was other stuff, too; the nesting, where she’d pile up used clothes and blankets onto their bed until she deemed it perfect. The midnight walks were a thing too. She’d clamber out the balcony and into the alley to disappear for an hour or two, rejoining him later after a new change of clothes.

Then, at three weeks: play-hunting. It’d scared the shit out of him the first time she’d popped up behind him, tackled him to the ground, and nipped at his ear with a little growl, but he was at a point now where he’d developed a sharp ear for his 6 o’clock. Now when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle he’d whip around and catch her as she pounced. All she needed was a good wrestle here and there to not go stir-crazy, which he was fine with. The general sense of cultural modesty and personal space-bubble he’d grown up with was quickly broken down the more they lived together; bed, couch, kitchen, bathroom. Nudity didn’t bother him so much anymore, which was a surprising development, especially since she was a woman.

There were downsides to living together, though. He’s fucking exhausted. All the time. A few days ago he’d quit his night job at the convenience store and replaced all those shifts at Gloss, helping Yoongi with the shop. He had the suspicion that his hyung was paying him more than the other staff at his level, but he was too tired to complain for the sake of his pride and work ethic. He’d take what he could get. Plus, it was easy work. Keep the place clean, set up some gear, hand him some tools as he worked. There was the whole illegal aspect of it, but honestly - tattoo shops weren’t a major concern for the police force and so Gloss was left alone.

Right now, that’s where he was: sitting on a stool next to Yoongi as he prepared to tattoo matching symbols on a giggly couple, the two girls high on the thrill of doing something outside their parents’ say. Yoongi didn’t seem either irritated or amused; he was impassive, quiet, and growly. Whatever he was feeling, it was completely up to those around him to interpret. It made Jungkook sleepy.

“Antiseptic.” Yoongi set his hand out, and Jeongguk handed a cotton pad of it over. Having watched Yoongi’s process a couple times in the last week and a half, he no longer got nauseous over it. It was actually really interesting. Yoongi would speak up every so often to explain what he was doing, the instinct to pass on what he knew to his younger friend impossible to overcome at times.

Yoongi tossed the pad away into the trash can, quietly double-checking with the girl on the table that the design stencil was what she wanted. Jeongguk prepared to pass him the trimmers as the girl replied with a near breathless Yeah, it’s perfect. Cue a shy little kiss between her and her girlfriend, which made Jeongguk smile a little.

Yoongi trimmed away the body hair where the tattoo would go quickly and efficiently, having practiced this so many times. (Jeongguk had learned that the first tattoo Yoongi ever did was when he was fourteen. Fourteen.)

“Review,” Yoongi drawled in a voice only for Jeongguk to hear, and he ducked down to whisper an answer back.

“Antiseptic to disinfect so she doesn’t get an infection and shave to clear space. And so it heals right.”

“Good.”

Jeongguk preened, sitting back straight.

Next, the stencil. The girls both seemed to hold their breath as Yoongi applied it, and giggled as it was revealed. That made Yoongi smile, faintly; he liked seeing that there were little pieces of the world still naive and innocent as they should be. He hoped these girls lasted despite the knowledge that they’d probably have the typical couple’s dopamine drop in a few months and book it in opposite directions.

The rest of the process was a bit harder to learn and Jeongguk hadn’t quite gotten it nailed down yet, but basically Yoongi would rub in an ointment to help with the process and then begin tattooing, starting with the stencil outline and moving on to color when that was finished. Then there were little finesses to the technique that couldn’t be outlined in a manual, only watched.

So Jeongguk watched.

Here and there he’d pass Yoongi a tool or take a sip of coffee. Twenty minutes passed of this, with the girls cuddling, Yoongi buzzing away, and Jeongguk watching the whole thing.

This is so much better than the convenience store. A headache twinged to life behind his eyebrows and he rubbed at it. Not as good as a full night’s sleep though.

The walk home that night felt exactly like the one when he fell in the river - so exhausted he felt like he was dragging his feet through molasses and eyes dripping shut in the same manner. In fact, all the nights in the past two weeks had felt this way. With his new work schedule he was - arguably - less bored but confoundedly more tired. It was easy to blame Y/N for not working, in his head, but he knew it was wrong to. How could he? There’s no way she could find a job anywhere without being turned away as a freak body modder or cosplayer or whatever the fuck else.

Why is it nobody’s heard about people like her? The cagedoggers? The labs?  It was puzzling, disturbing thought. It made Jeongguk realize just how little the public knew about what happened in organized crime, and it made him feel like they’d all been fooled into thinking they knew anything at all. We know so little. He felt smaller now. The darkness in the streets chilled him just a bit more than usual.

He made sure to walk with a hand on the bridge railing.

The jingle of his keys was the only noise in the apartment building’s hall at this time of night, some time past three. He was woozy, drowsy, and some other adjective for fucking exhausted to the point of mania…

… And wide-eyed fucking awake the moment he stepped inside.

The scene: a wide-open balcony window, a bloodied porch. Red footsteps leading to the bathroom. A crumpled backpack, and next to it, a similarly crumpled pile of clothes. Steam rolling from the bathroom. The sound of scrubbing.

“Y/N?” he asked timidly, scolding himself when his voice shook.

The scrubbing stopped. A sniff.

Jeongguk crept in timidly, his hands shaking. The front door seemed so loud as it clicked shut. He called her name again, hating the way his voice shook. The smell of blood was making his stomach turn.

He peered into the bathroom and met her eyes, already looking up at him.

She was sitting in the bathtub, stripped to the skin and blushing all over from the heat of the water. A flimsy washcloth was gripped in her hand, frayed in places from still-extended claws. Her ears flicked back and her eyes widened, smelling his growing dread. It rolled off him in waves. She could smell his adrenaline.

“I…” The need to explain herself was overbearing, but what could she say?

“Who was it?” he asked quietly. Who died this time?

She dipped the cloth back into the rosy hot water, dragging it over her shoulders. She wouldn’t look at him.

“Y/N.” He growled. He could feel something rising in him - anger maybe? A sense of betrayal? He’d thought and trusted that the vicious tiger girl act was over, but…

“A man and his wife, then another guy,” she murmured, and his stomach dropped. She moved on to explain quickly before he kicked her out.

“I’ve been looking in the past few weeks for all the places I remember being owned in, and found one of the auction centers. I was just going to watch, I promise - I…” She looked up at him then, swallowed. “I just wanted to know. Know more. Figure out why people would own other people and the plan was to go in, check it out, and then leave without ever being seen and I would’ve but then this boy stepped up onto the block - I’m talking a boy, Jeongguk. He couldn’t have been older than eight. This foreign couple bid for him and I was so scared for him and angry. He was… the youngest I’ve ever seen.”

She was silent for a moment, and his posture softened. He didn’t know that kids were ever a part of this, not that that made the situation any more or less horrendous than it was, but… kids.

Her eyebrows knitted suddenly and she plunged the washcloth back into the water, dragging another wave of suds across her neck and shoulders.

“I haven’t told you before but we’re not born like this. I’m sure we start out human. I don’t know the tools they use or the people that do it but they turn us into these things - these hybrids - and then they wipe our memory. Blank slate. I woke up one day with no memory of whatever life I’d lived before and…” she pauses, eyes drooping and ears flattening. “I had claws. Ears. A tail - and my eyes felt wrong to look at in a mirror even though I don’t remember what they used to look like. I didn’t even speak Korean. I can’t begin to describe what that’s like Jeongguk. So for a kid…” She swallowed hard, eyes blurring. Jeongguk found himself softening, chest aching.

“I was just so full of… I don’t know. It felt like regret, but for the kid. Regret that he’s gonna be like me and the rest of the pets. So I killed his buyers. Ripped their rib cages open and hung a guard with the wife’s intestines, from the rafters.”

There was silence for a few minutes. Rolling steam. Rusty blood. The fridge hummed in the room behind him.

“And the kid?” Jeongguk found himself asking before he could filter.

Y/N dunked her head under the water and scrubbed at the blood matting her hair down, ears be damned, then emerged with a slosh of water that seemed so incredibly loud.

“Don’t know. They took him into a back room and I ran away.”

A/N: i’m trying to keep an update schedule, once a week but :/ keep the comments comin!! i live off validation !! !

Taglist:@feed-my-geek-soul @starryannaaa @not-novoa @astronomyturtle @anoushe01 @seokchella @dinorahrodriguez

Taglist glitches: @infiressnct

[wehavethoughts]

Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope Review!

Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope

George Lucas (1977)

20th Century Fox Productions

Science Fiction, Action, Adventure, Fantasy Movie

Rating: 3.5/5 Waves

Content warnings for A New Hope: Character death, Violence, Implied torture

This review does NOT contain spoilers.

“She may not look like much, but she’s got it where it counts, kid.” – Han Solo 

Summary: A long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, the evil Galactic Empire has lost the plans to their planet-destroying battle station, the Death Star, to Princess Leia of Alderaan, an agent of the Rebel Alliance. Unfortunately for the princess, the Empire has sent the mysterious and powerful Darth Vader to retrieve the plans. Cue the epic space adventure starring a farm boy, a smuggler, a Wookiee, a Jedi and a pair of sassy droids. Can they save the princess, deliver the plans to the Rebels and restore hope to the galaxy?

It’s difficult, some might say impossible, to think about Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope as a stand alone movie. This movie launched one of the biggest and most lucrative brands in western media, and it is hard to think of the movie without considering the impact it has already had on our culture. I personally love every chapter of Star Wars in their own way. These are stories of adventure, friendship, and hope. Who wouldn’t love that? However,  it is easy to get lost in the iconic-ness without actually thinking about the movie itself. So I am going to do my best to judge this movie for what it is (as I see it), not what it’s done. 

Let’s start with the obvious: the special effects. A New Hope premiered in 1977 with state-of-the-art, groundbreaking visual effects. It won an Oscar for Visual Effects, that’s how good it was. So how does it hold up more than 40 years later? Honestly, not bad. During blaster fights and light saber battles, it’s clear that this film is very old (there is something about the lighting idk), but I personally never found it to be jarring enough to pull me out of the experience. The well developed sets and reliance on costumes and prosthetics allow the audience to be swept away by this alien universe in spite of the dated effects.

One thing that does not stand the test of time, though, is the movie’s pacing. Modern audiences are used to fast paced action adventure stories with a lot of explosions and yelling, especially when it comes to intergalactic wars. A New Hope, in contrast, finds itself meandering through deserts and space stations at a glacial pace. While it is clearly trying to build tension with its long, quiet shots, it gives the audience just enough time to check out emotionally. 

There are two main points that kept me from giving this movie a higher rating: 1) the lack of diversity, and 2) the unrealistic way the characters respond to trauma. 

First of all, there are only two women characters with speaking roles in this entire movie and no people of color. With all of the aliens and droids, they chose not to include a single person of color in their galaxy far, far away? It just doesn’t speak to diverse audiences in 2020. 

Second, Luke and Leia have to weather insanely traumatic events in this film, yet these characters dust their shoulders off and move on with hardly a scene to process. It might be trying to speak to their resilience, but it also sends a message to suck up your emotions and get the job done, which frankly is just plain unhealthy.

That being said, I still gave this movie 3.5 out of 5 waves. So what does this movie have going for it? At the end of the day, the big draws for me are the music and the character dynamics. 

Movie scores can make or break a movie: one of the reasons why I love A New Hope so much is because of its fantastic music. With each swell of the orchestra, we are transported fully into this fantastical world. The music plays as much of a role as the characters, adding comic relief and dramatic tension in equal measure. 

The sound effects are equally compelling. It takes quite a bit of work to create believable sounds for things that do not exist, like lightsabers and TIE Fighters, but the sound designer, Ben Burtt, was up to the task. He created the iconic lightsaber sounds using a projector motor, an old tv, a speaker and a moving microphone. This fun blend was essential to make the lightsabers buzz, hum and zoom the way we know and love. Ben Burtt was also responsible for Chewbacca’s growls and roars (bears, walruses, lions and badgers) and R2-D2’s classic chirps and screams (a synth and Ben Burtt making weird sounds). 

My absolute favorite thing about this movie has to be the dynamic between the three main heroes. They embody such youthful and relatable energy, and together they make a team that is not only effective at getting the job done, but fun to watch. It comes across as an authentic and organic friendship that I just love to see.

Tldr; Definitely worth the watch. It’s a fun movie with relatable and unique characters, but you will be disappointed if you go in expecting diversity, a typical action movie’s pace, or much emotional depth. 

~ TideMod

(wave icon by Nawicon from the Noun Project) 

[banderhoe]

late night (colin ritman x reader)

hello, this is my first colin fic; hope you enjoy! ~

synopsis: (Y/N) works at Tuckersoft with Colin and is overwhelmed during a stressful workday. Fluff!

word count: 2134. i got carried away

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“(Y/N)!” You jumped as Thakur slammed his arms down on your desk playfully, shaking both your computer and Colin’s, who worked on the other side of your desk. He glanced up, shooting an annoyed glance at Thakur before shoving his headphones down harder over his ears and returning to work. “Whatcha workin on today?”

“Uh, still working on James’ proposal for next week. Why?” Your job at Tuckersoft was essentially to draft documents describing and proposing new games being developed at the company and send them off to major distributors to convince them to purchase the games in bulk when they came out. Developers would give you a demo of their game once it was completed, and you would use the power of persuasion to sell it to stores.

“Listen, I know this is last minute, but GameStuds down the street is struggling financially, and the manager told me today that they would double what they were previously gonna pay us for two new games if we get the proposals to them by tonight. Computer games are apparently their main sell, and he thinks they might be able to stay afloat longer if they can sell more. He wants Andy’s and Lola’s new games.”

“So you’re saying I need to have two new proposals for them by tonight?” Your heart sped up; that wouldn’t be nearly enough time.

“Well... I mean...” He sighed. “Yes. Yes, that’s unfortunately what I’m saying.”

“What the hell, Thakur?”

You glanced over at Colin, grateful for his interruption. He was standing up and walking around to your side of the table, headphones hung lopsided around his neck.

“You know how much work she puts into those things, and it’s the reason so many stores distribute Tuckersoft games. You can’t just make her bust out two full length proposals in a day.” You could feel Colin looming above you, the weight of his hand protectively on your shoulder, but you didn’t look up. Colin was always much more outspoken with Thakur than you ever were.

“Yeah, I know it’s not ideal, but it’d really boost profits for months to come if we can get double pay for two new games. And you’d obviously get double, too, (Y/N).”

Your eyes darted from him to your computer, Colin’s grip on your shoulder growing stronger. “Yeah, okay, I guess. I’ll do it.”

“Great. It’s 2:13 now, so, can you get them in by 2 am? That’s almost twelve hours. You don’t even have to run them by me, just email them straight to GameStuds.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

“I’ll have Andy and Lola send you their demos.” Thakur flashed you a grateful thumbs up and disappeared into his office.

“Well, I guess it’s gonna be a late night,” you said, spinning your chair around to face Colin.

“Jesus.” He was angrily staring in Thakur’s direction. “Are you gonna be able to do that?”

You shrugged. “I’ll have to. I don’t get off easy like you programmers, with months to work on one project. Spoiled assholes,” you grinned.

“Oh, fuck off,” he swiped at your arm. “I’ll be here for moral support if you need me.” He stuck a blunt in the corner of his mouth and winked, returning to his seat.

“Thanks, Col.” You ran your hands through your hair, preparing yourself for the long night before you.

You and Colin had been close for nearly a year, since you started working at Tuckersoft. You took classes at the nearby university and had picked up the job randomly for some money on the side because the job description had consisted of writing. You were not a computer science person, and, frankly, not a gamer. Because of this, you had no idea who Colin was when you started working at the company, and therefore were unfazed by his ego and blunt personality which could come off as intimidating to some. His frequent sarcasm and emo taste in music matched completely with yours, and in a short matter of time you two were practically inseparable, waiting for the other to finish what they were working on so you could take your lunch breaks together, and picking up breakfast for the other person when they were running late to work. When Colin needed a break from constant programming he would meander over to your side of the table and sit next to your computer until you payed attention to him. It made what was initially a meaningless side-job into something you genuinely enjoyed every day. Days like today, however, were much less enjoyable.

Your inbox beeped with an incoming message from Andy, a programmer who had been working at Tuckersoft for a little over a year. You opened the file and pushed your earbuds in, hitting the “RUN” button on your computer to test out the game. After about thirty seconds of smooth gameplay, the screen buzzed and glitched, revealing a blue and pink pixelated screen before ultimately crashing.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath, ripping out your earbuds and walking over to the other side of the room where Andy’s desk was. “Dude. Your game isn’t stable.”

“What?” He glanced up at you.

“Look, I usually wouldn’t mind giving you a few extra days, but Thakur needs this proposal in addition to Lola’s in by 2 am. So I can’t waste any time here. You have one hour, or I’m gonna be here literally all night.”

“Okay, you got it. Sorry (Y/N).”

By the time you returned to your seat, Lola had sent you her demo, which thankfully was stable. You breathed a sigh of relief and opened a blank document.

“What was that about?” Colin poked his head around his computer, looking at you from across the desk. He was wearing a faded grey graphic tee and a blue collared shirt on top, unbuttoned. He looked damn good, as usual. But you knew he wouldn’t feel the same; you two were friends. Just really good friends.

“Oh, Andy’s game isn’t stable. But it’s okay, Lola’s is ready, so I’ll just write her proposal first.”

Colin frowned. “Well, listen, if you need me to threaten that kid until he gets his shit together, just say the word, yeah?” He leaned forward in his seat. “And Thakur too, for that matter. You don’t need all this fuckin’ work.”

“I’ll be okay, Col, no threatening necessary.” You forced a smile, but Colin wasn’t fooled; he could tell you were stressed out. You were bouncing your knee and biting your lip, telltale signs of your anxiety. He knew them inside and out by now.

“Hey.” He leaned forward and grabbed your left hand. “Look at me.” You did. “You’ll be completely fine. Just relax. You’re a bomb ass writer; you’ll get it done.” He stroked your hand lightly with his thumb, and it sent a jolt through your entire body.

“Thanks, Colin.” You tried to calm your heart rate, but couldn’t be sure if it was so high due to the work ahead of you or the boy in front of you.

~10 hours later~

You had finished Lola’s proposal but only received Andy’s demo a few hours ago, and it was nearly 12:30. Most of the office had left already, expect for you, Colin, and the secretary at the front desk. Even Thakur had checked out. You and Colin were usually the latest workers anyway, but you had to control a whimper at the thought of finishing this entire proposal by 2 am. Andy’s game was complicated, and to write convincingly about it you had to learn all the ins-and-outs of the game, which took even more time in addition to the writing. You worked feverishly, eyes glued to the screen.

“(Y/N). Hey.” You jumped nearly all the way out of your seat, Colin’s voice having brought you out of your computer-induced trance.

“Jesus, Colin. Don’t do that.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckled. “Just trying to wake up the zombie. Let’s go take a break, yeah?” He kicked your leg lightly.

“No, I gotta finish this proposal first.”

“Nooo, you need to take a break,” he said, steering your chair away from the computer. Usually, you were the one dragging him away from his programming, forcing him to drink a cup of tea and clear his head for a bit.

“No, I need to keep doing this, Colin, just let me do this first, I need to--” your voice broke, eyes tearing up. You were utterly exhausted.

“Hey, hey.” Colin kneeled down and held your shoulders. You avoided his eyes; you didn’t want him to see you crumbling under the pressure like this. It was embarrassing.

“You’re doing so well. You’re almost done, love.” He brought his hands up to your cheeks, lightly stroking them. “Hey, look at me.”

Grudgingly, you met his eyes. His touch was at least calming you down a bit.

“I promise you, you’ll be done soon and it’ll all be okay. I just need you to come with me for two minutes, okay? Just for a little break. Alright?” He touched his forehead to yours, breathing in slowly. You tried to match his pace and calm yourself down.

“Okay,” you said weakly.

“Okay. Come on, sweetheart,” Colin murmured softly, practically dragging you up out of your seat for the first time in ten hours. He wrapped an arm around your waist and led you to the break room. You leaned against the counter in an exhausted daze as Colin moved around the small kitchen. A minute later, he was by your side again, holding a cup of tea.

“Here, love.” You accepted the cup, your fingers sliding off of his as he gave it to you. He smiled supportively down at you, and you couldn’t help but to smile back despite the wrecked mental state that you were in. It was times like these when you wished you could just reach up and kiss him, but lacked the courage. You didn’t want to ruin a perfect friendship, anyway.

You swallowed a few sips and began to feel a bit better, the warm drink comforting your throat. Colin reached down and rubbed your back, and you leaned into his chest, closing your eyes and breathing out deeply for the first time in hours. You two stood like that for a minute, until you remembered the time, and the fact that you had less than two hours to finish your work. You slowly moved away from Colin, gulping down the rest of the tea.

“Feeling better?” he asked softly, his hand still lingering on your back.

“Yeah. Thanks, C. I just gotta finish this now.”

Colin nodded, taking your empty cup and following you back to your seat.

As you continued working, Colin moved his chair over next to you, as he was done with his work for the day. He sat there with his headphones on, eyes closed, reclined and quietly listening to music as you typed away, occasionally resting a hand on your arm or rubbing his knee against yours if you let out a frustrated noise or got too antsy.

At 1:52, you typed the last word and fell back in your chair, scrolling through the impossibly long document you had just written to make sure everything you needed was there.

Colin scooted closer to you. “Done?”

You nodded, did a quick spell check, saved the proposal, and sent it off to GameStud’s manager. “Oh, my God. Finally.”

“And look at that! Seven minutes before the deadline! What a pro,” Colin said, his voice husky with tiredness but happy.

“Hey, I’m sorry I kept you up so late. You didn’t have to stay with me.”

“I know, but I wanted to.” He reached out to wrap his arms around you, and you leaned in, falling into his lap, your arms around his torso and your head buried in the crook of his neck. He pressed a light kiss to the top of your head, and your heart nearly burst right there. If this was the way you two were going to be, you knew you wouldn’t be able to conceal your feelings any longer.

Raising your head up, you prepared to take your chance-- but Colin beat you to it, grabbing your chin and pressing his lips to yours. Fiercely, you kissed him back, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

After a few seconds, you pulled away, still in shock. “You feel the same way?”

“Well, obviously,” he chuckled, and pulled your head down to peck your lips again. “Since the day we met.”

_________________________________________

whEW that was longer than i expected lol. anyway, i might do a sequel for this if you guys want-- let me know! i will try to respond to any requests as well.

[a-second-hand-sorrow]

We Certainly Should (Roger Taylor X Reader)

WC: 1747

Warnings: Language, jealousy, brief sex mentions, drinking

Summary: Y/N and Roger have been friends for years, and Y/N realises her feelings for him when he starts seeing another girl.

A/N: This was requested by an Anon “hi! could you do ben!roger taylor x reader where she works for queen and they were always good friends but one day she realize that she likes roger and she starts acting weird because he has a girlfriend (but he has broke up with the gf)” This is a little different from the request but I hope you enjoy!

BORHAP MASTERLIST

“Oi, Roger. Wait up!” Y/N called, waving a hand out to get the blonde’s attention. He stopped, turning around to look at her with raised eyebrows.

 “What do you want Y/N? I’ve got band practice and I can’t be late again.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, I was going to ask if maybe I could tag along. You said you replaced Tim which was frankly a long time coming and I want to see what the new guys are like.” Y/N said, and Roger chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

“Sure, why not. You’re decent company Y/L/N.” Roger said, slinging his arm around Y/N’s shoulders as they walked to his car.

“You know what? I’ll take that as a compliment, Taylor.” Y/N said, climbing into the passenger seat of Roger’s precious vehicle. She was the only person he let ride shotgun and she certainly took advantage of that status.

“So, what was the new band name again? Queen?” Y/N asked, closing the passenger side door and pulling a biscuit out of her handbag. She took a bite and Roger let out a strangled cry, nearly slapping the biscuit out of her hand.

“Oi, watch the crumbs you cretin.” Roger said, and Y/N gave him the finger, taking a large bite of the biscuit to spite him. Roger just sighed, starting the car so they could drive to his flat.

The drive from their university was quick, and the two of them hurried out of the car once they had arrived. “If I’m late again this is on you.” Roger muttered, and Y/N rolled her eyes, letting out an exhausted sigh.

“No, it’s not because I’m not the one who thought it’d be a good idea to hit up the leggy brunette who just so happened to be a lesbian.” Y/N said, cackling to herself as Roger unlocked his door.

“In my defence I thought I was getting somewhere.” Roger said, causing Y/N to let out a short laugh.

“Mate she was more interested in me than you, trust me.” Y/N said, causing Roger to let out an irritated huff.

“Finally, they’re back. Can we start now?” Brian said, his guitar hanging at his side. 

“Shut up, mate.” Roger said, picking up his drumsticks and sitting at the kit.

“It’s nice to see you Brian.” Y/N said, giving him a quick hug before taking a seat on the small couch in the living room.

“Y/N this is Freddie, our new singer and John, our new bassist.” Roger said from the kit, gesturing to each man respectively.

“It’s nice to meet you all.” Y/N said, shaking John’s hand politely. She went to shake Freddie’s hand, but he kissed her cheeks instead, causing her to flush slightly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” Freddie said, and Y/N smiled, nodding in agreement as she sat back down again. The rehearsal went relatively smoothly and by the time it was over the sun had set, and Y/N was beginning to get tired.

“I should probably go. It’s late and I’m tired and hungry.” Y/N said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“You don’t have to leave. I’ve got a spare room and I can just buy you dinner.” Roger said, and Y/N felt her stomach fill with butterflies. Sure, she’d always found Roger attractive, but he was a bit of a prick so seeing him be so nice to her made her heart flutter.

“You don’t have to do that Rog, I’m a big girl.” Y/N said, laughing softly as Roger shook his head.

“You’re my best friend, it’s the least I can do.”

“For the love of God Roger! Where are your bloody pants?” Y/N says as Roger makes his way into the studio, his blonde hair a mess and his pants clearly missing.

It was 1979 and Queen were in the process of recording their album ‘The Game’. Y/N had been hired as Jim Beach’s second in command, and she worked very closely with the band.

Y/N loved her job and she was eternally grateful to Roger for helping her get it, however it was moments like this that irritated her beyond belief.

“Sorry love. Dominique spent the night and I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to leave this morning, if you know what I mean.” Roger said, and Y/N rolled her eyes in disgust.

Roger had been with Dominique for a while now and while Y/N claimed to be happy for them, she couldn’t help but feel angry whenever Dominique would touch Roger, or when he’d pull her in for a deep kiss in front of everyone.

She’d been nursing romantic feelings for her best friend for nearly 10 years and even though she had become very good at hiding them, she was still hurt when she saw Roger with other girls.

“Whatever Rog, just get behind the kit.” Y/N said, taking a seat beside Brian. He sensed that she was frustrated so he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his touch.

“Sorry about Roger.” Brian said, and Y/N let out a sigh, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

“I know nothing has happened between us, but I just get so mad whenever I see him with Dominique. I know jealousy is an ugly emotion, but I can’t help it.” Y/N said, noticing Deacy’s concerned look and giving him a thumbs up.

“Just give him some time, Y/N.” Brian said, giving Y/N’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve given him nearly ten bloody years but that’s fine.” Y/N muttered, causing Brian to chuckle softly.

Roger glared at the two of them from his drumkit, trying to fight the jealousy that was arising. He loved Dominique, yes, but something about seeing Brian be so close with Y/N made him see red.

“Fuck it.” Roger whispered, playing the drums as aggressively as he could, hoping to drown out his sudden burst of jealousy.

Roger groaned, the shrill noise of the phone ringing waking him suddenly. “Hello?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he looked at the clock beside his bed.

“Roger! Hello!” Y/N shouted, the volume making Roger pull away slightly. 

“Y/N? What are you doing up?” He asked, and Y/N let out a giggle.

“I went out with some friends. I don’t know where they are but that’s ok. I’m having fun!” Y/N said, slurring her words slightly but sounding incredibly enthusiastic.

“Are you drunk, Y/N?” Roger asked, and Y/N paused for a second, as if she had to think about it.

“You know what Roggie? I think I might be. Isn’t that marvellous? Being drunk is so fun. You should try it sometime.” Y/N said, hiccupping slightly as she spoke.

“That’s it, I’m coming to get you. Where are you?” Roger said, throwing the covers off as he picked up a discarded shirt to slip on.

“I’m at a club or bar somewhere. Not sure but there’s a lot of blokes here. Is this a gay bar? Excuse me sir! Is this a gay bar?” Y/N shouted, making Roger wince as he buttoned up his pants.

“So, it seems I’m at a gay bar. The nice man said it was the Oil Boxhall Cavern.” Y/N said solemnly, and Roger rolled his eyes.

“The Royal Vauxhall Tavern?” He said, and Y/N gasped, her eyes widening on the other end of the phone.

“Yes! That’s it. You’re a genius Roger!” Y/N said, and Roger chuckled, standing up and stretching his arms.

“Y/N I will be there in ten minutes. Wait for me out the front, please?” He said, and Y/N hummed in agreement.

“Okie dokie. See you then Roggie!” Y/N said, hanging up the phone. She sighed and slowly meandered out of the bar, pushing past people and fighting the yawns that were creeping up on her.

She sat down on the curb, resting her head in her hands as she waited for Roger. Time seemed to take an eternity to pass, but suddenly she heard a very familiar voice.

“Jesus you’re a right mess.” Roger said, and Y/N gasped, leaping up to hug him. 

“That was mean but it’s ok. I’m so tired.” Y/N said, causing Roger to chuckle as he led her to his car.

“Let’s get you home then.” Roger said, buckling her into the passenger seat. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, a confused and concentrated look on her face.

“But what about Domino? I don’t want to bother her.” Y/N said, and Roger let out a bitter laugh.

“Dominique doesn’t live with me anymore. We broke up.” Roger said, and Y/N let out a sigh of relief, her intoxication removing all the walls she’d put up regarding her feelings for Roger.

“Good. I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I never liked her. She was just using you, and besides you deserve better than her.” Y/N rambled, and Roger looked at her with confusion.

“Like who?” Roger asked, his heart beating at a mile a minute. He had broken up with Dominique because he realised that he had feelings for Y/N and he hoped that she felt the same.

“Like me. Don’t tell anyone though, it’s a secret.” Y/N said, whispering comically loudly, shushing Roger as she did. A smile broke out on Roger’s face as they pulled up to his flat.

“Ooh, here’s another secret. I think you’re very hot and I’ve thought so for nearly ten years. I can hardly count past ten on my fingers, so that’s a very long time.” Y/N babbled, swaying slightly as they made their way up the stairs to Roger’s flat.

Roger’s smile widened as he heard Y/N’s admission, leading her into his living room. “You need to sleep, Y/N. You are absolutely shitfaced.” He said, watching her attempt to take off her shoes.

“Maybe so.” She said, sitting down on the couch. Roger frowned, hoisting her up and helping her into his spare bedroom. Getting Y/N into bed was a bit of a difficult task but she eventually settled down, and Roger was about to go back to bed when he heard her soft voice.

“Stay please.” She said, and Roger felt his heart swell as he gingerly climbed into bed with her. Y/N snuggled into him, resting her head against his chest.

“I like this. We should do it more often.” Y/N mumbled, her voice slightly muffled by Roger’s chest. Roger nodded, holding Y/N close to him as they started to drift off.

“We most certainly should.”

[samwpmarleau]

#9 Arianne and Daemon for the ask meme please?

For this meme.

9. in public

She hadn’t particularly wanted to go to her ten-year reunion. Most of the people she liked from high school she still hangs out with, and the ones she didn’t like she doesn’t see why she should care what they’re up to. But ultimately she had been convinced.

And actually, it’s not that bad at first–even if she does think it started a bit silly:

Garlan Tyrell, class president, and Jynessa Blackmont, head of the alumni committee, had co-organized the event, and along with the requisite nametags had handed everyone a ballot asking who the reunion king and queen should be. She’d done as requested, but really? Electing a court at prom is one thing; but a decade later? Not that it would really matter who she personally writes down, because no doubt the crowns would go to the same pair who were named at prom.

She also enjoys looking at the then-and-now yearbook photos and accompanying bios. She will admit it is kind of novel to see the trajectories of everyone’s lives, whether that be as upper management in a major corporation or a burger-flipper at a fast-food joint.

The bios also make her feel better about her own single-ness that there are plenty of others without partners; some of them are very much a surprise. One that especially stands out is Daemon Sand, whom she’d dated for all of eighth grade–as much as you can “date” anyone when you’re thirteen–but had parted ways with that summer and thereafter had run in a different social circle.

He’d been exceptionally kind, she remembers, and now that he’s out of braces, has exited the gangly stage that had lasted six years, and figured out what to do with his hair, he’s…rather nice to look at. Yet there it is in the Now section: Single.

She’s not here for that, however, so she peruses the rest of her classmates’ information, then gets swept up in a conversation with a former chem lab partner. Her partner had stuck with science, going on to get a master’s in biochemistry, and as she’s in the middle of telling a story about a fellow researcher, there’s a tap on Arianne’s shoulder. It takes her a minute, and then with an internal groan, she recognizes the face. Her erstwhile lab partner clearly recognizes him, too, and politely excuses herself.

Arianne wishes she hadn’t.

“Hi, Arys,” she greets with an overlarge smile. “Long time no see.”

Her ex-boyfriend has not aged well. What had been undeniable attractiveness in high school has given way to a receding hairline and pudginess that looks out of place on his once-lean frame. His appearance isn’t important, but it’s hard not to notice that time has not been as kind to him as to others.

“How have you been?” he asks. “Is your job treating you well?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Can’t complain.” To be polite, she follows up, “And you?”

“I’m okay.” He shifts closer to her, which starts setting off warning bells in her head. “You know, I’ve thought about you a lot over the years. Especially recently.”

“Oh?”

Why me, she thinks. Why now. WHY.

“I saw in the yearbook display that you’re single,” he says. “I am, too. I think we should make a go of it.”

There’s almost nothing she’d like less, and frankly, being approached so suddenly and with such expectation is off-putting. “I’m, uh…I’m flattered, but I’m not interested. I’m sorry.”

“But why? You said you loved me.”

“When I was sixteen,” Arianne replies, stunned. She doesn’t add, Even then, only because you said it first and I’d have felt bad if I didn’t say it back.

He doesn’t look wounded; if anything, he looks more determined. “We’ve grown since then. We could make it work.”

“We don’t even know each other anymore, Arys.”

“But we could.”

He’s not going to give up, she realizes. At best, she’d spend the next half-hour continuously rejecting him until she’d have to completely leave the event or make a scene, which she doesn’t want to do. Instead, she resorts to the only thing she thinks would work: the threat of another man.

“It’s more than just not being interested,” she says. “I have a boyfriend, one whom I love very much.”

Regrettably, either she has a poor poker face, or else he’s simply that persistent, for he challenges, “Who?”

She doubts inventing some far-flung boyfriend would fly, so with no other option, she searches the gym. Most of her former classmates are married, engaged, or otherwise attached; of the ones who aren’t, most are men she’d never date or men who’d never date her. Except…perhaps…

“Daemon Sand,” she says. “It’s Daemon.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The level of sheer entitlement grates on her enough to piss her off. “Fine, I’ll prove it.”

She has no idea how exactly she’s supposed to silently communicate in a handful of seconds to Daemon–Daemon, whom she’s barely even friends with on Facebook–that she needs to use him and have him not call the police for harassment. But, desiring nothing more at the moment than to have Arys out of her hair, she meanders her way through the crowd.

Daemon is helping himself to a glass of punch that someone had predictably spiked when he sees them both approaching. Already perplexed, he starts, “Um, hi–”

“Babe,” she greets, praying her expression is desperate enough, “you remember Arys Oakheart, don’t you?”

She links her arm through his with a brief wince that she hopes conveys that she’s neither delusional nor hitting on him. He stares at her, mystified, but then looks over at Arys. “Uh, yeah. You were on the baseball team, right?”

“Yes.”

“I told Arys we’re dating, but he says I’m lying,” she exposits. “I guess he thinks you’re out of my league or something.”

“He thinks I’m–”

“That’s not why,” says Arys.

“You really think,” Arianne retorts, “that I’d just go up to some random guy, pretend he’s my boyfriend, and count on him going along with it? That’s not a thing.”

“Can confirm that’s not a thing,” says Daemon. There’s a faint edge in his voice that tells her, with no shortage of relief, that he’s cottoned on to why she’s carrying on with the charade. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d leave my girlfriend alone, batter. She’s taken.”

With that, Daemon extricates his arm, takes her hand, and leads her to the other end of the gym next to the yearbook display. “He was a pitcher,” Arianne mentions. “There was always a designated hitter.”

Daemon smiles, revealing a set of dimples she’d almost forgotten he had. “I know.”

It’s petty, getting his position wrong on purpose, but she’s not going to complain. “Thank you. Seriously. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for what you did.”

“Anytime. Babe.” After a moment, he gestures in Arys’s direction and asks, “How’d you get mixed up again with that guy?”

“Well, you know we dated in high school. I might have led him on, I don’t know. He thinks we should get back together. Evidently he still hasn’t accepted the reason I broke up with him.”

“Which was?”

“He was pushy. You got a glimpse of that,” she says. When Daemon’s inquisitive expression turns into alarm, she hastily clarifies, “Not that pushy. ‘Needy’ might be a better word. He wanted me to need him in return, and that’s just not me.”

“Good for you for getting out early.”

“I guess. Anyway, thanks again,” Arianne says, not sure where exactly to go with the conversation. “If you ever need me to repay the favor, let me know.”

“Sure.”

She feels his gaze on her as she leaves.

Daemon’s performance seems to have done the trick, for although she catches Arys eyeing her more than once over the next few hours, he doesn’t come up to her again. She manages to return to having a good time–some of that might have to do with imbibing the punch, admittedly–even to the point of having genuine conversations with people who’d never had a good word to say about her.

(To be fair, she’d never had a good word to say about them either.)

There are those who clearly are stuck in their teenage ways, but them she avoids as vehemently as she does Arys. She doesn’t reflect on Daemon much, primarily because she doesn’t find a point in it. She’d thanked him, he’d told her it wasn’t a problem, and that was the end of it.

Or that should have been the end of it.

Arys’s bullshit had made her forget all about that ballot she’d filled out at the beginning. Not so, unfortunately, for Garlan and Jynessa.

“If we could have everyone’s attention, please,” Garlan says into the microphone. “All the votes have been tallied for reunion king and queen, who will have the esteemed honor of crowns straight from Party City and a solo dance.”

Arianne so fully expects the prom royalty to get this dubious distinction, which means it takes her a full seven seconds for her to comprehend that they call out her name. Hers–and Daemon’s.

Of all people? she finds herself bemoaning as Jynessa guides her over to the tipoff circle where Garlan stands holding a set of crowns. She glances up at the ceiling beams where the school’s assortment of championship banners hang, as if expecting to see one of the gods sitting there cackling at her for orchestrating this turn of fate.

She’d been liked well enough in school, but had always been selective about who she was close with, rather than be unanimously gregarious, which left her outside of the popular crowd. And sure, Daemon had been on the soccer team, but she wouldn’t say he was popular either, having kept too much to himself for all that. So to have one, let alone both, of them recognized in this way feels like some cosmic joke.

Nevertheless, she lets Garlan place a tiara on her head and sees Jynessa place a complementary crown on Daemon’s. Arianne glances at the both of them, and Jynessa makes a shooing motion, clearly indicating she expects Arianne to dance in front of everyone.

“So, this is a surprise,” she tells Daemon, reluctantly acquiescing with Jynessa’s urging.

“To say the least. Um…just so you know, I’m no better at this than I was in eighth grade.”

“It’s just slow dancing,” Arianne laughs. “You can’t possibly be bad at it. Come on, we may as well get this over with.”

She puts her arms up on Daemon’s shoulders as he places his around her waist. He makes a face as soon as the song comes on, some throwback pop-ballad.

“Don’t tell me you’re some hipster music snob,” Arianne teases.

“No, it’s just–my last girlfriend broke up with me during this song.”

Oh. Yikes.

“Are you saying I remind you of your ex?” Arianne asks, trying for levity and hoping he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“Definitely not,” he says quickly. “No, you’re…no.”

She kind of wants to press him on what exactly that means, or whether it’s a good or bad thing, but he plainly isn’t keen on revisiting the matter. “Well, hey, at least she’s not here. Though I suppose that if she were, we could have killed two birds with one stone.”

“I’m not sure she’d have believed it any more than Arys does,” he says. “He’s been glaring at me all night.”

Arianne follows his nod, and indeed there Arys stands, wearing the only glower amongst a crowd whose expressions range from boredom to merriment. She sighs. “I don’t remember him being quite this possessive in high school. Then again, I didn’t hang out with you or guys like you, so that might be why.”

“Guys like me?”

“Uh, yeah. There was hardly some swarm of attractive athletes knocking down my door. Rhae tells me I give off an intimidating vibe, but I don’t know if that’s it. Arys was the exception.”

“And I’m that?”

She can’t tell if he’s pulling her leg or truly doesn’t see it. She takes in the thick brown hair, the close-cropped beard, the sky-blue eyes, the height, the powerful build. The dimples. When she’d chosen him to be her pawn tonight, what he looked like didn’t factor in at all. But now that there’s just the two of them…

The boy I knew has become a handsome man.

It’s an uncomfortable realization that not only is he handsome, but he’s exactly her type.

She clears her throat. “Yeah, you’re that. Objectively speaking. And sweet enough to go along with a scheme for a girl you haven’t spoken with since middle school.”

He frowns slightly but doesn’t respond. He’s not nearly as bad a dancer as he claimed; in fact, it’s quite nice being in his arms. His hands are warm but not clammy, and there’s enough of a height difference between them that she can rest her head comfortably against his chest. She feels…safe.

She pulls away when the song begins to fade to a close, but Daemon doesn’t let her go. His eyes flit up to where she assumes Arys must be, then down to her. Somehow, she knows what he’s going to do, yet despite being in the center of a gym full of former classmates, cheap plastic crowns on their heads, when he kisses her she lets him.

She’s been kissed before, and plenty, but she can’t quite recall a time that left her heart pounding, let alone one as short as this one is. Her only consolation is that when they break apart, Daemon looks about as stunned as she is. More than anything else, their current location be damned, she just wants to kiss him again, to find out if it was simply a matter of nostalgia or whether it really was that phenomenal.

“Were you–was that–”

“Uh-huh.”

“You never, with Arys, or whoever–”

“No.” He’d been fine, so far as her sixteen-year-old self was concerned, but he’d never left her reeling. And her flings since then were just that–flings. Still, reality begins to set in, especially as the reunion resumes. “This is crazy. There’s nothing between us anymore. What’s the point of revisiting the past? I didn’t want to when Arys asked, and I don’t…”

Somehow, she can’t bring herself to finish the rebuke. She can’t recall a valid reason that they broke up, in all honesty. With Arys there was a reason; with Daemon, they’d just mutually decided they should have other experiences. Besides, whoever heard of a romance between thirteen-year-olds lasting?

Daemon takes the first step as he never had back then. “At risk of sounding like Arys…I haven’t stopped thinking about you either, Arianne. Not in high school, or college, or after. About what could have gone differently, or what I should have done differently. In fact, junior year I’d finally decided to ask you to winter formal, but you’d gotten with Arys by then.”

Arianne blinks. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Would it have mattered?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” She’d been content enough with Arys, but he hadn’t been someone she envisioned a lifetime with.

“Well, regardless,” says Daemon, sounding a bit rattled, “I shouldn’t have brought this up. You said yourself, no exes. So.”

She’d be lying if she said she’d never thought about him in the years after they’d separated. Sometimes, when she and Arys were going through a rough patch, she would reflect on the simplicity of her previous relationship. There was something to be said about quiet companionship. Yes, they had been young, but all the same, she recalls wondering more than once how it’d have been if she’d stayed with Daemon.

In any event, even if she’d wanted to ignore him completely, she couldn’t–their soccer team was perpetually successful, and despite being a defenseman, Daemon’s name was bandied about as one of the better players. And no matter the circumstances, who forgets about their first boyfriend?

“Your crown is crooked,” she says, to buy herself time on how to respond. She adjusts it. “How about…dinner? It seems we have some unfinished business.”

“Wouldn’t that be a date?”

“No. A casual meal between former classmates, to catch up.” She shrugs. “If we happen to hook up afterwards, so be it.”

“All right,” he smiles. “Dinner then.”

[byuneebuns]

Attribution (Part 2)

Doyoung x Reader Hacker/Secret Agent AU

Rated: M for Violence and Eventual Smut

Tags: Violence, Smut (eventual), Hacker AU, Secret Agent AU, Political Intrigue

Author’s Note: I’m truly sorry for how long this has taken. I’ve had a lot going on and I honestly really struggled with what direction to take this in and I still have no idea what I’m even doing so hopefully it’s not awful!!!!!!! (it is sorry). Also 20 Yen is about 0.20 cents in USD just fyi 

Part 1

Part 3

“So, what you’re telling me is that you have no plan.”

Doyoung shrugged, choosing to ignore you for the endless strings of code scrolling down his monitor. You clenched your fists, trying to keep your temper under control. 

You’d been Doyoung’s captive for a week now, and it had been almost astonishing how uneventful it was. Zero progress was being made on anything, at least as far as you could tell. Granted, you weren’t privy to whatever the hell he did on his computer all hours of the day, but the most excitement you’d endured all week was when you woke up one morning to his face buried in your chest. You clenched your fist tighter at the recollection.

“How am I supposed to help you when you can’t even help yourself? You antagonized entire countries without so much as an idea for how to get out of this alive?” You tried to keep your voice calm but you could hear the exasperation seeping through.

“That isn’t very fair. I’m a genius hacker, not a genius strategist. My first and primary concern was trying to ascertain our country’s stance on the matter, but seeing as they didn’t deem you worth sharing it with before they all but dumped you in my lap, I’m kind of at a loss for the moment.”

You winced at Doyoung’s cold words. You had already started to become accustomed to his condescending attitude but it still stung to be looked down on, even if it wasn’t always entirely intentional on his part.

“Besides, aren’t you supposed to be skilled in problem-solving and getting out of messes like this? Where are your suggestions?” He continued, still not taking his eyes off of the screens flashing before him.

“You honestly want my opinion?”

He turned to face you at last, the backlighting from his monitor giving him an ethereal glow that made you uneasy for reasons you couldn’t quite place.

“Of course I do. You’re a secret agent. A highly trained specialist. You’re obviously very capable. If I wasn’t infinitely more intelligent than you I have every confidence that you would have murdered me at least twice already. I highly doubt you would have been assigned to my pursuit if you were incompetent.” He said matter-of-factly. You couldn’t help but swell a little at the praise, even amidst the biting sarcasm that you were used to from him.

“Well, as underwhelming as it may sound, I think our best chance of success starts with staying right where we are. You’ve insisted that it’s impossible for us to be located here, so it’s an optimal base of operations. We need to gather more information about what we’re up against and what they know before we risk making any moves. The only information I was privy to was that your freedom was a risk to national security and that because the threat extended to other nations that we would be cooperating with the units they sent here, but only to an extent, they would primarily operate independently and intelligence sharing would be limited.” You tapped your finger to your chin thoughtfully, trying to recall any other pertinent information.

Doyoung blinked at you slowly, his face neutral.

“So what you’re saying, in so many words, is that you have no helpful suggestions and intend to rely on my information gathering skills.” He said with a flat tone.

“Don’t disappoint me, genius hacker,” You said shrugging. You had no desire to open more doors for him to decimate your ego. To your mild surprise, he smiled, his bunny teeth gleaming in the artificial lighting.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

He swiveled back around, typing with a renewed fervor. You smiled at his back before turning on your heel to meander off and find some way to be useful while he worked.

“Wait.”

You looked over your shoulder at Doyoung, who was rigid in his seat and leaned close to his screen, so close his nose was almost touching.

“Come look at this. Now.”

You obeyed, your curiosity outweighing your disdain for being bossed around, and peered over his shoulder at the screen, stiffening when your eyes registered what he was trying to show to you.

“Where did you find this?”

“I’ve been data mining your agency and this came up. What does this mean to you?” He stared at you expectantly, his eyes piercing.

Your eyes drank in the familiar code that had become like your native tongue in your time undercover. A screen that was blank save for several lines of what would have appeared to be nonsense to most. This was a message. To you.

“It’s a riddle.” You plopped on to the floor, crossing your legs and massaging your temples as you stared holes into the carpet beneath you, mind racing.

“What does it say? Something about an eye?” Doyoung’s eyes narrowed. You were impressed that he knew that much of your code already, he was definitely not someone to underestimate.

“It says ‘I have a single eye, but cannot see. What am I?’.” You said, still distracted by the racing of your mind.

“That’s easy. It’s a needle. I don’t understand the context, so please enlighten me.” Doyoung said, growing impatient with your lack of explanation.

“Yes. A needle. It’s referring to Seoul Tower, actually. The numbers throughout are a date and time if you unscramble them, tomorrow night. It’s a meeting request.”

Doyoung stared at you, his expression unreadable.

“How do you know that?”

You scoffed.

“You mean aside from being a trained code breaker? What happened to thinking that I was a, how did you put it, ‘highly trained specialist’? This wasn’t exactly difficult. It helps that I know exactly who sent this though, it isn’t the first time he’s used this stupid riddle to tell me to meet him there. The more important question here is the one you haven’t gotten to yet: whether or not we should go.” You said bitterly, growing more uneasy by the second.

“Who sent this? One of your co-workers?”

You grimaced.

“Not quite. His name is Yuta Nakamoto. He’s a Japanese information broker that I’ve worked with on occasion. He’s a little shady and that probably isn’t even his real name but he’s never done me any harm.”

“Why the hell is a Japanese information broker trying to meet up with you? And why did he ask you to meet at Seoul Tower before?”

Your face colored at Doyoung’s questions.

“Well, I’m not too sure what the reason is this time, but we can probably assume that it has something to do with you. Information on you would probably be worth a lot right about now.”

Doyoung glared.

“And the second half of my question?”

“It’s how he asked me out on a date once. That’s so humiliating to say out loud, so please never make me do it again.” You moaned hiding your face in your hands.

“So, your ex-lover. The shady Japanese Information Broker. Wants to ask you on a second date. And this is how he chose to do it.” Doyoung said, his voice monotonous to further emphasize his disbelief.

“He’s not my ex, stop it.” You whined, swatting at Doyoung’s arm.

“Oh, sorry, I meant your CURRENT lover-”

Doyoung was cut off by you landing a well-placed kick at his ankle, causing him to yelp in pain in between his raucous laughter.

You knew you would probably never been lucky enough to catch the attention of a smart (albeit sassy beyond belief), capable, and gorgeous man like Doyoung but you still didn’t want him thinking you were a woman spoken for, just in case he had a taste for mediocrity.

“Well, I think you’ve been fairly well-behaved lately, you’ve toned down the attempted murder quite a bit, so you deserve a fun night out.” Doyoung grinned mischievously before spinning back around in his chair again and resuming his frantic typing, waving one hand to dismiss you before you could respond. You gritted your teeth. There was no point in arguing with him, but you had a bad feeling about this.

The sky was clear, not a single cloud to obscure the heavens. You fidgeted a little in your heels, shaking the silver clutch in your hand nervously. You smoothed down the hem of your short, maybe too short, black dress and glanced around. You were surrounded by couples, their faces blurry in the dim light of street lamps.

Doyoung had insisted that you dress to the nines, taking it upon himself to special order a short black cocktail dress with silver accents and matching accessories. You had begrudgingly loosely curled your hair and done your makeup, feeling like you had little choice but to when you were being forced to dress up anyways, and you had to admit to yourself that you looked good. Doyoung, to your ego’s dismay, had made no comment.

You snapped your clutch open and fished a small pocket mirror out, examining your eyeshadow and sighing with relief that it was still intact. Doyoung had been insistent on blindfolding you once again for your excursion and hadn’t even so much as let you see him when he dropped you off, still blindfolded and a little annoyed at him practically shoving you out of the passenger seat in his haste to be on his way.

The sound of your name brought you back to reality and you whirled around, blushing a little as your dress fluttered flirtatiously around the tops of your thighs.

“Ah, Yuta! I was wondering if you would ever show up.” Your face lit up at the sight of an old colleague. It had been so long and frankly you’d forgotten how attractive he was. His hair was medium brown and a little longer than you remembered, lightly parted and teased back from his forehead. He was dressed simply in a large cream colored sweater and jeans but he still managed to look breathtaking.

“I feel so underdressed. You should have let me know you were going to show up looking like a supermodel.” He teased, his eyes raking your figure as he let out a low whistle, earning a wack on the shoulder with your clutch.

“You can stop flirting with your boyfriend whenever you’re ready, this is nauseating.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Doyoung’s voice whispered so closely to your ear, like he could have been standing right behind you.

“Everything alright…?” Yuta’s voice was laced with bemusement rather than concern as he eyed you curiously. He doesn’t miss a thing, too sharp for his own good.

You shook your head, smiling reassuringly.

“I’m fine. Maybe I’m the one underdressed though, it’s a little colder out than I expected.”

Doyoung’s voice scoffed in your ear.

You resisted the urge to look for him. You knew he was somewhere nearby, but he had refused to disclose where, choosing to watch the two of you from the shadows instead and transmitting all of his snarky comments through a pair of large stud earrings that he had created himself for the sole purpose of spying on you tonight. You had to admit that you were impressed with his creations, not only were they functional but they didn’t look half bad either (although you weren’t typically one for jewelry).

Yuta wrapped a strong arm around your waist, nearly blinding you with his smile as he pulled you flush against him.

“I didn’t bring an extra jacket, so this will have to suffice.” He said, smiling wider as you two started aimlessly strolling through the park.

Doyoung made a noise that sounded suspiciously like he’d thrown up in his mouth.

“So, Yuta, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Ah, always right to business as always. How can you even say the world pleasure with a straight face?”

“I manage. Explain yourself, please.” You fixed him with a tight smile, hoping to emphasize that you didn’t have time for unnecessary pleasantries.

Yuta sighed, his smile fading and leaving him looking like a completely different person.

“I know you were looking for Kim Doyoung. I also know that you found him and he captured you. What I’d like to know is how you managed to escape him for a date night with me and how much of this he can hear.” He said nonchalantly, as if he was merely inquiring after your family’s health.

“Tell him that I can hear enough to know that he’s stalling and I don’t like it.”

Yuta shook with earnest laughter when you repeated Doyoung’s message, his hand sliding south to cup your hip as he pressed himself into you, leaned into your ear and whispered, sending shivers down your spine.

“Tell him that it was foolish to let you out in public, especially looking so scandalous. We are being followed. Keep your eyes forward.” He smiled into your cheek, keeping you close against him and looking ever the affectionate couple.

“If it was so foolish then why did you invite me here?” You asked coyly, leaning your head on his shoulder, careful not to put your weight on your ear as you played along with him.

“Sweetheart, did you forget my line of work? I could have made a fortune sending someone else to meet you here in place of me. I haven’t forgotten all the favors you’ve done for me, or how cute you are, so consider this a token of my affection. Leave the country as soon as you can and let Hackerman fend for himself. Getting yourself involved is only going to invite disaster. I have a passport under a new name and plane tickets to Japan here for you if you’ll take them.”

You picked your head up, locking your eyes with his and searching them for any sign of insincerity. Yuta was always smiling and joking around, but when he was serious you knew that he meant it. Playful as he may be, he didn’t like to mince words when it came to business. Your heart sank. He really must have thought it was impossible to make a difference if that was what he wanted to meet you for.

“I can’t just walk away from this, Yuta. I can’t do nothing, not guilt-free. Instead of telling me to be a coward, please, help me.” You could hear the pleading in your voice. You wouldn’t normally take a weak stance like this, especially during a bargain with an associate, but you were truly desperate. You knew Yuta was well-connected and he could get exactly what you needed if he didn’t have it already, even if you weren’t sure what it was that you needed in the first place.

“Ah, abominable justice. How often it stands in the way of wisdom.” He said, almost to himself as he avoided your gaze, instead casting a forlorn look skyward.

You had finally stopped walking and had found yourself at the entrance of a large, ornately decorated hotel.

“We should talk about this inside.” He said, squeezing your hip and looking at you meaningfully.

In your peripheral you could see the shadowy figures that had been tailing you for the duration of your romantic evening stroll and your breath caught. This was dangerous. As much as you wanted to trust Yuta you knew it would be incredibly stupid, for lack of a fancier word, to enter an enclosed space with him. You were already in his territory, the only comfort at your disposal being whatever Doyoung knew that inspired him to insist that this entire ordeal had been a smart move. 

Unfortunately staying outside with your uninvited guests wasn’t a very appealing option either.

Your fingers twitched reflexively towards your hip in annoyance, wishing that he had at least allowed you to equip yourself with a weapon, while still understanding why he didn’t. Your chances of being able to best Yuta in hand to hand combat were limited, from what little amount of information about his personal life you had managed to dig up you knew that he was, well, dangerous to put it simply.

He seemed to have some sort of gang affiliation but every lead was a dead end. It was like he didn’t even exist. A phantom. He had made it clear in all of your interactions that as long as you were an asset to him that he would mutually protect you, but you weren’t sure that would still ring true if the right price was offered.

As if in answer to some unspoken prayer, Doyoung’s voice breathed relief in your ear.

“It’s alright. Go with him. I’ve already infiltrated the hotel’s surveillance system, it looks clean. I have a .30 caliber rifle round with his name on it if he tries anything.”

You fought to keep your face neutral at the discovery that Doyoung was positioned somewhere with a sniper rifle. You guessed that was probably a very large part of why he kept you in the dark on the way here…literally.

You nodded once, allowing Yuta to steer you through the automatic doors and into the lobby. Neither of you spoke as he pressed the call elevator button. Your arms were crossed across your chest, your nails digging crescent moons into your triceps. Each floor the elevator fell towards the lobby where you were waiting seemed to raise your anxiety, making you hyper aware of your surroundings.

You knew this feeling too well. Everything was in slow motion but moving too fast at the same time. Colors felt too bright, noises were loud and yet muffled. Everything looked too sharp.

A chime sounded from somewhere that sounded too far away to be meant for you and the elevator doors slid open, inviting you inside.

You stepped into the elevator with Yuta and watched him press the button for the top floor followed by a series of other buttons. As the doors shut you could see Yuta watching you intently in the highly polished gold surface.

You turned to face him and there was something unfamiliar in his face. You stared at each other for a few moments before you looked away, somehow shy, turning to face forward again. You wanted to ask what was on his mind, but you felt like if you broke the silence it would make things stranger in some way or another, so you opted to stare at your distorted likeness in the door in silence as the lift slowly ascended to the top floor.

Another distant chime announced your arrival and you watched your and Yuta’s reflections retreat from one another as the elevator doors opened, revealing a very large and extravagant penthouse suite. 

The ceilings were impossibly high and most of the suite seemed to be constructed with either glass or highly polished silver metal, the furnishings almost exclusively in black leather. It was very minimalistic, yet modern, and it reminded you of Doyoung’s apartment which lightened the weight in your stomach just a bit. There were ceiling to floor windows lining the wall opposite the door with a gorgeous and expansive view of the skyline.  You sheepishly thought to yourself that the suite matched your outfit uncannily well, and couldn’t help wondering if Doyoung had intended it to.

Yuta sighed, bee-lining for the miniature bar and pouring himself a glass of amber liquid. He silently raised it to you in offering but you declined, shaking your head.

“Don’t know why I bothered, but I always hope that one day I’ll spend the evening with the beautiful woman I met years ago instead of the secret agent I always seem to see instead.” He laughed, almost bitterly, before draining the glass and setting it back on the counter with a distinct echo of glass striking marble.  He made his way to the black leather sofa that was facing the skyline, motioning for you to join him.

You sat next to him and watched him expectantly, waiting impatiently for him to speak.

“Yuta…” You started, but he held up one hand to silence you, still staring resolutely at the night sky.

“You won’t go to Japan.” 

It was more a statement than a question but you nodded in confirmation all the same.

“And you want me to help you do…whatever it is you hope to accomplish in some other way?”

You nodded again. He sighed again, finally turning to face you, expressionless.

“What do I hope to gain from risking my life for this? I’ve already put myself in danger just being here with you, but I did it with the expectation that you would be leaving with me and we could wash our hands of this.”

“And what, exactly, did you hope to gain from that?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Yuta smirked, turning to face you, resting his hand on your thigh, just below the hem of your dress.

“Only everything that I’ve ever wanted.”

You inhaled sharply, your shock written all over your face. His words weren’t much but his body language communicated everything as clear as day. Your leg where Yuta’s large hand was resting felt like it was on fire and you could feel heat radiating from your face.

Yuta was always flirtatious but you always took it with a grain of salt, assuming that was just his personality. You’d never even considered the possibility that he could actually be interested in you and you were too taken aback by this new information that you couldn’t even properly consider it.

Before you could collect yourself enough to respond the familiar chime of the elevator echoed through the room. Yuta threw himself on the floor, pulling you with him, and groped around under the sofa finally extracting two 9MM pistols that were concealed there, handing one to you as he cocked the other.

You nodded, cocking yours as well, crawling to the opposite side of the couch but keeping your eyes on Yuta, waiting for his signal.

He raised one finger and pointed towards the door, both of you springing into action simultaneously. You leaped forward, landing onto your stomach and rolling back onto your side, your pistol aimed at whoever was dumb enough to try and take the two of you on and walk through the front door. It was a tall man, dressed entirely in black with his face covered by a black scarf. Only his eyes were visible but it was too far off for them to tell you much about his identity.

Why the fuck hadn’t Doyoung warned you about this? Now that you thought about it he had been oddly silent for some time now, you hoped he was okay….

“Any weapons on the ground and hands where we can see them if you value your fucking life. If I have to fire a single shot know that your death will not come swiftly.” Yuta shouted, but the intruder remained undeterred.

The stranger raised his arms and placed them on his face instead of his head, tugging at the fabric that obscured his identity.

You gaped, dumb-founded, as the scarf fell away and revealed an absolutely furious Doyoung.

“If you don’t lower your gun now I will rip your entire shitty operation apart from the seams and collectively fuck you and each one of your affiliates in ways you’ve only dreamed of late at night when you’re alone.” Doyoung hissed, glaring directly at Yuta and ignoring both you and your stunned silence.

“Would now be a good time to mention that I’ve cracked all of your off-shore accounts wide open and started siphoning money out of them as soon as I saw your message? You’re losing an average of 20 Yen every second that you waste staring at me and trying to get the three brain cells you have left to do some actual work, in addition to the 2.8 million Yen you’ve already lost.”

Yuta looked like he was being strangled. He placed his pistol on the floor in front of him, sliding it across the smooth marble floor to Doyoung, placing his hands above his head and lowering his eyes in deference.

“Oh, and don’t bother waiting up for your lackeys, they’ve long since been disposed of.” Doyoung sneered, picking up Yuta’s discarded pistol and stalking towards him.

“I have to admit, I was sincerely impressed with your daring. Execution, not so much. Very sloppy. Hacking a government database and betting that we would see it? Banking on no one else knowing about your cute date night all that time ago or figuring out your riddle? Better lucky than good, I suppose.” Doyoung’s smile stretched wider with every cutting word that left his lips while Yuta’s scowl only deepened.

“Fuck you.” Yuta spat, his eyes reduced to slits, teeming with hatred as Doyoung loomed over him.

Doyoung laughed, if you could call it that. It was a harsh sound, like a bark.

“That’s not what you really want, we both know that now.” He said, crouching down and ruffling Yuta’s hair, antagonizing him further. You finally found your voice.

“Doyoung, what the hell is going on?” Your voice sounded foreign, hollow, like it belonged to someone else. Doyoung finally turned to face you, his face impassive.

“Be quiet for now, please. I’m handling this. I’ll explain later.”

Fury coursed through your veins as you raised the pistol Yuta had given you, pointing it directly between Doyoung’s eyes. 

“Explanations happen right now. From both of you.”  

[lemonlushff-iy]

Thank you ALL for being awesome and participating in my AMA tonight!! 

As a thank you, I’m giving you a sneak peak into an upcoming fic. I’m not quite sure WHEN I will be posting this, but it’s an idea I’ve had floating around in my head for over 11 years. 

God I feel old. 

This is still a massive WIP, and the following has not been edited!

Kagome sighed as she toed off her high heels, gently scooting them to the side with her foot, next to her island. She peeled out of her blazer as she walked further into her apartment, ditching it onto the closest arm chair, rubbing the back of her neck. 

God she was exhausted. And she wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow, but...that was a “future her” issue. She didn’t want to mull over work anymore right now. All she wanted was her Grubhub to arrive so she could have some sushi, pour some wine, and watch the Real Housewives of Atlanta. 

Their shit was always worlds better than her own. Their drama made her forget about her drama...and she fucking hated drama. When she was involved, of course. 

She still wanted to know 200% of it. 

Just leave her out of it. 

She meandered over to her bathroom and pulled her hair up into a loose ponytail at the top of her head, removing her jewelry. She would have completely changed, but...frankly...she knew that dinner would be arriving soon and she’d rather open the door with her bra on. 

That didn’t mean that she couldn’t get a little more comfortable first though. Try and wipe away some of the traces of her hellish day at work. 

That fucking magazine…

It was her blood. Her life. And they made her bleed for it. The deadlines were crazy, the stress insane, and her bosses even more so. Yet...she wouldn’t trade her life for anything. It was her dream job, and she had sacrificed a lot to get here. 

A social life, at times. Definitely love. 

This was what the trade off was for working at one of the most in demand, read, and famous fashion magazines in the world. 

She rolled her shoulders, before washing her face, drying it with a towel behind her. It was a bit better, but she didn’t feel refreshed. She felt exhausted, and now that the makeup was gone, she could see the bags under her blue eyes. She loved her eyes...was that conceited to say?

She didn’t know anymore after working for them. 

But she did.

They were large and round...had heard from many men before that it was like looking into the depths of an ocean and...frankly...she had to agree. They were one of her most striking features, next to her delicate features. Nose, cheekbone...brows...If she didn’t enjoy food, she had been told that she could have been a model. As it were, however, that wasn’t a path she wanted for herself anyways. 

She exited the bathroom, flicking off the light as she made her way back into her kitchen, opening the fridge door and taking out a new bottle of wine. Chardonnay. She had picked it up a few days ago, and nothing like her hell day to make her want to dip into it. 

She grabbed the corkscrew and began working it into the bottle as a knock came from her door, and she sighed in relief. 

“Sushi,” she grinned, placing the bottle onto her counter as she strode towards the door. “You have good timing!” she called out, placing her hand on the knob, turning it. “I’m famished!”

What greeted her on the other side of the door didn’t look like a Grubhub man. 

Afterall. 

Grubhub brought you food.

Not suitcases. 

“Hello?” she greeted, raising her brow at the man before her. Long silver hair, nervous yet excited golden eyes...His smile was shy but endearing. 

“Kagome?” he whispered, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. 

“Yes?” she replied slowly - hesitantly. Who the hell was he and how the hell did he even know her name?

“Kagome,” he grinned widely, sweeping her into his arms, his lips planting themselves firmly on her lips. 

She squealed as he began kissing her, his hands winding into her hair, his hand gently moving to lovingly caress the small of her back. She had no idea who the hell this man was...or why the fuck he was kissing her, but she didn’t like it!

Well…

She did…

But it was creepy as fuck and she didn’t like it!

She wormed her hands between their bodies and gave him a firm push, staggering backwards into her apartment. 

“What the fuck!” she demanded, running the back of her hand against her lips, and he looked absolutely crushed. 

“W-what?”

“Who the hell are you and why the hell did you just kiss me!”

“W-who...K-kagome…”

She darted over towards the butcher block on her counter holding her knives and grabbed one as he entered  her apartment. 

“Kagome! It’s me! Inuyasha!”

“You say that like it should mean something to me,” she growled lowly, keeping her knife pointed at him. She wasn’t letting him get any closer to her if she could help it. 

If only she were closer to her phone...Then she could maybe call for help. 

“I...We’re getting married,” he breathed, his face confused. Saddened. 

“What?!” she shrieked. This guy had to have a few marbles loose. 

“Do you...Kagome Higurashi?”

“That’s my name,” she nodded. “But I’m definitely not getting married, Buddy…”

“I don’t understand…” he whispered. He looked like he was on the verge of crying, and her heart softened a little. This man...Inuyasha...whoever he was...Seemed completely and totally baffled. 

“L-look. Maybe there’s another Kagome Higurashi that’s out there that you’re supposed to get married to. What...why don’t you...Shit,” she sighed. He looked so sad. He didn’t seem like a threat. He seemed as confused and befuddled as she did. She wasn’t going to put down the knife, but maybe she should take a few deep breaths and try and figure out what the hell was going on. Maybe ask him why the hell he had two large suitcases outside her apartment. 

“Why don’t you grab those and come inside,” she began again, trying to keep her words soft. They had gotten off on the wrong foot, but she was willing to start over and try and help him out. He just looked so lost...Like...A puppy. 

She could see him worrying the inside of his cheek, as he thought over her words before nodding and stepping outside to grab his suitcases. 

Why the hell did he need suitcases?

He moved to close the door but she stopped him. She would rather leave it open in case her judgement was impaired. Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise her if it was. What was she thinking anyways?

...That there was a strange lost man who needed help...who looked absolutely devastated...and she was going to help him out. Because she was a good person. 

Fuck. 

“Why don’t you leave that open,” she voiced, and he glanced back up at her in confusion, before understanding flooded his eyes. “I have dinner on the way,” she explained, but he didn’t look like he completely believed that. 

It was true though!

God...There went her relaxing night of sushi and wine and reality tv...She could already feel it as she removed her blazer from the chair, gesturing for him to sit down. He jerkily nodded, and slumped down, trying to find the words to explain his sudden appearance. 

Her standing probably wasn’t helping to ease him much...So she reluctantly decided to sit on the couch across from him, making sure they had plenty of distance - and a coffee table - between them. 

“Why don’t you tell me who you are, and why you’re here?” she prompted softly, and he nodded his head. She watched his fingers as they began to nervously pick at his nails, and she had to bite her tongue to tell him to stop. 

“My name is Inuyasha Takahashi,” he began slowly. “And I’m here to marry a woman named Kagome Higurashi. We met online six month ago...And...I’m sorry, I just...You even look like her…” he sighed, closing his eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening…”

He leaned forward, propping his head up on his knees as the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. 

“I should have known better,” he chuckled dryly to himself. “Twelve hours on a plan and you...she...wouldn’t even come and pick me up from the airport?”

“W-what?” she sputtered. “Who the hell is this woman?”

“You! I thought!” he replied in exasperation. “I...Do you have a computer?” he swallowed. “Maybe it will be easier if I just...Can I show you? Please…”

“Yeah. Sure! Of-of course. Hold on,” she nodded, picking up the knife and packing out of the room, keeping her front to him as she made her way into her bedroom. She had left it on her nightstand last night, and now would be the perfect time to grave her phone too. 

Just in case. 

She had left it in the bathroom when she was washing her face, and when she grabbed it off the white and black marbled counter, she was surprised to see a litany of missed phone calls from her friends. Eri, Yuka, Yumi...What the hell did they want?

She shook her head and decided to table that for another time. 

She was already having a hell of a night. She really didn’t want to add their issues to it too. 

She left her bedroom, laptop, phone and knife in hand, and found he hadn’t left his spot. His eyes were red, and glossy, and it made her heart ache for him a little. He seemed so sweet and genuine…

“Here,” she offered, handing him her computer. 

He mumbled out his thanks, opening it and scrolling and typing away. When he was done, he handed the computer back to her, and she was flabbergasted. 

He had taken her to...what appeared to be...A website for mail order husbands?! She didn’t even know that was a thing!

“Kagome and I met about six months ago and it was…” he smiled wistfully. “I felt a connection to her almost instantly. You can...read through everything,” he blushed sweetly, and she absently found herself thinking how precious he looked. “I asked her a few months back if she...would like to move forward with an agreement, and she accepted. We were supposed to be getting married this week,” he whispered, looking down at his hands clasped between his knees. 

“Inuyasha...I…”

“Please,” he insisted. “There are photos that we exchanged,” he blushed. “And she...she looked just like you.”

She swallowed and nodded, her fingers scrolling through the exchange of messages...and she was stunned. 

Everything he had told her appeared to be true. He had been in touch with a Kagome Higurashi...He had agreed to come to New York to be with her...And the bitch had stolen photos of her. 

“Oh my God,” she breathed, and he winced. “I...I know when all of these photos were taken...My brother’s birthday...Pool party with Eri...Weekend away with Yuka…”

Wait. 

No. 

No.

Her heart was racing as an absolutely absurd idea struck her. 

Her friends wouldn’t have...Couldn’t have…

She scrolled up further and found a picture of the four of them at her birthday. 

The pictures. The missed phone calls. 

Please. 

Dear god let her be wrong…

Her phone started ringing again, startling them both. 

Eri...

[energyswordsunday]

and time’s arrow marches on.

Cross-Posted on AO3.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Fandom: Runescape

Relationship: Adwr/Rowena

Characters: Rowena Behr, Adwr Cadarn, Leolin Cadarn

Words: 2990  Chapter: 1/?

Content Warning: Misogyny, Antisemitism, Classism

Summary: 25 Pentember 1927, 4th Age. Yanille, Kandarin. The day Adwr Cadarn's life takes a bittersweet turn. And yet, in the end, he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Elf meets human meets forbidden romance.

Chapter Summary: A mysterious farm girl has been the talk of the town for the past 2 years. She seems to constantly be in the public eye, no matter how much she keeps to herself. Fresh from Prifddinas, a young elf has been set on guard duty at the entrance to the village. His naturally inquisitive nature lands him in the pickle of a lifetime. His mission: to get to the bottom of this mystery, and figure out just who this girl really is. With help from his best friend, will this elf be able to talk to the intimidating human?

Behr.    A foul, foul word, like a hex.    The mages never liked her. The name she carries is poisoned, to them, for eternity.    Behr. Behr.    A word that oozes off their tongue, is spat with vitriol; a word that ignites a fiery, burning hatred in their heart.    She is a woman.    A woman, young and full of vigor, and filled to the brim with magical talent.    The elders are scared of her, hiding and hissing her name like a curse, for her raw power makes them insecure of their own feeble sparks. Roaches, she calls them. They hiss and spew in quiet tones, but scurry off when faced with confrontation. A mutual relationship of disgust and distrust is what they share, a complex setting where they must occupy the same space; maddening, sickening, but necessary.    She had joined the Mages’ Guild a little over two years prior, against the outcries of these mages. It is incomprehensible to them, still, how she got in. No matter their begging, pleading, grovelling, their Guildmaster will not budge, so they make up stories to soothe themselves. Simple, serpentine, suspiciously spurious stories, about how she threatened, beguiled, seduced him. They try to run her out, but it never works. And they still, still, don’t understand why.    Whatever the true reason, she is a woman, and she is good at magic. Better than all of them. This makes her unholy in the eyes of her guildmates. To them, she is a cheater; she had struck a deal with Zamorak to obtain her power, and in the process, corrupted herself, making her the despicable woman that she is today.    For a handful, she is. Loudmouthed and opinionated, with a sharp tongue to match her wit. Her shoulders are broad, and home to long, curled auburn hair that cascades down her back from under her patched hat, mesmerizing children and adult alike. Stern, scrutinous green eyes set her face, giving one the impression that she could use them to cut glass with ease. Faintly, she smells of hard work and the wilderness. She is Wizard Behr, the Bear from the Woods. And she is not of this earth.    It is clear to anyone who crosses paths with her that this is a stubborn woman. She has bowed her head not once to any man, and has spat in the face of proper society. Local gossip outside the guild pins her as an evil spirit that bewitches foolish men to do her whim. Her scale is in danger of tipping at any moment, her luck due to run out, yet, strangely, she remains unfazed.    “No man in their right mind would allow this beast to practice magic,” A greying wizard hisses to a colleague of his, outside a small building with a magical barrier glistening over its walls and makeshift fence. “I’m still angry that she-devil was let in, and now she has the audacity to make everyone wait on her?”        “Careful, Wizard Flemtoed, she might hear,” the other wizard replies, laced with sarcasm. “You don’t want your guts torn out by a live Behr do you?”    This snippet of conversation glides with the breeze and attracts the attention of a man a distance away. His ears, long and pointed, are fine-tuned to the world around him; what is normally a boon, for him, he wishes he could now deactivate. He is a foreigner in these parts, and still has not quite adjusted to the fact that humans are so different.    This man’s keen sense of hearing has landed him in quite a precarious position on numerous occasions since his migration, and frankly he is a little tired of his accidental eavesdropping, though it breaks the tedium of his daily routine. Consequently, in spite of his interest this time, he errs on the side of caution and keeps to himself.    He is on duty with a few other members from his clan, the Cadarn, who had first passed over Arandar centuries ago to settle and rule Kandarin. Out of a handful of these Elven settlements, the young man is liking his current station the most, as it has the most diversity around him.    Unfortunately, it is also in close proximity to the Ogres, making it a frequent target for raids, which have been rapidly increasing in numbers over the months. Yanille was a bit short-handed as a result, thus prompting King Baxtorian to issue the command leading to his reassignment.    Here, he is to stand guard temporarily in anticipation of a raid, while his fellow clansfolk worked on drafting up better defenses. While it is a fascinating place, guard duty leads to long bouts of boredom for this young man, which cause him to fantasize regularly about all the scouting missions he is missing out on. He often finds himself longing for the freedom and the thrill, along with the exercise.    “Adwr!” A voice barks out at him.        “Ah–?!” The young man jumps, having been caught red-handed in his daydreams. He is met with an intense gaze from his best friend, another elf from his clan, who is stationed about twenty feet from him.    “Don’t make me lecture you again,” the elf warns Adwr, soft but stern. This is a conversation they have had hundreds of times throughout their friendship, but without his help, in all honesty, Adwr doesn’t know how he would have survived his studies, let alone this guard assignment.        “Right,” Adwr chirps back, flashing his friend a sheepish smile. In his own defense, however, waiting around just in case anything happens is pretty boring. He doesn’t understand how people can just… stand there, and do nothing. He sighs and clicks his tongue, focusing on counting and naming all the types of wildlife he sees in front of him, again.    He’s somewhere through his third or fourth ‘I Spy’ game when the whispers that had distracted him moments ago suddenly grow to a hush. The crowd of wizards disperses, as if on cue, every one of them suddenly very late for things they have to do. A mixture of teleportation, running, and meandering occurs, leaving the courtyard bare. All except for one wizard, of course, who lingers – a sharp looking older man who really, really has no business growing a beard that long. Adwr can’t help but sneak a glance over in that direction.    “You’re late,” the older man grumbles, seemingly to himself. “You know how the Mages’ Guild feels about tardiness, right, Behr?”    The object of this man’s dispassionate scolding makes an irritated noise and waves her hand at her superior dismissively. “Farm business. You know, Art.”    The mass of vibrant curls that enters the village in front of him catches Adwr’s attention in an instant. His hand magnetizes to his chin, mouth slightly agape; his companion snorts, but the sound doesn’t register to the pale elf.    This is the woman that the villagers speak so ill of? 'Interesting', he thinks.    “Wizard Behr, I have made it clear that you are to refer to your colleagues with respect. This includes your leader,” the grumpy wizard starts. “You’d do well to note that I am the sole reason you were allowed entrance.”        “Oh, Gods be damned. What are we, monks? Ain’t your ma given you a name for a reason?” She counters.    The redhead shakes her head, giving a grunt of irritation. The tension between the two indicates to Adwr that this is conversation that is had very regularly.    “That is beside the point, Wizard Behr. Now come on, we haven’t got all day, and a full roster is required for this meeting in order to begin.” ‘Art’ resumes. The lines on his face seem to be less from old age and more from stress.        “Fine, fine. Just remember, I have a life an’ family too, ya know?”    “As do we all.”    The two wizards quiet down, taking to mumbling and grumbling to one another and themselves as they approach their guild building. Adwr watches them, engrossed, until his companion butts in again, this time with a gentle tap to his shoulder.    “Hey, pysgodyn aur. Our relief is here. Let’s go have some rarebit before you starve to death.”        “Rarebit… Oh! Lunch! I completely forgot!” Adwr replies. The prospect of food is enough to lure him away from his thoughts.    “I swear, I should just tie some cheese to a fishing rod and hop on your shoulders. Maybe then you’d pay attention to what’s in front of you.” His companion jokes, as they make their way to the meal tent.        “Only if it’s gouda cheese,” Adwr hums back, well aware he’s being ribbed.    The exasperated noise he receives in return is worth the pun. “We don’t even make gouda!”    The pale elf chuckles. “I’ll settle for tintern then.”    “Maybe in the next few years when we make it back to Prifddinas,” says the darker elf.        “I can wait as long as I need for some good cheese!”    “And as always, my point has been proven.”    In good spirits, the two elves plate up and make off to the corner of the tent, where it’s dim and quiet, absent of any distractions or irritants. Adwr seems pleased, content to share his meal with his childhood friend in peace.    Said friend has always understood that Adwr is a little… Odd. Different from other elves, certainly, but pleasant to talk to, passionate, and a very intelligent, creative-minded individual. It was a huge relief to him when they both got older and Adwr hadn’t taken on the arrogant, self-absorbed demeanor so many others of their age groups tended to due to their success and upbringing.    The elf, himself, was also considered strange, but in a different way. Whereas Adwr never really fit in socially, his companion was fine in that regard, where applicable. Instead, his problems lied in his heritage: he was born into a poor family of workers.    He would have been doomed to the same fate, had his family not encouraged and fostered his love for archery. Amongst his peers, this elf was an exceptional shot, but this carefully cultivated talent was always unfairly put under scrutiny. Elves of more influential families made no hesitations in reminding him that he was strange for trying to break out of his designated ‘box.’ Growing up, for him, was a constant unending struggle to prove his worth and fight for his own right to be put in the same courses as his peers.    Adwr, however, is different. This elf always held a specific sort of admiration, and a bit of jealousy, towards his friend, for though Adwr was othered based on his various quirks, he still regarded everyone with the same sort of respect, purely for the joy of friendship. It was Adwr who had approached him and extended his hand, and it was always Adwr who would stick up for him against the rest of their peers. He is thankful, truly, and wishes he could purely be just grateful and appreciative towards him, but there is always a part of him that will be jealous, for he truly had life easier. He never wants Adwr to know this, though, for he understands that Adwr wasn’t trying to play savior to him. But... Everyone has their own demons.    “Leolin. You haven’t touched your rarebit, are you okay?” Adwr interrupts his train of thought with his standard fare. It is a nice gesture, but sometimes Leolin just wishes his friend would let him mope.       “Mmh,” is the response he receives from his melancholic buddy. “I’m fine, just thinking about some things.” He puts on his best smile and Adwr seems to be soothed.    “Well, it’s really good today – they finally got the texture right this time! But I still think that rotating cooking shifts are the worst idea. I know we all were taught how to cook growing up, but some days, I really can’t stomach what’s put out.”    The elf’s passionate chatter warms Leolin a bit, inspiring him to sample the meal in front of him as he finishes speaking. It really is no use trying to be sad around this man. He takes a bite, and nods to indicate his pleasure.    “You’re right. My compliments to the chef – this is actually pretty good for the rarebit we have out here. They must have had a good run in with the locals,” Leolin muses. Quality elven ingredients weren’t always easy to come by out in these parts, so it can be assumed that there was some good luck with trading today.    This reminded him of the wizard that caused that commotion earlier, who was rumored to have come from a large local farm. Maybe she was late because her family was busy trading with their clan? His eyes glint with mischief as he remembers what he was planning to pester Adwr about.    “Speaking of locals… So how about that little redhead you were eyeing up earlier?” Leolin lilts, a devilish grin on his face. “You like farm girls, Adwr?”    Adwr nearly chokes on the piece of bread he’s currently attempting to swallow, causing him to slam a fist down on the shabby table as he tries not to cough it back in his friend’s face. The table wobbles, and Leolin’s plate jostles a little.    “Ach – No!” are the first words out of his mouth before he catches his breath and clears his throat. A light blush dusts his face thanks to the teasing and his lack of air.    “It wasn’t like that! You know I don’t engage in those sorts of behaviors, Leo, I was just curious! Did you see her hair? She stood out! And – I – Look, it was a coincidence. You know how easily distracted I am by noise.”    Leolin almost feels bad for messing with his friend, but gives him a long, drawn out wink and continues on anyways. “Oh, yeah, su~ure. Why so defensive? You just don’t want to admit that the human was cute.”    Adwr huffs indignantly, folding his arms and turning his head pointedly away. “I refuse to answer to your harassment.”    He sneaks a peak at Leolin after his show of being offended, who is giving him a very silly looking face. They meet eyes for a few seconds before Leolin wiggles his eyebrows at him, prompting them both to burst into a giggle fit. It takes at least a minute before they are able to regain their composure again.    “In all seriousness, though, what is with that ‘Behr’ girl?” Adwr asks. “You’ve been here longer than I have. She seems to be a controversial figure in this village. I just can’t wrap my head around why.”    Leolin fixes his friend with a serious gaze. “Rowena? Well, that’s her name, for starters.”    “Rowena,” Adwr repeats, waiting for him to continue.        “Yeah. She’s from some local farm I guess. And she’s the only woman in the Mages’ Guild here, from what I hear.” Something about what he just said to Adwr resonates deeply with Leolin. Another misfit, perhaps?    “Really? There’s no other women? Why?” The paler probes.        “Afraid I don’t know the answer to that. Why don’t you ask her?”    “I can’t! I don’t know her, what if she gets angry with me? I don’t want to be insensitive.”        “That didn’t stop you from talking to me when we first met. Come on, she’s only a human. Humans are practically harmless. I can stand there with you.” Leolin’s offer only makes Adwr frown more, worry creasing his face. Was he really that afraid of offending her?    “I don’t know. I think… I should watch and listen a bit more. I know she’s a human, Leo, but I can’t shake this feeling that she really is as scary as what the people here say.”        “My dear friend, you should know by now that just because people say something about someone, that doesn’t always mean it’s true.”    Adwr shakes his head. “Maybe humans are different like that. You’re forgetting that… That I haven’t actually talked to a human before, Leo.”    Leolin frowns at his friend’s increasingly negative behavior. This wasn’t typical for him. “Hey. What happened to that endless optimism? You were so excited about all the humans that lived here when I talked to you a few days ago. You can’t let your fear of one bad experience hold you back suddenly.”    A small, timid smile works its way to Adwr’s face. “I can, but I shouldn’t, I suppose.”    He looks back at his friend’s freckled face, and takes a deep breath. “I think if I talk to her, I should do it by myself. But. You can stand nearby, if you want, in case things go south. As long as I don’t have to do it right this second.”    “That’s better. I would be glad to stand guard, my friend. It’ll be a favor returned for all the times you were there for me whenever I had to talk to an instructor.” Leolin gives his friend a toothy smile and reaches across the table to offer his hand.    Adwr accepts the gesture, gripping his friend’s hand firmly with his own, and giving it a nice shake. “It’s a deal, then?”    “Deal. So, do you want to work on a list of questions, just in case?” Leolin offered this for his friend in fond memory of all the times Adwr had him do the same. Only, in this case, rather than passing someone a note, the intention was to prepare Adwr to speak to Rowena.        “I don’t want her to think it’s a survey!” Adwr replies hastily.    Leolin snorts. “It won’t be a survey, silly. I meant so you know what you want to say, and how, so you won’t choke up.”    “Oh. Well… In that case, let us commence!” Adwr rises to his feet, suddenly full of vigor and determination. He looks down at Leolin expectantly.        “Okay, fine. I’ll take my food with. Let’s go.”

Notes:

elves in runescape seem to speak welsh and have welsh names, if you're wondering about that. i didn't just pull that out of nowhere hgkdjghkdj

rowena is jewish CODED. i say this because runescape has its own extensive pantheons of gods and it's not easy to fit an irl religion like that in there without being offensive. so she retains more of the racial aspect than the religious here.

i tag antisemitism with the knowledge that some of the things these people will say does stem from that, but that's only one layer of many of hatred that rowena faces for who she is.

adwr is autistic. he was also a canon runescape character that was really only mentioned by name, adopted by me and my gf. 

[ficletsandthelike]

(this is someone else's prompt, i don't remember who made it though but it's a bit different than the original..) could you write something where lance is stuck cleaning the decontamination chamber and he accidentally turns on with him inside so there's water filling up the room rapidly and he's running out of time but someone finally comes by and hears him screaming and freaking out trying to get him out. You can choose if lance dies or not (I'd prefer that he almost does but is revived by CPR)

I hope you like it; I haven’t slept in 30 hours so I’m just chugging along here...

A few aspects of living in a flying castle really bugged Lance.

How is anyone in their right mind supposed to clean the thing, especially while trying to fight a war at the same time?

How is someone supposed to stay out of the frankly ridiculous amount of traps and strange places scattered haphazardly around?

And, most importantly, how is someone supposed to get out of said traps when there are only six other people on the ship with a once again absurd square footage?

More under the cut!

Hunk had come up with the brilliant idea for a chore wheel after dust was discovered to be the culprit of a miserable, sneeze-filled week for the paladins. As Lance scrubbed the wall of the decontamination chamber, he couldn’t bring himself to complain; Keith had spun “bathrooms,” and the sight of the mullet in a manbun and apron wasn’t leaving Lance’s head anytime soon.

His thoughts were interrupted when his sponge ran over a bump in the wall that, upon closer inspection, was a sudsy and now-pressed button with strange Altean symbols beneath it. Lance heard the door click shut. “Oh no,” he muttered, preparing himself to be as clean as the chamber itself.

Water pooled around his feet as Lance searched for some way to turn the system off. Concern sparked in the back of his mind when he noticed that the water wasn’t draining like usual, and he waded over to the main control panel. Allura was usually the one to run the chamber, so he took a wild guess and punched a few buttons. The prickling concern turned to alarm when the water spewed faster, crawling up to his shins by the time he got to the door to yell for help.

“Hey! Anyone out there?” Lance called. “Keith? Shiro? H-Hey!” His voice cracked in fear when the water reached waist deep with no signs of rescue. His banging and yelling turned desperate. “Guys! Someone! The water’s- Help!”

Lance swallowed thickly when he realized that his pleas were futile. “The blue paladin, dead by water,” he said, almost laughing at the bitter thought. The water crept up to his bellybutton, his chest, his neck, and with one last scream and a deep breath, Lance was submerged.

Coran whistled cheerfully down the hallway, marching up to the decontamination chamber’s door and knocking crisply. “Lance, my boy,” he began, “it turns out there’s an auto cleaning function in the system! If you would kindly open the door, we can have your chore done faster than a Hiblurg can finish its dinner!” With no response from the paladin, he fumbled with the panel near the door a bit and opened it questioningly.

He was quite surprised indeed when it was a wall of water that greeted him, promptly sweeping Coran back down the corridor a few yards. “Quiznak, Lance, what did you-” His wet mustache was forgotten in an instant as he spotted the unmoving heap on the floor. “Lance!” He knelt near the boy, and instantly turned on the comm he carried when there was a terrifying lack of breathing. “No time for niceties! Decontamination chamber immediately, paladins!”

The rest of Team Voltron were there in an instant. Hunk was the first to speak. “Is he okay?! Oh no, he’s not okay, he drowned, it’s all not okay-” Shiro cut him off with a warning glare, but it was Keith who dropped down and rolled Lance onto his back, swallowing hard at the silence from the Cuban’s chest before firmly pressing down repeatedly.

They could only stand and watch as over and over, Keith pumped his hands and performed mouth-to-mouth to Lance’s limp form. The look in Keith’s eyes when he glanced up was enough to freeze any and all future kiss jokes. After what seemed like an eternity, Lance finally stirred, cutting through the tension like a knife through butter.

Lance jerked up and started coughing, Hunk moving to rub circles on his back as he heaved up mouthfuls of water. Eventually, Lance’s eyes cracked open and he gave a faint grin. “Really thought I was swimming with the fishes there, huh?”

They all released a breath they didn’t know they were holding. Hunk made no secret of his tears, big fat ones rolling down his cheeks while he squeezed Lance tightly. “Don’t ever do that again! You scared me so much; you weren’t breathing, Lance...” Pidge sniffled loudly and joined the hug. Everyone, even a reluctant Keith, joined in, and the mass of relief and cuddles lingered for a bit. 

“What were you doing in there?!” Keith scolded Lance after they had broken apart. Lance was confused as to why the red paladin’s face was so red, but Lance chalked it up to anger and sputtered indignantly, “I don’t know, I was just cleaning, and then I pressed some weird secret button and then-” Shiro laid a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “How about you explain after we all get a bit of rest,” he said to a chorus of exhausted concurrence.

The team meandered off to their own rooms to contemplate the day’s events. Lance couldn’t help but smile to himself; his team was worried for him, and he was incredibly grateful. A stray thought crossed his mind. If he hadn’t been breathing, then who had done chest presses and m-

“MULLET, I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR QUIZNAK.”

[seriouslyhooked]

Closer (The CS Mixtape) Part 130/?

Series of CS oneshots inspired by music. Collection on FF Here.

A/N: This is a reader requested AU oneshot inspired by ‘Closer’ by the Chainsmokers. It is from Killian’s POV and includes a reunion for CS after years apart, emotional confrontations, and a smuffy ending because why the hell not. Thank you to the many of you who asked for this song over the past few months and I hope you all enjoy! (Rated M, because it’s been a while since we’ve had some smut in the mixtape).

“Can I help you with anything else, sir?” an eager bellhop asked as Killian slid off the final work bag he’d brought on this trip and handed it to the younger man.

It still struck Killian as ridiculous how different people treated him now that he had money. Not so long ago he’d been broke, down on his luck, and frankly angry at the world. Now he had made a name for himself, allowed some of those feelings to cool, and gained that long anticipated control his elder brother Liam spoke so highly of. Yet even with all that, Killian would never feel comfortable with the excess wealth could provide.

“No, that’ll be all, thanks.”

Killian tipped the lad generously as an attempt at making up for the young man’s labor and then set his sights on the necessary next step in his plan. After flying all day Killian was in need of a stiff drink and then a good night’s sleep. He’d never achieve the latter, but damn if he wasn’t going to go find some rum to ease the tension in his shoulders.

Meandering through the hotel and into the bar area, Killian made eye contact with no one. The last thing he wanted was to invite conversation. Tonight all he wanted was to be left to his own devices. It was better this way, since usually people only disappointed him one way or another, if not upfront then somewhere further down the line.

“Rum, please. Best you’ve got,” Killian tossed to the bartender who set to work immediately, thankfully refraining from any sort of small talk as he did. The drink was in Killian’s hand in seconds, and only when he’d pulled from the glass a decent amount of his libation did he look around the place, his eyes catching on one particular booth across the way.

“Bloody hell,” Killian whispered to himself disbelievingly.

This was it. This was the moment that Killian Jones realized he’d officially lost his mind. There was no other explanation for the sight before him aside from actual insanity, but he let himself linger in the moment.

Four years ago he’d fallen in love with a girl, a young woman with nothing but fire in her veins and a map of places she’d rather be than where she was. Her name was Emma, and if Killian had to pick a word to describe her it would be remarkable. He’d known her all of a week. Seven days was all it took for him to fall under her spell and to feel the world crumble when she was gone, taking a part of him with her.

There were so many things about Emma that put her out of reach of everyone and everything else. Her perseverance was one thing, her wit another, and there was no denying she was unparalleled when it came to her beauty. But there always seemed to be something more with Emma, something hiding behind her bright green eyes. There was wariness for sure, and a number of walls erected to keep anything that might harm her away, but there had also always been hope. Even in that bitter darkness of the moment when they said goodbye, she’d had it there, under layers and layers of less desirable emotions.

In four years Killian had thought of Emma more times than a proud man would ever admit. He’d spent many a sleepless night wondering where she ended up and if she ever found what she was looking for. Killian once hoped she would choose him and that somehow he could make her as happy as he’d made her, but it wasn’t meant to be. Which only made the mirage before him so much more painful, for there, sitting in a booth in his hotel bar was a fantasy he’d created that looked an awful lot like one Emma Swan.

He had to hand it to himself, however. He might be crazy, but Killian’s mind had created a perfect image of the Emma he remembered made somehow new. Her old torn jeans were long gone, as were the old converses and her glasses. Tonight her hair was down, hanging in loose curls around her shoulders and she was wearing a dress that was striking in its boldness. The red spoke to passion and heat, and on a woman like Emma it was a certifiable weapon as were the pronounced heels on her feet. She could bring any man to his knees in that getup with just the slightest bit of encouragement.

“She’s not real. Just get it together, Jones. She can’t possibly be real,” Killian whispered under his breath, ignoring the stare he could feel coming from the still silent bartender.

Suddenly the woman in the booth, who Killian truly believed was a figment of his imagination, looked his way and her eyes widened, shock stealing over her beautiful features. Her whole body froze in an instant, her once easy manner turning tight, and Killian swore he heard the word that formed at her lips.

“Killian?”

The realization that he was not drunk enough to be dreaming of the woman he’d long considered the one that got away hit like a freight truck right to Killian’s chest, but before he could so much as blink, she was up, throwing money on her table and rushing out. It was then that Killian knew this was truly Emma and that all these years later she was still running.

Not this time! Killian thought to himself and he left without so much as a glance to his drink or the bartender, moving out of the hotel the same way she did before calling out to her.

“Emma! Emma, wait!”

She froze at his words and it felt like the sweetest relief to have the chance to reach her, to take her hand and have this woman who’d haunted him since the day she left all those years ago not run when he did. The tumult of emotions inside of Killian right now was intense, the words he wanted to say were jumbled because of it, but all he knew was that he needed to keep her here. Watching Emma walk away was hell, and he wasn’t willing to go through that again.

“It’s really you,” he finally said and Emma’s eyes flicked up to his, the swirl of fear and something a lot like longing in them tugging at his gut when she did.

“Yeah it’s me,” Emma whispered, staring at him intently before pulling her hand back gently. It pained Killian to let her do it, but he also couldn’t force her into anything. It was pushing her too hard and too fast that had caused Emma to flee the first time, and Killian wasn’t about to repeat that mistake again.

“What are you doing here, Swan?” he asked, hearing the desperation and blatant need in his voice. Emma, however, seemed to take it as anger, and she immediately tried to retreat again.

“I’m sorry. If I knew you would be here I…”

“Wouldn’t have been,” Killian finished for her and Emma looked actually pained at his observation.

“No I wouldn’t. I think I’ve done enough damage in your life at this point.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that she hadn’t, to claim that there had been no moment when he wrote her off completely, but he didn’t and before he could take things a different way she was moving again, rushing to a car that wasn’t the same yellow bug she once drove around. It felt like a loss to see that she’d given up that memorable contraption, but what was worse was that Emma was just leaving him again.

“Come on, Emma. Please, let’s just talk about this!”

“Look, Killian. Let’s not, okay?” she asked, desperately. Her hands shook as she unlocked the car but before she could open the door, Killian’s hand came out and closed it again. He knew if she’d wanted to actually fend him off she could, but instead Emma’s eyes closed and she slumped against the car.

“Why did you go, love? At least tell me that,” Killian begged and Emma let out a shaky laugh.

“I don’t know, maybe because the only thing I’m great at is running. Or because self-sabotage just seemed so much easier than admitting how I feel. Either way I was stupid and yet here I am doing the same freaking thing all over again.”

There were many things to process about her words, but Killian’s attention caught most keenly on her use of the present tense. He had lived in a world without hope of seeing Emma for so long, and now she was here, and more than that she’d let it slip that maybe he wasn’t the only one regretting how things ended. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that if given the opportunity, Emma would try and change their fates just as he would.

“How you feel?” Killian urged and Emma blinked at him before blushing that same shade of pink he remembered from years ago. It made her even more beautiful somehow, which frazzled his thoughts all the more.

“How I felt. It was years ago, Killian. Can’t we just chalk it up to one fantastic week and leave it at that?”

“You thought it was fantastic too?” Killian asked, moving closer to her and watching the way she leaned into the motion. Despite her running, Emma’s instincts were doing anything but retreating, and that soothed some of the endless ache in Killian’s chest.

“You know I did,” Emma admitted quietly and cast her eyes away from his.

Killian could have left it there, but he wasn’t willing to. Whether Emma knew it or not, she’d let a crack form in her barriers, and that same bright light that she’d always been carrying was visible to him once again. Killian planned to feel that warmth again no matter what it took. His fingers traced her jaw before tipping her chin back up to look at him and Emma met his gaze again, appearing more the lost girl than he’d ever seen her before.

“Tell me this Emma. Are you happy now?”

Because that was the most important question. If she were happy, if she had found love somewhere else and moved on then Killian would walk away. All he’d ever wanted was Emma to find the sense of belonging and home that she’d been wanting so badly before. Even if it wasn’t with him, he’d rejoice in her happiness and then he’d resign himself to the fact that he’d never taste such a joy without Emma at his side.

“I’m…” Emma trailed off, and Killian appreciated that even if she was silent at least she wasn’t lying. For better or worse they’d always been honest with each other, and he wanted to maintain that now.

“Surviving?” Killian offered and Emma nodded.

“Yeah. Surviving is a good word for it.”

“It’s the same for me, love. It has been since the day you left. And you know what that leads me to believe? That we never should have walked away. That what we had isn’t over.”

And hopefully it never will be, his heart added, but Killian bit that last part back.

“Killian, you can’t mean that!” Emma argued back, her denial strong but not strong enough to hide the little bit of hope in those emerald eyes of hers.

“Have I told you a lie, love? Have I ever told you one?” Killian asked, knowing she’d always had a talent for telling truth from bad intentions. Emma shook her head.

“No. But I just – you can’t be serious Killian! It’s not… this was over. It is over. I broke it.”

And there it was, the defeated tone of remorse and repentance that gutted Killian. No matter what had happened, or how many years they’d had to be apart, Killian couldn’t stand to hear his Swan sounding this way. Emma deserved a world without any sorrow, especially after the hand she’d been dealt as a child. He’d always hoped to repair that damage in her heart, or to help her see that she was capable of repairing it herself. Back then he supposed that he could love her enough for the two of them, but now he knew better. Emma had to forgive herself and give herself the chance to do this. It was the only way.

“You didn’t, Emma. It just wasn’t right then, but things are different. We can make them different, if you’d let us. All we have to do is try.”

Killian offered his hand to her with the words, and it felt like he’d ripped his heart out of his chest and given her that too. Though to be fair, she’d had it all these years they were apart. Whether or not he was willing to admit it before tonight, Emma Swan branded him as hers a long time ago. His soul was already spoken for, and so were his hopes for the happy future he could only ever picture with her at his side.

When she didn’t reach for his hand, Killian began to worry, but that only lasted a few seconds before Emma bypassed that all together and pulled him down by the lapel of his suit jacket for a kiss that spoke to all the heat and passion they’d been missing these four long years. With this kiss, Emma breathed life back into Killian once more. Feelings so long dormant and sensations he thought were gone forever resurfaced, making him feel limitless. Nothing could tear him down from a kiss like this and whether Emma knew it or not, this sealed his decision once and for all: he wasn’t going anywhere without Emma. Not now, not ever.

Killian couldn’t say how long they were out there for, but at one point Killian felt Emma shiver, and he worried about her being cold. He sought out a better venue for this, and a place where they could take this past the hungry embraces deserving of two teenagers.

“As I see it we have two options, love. Get in this rover of yours, or go back to my room. I’ll let you choose.”

Emma licked her lips at his proposal, her eyes still on his mouth. She looked well kissed, flush with a want that he’d missed seeing more than anything, but the best part of it all was her openness. Right here and right now she was totally his. Emma’s heart was willing to take a risk, and Killian knew he could convince her to submit to that scary proposition all the way with just a bit more time.

“This is insane. You realize that? I don’t even know – I mean what are you even doing with your life at this point? Clearly not riding your bike across the country with your band and planning some sort of sailing trip around the world,” Emma said as she fought to catch her breath after that kiss. Killian meanwhile ran his hands across her body, unwilling to step back now that she was back in his arms where she’d always belonged.

“None of that matters. I’d chuck it all away right now if you asked me to, Emma.” His profession made Emma’s eyes soften, and there was the hope again.

“But why?” she asked, her need to know evident.

“Because I love you. Because my heart has been yours for what feels like forever, and I’d do anything to have it back. To have you back.”

There came the briefest of moments when Killian was tempted to curse his own stupidity at having thrown that into the space between them. His love for Emma was undeniable, but fuck, he’d just said he was going to take this slowly and now he was confessing everything. This was the opposite of giving her time, and the Emma he knew before would be sprinting as far away as she could right now. But this Emma, this woman who he knew better than he knew himself yet still wasn’t fully acquainted with, surprised him in the best of ways.

“Thank God.”

With that simple whispered phrase, and a whole host of implied but not directly stated sentiment, Emma pulled Killian’s hand back in through to the hotel and to the elevator. Killian was still in shock to be honest, and the only thing that could break through his haze in this moment of disbelief was Emma’s sultry chuckle and bit of teasing.

“Are you going to tell me your room number, or are we just going to stand here all night?” Emma asked, and Killian grunted out an indecipherable response as he pushed the button to the presidential suite and entered his key.

Emma looked surprised at their floor choice, and Killian finally caught up to the moment and used her distraction to his benefit, pulling her back into his arms once more. When he did, he caught sight for the first time of the tattoo she had on her shoulder. It had been hidden behind the curtain of her hair, but now he couldn’t help but nip it gently, bringing a slight sound of shock and need from his Emma when he did. He soothed it after with a gentle kiss, humming against her skin lightly.

“I was rather hoping to spend ‘all night’ in a vastly different manner, love. Or hadn’t you guessed that already?”

“Well a girl can dream,” Emma said, her voice shaky, but her need to have the final word shining through.

Killian wanted to tell Emma that when he dreamed he always dreamed of her and for her. She was the true north in a world that had seemed thrown out of proper orbit these past few years, and as he pulled her into his suite and bypassed every room that wasn’t home to a bed, he felt the stars aligning once more. Gone were the feelings that the best days of his life were behind him, and now the world was new again, filled with hope and possibility and Emma.

“You seem to be thinking awfully hard there, Jones,” Emma said when they’d made it to the bedroom and Killian shook his head, not bothering to hide how overwhelmed he was.

“I can’t make heads or tails of what’s next, love.” Emma smiled seductively and then nipped at his bottom lip, prompting him forward, but she shook her head and stepped back, moving to unzip her dress in one slow, tantalizing display.

It felt like years passed in those few seconds and it was the most torturous of seductions, but the moment her dress pooled on the ground leaving Emma in nothing but red lace, Killian swore he’d died. There was no other explanation for being this close to heaven. And if he wasn’t dead yet, his heart might just give out from the sight Emma made for right now. She was completely sure of herself and her call to him, and the happiness he could see in her expression made it all the more spectacular.

Emma stepped back up to him now, making quick work of the clothes that separated the two of them, and honestly he needed that. Killian didn’t know if he had any semblance of control left, but Emma was composed now, leading him to a state of bliss he hadn’t known since she walked out of his life all that time ago.

“I’ve gotta tell you, whatever you’ve been doing these past few years… I’m a fan of this suit.” Killian growled out a sound of appreciation at Emma’s words and he noticed the way her pulse picked up when he did. She might appear cool and calm on the outside, but she was right here with him and that was damn well how it should be.

“Don’t be fooled, love. I’ve a few leather jackets left in my closet still.” Emma licked her lips, probably without even realizing it, and looked back to his eyes.

“Good to know.”

Unwilling to wait any longer, Killian kissed Emma again, and felt the reverberating need between them. The hum of pleasure was seeping through every nerve in his body, and he swiftly discarded his lingering clothes before tossing Emma on the bed and reveling in her appreciative looks. She was bolder now than she had been years ago, unafraid of looking at him head on, and knowing that she liked what she saw propelled Killian forward so he was hovering above her.

His fingers traced the lingering scraps of fabric that separated him from all of her, and when he did, dropping kisses to her mouth and then her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat, it was like no time had passed at all. Every breath, and moan, and plea for more that came from Emma was a song Killian knew well, a melody that swelled above all others. In very little time he was mastering her needs again, and when he’d riled her up to a point of suitable frustration, he reveled in her uncensored cry for more.

“Fuck, Killian. I can’t with the slow anymore. Please, just, do something!” He grinned against her breast, where he’d been teasing her a little more than was fair, but God didn’t she realize that he had to? Every reaction was a drug to him, and the more he drew her out, the sweeter her release would be.

“You won’t rush me, Emma. I promise to give you what you want, but we’ve waited too long to fly through this haphazardly.”

Emma’s fingers ran through his hair, the sensation one of comfort and silent agreement. Her eyes told Killian that she understood the bone-deep need he had to cherish her, to worship every part of her that had been gone for too damn long, and so she nodded, adding one last request.

“Fair enough. But maybe just a little faster?” She asked.

“If the lady insists.”

His fingers dipped past the lace covering her sex then, and when he made contact with her clit, he felt Emma buck upwards. She was wound so tight, already teetering on the edge, and Killian knew a gentleman would give her that first taste of liberation from her pent up desire. With deft fingers, and a skilled mouth that traced back up to her neck, he felt her shatter beneath him and he swore he was made whole again by the sound of his name on her lips when she climaxed.

As Emma came back down from that, orienting herself from the haze of her orgasm, Killian kissed lower until he nipped at the flesh just inside her thigh. Emma arched towards him, silently pleading for more and he grinned. She’d always been willing and insatiable, but tonight he would give Emma so much pleasure she never doubted all that lay in store when she chose him. He considered this an audition and the proof Emma needed that no other man could grant her this. What she wanted he would always provide, and any wish she had he’d see granted no matter what.

When Killian felt another tremble of desirous anticipation course through her, Killian set forth to taste all of her desire, losing himself in Emma as he did. The taste of her was sweet on his tongue and it was so easy to please her like this. He started slow and steady, with licks and sucks timed just at the right moment to make her plead for more, but then he picked up the pace, set on watching her fall apart for him again and again.

He didn’t stop until she was begging after two releases by his mouth for mercy, and even then Killian doubted his ability to pull away. If he did he ran the risk of waking up from this dream-like state he was in, and finding that this was in fact an illusion would destroy him. When he finally pulled back though, his immediate move was to confirm what he already knew deep in his heart.  

“Tell me, Emma.” He watched her blink through the mist of pleasure and saw confusion cross her stunning features. He kissed her lips lightly, knowing she’d taste herself on his tongue before speaking again. “Tell me this is real. Tell me you’ll stay. Tell me you’re mine.”

“It’s real. We’re real, and I’m not going anywhere.” Her hand cupped his cheek and the truth was clear as day. This time would be different. This time would be forever and she knew that just as surely as he did.

Killian took one last moment to take in Emma in all her glory, spread out underneath him and waiting for him to claim her. She looked like an angel, a siren calling every part of him to action. He had to love her, it was the most natural thing, determined by instinct and fate and something even more powerful: a magic Emma had inside her that made him completely and irrevocably hers. Killian wondered as he had many times before how anything and anyone this magnificent could be real, but Emma was. She wasn’t a dream, but a reality. Killian could feel it, see it, and taste it clear as day.

With both of them hell bent on this final step, Killian thrust home, feeling that connection and completion he’d never been able to recreate without Emma. Fuck it was perfect, and it was only made better when Emma whispered against his neck about how much she’d missed him and missed this. She told him how good he made her feel, how she needed him, and it drove him mad at the same time that it made him whole.

They chased bliss once more, and when they found it, there was nothing that could be said for this moment other than that it was divine. It couldn’t be earthly, nothing that good could be of this world, yet it was. This was his life, and Killian couldn’t stop smiling over that.  

The two of them held on to each other after everything, neither of them willing to move away from each other in the face of such a moment. For a long time words weren’t necessary either, and Killian let peace move through him from the light brush of Emma’s fingers just above his heart, and the smiles she kept sending his way. They were each of them precious, and Killian vowed to spark many more of them from here on out. Right now though, he just needed to know one final thing:

“Earlier, when I told you that I love you, you thanked a higher power. Why was that?” Killian asked, as he ran his fingers through the bit of her hair that had fallen in front of her beautiful face. Emma didn’t hesitate in her reply.

“Because I love you too, and I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to hear you say that to me again.” Unable to hold back, Killian kissed her, craving the taste of those words and that wish that she had to get this chance. Only after that could he speak again.

“I will tell you that I am yours every day, Emma. Every minute of every hour even.” Emma’s gentle smile in response allowed that last piece of rightness to click for Killian, and it clinched this moment as the single best one of his life.

“Well that might be a little much. Let’s start small and see how it goes.”

“As you wish, Swan.”

And in the end, their ‘small’ start grew to so much more. Both Emma and Killian made the conscious choice to follow their heart’s truest desire and be together. From that point on, everything else fell into place, and though the fix wasn’t instantaneous and there were still moments of fear on both of their parts, they realized every battle was better faced together, and that every tomorrow would always be made brighter with the other by their side.

…………..

Hey, I was doing just fine before I met you I drink too much and that's an issue but I'm okay Hey, you tell your friends it was nice to meet them But I hope I never see them again

I know it breaks your heart Moved to the city in a broke down car And four years, no calls Now you're looking pretty in a hotel bar And I can't stop No, I can't stop

So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your Rover That I know you can't afford Bite that tattoo on your shoulder Pull the sheets right off the corner Of the mattress that you stole From your roommate back in Boulder We ain't ever getting older

We ain't ever getting older We ain't ever getting older

You look as good as the day I met you I forget just why I left you, I was insane Stay and play that Blink-182 song That we beat to death in Tuscon, okay

I know it breaks your heart Moved to the city in a broke down car And four years, no call Now I'm looking pretty in a hotel bar And I can't stop No, I can't stop

So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your Rover That I know you can't afford Bite that tattoo on your shoulder Pull the sheets right off the corner Of the mattress that you stole From your roommate back in Boulder We ain't ever getting older

We ain't ever getting older We ain't ever getting older

So baby pull me closer in the backseat of your Rover That I know you can't afford Bite that tattoo on your shoulder Pull the sheets right off the corner Of the mattress that you stole From your roommate back in Boulder We ain't ever getting older We ain't ever getting older (we ain't ever getting older) We ain't ever getting older (we ain't ever getting older) We ain't ever getting older (we ain't ever getting older) We ain't ever getting older

We ain't ever getting older No we ain't ever getting older

Post-Note: So thank you so much to the lovely readers who asked for this song. I know I veered slightly from some of the lyrics, but I am hoping you all enjoyed nonetheless. To the rest of you thank you all so much for reading, and if you’re still waiting for a song, no worries it is on the way. There are many more prompts to get through, but I am enjoying the journey all the same. Hope you guys liked the chapter and that you have a great rest of your day!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38, Part 39, Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45, Part 46, Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53, Part 54, Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60, Part 61, Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68, Part 69, Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75, Part 76, Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83, Part 84, Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90, Part 91, Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98, Part 99, Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103, Part 104, Part 105, Part 106, Part 107, Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112, Part 113, Part 114, Part 115, Part 116, Part 117, Part 118, Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123, Part 124, Part 125, Part 126, Part 127, Part 128, Part 129