#namely within her first week I couldn’t handle her attitude and lack of doing work

[just-a-cinnamon-bun]

I just got a new job and I’m relieved by how much I like it so far.

[the-modernmary]

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (prologue)

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner ended your affair with him, saying that a serial killer was going after him and his family, you were content with the idea that you'd probably never see him again. Two years have come and gone since then, but when you get dragged into an FBI investigation as a key witness, you and Hotch are forced to come face to face with all the things left unsaid.

Warnings: Age gap (15-ish years), smut, degradation, unprotected sex. This story is 18+ older. This is not a story for minors.

A/N: Hello, hello!! I figured that since I've made a writing tumblr, I should post my story on here!! This is a multichapter story, so I am very excited to go on this journey with y'all!! I already have multiple chapters written and published, so these should be coming out VERY quickly. If you don't want to wait to catch up, you can read everything I have on ao3! This chapter starts as a flashback, and then the next chapter and the rest from here on out will be actual plot!

masterlist || read on ao3

“If you were waitin’ on the sunshine, blue sky

Cheap high, lullaby

Then my best habit’s letting you down”

- The Maine, “My Best Habit”

Two years earlier

Your eyes scanned the University Ballroom, your champagne glass practically ignored in your hand. You hated all these alumni networking galas and avoided going to them as much as possible. Old, sleazy lawyers with much younger women on their arm reliving their best cases with each other and expecting all the new law students to laugh when they were able to get their defendant acquitted because of some dumb technicality. It made you sick.

It didn’t help that you were already going in with a bad attitude. Your ex-boyfriend had dropped by your apartment that morning to pick up the rest of his stuff, and he decided that the best person to help him with that was the girl he had been cheating on you with. You caught them together three weeks ago, and you had been so stressed from midterms that you hadn’t even had the chance to go out, get drunk, and have wildly irresponsible rebound sex.

But you had to suck it up for the night, at least until you were able to get the answer you came for. After that, you could go back to your apartment, replace your too tight and too short dress with some nice pajamas, and watch trashy reality TV until you passed out on your couch.

You scanned the room a few more times until you caught sight of a tall man in a dark suit leaning against the bar. Bingo. You set your champagne flute down and ran over to him as fast as your heels could take you. Once you were just a few steps away, you quickly composed yourself and walked straight into his line of sight.

SSA Aaron Hotchner rarely came to alumni events here at George Washington Law School, citing that he wasn’t even a prosecutor anymore and had much more important work to do back at the BAU, but he was going as favor to his old law school buddy. Plus, it was either coming to this or going out to the bar with the team, and seeing as he had just signed the divorce papers with Haley, he wanted to be somewhere he wasn’t going to be profiled all night. The free champagne was also a bonus.

When you saw that his name was on the RSVP list, you knew that you had to go.

“Agent Hotchner?” you asked, giving him your best straight A student smile.

He refused to look up right away, not giving you the chance to charm him. “I’m not currently on duty. If there is a case you would like the BAU to look over, that’s handled by our media liaison,” he said absently, taking another sip of champagne.

You frowned but kept your hand out for him to shake. “That’s not what I’m here for, I-” You took a breath to compose yourself. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a first year here- getting a joint JD and masters in forensic psychology. My goal is to become a prosecutor,” you pressed, and you were rewarded when he perked up in interest. He slid his drink on the table.

“Most law firms don’t usually want a prosecutor who’s going to empathize with the person you’re prosecuting,” he mused, and shook your hand, his grip just tight enough to pass as faux politeness.

You shook your head and clasped your hands behind your back, trying to ignore how warm his hands were. “I think the best prosecutors empathize with the defendants,” you admitted. “Isn’t that how you succeeded as both a prosecutor and as a federal agent? That’s actually why I came to you, I wanted to ask you a question... about my thesis,” you added quickly, figuring that the best way to get him to talk to you.

Aaron’s posture changed from half asleep to maybe listening, and your face went red. Sure, you only came to the event to talk to him, but you never thought that you’d actually get Aaron Hotchner to pay attention to you. “I didn’t empathize with the people I was putting in jail,” he told you, his voice ice cold. “That didn’t come until I worked in the BAU, and even now, I wouldn’t call it empathy. Just understanding of how they became the type of person they are.” He leaned sideways on the bar counter and you felt yourself shrink under his gaze. You shifted slightly and felt the hem of your dress move up your thighs ever so slightly. Aaron noticed too, if the lick of his lips was anything to go by.

You took his silence as your signal to ask your question. “You offered Jessica Michaelson a lesser sentence that had her released in just three years despite the fact that she murdered her brother in cold blood in his sleep. You had the evidence, why didn’t you push for premeditation?” you asked, and his eyebrow quirked upwards. “In the case The People vs. Michaelson,” you added unnecessarily, trying to break the silence.

“I know the case you’re referring to. I was the lead on it,” he reminded you, his voice edging on dangerous. “You know, most people aren’t interested in my days as a lawyer.”

You shrugged, hoping to appear more confident than you felt. “I’m not most people,” you agreed, biting down on your lower lip. His gaze was so intense, and it was affecting you in ways you couldn’t have imagined. It was turning you on, you realized with a start. It had been a while since you had last had sex, and it was driving you only slightly crazy. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Aaron grabbed a champagne flute from a server walking by, and shoved it in your direction. You grabbed it cautiously. “Did you read the police report on the case?” he asked, and you nodded wordlessly, taking a sip of the champagne. The alcohol was making you bolder, and you stepped towards him. “Then you’ll know that there was very little physical evidence tying her to the muder. We chose to offer the charge that would have stuck instead of risking her being found not guilty.”

You gritted your teeth together in an effort to calm yourself down. “She murdered four people within the six months after she was released from prison,” you reminded him.

That seemed to have struck a chord with Aaron, and his steely persona seemed to fade ever so slightly. He sighed exasperatedly; you were obviously getting on his nerves. “The prints and DNA that were collected and put into VICAP when she was in prison are what got her caught in the end, and that was the evidence needed to lock her away for life. We wouldn’t have gotten those prints without her original charge. It all worked out.”

You groaned and threw your hands in the air. “You couldn’t have predicted that, though,” you argued. “And people have been found guilty with way less evidence than you had in the original case. I think you just felt bad for her, considering her brother was a real piece of shit.” You were being difficult now, you knew that. But there was something about Aaron Hotcher that was pulling you in, and you wanted to see how far you could push him.

Aaron gave you a predatory grin and he stepped towards you ever so slightly, finishing his drink. He must have had multiple drinks too, judging by the soft flush on his face. “Oh, you do?” He seemed amused now. He slowly raked his eyes from your face, down your neck, and down the rest of your body, and you forgot how to breath. You knew that it was inappropriate and that he was a highly respected FBI agent, even if he was kind of an asshole at the moment. You also knew that the two of you were crossing lines that neither of you should have even been close to, but you shivered under the weight of his gaze all the same.

You shifted back and forth, your brain trying to process what was happening. “Yeah, I do. And I know that you transferred to the FBI after Michaelson was arrested again, which makes me think that this case was your breaking point,” you ranted, your hands becoming more and more animated.

Aaron chuckled, but there was very little amusement behind it. “Are you sure you want to be a lawyer?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “Because you’re starting to talk like a profiler.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “No thanks,” you said firmly, and he just shrugged before making a move to walk past you. You sidestepped in front of him, effectively blocking him from going anywhere. But it was obvious that he was done talking about this.

In your mind, you had two options now. You could keep pushing him about a case that he obviously didn’t want to talk to you about, or you could switch gears in your brain and have him help you solve your... other problem. Aaron was attractive, and you were getting tired of guys your age. You noticed the distinct lack of a wedding ring on his finger, but there was still a tan to show that it had been there. So either he was recently separated or just trying to cheat on his wife. You wanted to not care whichever it was, but a pang in your heart told you to be considerate. Besides, you did not want to get involved with another cheater.

“Must be hard to be at these events without your wife here to scare off all the lonely female law students,” you mused cautiously. You didn’t want to come on too strong, but the alcohol in your system was slowly clouding your ability to be subtle.

Aaron cleared his throat, obviously taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. “I’m not married,” he said, too quickly and too defensively. So he’s separated, you thought, and you stepped closer to him.

His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out your endgame. “Well, I would love to discuss your work as a prosecutor more when there are less… distractions around,” you whispered, your words breathy. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, do I make you nervous?” You sounded a lot more confident than you felt.

Aaron just smirked and grabbed your free hand, covering it in both of his, and the action was surprisingly soft, even if it was way too late for him to try acting suave. His eyes, on the other hand, told a whole other story. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes were practically black. “I face the worst people in society on a daily basis. Desperate law students don’t make me nervous. In fact…” He stepped towards you, looking around to make sure nobody else was looking. Aaron leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with every word. “I think that I make you nervous. And more than nervous, I make you very excited.”

Your breath hitched as he pulled back, a smug smile gracing his lips. You yanked your hand back to preserve what little dignity you had left, but it was too late. “Now, if you would like to discuss my prosecuting career more in depth, then you can set up a formal meeting with me at the BAU,” he continued, obviously proud of himself and the effect he was having on you. He pulled out a business card and upon further instruction, you realized that it wasn’t even his. Jennifer Jareu the name read. “Our media liaison will be able to help you organize that. Now if you don’t mind, I am going to retire for the night.”

Aaron finished the rest of his drink and brushed past you while you were still trying to get your thoughts under control. “Oh, and you’ll make a wonderful lawyer someday, I’m sure of it,” he called over his shoulder, and that snapped you back into action.

You followed, running around him and cutting him off. “And if I don’t want to discuss your prosecuting career?” you asked, batting your eyelashes at him. “What if I was interested in a… less formal meeting?”

That was all the permission he needed. Aaron grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the ballroom, the two of you moving so fast that nobody in the room even had a chance to put two and two together. There was an empty hallway just next to the entrance of the room and Aaron pulled you in that direction, pressing you against the wall and kissing you fiercely the second the two of you were alone.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss, but in a strange role reversal, he let you take the lead. It’s certainly not what you expected from Aaron Hotchner who, until now, had been controlling every aspect of your meeting. You realized then that this was his way of making sure you were okay with what was happening- giving you a chance to back out and change your mind. You just answered by tangling your hands in his hair, pulling so that he was at just the right angle to kiss you.

Aaron dug his fingers into your hips, hard enough to make you gasp out. You were definitely going to have bruises the next day, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. He shoved his leg in between yours and tugged on your lip with his teeth, which made you whimper involuntarily. He smirked against your lips, obviously proud of the noises he was drawing from you. You pulled on his hair harder as a sign of irritation, but that seemed to only make him more amused as he pulled away to laugh into your neck.

“Are we just going to make out against a wall like we’re back in high school, or are you going to actually do something worth my time?” you breathe, fighting to keep your voice even and light. It only halfway worked as he dragged his tongue up your neck to your pulse point. And then he bit down, hard.

It took everything in your power to stay quiet, especially as he softly kissed the newly forming bruise. His attack on your neck was relentless as he pulled your hips and back forth against his thigh. You whimpered as you desperately tried to get any friction from the simple movement. Your skirt was now dangerously close to being pushed so far up your legs that you would be completely exposed.

You pulled away first- you had to or your legs were going to completely give out from under you. You desperately tried to get your breathing under control and, to your annoyance, he looked perfectly composed. The only thing giving him away was his slightly swollen lips.

His fingers trailed up your thigh, getting so close to where you want him. “What would you like me to do then?” he asked easily, his voice almost sounding bored. You were speechless, like your brain had just short circuited. There were a lot of things you wanted him to do, but the words were lost on the tip of your tongue. “If you want something, you have to ask for it.” That was a demand, and he punctuated it by pressing his thigh further into you. You were sure he was going to have a wet spot on his slacks. He took the hand not in between your legs and grabbed your jaw forcefully, his thumb resting on your bottom lip. “Use your words, little girl.”

You realize that the two of you were standing on the edge of a cliff, and you had the power to decide whether or not to jump over. It gave you a strange sense of power. Logically, you knew it was a bad idea. He was too old for you, obviously going through some sort of relationship trauma, and wasn’t somebody you could talk to your friends and family about. But the less rational side wanted him so badly it hurt. You wanted him more than you’ve wanted anything or anyone in a long time.

You noticed your strawberry colored lipstick was smudged ever so slightly on the corner of his mouth, and that’s all it took for you to jump off the side of the cliff. “I want you to drag me into the empty classroom just down the hall and fuck me senseless. I want you to use me,” you moan before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking.

The look on his face is something you’ll never forget. There was a mix of shock and arousal, but also something primitive; His eyes darkened when you told him to use you, and there was a fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or dread. Maybe even both.

He removed his hands from your mouth and legs, only to place his hand on the small of your back. He began walking towards the classroom you had pointed out, much too slow for your liking, but he knew exactly what he was doing. “You’re going to regret asking me to use you,” he practically growls in your ear, each word increasing your arousal. “Are you one of those lonely female law students you warned me about? So desperate and needy for a real man to bend you over a table and fuck you until you can’t walk straight? Ready and willing to whore yourself out for the first man who gives you a second glance?”

Your breath hitched as you stuttered out your answer. “Y-yes, Agent Hotchner,” you whispered as he opened the classroom door and guided you in.

As soon as the door was shut and locked, he was back on your lips again, lifting you so that you were sitting on one of the desks with your legs wrapped around his waist. “Call me Aaron,” he mumbled in between kisses, and you were all too happy to oblige.

You were a moaning mess at this point as his hands pushed your dress up to your waist. His hands and lips were somehow everywhere at once and you were so hot and all you could think about was getting your damn dress off, but Aaron seemed to have other plans.

He ran his fingers up your lace covered slit and he just chuckled into your lips. “You’re so wet for me, already,” he groaned and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. “And I’ve barely touched you. Do my words really have that much effect on you? Do you like it when I call you a whore?”

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and quickly pulled them down. You could feel his bulge pressing against you and all you could think about was how badly you wanted it. How badly you wanted him. Your hands moved down his chest to make quick work of his belt, and his pants followed after.

“Please, please Aaron,” you begged, desperately trying to create some friction against him. His fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled your head back so that you were looking at him.

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” His fingers slowly ran up your slit, not enough to give you any pleasure. He was teasing you and enjoying every second of it. “And I wish I could take my time with you. The things I want to do to you…” Two of his fingers entered you and you cried out loudly. “But somebody could walk in on us at any second. I’m sure they can all hear you moaning like a dirty whore, all for me. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? So desperate for my attention and approval.”

His words turned you on more than you would have liked to admit. “Yes, Aaron yes. Please-” you were cut off by Aaron curling his fingers, hitting that spot that made you want to scream out in pleasure. But all too soon, they were gone.

He inspected his fingers, which were now covered in your juices, before bringing them to your mouth. “Suck,” he ordered, and you eagerly complied, wrapping your lips around his fingers and moaning at the taste of yourself. “I’ll just have to fuck you quickly here, and then you’ll be begging for more next time,” he groaned and finally- finally- entered you.

He didn’t give you time to adjust to him, thrusting roughly into you. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brought his hand to your neck. He didn’t put any pressure, but he wanted you to know that he could and would if you decided to get mouthy with him.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk you were sitting on, your knuckles turning white. Your eyes started to close in pleasure as his hips slammed into yours, but they shot open as he tightened his grip on your throat. “Look at me. I want to see you when you cum,” he ordered, and you nodded the best you could.

“Yes sir!” you cried out, unsure of what else to say.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Aaron released your throat and moved his hand down so that he was stimulating your clit. You could feel the coil in your stomach tighten as your legs started to twitch. Aaron took this as motivation to slam into you even harder, relishing each time you gasped out his name.

His pace was unforgiving, leaving you gasping for air. Keeping your eyes open was a challenge, but you were able to do it with his soft mutters of praise. “Even brats like you can be good girls,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic. “You just need somebody to fuck it into you.”

You were unable to respond coherently, so you just settled on begging even more, although you weren’t sure what you were begging for exactly. Aaron seemed to know, and he sped up his fingers against your clit. You wanted to scream out for him, but your voice wasn’t working. “What did I say before?” he asks roughly. “If you want something, ask for it.”

“Please… please can I cum?” you cried out, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. “Please let me cum around your cock!”

He nodded in approval and you had to muffle yourself in his neck to keep quiet. He fucked you through your orgasm, the overstimulation almost too much, but it wasn’t long before he was moaning your name, and you felt him fill you.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, both breathing heavily as the situation started to sink in. You just let a guy almost 15 years older than you that you just met fuck you in an empty classroom, and you really enjoyed it. Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he was going through a full crisis.

He pulled out of you slowly, and you winced at the feeling. He pulled up his pants quickly. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, looking around the empty classroom. “I don’t have anything good to clean you up with.” A box of kleenex caught his eye and he grabbed a few tissues. It was better than nothing.

You chuckled nervously and waved it off. “It’s fine,” you promised, your voice coming out shakier than you expected, but he ignored you. He wiped the mess dripping down your thighs. You were cold. He must have noticed, because he took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked softly, and it was a full 180 from the way he had just been talking to you.

“I’m great,” you admitted honestly. “Seriously, that was… great.”

Aaron smiled at you- the first real smile he had given you all night. “It wasn’t too much?” he confirmed, and you suddenly remembered what he had said to you earlier. ...then you’ll be begging for more next time. Was he planning on a next time? You wouldn’t have minded it.

You shook your head and slowly slid off the table. You took one of the tissues and wiped up the mess that was left on the table. “Not at all. In fact, I could take more. Next time.” Your voice was light and airy. Aaron watched as you picked your underwear off the floor. There was no way you were putting those back on, not when you had no idea when the floor was last cleaned.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he teased, eyeing you carefully.

“Well I can’t keep it if I only have your media liaison’s number,” you reminded him, your eyebrow raised. Aaron chuckled and pulled out another business card, except this time it was his. You plucked the card out of his hands and inspected it carefully. “I’ll call you sometime. You can do all those other things we didn’t have time to do.” You were on your tiptoes now, whispering in his ear. “You know… my mouth can do a lot more than just ask for things.” As you spoke, you slipped your panties into his back pocket. You just laughed as you heard a soft gasp escape his lips.

You made your way towards the door, your legs wobbling dangerously underneath you. You were sure that you looked like a mess, but you didn’t care. All that mattered to you was Aaron Hotchner’s eyes glued to your ass. “Get home safe,” he told you and you let yourself smile. Maybe it was a bad idea to start sleeping with a recent divorcee, but the sex was great and you both knew where you stood with the other person. No feelings, just fucking out your frustrations and stress.

Oh yeah, coming to this event was definitely a good call on your part.

[nightklok]

Title: 'Cause I've been hurt so many times, I need someone who will try to soothe me, and not use me Pairing: Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Pickles the Drummer Rating: E (For one future smut scene but chapter one is T-rated) Tags: Fake dating, Additional tags on AO3 Summary: Abigail considers herself great at her job; she knows how to make a successful album and her track record shows it. Dethklok proved to be the biggest challenge yet but she learned to overcome any hurdle thrown her way. However, what she didn’t anticipate was Seth’s second wedding. Specifically, Pickles’ mother getting on his case about finding a date to the wedding. Logically, she decides to be his fake date for the wedding. Just fake a relationship for a few months until the wedding then 'mutually' break it off; should be easy enough. It’s just the most renowned music producer and most popular musician fake dating. Surely no feelings or trouble will rise out of this.

Chapter One on Ao3 Here! Chapter one is also under the cut

Abigail had learned quickly that working with Dethklok was oftentimes like walking through those Halloween hay mazes blindfolded. Years upon years of working with pretentious celebrities, tight deadlines, and challenges that were thrown her way would never prepare her for working with them. For a group of five who lived together and knew each other the best, it didn’t always mean that they thought the same way and one would think they finally learned what worked best for them after years of working. But for some reason, they continuously went with the same method that never worked out because it seemed like the best to them. And clearly, it wasn’t.

She was no stranger to challenges so when Dethklok proved to be one, she did her usual process of breaking through to them. And that was asking questions to the right people. Charles stated it was just how they were. Knubbler said they were a bunch of dumb jackoffs so she had to hold the least amount of expectations for them...and lower it. Melmord had offered her weed because it would be the only way she could ever handle working with them. Twinkletits had suggested unresolved trauma and perhaps banana stickers would solve it.

She would find soon enough that everyone was right in their own suggestions but it didn’t mean she followed through with any of them. It didn’t take long to figure out that scheduling private sessions with each individual band member was a lot better compared to them being together only to yell at each other. Within a few days of the focus being more on private sessions, the difference being made was incredible. They seemed to thrive better under one-on-one time and having the group meetings at the end of the day so they could go over their progress had helped incredibly.

The only problem that she couldn’t solve was their old habits. Most of the time the sessions were either forgotten or recordings had to take a week or longer just to make sure the sound was perfect. They were still five people with different ideas of how the album could be better; it would be hard to find common ground and even harder to get them to be responsible under her schedule.

It didn’t mean every member was a thorn in her side though. Pickles and Skwisgaar were some of the more responsible ones compared to the rest. They’d sometimes forget to show up but that was expected.

Skwisgaar did have a certain way of speaking about music she couldn’t quite understand but she found herself slowly understanding him the more they recorded his sessions. It became like learning a new language but less on the fun part. Luckily, he was never one to speak much regardless; music did the talking for him and that was a good enough language for them to understand.

And Pickles, despite his years of experience under the spotlight, wasn’t the pretentious celebrity she expected him to be when they recorded together. He did his work without much complaint, left when she was satisfied and his first-week recording for a song would be the last as there generally wasn’t much left for him to retake. He normally trusted her judgment and any criticisms offered were never given for the sake of belittling her. It came from a place of experience and knowledge and it became something she quickly respected him for. He still occasionally missed his recordings, however, but with how time felt so rapid in getting things in order, she didn’t notice he actually began showing up more often.

He couldn’t show up one day due to a last-minute scheduling conflict that day and since he had a valid excuse, she didn’t expect him to show up at all. Deciding to not let those hours go to waste, she spent it contacting Knubbler for a quick meeting. He sent her the tracks he finished for her to listen to and she offered her critique. They were tossing track after track at one another to see what sticks and eventually something did. After sending him the latest track to fix-up by the end of their meeting, she checked her email to go more into the boring parts of her job.

She loved her job without a doubt but it didn’t mean there were some parts she actually dreaded doing. Emails were one of them; business language, having to wait up to a day for a response, and everything else just to show she was a professional despite her name being tied to so many influential things. Maybe she was famous enough to sign off her emails with a ‘k thx’ but didn't quite know if it was even worth the impending backlash soon after. She was known for her professionalism, not lack of.

But the album wouldn’t be finished for quite a while so she simply had to make do with what she could. Regardless, the marketing director wanted to listen to one of the demo songs. The day was winding down, she just had to spend an extra hour or two in the recording studio, then she could grab food, take a long bath and watch a movie until she fell asleep.

The motivation of food and a chance to relax was enough to look through her emails once more as she played the finished track. She didn’t hear the knock on the door but she did hear the door opening but didn’t turn around. She had expected it to be a klokateer doing some late cleaning.

“Abigail?” A voice all too familiar filled the silence. As she turned around, Pickles closed the door behind him quietly as if to not disturb her (even though he already did). He seemed a bit sheepish as he put his hands in his pockets to play off a calm attitude, “I just wanted to know if you still needed me.”

“Well, it’s not the first time you didn’t show up to a session, Pickles.” She answered a little too bluntly. It came off harsher and she had almost expected him to be offended by it but he shrugged instead, “Charles told me you wouldn’t have been able to come today, anyway.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s true I have bailed out on a few sessions, but I was planning on showing up to today’s session. I promise.”

She folded her arms, leaning back against the chair. It was new territory having Pickles actually show up when he wasn’t meant to. It didn’t seem like he was there for anything else too, “And you really mean that?”

He casually held up his right hand in a three-finger salute, “Scout’s honor...if I was a Boy Scout, that is.  But I’m here now. That should be enough proof, right?” He grinned at her before he walked to the recording booth, “I got this beat stuck in my head I wanna get out of my system. Won’t take too much of your time.”

She glanced at the clock; it was still early enough to record a few takes and he did seem excited to record. Might as well give some time to humor him, “Alright, you get one hour to impress me.”

“I’ll make it count,” He finished her sentence as he closed the door. Taking the drumsticks and headphones, he took a seat in front of the drum kit and quickly prepared, “This is for uhhh...what did we call 8?”

“ Uncensor My Songs On The Radio You Fucking Tool. ”

“Yeah, that’s it! Anyway, I think I figured out why it doesn’t fit on my end. Can you play from the beginning?”

“Sure, get ready in five seconds” It took just a few clicks to get to the song he wanted. She let the metronome play for just a few seconds for him to get the beat before hitting the record button as soon as the song played.

As soon as the song played, Pickles began without hesitation. The sound was much different compared to his other takes...and it fit perfectly as he had said. She waited though; listened to every hit and snare intensely for a mistake to come and screw his take over. But that moment never happened and before she knew it the song was over.

“How did I do?” He grinned at her as he wiped his sweaty forehead with his arm, “Not bad for one take, right?”

Impressive. “Not bad at all. I think this might be just the parts we needed to get the song to be finally done,” She answered as she hit the record button to pause the recording. She made sure to save the file and backed up the file into her work email. (Charles had requested she make backup copies of each recording without the boys’ knowledge when she began working. Just in case).

She watched as Pickles removed his headphones but quickly stopped him, “It’s great but I think another take would be good to have, right?”

“Oh C’mon! Isn’t it great as it is?!” He pleaded. He was foolish to think he could impress her with just one take.

“I’m not denying that it’s great but I’m sure you would be able to do another take if you got it all memorized, right?” She answered. The tone of her voice just shifted slightly enough to indicate a challenge and that’s all that Pickles needed to hear from her.

“Don’t think I can do it, huh?” He smiled back at her as he put the headphones back on.  It was a challenge he could easily win, after all, but she was never one to even let him believe it would be easy. The rush of it and the feeling of adrenaline starting to kick in made it all the more tempting,  “Well get the song playing again. I won’t stop until you’re satisfied.”

“You’re gonna end up tiring yourself out, Pickles.”

“You can let me off the hook then if you’re so worried about me.” He answered with the signature lopsided grin he gave out as freely as sweets, “I think there are some restaurants around that we can go to if you still haven’t eaten yet.”

Bargaining and banter had become something that they learned to communicate with. If there was anyone else in the room, there was no way she would be talking so loosely with him. They were alone however and would be for a long time so it became easier to shake off the layer of professionalism she had to keep up with all day. However, the remaining part of her brain that was still in work mode rejected his offer despite the temptation being far too great, “Not a chance; you walked yourself into this one...But if you wow me just early enough, I might take you up on your offer.”

“Get the song playing again and tell me when to stop.”

The truth was she was already satisfied by the third take but she did let him keep going at least two more times for good measure. By the time she said he was finished, Pickles’ legs were sore but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. Five takes weren’t bad at all and he found himself confident in the progress.

“Not bad, Pickles. I think there’s something there I can take for the recording.” Abigail answered with a grin that he tiredly returned.

“Hm, not satisfied yet, or just wanna keep my ego down?”

“Maybe.” She watched him put the headphones and drumsticks away before exiting the recording studio.

“I wanna hear it though. Play the best track.” He went to the mini-fridge and offered her a beer which she declined.

“Just get me a coke. The drink, I mean. I’ll play the best track in a second,” She had already labeled the track files by a number scale and taken notes so she didn’t need to relisten. He set the can of coke beside her as he watched her take a few moments to look through the notes before finally deciding on the best track. She quickly spliced it in with the demo and hit play.

Pickles already flopped on the couch, on his second can of beer already somehow (She didn’t know if it was impressive or horrifying). He didn’t say anything while the song played, leaned back against the couch. When it ended he asked, “Is that the best one?”

“Well, I think it is. It’s the one that doesn’t even need much editing. The others are just as great too, in all honesty,” She answered as she checked her notes briefly. She could go into great detail over the tracks, maybe even explain why the tracks were a perfect fit for a song but she didn’t want to ramble. And besides, he seemed a little bit bothered, “But what do you think?”

“Hm. Not as good as I thought it would be,” He said a little sullenly, “Nate’s gonna wanna delete it. I just know it.”

“Are you sure?  I don’t think he’d want you to delete them especially when he knows you’re having a hard time with this song. They’re all pretty good but if you want to talk with Knubbler since he’ll be doing most of the editing, just give him a call tomorrow.”

“Do you even think it’s good?”

“Of course. If I wasn’t satisfied enough, I would’ve had you still record a few more takes.”

That was an answer that seemed to satisfy him at least as he didn’t say anything else in retaliation. He only asked to play the track again, and finished his second can of beer, “I guess if you think it’s fine, I’ll take your word for it. It’s probably getting late isn’t it?”

“Come in tomorrow and you can listen to it again. If you really aren’t satisfied with it, you can try again,” She offered. She checked at her watch briefly; 10:45 PM. How has it been almost two hours already?

“Yeah, I think that sounds like a plan. We can put a stop to it for now. But uh, sorry for wasting your time.”

She shrugged, “You’re not, Pickles. Don’t worry about it. I would’ve left around this time anyway.”

“Okay, if you say so.” With a shrug, he shifted his mood and stood up. He didn’t seem to sulk longer than he usually did, probably because it was already late and they were both tired, “Did you still wanna eat?”

“Don’t you usually eat with your bandmates?” Usually, mealtimes were the quickest and easiest ways to find them if she needed to. Having memorized that schedule, she knew that dinner was about a few hours ago...or a few hours from now depending on what they did that day.

“Yeah but not today; Offdensen really had us doing interviews all fuckin’ day. I don’t think I’ve eaten lunch yet and I guess you didn’t get dinner either?”

“Nope. I was planning to, anyway.” A late dinner invitation was not rare to get but it was rarer to get one by someone she wouldn’t mind having dinner with. Their relationship with each other was always professional, and he also had years of experience in the music business outside Dethklok. It always felt refreshing to talk to someone who shared the same interests as her. She put her laptop away in her briefcase once she saved all her files; her night was officially done, “Is there someone even able to make dinner at this time?”

“There should be. If not, there are probably leftovers in the fridge. Or we can order pizza, it’s completely your call.”

She slung the briefcase over her shoulder, following him to the hallway. After shutting and locking the door to the recording studio (Charles gave the only keys to her and Knubbler), she walked with him to the kitchen where the conversation of dinner slowly shifted to music and almost anything they could cram in the next two hours.

And by the end of that night, the late dinner invitations became frequent and she had accepted every single one. He always hung around by her last hour of work, even if it meant staying up late. It only meant ordering food to be delivered to them as Pickles convinced her to watch a film she hadn’t seen in years or her convincing him to watch one of her favorite guilty pleasure sitcoms.

For the most part, it was assumed she was just working with him on the album. No one really needed to know about the breaks where they shared a beer and gossiped about the celebrities they had interacted with before. As far as Knubbler and everyone knew, she was using most of the two hours to perfect his recording.

But just a few months later, the hangouts and late-night dinner invitations stopped in their tracks with no warning whatsoever.

She wondered at first if it was something she had done. But then it began affecting his work and it was clear he was distracted about something. She knew and learned enough about him that he was a perfectionist when it came to the drums; he was always a person who wanted to do his job correctly when it came to something he really did care about at the end of the day. Music was his passion, after all. And if he didn’t have passion for the things he cared about the most, then something was going on.

“Do you want to take a break, Pickles?” She asked. It was currently her fifth time asking the same question that week alone.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s keep going.” He answered as he picked up his drums and waited for her to press record.

She didn’t say anything else after that and she let him leave after a few hours. He left before she could get a word out and she would be met with the rising feeling that something bad was about to happen and recordings that not even Knubbler could salvage.

A few days later, she figured out what happened. It took a text from the staff group chat and an email that contained a video to piece the puzzle together.

“Hey, Neon Genesis Evan gail ion. It’s me, your coworker, Seth.”

She did not watch the rest of the video (sober) and instead asked about the video in the group chat. Seth was never invited to the chat for the same reason Melmord was not invited to the second wedding of Seth and whatever poor woman he got roped up with.

Just by that video and conversation, she had connected why Pickles might be upset. It had something to do with the wedding, sure, but what specifically about it? Was it that he had known the girl Seth planned to marry? She wanted to ask so many questions but limited herself to three. But even those three questions were quickly narrowed down to one, then none at all when she realized it would be harder to pry anything out of him.

But, as advised by Knubbler, it was best to keep going. He’d probably breakthrough midway through a recording session. Being someone who knew to listen to others, she listened to his advice for at least a few more days.

She waited those few days and then two more. It was clear whatever was bothering him was still going to continue bothering him until the end of time probably. She had to talk to him against their better judgments; it felt like the only option available to her.

It was a session that lasted over seven hours and she was sure both of them were getting frustrated on their own ends. No amount of coffee or whiskey could even cure the boredom and annoyance that was of a session that would lead to nowhere. It was better to just cut things short and talk about it. If not even the drums could help him feel better, how serious was the situation?

She pressed the intercom button when the song finished and she immediately hit delete. There was no way to salvage the song, “Pickles, would you mind if we talk?”

His expression was perplexed for a moment before he resigned to his fate, not giving much of a protest, “Alright,” he answered with a sigh. He set his drumsticks down as he walked out of the booth, taking a seat by the couch.

She was never all that good at talking to people about feelings in all honesty. And he seemed like a rather emotional guy, to begin with. There were a few moments of awkward silence between them as she tried to find what a good way to start the conversation would be, “I think we know that you seem distracted lately. What’s been bothering you?”

And despite all her mental preparations that he would find it hard to pry open, he actually opened up quite honestly, “Well you know about the wedding right?”

“Yeah, he invited me too.” She answered as she thought back to the weird video message Seth had sent her. She wondered if she should even make a comment about that but decided against it, “You don’t want him to get married or something?”

“I don’t care about that. He could get married as many times as he wants; He’s still getting a fucking Vitamix.  But it’s not about that,” He answered, “It’s my mom. She’s been blowing up my phone all week asking about who I’m bringing with me to Seth’s wedding. Keeps talking about how I should settle down, find someone to marry, or whatever. But I don’t have the time to date!”

She stared at him and didn’t say a single word until he caved in.

“Okay, time’s not the problem but dating while you’re this famous is fucking hard. You must’ve seen that public divorce in ‘89 right?”

She definitely remembered. She was on college radio at the time and had taken over someone’s show. It was either some debate or public opinion show and that was probably one of the more shows she had ever experienced. Did it help that she was a fan of his music back in the day? No, but she would not admit that “I kind of knew about it. It sounded like it was an awful divorce for you. But you were only nineteen, weren’t you? You shouldn't stop yourself from dating for something that happened when you were just a teen.”

“Nineteen, thirty-five, ninety, does it matter? It was as awful behind the scenes as it was in public. I’m not gonna bore you with that but basically, I’m done with dating. And she won’t see that!”

“Well...maybe one of your bandmates can be your date?” She offered.

“Nah, been there, done that, it didn’t work out. And plus, would you even fake date any of them?”

She thought for a moment, “Yeah, smart choice.”

“It’s gotta be someone she has never met before to make it more believable.”

“I see,” Abigail paused. She had waited, expecting almost, for Pickles to look at her, drop the ‘except…’, and plead for her to be his fake date but he didn’t. He only reached into the mini-fridge to pull out a beer, offering one to Abigail who accepted. She didn’t like the beer and had to hide her disgusted look as she took a sip and tried to set it down casually.

The conversation had died out like that. She kept on sipping the beer and hoping he would say something. But he didn’t and it became clear that she had to be the one to speak up. There was only one possible solution to it and it felt like the most obvious., “If you can’t find anyone else, I can be your date.” She offered.

Pickles looked at her like she had asked him to play the drums with his mouth, “I respect you too much to get you involved with my family. They’re like...leeches that suck the fuckin’ life out of you! This is a me problem, you don’t need to fix that. ”

“Well...it’s affecting your drumming too.” she pointed out as she looked at him, “And trust me, I know what I’m getting into. I can handle it, Pickles. I work for Dethklok and I’ve certainly been through a lot more than just a wedding party. I appreciate your concern, but let me help.”

“Abigail...” He almost pleaded.

“I owe you, remember?”

He clearly did remember, “but-”

“He invited me anyway, Pickles. I’m still going out of work obligations; I promise this won’t bother me at all.”

“But you know it’s gonna have to be a lot more than just going to my brother’s wedding right? My mom will want to meet you and who knows what other folks are gonna try and meet you too.”

That was one thing more terrifying than the branding ceremony. Was it even worth it to complete the album?, “Then basically we’d just be faking a relationship until the ceremony?”

“I guess yeah...and that’s...three months from now? You really don’t-”

“As I said, I know what I’m getting into. I want to help you and if we have to do this for a week, months, or a year, it’s okay with me.”

Pickles said nothing for the longest time. He held the half-empty can of beer, nulling over his options that probably didn’t help with him being slightly intoxicated, “You won’t hate me right?”

It caught her off guard almost but she remained on track, “Of course not. I promise,” If she hated him, that would mean there would be no more all-nighters together but she wouldn’t admit that.

“Okay. Just so you know you can back out of this anytime, I won’t be offended if you do.” He said finally and that had sealed the deal, “But we need to keep this a secret which I know is probably obvious enough. If the guys find out, they’ll never stop teasing us about it.”

“But if all we really need to do is just please your parents, I don’t think that will be a problem. Don’t worry about me, Pickles; it’ll be fine. I promise that I will back out if I don’t want to do this anymore.”

It was clear he was unsure still and she didn’t know how much more convincing he would really need. But perhaps that was something to let sit and process; and hopefully, in time, he’d warm up to the idea enough to feel like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

There was nothing else she could really do at this point she knew. It was a quick resolution but a slow payoff and she had done what she could for the day, "How about you take the rest of the day off? If you wanna give recording the song a shot tomorrow, we can."

“Alright,” He threw out the half-finished beer can, beer spilled from the can, some of it splashing into the sides of the trash can and leaving a potent smell of beer. She made a reminder to herself to have a klokateer replace the trash can later. But it would be quickly forgotten when he spoke up again, “I uh, appreciate it, Abigail. I really do."

"It's not a problem at all. I hope you know that you can always turn to me if you need anything?"

"I do, yeah, and uh the same right back," He paused for a moment, "I'll take you out to dinner sometime if you want. It's the least I can do."

"That would be nice but I don't need a big fancy dinner. I'm fine eating here, and watching a movie." She answered. She wanted to speak more but her phone began ringing and she saw that it was from Charles, "I should probably take this."

"Oh yeah, go ahead. And uh, if you wanna grab some dinner again you know where to find me. I'm sorry I bailed out on you this week, I'll make it up to you." He quickly left before she could speak.

All alone in the studio, she took a moment to compose herself. Refusing to give herself even more time to let what she had gotten herself into sink in, she answered the phone.

It was only three months but somehow this new task felt like it would end up being the hardest task yet. But, she had an album to finish. It was just part of the job, right?

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- The Arrival

Here we finally have it.  All of the governments meet for the first time.  If you want to see more of one particular person or group, or just have any cool ideas to throw in, ask away!  Enjoy the story!

Mass Effect Galaxy

The Citadel

It had been rather the hectic week (and month) for the entire universe.  Everyone had scrambled for information; the fight to find out exactly what to expect from their sudden new neighbors.  Agents had been sent out, intelligence had been collected, reports had been made, and, out of the blue, one government, the Citadel Council, had invited most of the major players from the various galaxies to the negotiations table.  Reactions had… varied.  Greatly.  But, in the end, all of the invitees had arrived on schedule.  

Commander Shepard was quite glad the Council had taken his suggestion to beef up the Citadel Fleet seriously.  The different governments had each arrived with their own starship or, in many cases, starships.  The starships were as varied as the governments themselves.  The Galactic Assembly had arrived in several plain metal, box-like starships, led by Adam Vir’s Omen.  Respectable.  Nothing the Fleet couldn’t handle.  

The government from Quill’s home galaxy had shown in one rather small ship.  He still didn’t know the government’s name.  Curious.  He quietly vowed to find out.

The United Federation of Planets had, too, arrived in a small fleet of their strange, saucer-strapped-to-engines starships led by James Kirk’s Enterprise.  Once more, sensible.  Respectable.  Easily handled.  

So too did both the Frontier Militia and Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation arrive.  They had been directed to opposite docking bays, considering their history.  A wise move.  Someone had their head firmly on their shoulders.  

Thomas Drake had led a small collection of luxury ships, his clients, into their docking bays.  No problem.  No military threat.  

The UNSC had arrived in two ships.  Blocky and boxy, they too were directed to their places without incident.  

The New Republic arrived in a motley collection of ships in various shapes and sizes.  One minor bureaucratic hassle later, they were docked.  

It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the last two that were a problem.  Three massive, kilometer long Star Destroyers had heralded the arrival of the Galactic Empire.  The largest ship in Shepard’s galaxy was the Destiny Ascension, also a kilometer long.  It was the long held belief that no one could match it, as the requirements for building something bigger would be astounding.  Now, the Empire had three such ships, each more powerful, with larger guns, internal fighter hangars, and enough troops inside to pacify a planet.  

The next arrival had blown everyone else out of the water.  The Imperium of Man had shown up in a six-and-a-half kilometer floating cathedral.  Shepard had seen nothing like it, and didn’t quite understand why anyone would build a starship like that.  It was as if someone had taken a gothic basilica, made it starship-sized, then slapped on an unholy amount of guns.  Shepard didn’t know what was on board, either.  Matter of fact, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what was on board.  

What’s more is, due to their large size and masters’ temperament, the Imperial ships would not and could not dock.  So now they hung threateningly over the Citadel, turbo-lasers and lance batteries pointing menacingly into space.  Shepard did not at all envy Matriarch Lidanya, captain of the Destiny Ascension, or, for that matter, any of the other fleet captains of the different governments.  Tangling with the Chimaera or the Watch Eternal, the flagship of the Empire and the Imperium’s dreadnought respectively, was a daunting prospect.   

So far as yet, no one had killed each other, a situation that Shepard fervently hoped would remain in place.  Currently, he was standing outside the security gates, lounging next to various members of his crew and a very amused Adam Vir.  Security was another hassle.  The Council, quite reasonably, wanted the members of each delegation to surrender their weapons at the customs area.  The delegates, also quite reasonably, did not want to go unarmed into unknown territory.  Things had come to a head after the Imperium of Man had shown up with a cadre of heavily armed and heavily armored troopers who looked positively excited at the prospect of going full rock-and-roll mode against everything moving.  Citadel Security had tried to disarm them, the Tempestus Scion bodyguards had almost shot the Turian security officer, Cain had calmed things down, C-Sec had once more tried to disarm them, the Galactic Empire had pointed out that their black-armored Death Trooper bodyguards would also not be surrendering their weapons, C-Sec had called for Spectre backup, both Shepard and Cain had convinced everyone else to let the bodyguards keep their weapons, abielt under the watchful eyes of armed C-Sec agents, and Peter Quill and Adam Vir had a massive laugh at the commotion.  

Currently, Thomas Drake and his employers (the Merchant’s Guild, remembered Shepard) were going through security with little hassle.  The generally old and quite calculating-looking members of the Guild had no weapons, and Drake and his armsmen were being remarkably compliant.  They went through quickly, and Drake slid up to Shepard and Vir.  

“So… how many weapons did you manage to smuggle in?” asked Shepard conversationally.  Drake sniffed.

“Enough to kill, oh, at least everyone within sight,” replied Drake as if he were talking about the weather.  Shepard grunted, then turned towards the security checkpoint to watch the New Republic diplomats enter.

“You mind telling me how?” he asked.  Drake gave one of his devious grins.

“A good magician never reveals their secrets!”  Vir rolled his eyes in response.  Security was, unfortunately, or, depending on your point of view, fortunately, not quite perfect.  Vir had been allowed to take his Iron Eye suit through, Cooper any other Pilots coming through were still wearing their Pilot Suits, Master Chief was in full combat gear (so, his normal clothing), Drake had god-only-knew-what on him, and almost everyone was allowed to retain their sidearms.  

That wasn’t even including the super powered people now walking around the flowing streets of the Citadel.  Shepard had known of super soldiers (indeed, several of the Scoundrels themselves could be considered as such), but people with what could be considered superpowers were a little more unnerving.  There were biotics where he came from: individuals who could create and manipulate mass effect fields using their bodies.  They had super powers, in a sense.  But some of the people here…  Along with the New Republic came an unassuming man wearing a simple black tunic and knee length black boots.  Shepard knew, with information from Solo, that this was Luke Skywalker, the last Jedi, someone who could move things with their mind and do all sorts of other ridiculous things.  With the delegation from Quill’s galaxy came a blond haired woman wearing a blue and red jumpsuit; a superhero, if he’d ever seen one, an ebony-skinned, dark-haired diplomat who, despite his laid back attitude, simply screamed ‘deadly!’, and Thor, the literal Norse god of thunder.  How, precisely, was one supposed to fight something like that?  Just go up and politely ask a lighting god to stop?  Unlikely.  

He was snapped out of his reverie by a nudge from Vir.

“Hey.  They’re starting the tour,” he said, and pointed to a Council diplomat leading the delegates through the Citadel, narrating like a tour guide as she did.  Shepard almost laughed aloud at the sight of the various groups walking together, from stark uniforms to over-elaborate dress robes.  He gave a nod to his crew members, and they hefted their weapons and slowly followed the tour.  Vir talked as they walked.

“You know, this is great,” he started with an excited grin.  “This place, all these species working together, talking together, living together…  it’s, well, great.  I said that already, didn’t I?”  He barely paused for breath, then continued.  “The GA has a space station for diplomacy, a… neutral ground, for lack of a better word, but nothing like… this.”  He gestured at the false sky, the massive open areas, and the breathtaking architecture.  “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”  Garrus Valkarian chuckled behind them and Shepard gave a rueful shake of his head.  

“Adam Vir.  Never change,” he said as he straightened out to follow the tour.  They walked slowly, following the delegates at a safe distance.  Vir dropped back as Sunny slid up to him.  

“What do you think?” he murmured.  She glazed, amused, at some of the diplomats and bodyguards giving her wary looks.  The Drev were by far the biggest and tallest race here, something she was endlessly entertained by.  

“They seem nice enough.  The Citadel Council shouldn’t be a problem.  Most of the more diplomatic ones should be fine as well.”  She gave a low chortle.  “I’m not even afraid of the Imperium.  Cain ought to put in a good word for us.”  Vir smiled back.

“True.  But, just in case, have Kanon stand by.”  Sunny nodded.  

“Don’t worry.  The Drev clan will be ready to go.”  And with full weapons, too.  No one thought spears were a significant enough problem to warrant disarmament.  More fool them, then.   

The members of the Merchant’s Guild were barely listening to the guide; their looks instead shrewdly appraising everything in sight.  Martin Crossgrow turned to Drake, lips pursed in calm consideration.  

“How much do you think it would cost to build this place?”  Drake didn’t hesitate with an answer.

“Fifty to seventy-five quadrillion Federal credits to build a station exactly like this.  Thirty billion to build a warhead powerful enough to blow it all up.”  Crossgrow gave a low, humorless laugh in response, and turned to one of his immaculately tailored colleagues.  

“You see, this is why I hire Drake.  He knows what he’s talking about.”

Outwardly, Commissar Ciaphas Cain was an epitome of calm.  Inwardly, he was roiling.  There were just so.  Many.  Xenos.  Everywhere.  Walking openly in the streets as if they didn’t have acare in the world, eating, shopping, even mingling with humans.  Even the supposedly pro-human Galactic Empire was being led by a tall, blue-skinned humanoid alien wearing a neatly pressed Admiral’s uniform.  The Imperial delegation, of which he was security chief, was being escorted by even more xenos.  Of course, since he was security chief, if anything went wrong, he would have to deal with it.  Wonderful.  

“Hello, Ciaphas.”  The voice broke his thoughts, and he turned to face one of the robed diplomats he was assigned to protect.  A rush of emotions and memories was brought to the surface: an undercover cabernet singer with a beautiful voice, stinking tunnels filled with genestealers and untrustworthy criminals, a figure in golden power armor massacring her way through hordes of enemies. 

“Amberley?” he asked, flabbergasted.  The diplomat threw back her hood, revealing a familiar face, framed by blond neat blond hair.  Amberley Vail, Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos, smiled up at him.  

“Surprised to see me here?” she asked.  

“Uh… yes, actually,” replied Cain.  Vail laughed.  

“Did you really think diplomats would be sent to a meeting this important without… oversight?”  Cain’s stomach turned to ice.  HIs palms started to tingle, a sure sign that something was wrong.  

“What do you mean by that?” he inquired tentatively.  Vail subtly nodded to another robed diplomat.

“You remember Rasmus, don’t you?”  The robed man turned, face hidden beneath the robe and a neat black beard, and nodded once.  Of course Cain remembered; how could he forget that horrible business?  More memories flashed through his head.  An insane governor, selling his soul into eternal damnation for the promise of pleasure, hacking his way through living shrubbery, Jurgen and Amberely hot on his heels, and, of course, Inquisitor Rasmus Vekkman fighting an unholy abomination with strange, archaic weapons.  Vail nodded once more and gestured to another delegate.

“And of course, we need to complete the triumvirate of Ordos Majoris.  You’ve never met her, but that’s Inquisitor Melflic Aetius of Hereticus,” finished Vail.  Cain was fairly certain his blood had frozen in his veins.  One Inquisitor was a problem.  Three though… That was three individuals with unlimited authority and the full backing of the Imperium of Man.  Three Inquisitors on the same mission was completely unheard of.  Apparently, his thoughts did not register on his face, for Amberley continued.  

“On the Watch Eternal we also have a regiment of Tempestus Scions.”  Cain was only saved from stopping short, jaw hanging out, by his long-learned masterful control over his emotions.  Scions, also known as Tempestus Stormtroopers, were the deadliest and highest-trained normal human soldiers within the Imperium.  Now there was an entire regiment of them aboard the starship hanging in orbit above the Citadel.  He stopped short for a moment at Vail’s next words.  “And a full Deathwatch Kill-team,” she stated nonchalantly.  The Deathwatch was something else entirely.  Made up of Space Marines, eight foot tall genetically engineered, power armor-wearing transhuman super soldiers, the Deathwatch was the Inquisition’s specialized anti-alien group.  Cain could understand Scions.  Perhaps an Inquisitor, and a small group of Space Marines.  But now there were three Inquisitors, a full regiment of Scions, and, by what he inferred, a very beefed up and probably quite veteran Kill-team.  Oh dear Emperor, this is going to end badly.  

“Anything else I should know about?” he all but hissed at Amberley.  She pursed her lips, considering.  

“I suppose.  You are our chief of security, after all,” she replied, her eyes full of mischief.  And what a terrible idea it was to take that job, Cain fumed.  “There’s also an Assassinorum Execution Force.”  Is it even possible to be any more surprised?  ‘Cause if it is, I’m about to win an award.  Cain knew little about the mysterious and highly lethal Officio Assassinorum; hell, most citizens didn’t even know it existed.  What he did know, however, was that it trained some of the most potent killers in the galaxy.  That’s all he ever wanted to know, for people who went polking into the workings of such organizations rarely returned alive.  

“Do you mind telling me exactly why there are so many deadly groups here?” he muttered, conscious of drawing too much attention.  Vail smiled again, but this time there was nothing in her eyes save the coldest ice.  

“Of course, my dear Ciaphas.  It’s simple.  All of these xenos better be honest and on the level.  Or else.” 

And there it is.  Sort of a cold war situation going on; every faction is trying to be as diplomatic as possible and present the best face possible, but if something goes wrong, their all dropping in their most elite soldiers.  Next story we’ll go over more reactions and explore some of the people and groups I didn’t cover here.  If you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, questions, or requests, feel free to ask!  

[overclockedroulette]

so here's that fic with avarice and vega i promised! ages ago! it also just so happens to be the first time they met :)

also! a reminder that the situation with chio was incredibly traumatic! he's fine with literally any other physical contact (a little starved for it, actually), but he won't let anyone touch his neck. totally nothing to do with having needles shoved into his neck repeatedly for several weeks to forcibly drug him into complacency.

it is such a surprise vega hasn't been killed in a lab 'accident' yet.

they are insufferable together, but at least vega is a half-decent role model. sort of. i mean. he's like 60% more mentally stable so that's gotta count for something. at least he Tries to fit into polite society.

~~~

When Fabrica had told him he would be working with another person, Avarice didn’t question it. A minor hindrance, sure, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He wouldn’t complain to a monarch - especially one with such a high level of influence such as Miss Fabrica Kiriatta (not to her face, anyway). He knew his etiquette. He could be civil.

“Hello,” a changeling (they weren’t normally this obvious, were they?) with long, pale hair outstretched their hand to him. “Avarice, right? From Aublilon? Is it true that they raise you workers from birth, there?”

Avarice raised an eyebrow. “Charming. It is. How about your name, darling?”

“Oh! My mistake. Vega Mochizuki. Polaris.”

“Polaris?” He put on a mock-interested voice. He couldn’t help himself. “Is it true you’re all trust-fund cowards spoonfed directly by the richest people alive?”

Pause. Neither of them broke eye contact.

“Well, aren’t you the feisty one?” Vega teased, “Definitely on your high horse for a trained dog.”

“Trained dog?” Avarice mused, still refusing to take his eyes off the changeling in front of him. “That’s an interesting way to say ‘naturally talented’. No need for jealousy, sweetheart.”

Vega let out a short laugh, incredulous. “Jealous? You were raised like a show animal, what is there to be jealous of?”

“Oh, just let me think…” he mocked, “Resolve, intelligence, talent, general superiority-”

“-lack of free will, non-existent social skills, ignorance of the outside world, probably some serious mental health issues,” Vega listed on his fingers, taking no small amount of satisfaction in the affronted noise that Avarice made when he mentioned that last one. “Do I need to go on?”

“Point taken, Pulsar lapdog.”

“Oh! So the circus lion’s a crackpot conspiracy theorist, too!”

“Oh, please.” Avarice rolled his eyes. “Spare me the theatrics, we all know where you get your ‘government funding’.”

“As if money laundering and tax evasion is any better?”

“Better than being another Pulsar lackey.”

Vega stepped forward, the smallest hint of frustration in his voice. “We aren’t with the Pulsars.”

Avarice just smirked and shrugged in response, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Of course not, dear. And I’d appreciate a little more respect, if you don’t mind. Drop the attitude.”

“Were you trained to talk like that? Speaking of which, if I told you to roll over, would you do it?”

“Prick,” Avarice hissed.

“Mutt.”

“Pig.”

“Bitch.”

“Insect.”

“Freak.”

“Pulsar sugar baby.”

“Aubilon showdog.”

“Fucking third-rate-”

“Am I interrupting something?” Both parties - who were now very much within a sword’s-length of each other - turned at Fabrica’s voice. “No, please, do continue. I thoroughly enjoyed hearing you both at each other’s throats.”

Vega coughed. “I apologise, ma’am. How long have you been here?”

“The whole time,” she smiled. “I don’t mind, but please keep personal affairs and grudges outside of work. You understand?”

They both nodded, albeit glaring the other down the whole time. Fabrica smiled, not believing it for a second. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

There were a few moments after she swept out of the door, as they both waited for her footsteps to become inaudible. Vega was the first to speak.

“I want to test something, if you don’t mind.”

“I mind,” he insisted, quite firmly. That didn’t stop Vega from turning on his heel to face him, an insufferable grin on his face, and pointing one finger in his direction.

“Sit.”

Avarice recognised a command spell being cast: he had quite the array of experience with the feeling - an impulse that wasn’t quite his shooting through his body, unexpected and unwanted, as uncontrollable as blinking or breathing. The recognition did not, however, stop him from collapsing into a cross-legged position the second the words left Vega’s lips, pain shooting through his legs as they hit the ground with force. He at least had the dignity not to cry out, especially since Vega’s laughing was starting to get on his nerves.

“Oh! So you are like a dog!”

“Piss off,” he muttered, starting to stand up. Vega cleared his throat.

“Ah-ah! Stay.”

He froze. He knew that was another spell, but yet again he found himself returning to his original position, unmoving and seething. Vega knelt down to his level, locking eyes with Avarice and smirking. “Who’s a good boy?”

“I will fucking kill you,” he spat.

“Oh yeah?” he hummed, placing a hand on his neck and rubbing a thumb across it playfully, not noticing the other scientist freeze up. “Reckon you’d suit a collar, psycho?”

Avarice’s breath hitched. He couldn’t respond. Normally, he’d bat his hand away before he could think too much about it, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t move and all he could focus on was the hand on his neck and he felt like he was choking. This wasn’t Chio. This wasn’t the same situation. He shouldn’t be feeling like this right now; he shouldn’t feel like this at all, feeling like this was weak but he couldn’t move and there was a hand on his neck and fuck he felt so unbearably helpless. It hurt. It hurt, and he was helpless, and he couldn’t control it, he couldn’t control anything, and his chest stung and his head was all static and he didn’t know how long he’d been hyperventilating. He barely even knew where he was. This was weak. This was weak, and he’d pay for it. He’d pay for it like he had with Chio. His head hurt. Everything was static.

He barely registered Vega dispelling his magic, or the awkward attempted reassurances. He did, however, register the pressure on his neck transferring down to wrap clumsily around his torso, and he certainly felt himself collapse his whole weight forwards and rest his head in the ruffles of Vega’s shirt as he evened out his breathing. This was fine. This wasn’t Chio.

“Hey- hey, it’s- I mean, I- I didn’t mean to do that,” Vega finally settled on as Avarice came to his senses, after a few hastily stammered explanations that he half-hoped he was too far gone to hear. “You’re alright?”

There was a long pause. Avarice managed to push himself away from Vega as harshly as possible, getting to his feet albeit a little shakily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mind telling me what I did to elicit that reaction?”

“Why?” The response was instant and defensive. Vega hadn’t meant it as an attack, but the reaction he was getting made it clear that Avarice had taken it as one. He explained as carefully as he could.

“So that I don’t cause it again. Obviously.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he retorted, looking not unlike a cornered puppy. Vega sighed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, you paranoid fuck, just tell me why you freaked out.”

Avarice blinked slowly. Narrowed his eyes. Then let out a small sigh, and pointed to his neck, elaborating only with a hesitant “don’t.”

“Alright. That’s all I wanted to know,” he shrugged. “I’d ask why, but it could be anything with you Aubilon lot, so I’d probably rather not know.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a prick. Mind doing me a favour?”

“I do mind, actually.”

“Cool,” he shrugged off, disregarding Vega’s response entirely in favour of taking a quarterstaff to the back of his knees and watching him collapse, letting out a surprised yelp. He knelt down to his level and smiled, taking out a vial of who-knows-what from his pocket and holding it out to him without once breaking eye contact. “Oh, and you didn’t think I’d let you get away with disrespecting me like that, did you, sweetheart? We have some testing to do.”

Vega averted his eyes nervously, taking the vial with hands that were much less stable than he thought they were. “I’m- I’m not drinking this.”

Avarice leant in, still smiling. “Oh, but you are. Don’t worry, though, it’s perfectly safe. Or, at least, it won’t kill you. I hope.”

“You can’t make me-”

“Can’t I?” he hummed, in a tone that suggested that he absolutely could. “Would you like to take your chances?”

A pause. Then Vega shuddered, said a prayer, and downed the vial.

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter 7

Summary: Finals are rapidly approaching and after the events that occurred at Thanksgiving, Nesta is having a hard time focusing. With her new job at Rita’s and classes, she’s exhausted. Tomas has been helping her study for the exam but with the exam just days away, Nesta is still nowhere near prepared. She reaches her last resort which is to get the answers to the exam from her T.A., Tomas. It doesn’t go as planned. Notes: Read it here on AO3! Warnings: explicit descriptions of sexual violence (please don’t read if that is triggering for you; you’re your number one priority) Bittersweet Masterlist

December

After the disaster that was Thanksgiving, Nesta turned all her attention to classes. Finals were rapidly approaching which was a good enough excuse as any to skip those damn dinners. It certainly didn’t stop Elain from inviting her, but Feyre on the other hand? She expressed no interest in Nesta’s sudden absence. In fact, Nesta imagined her sister breathing a sigh of relief every time she told her she wouldn’t be coming.

Something ugly planted itself within her after the events that transpired just two weeks ago. It churned in the pit of her stomach. It was as if her insides were being twisted inside out. And she couldn’t seem to place the emotion. Anger? Guilt? Embarrassment? All the above?

Either way, she was too busy to think much about it. With finals and her new job, Nesta’s schedule was jam packed every week. She wasn’t complaining. She savored it. She was never left alone with her thoughts. There was always something to do and since all the work exhausted her, she no longer had trouble falling asleep.

After applying to Rita’s, she heard back from them a week later.

Nesta,

Thank you for your application. It’s always exciting to hire a new employee, and I was especially ecstatic when I discovered you were Feyre’s sister. That little rag-tag group stole my heart.

After reading through your resume, I would love for you to be part of our little team here at Rita’s. I’m not one for interviews (they’re pretty pointless if you ask me), so just let me know when you’re able to start. My family and I are on vacation until the 29th. I’m looking forward to meeting you.

 Best,  Rita

And with that, Nesta was no longer unemployed.

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

She started just a couple days following Thanksgiving. Rita had closed down the bar for the holiday, she and her wife leaving town for an annual vacation. According to Feyre, Rita only took off two weeks in the year. And since her family didn’t celebrate Christmas, those two weeks were reserved for Thanksgiving.

Nesta barely slept the night before her first day. She hated new places, new people. New jobs. It was all just… a lot to take in. But she showed up the next day, her anxiety hidden behind a confident stride and a professional attitude.

Right off the bat, Nesta noticed the welcoming atmosphere of the bar. It was a bit rustic, the wooden tables and chairs worn. The vintage bulbs that hung from the ceiling provided warm, dim lighting. The high chairs that sat in front of the bar counter were cushioned with plush, deep red fabric. Nesta looked around the walls to admire the art. She noticed upon closer glance that they all had names of local artists next to their respective work. The small space was elegant, inviting, homey.

Rita didn’t hesitate as she walked up to Nesta and gave her a hug. She stiffened, unaccustomed to physical touch of any kind – much less from a stranger. Rita seemed to read the room and retracted her arms with an apologetic smile.

“Forgive my wife,” a voice said from behind Rita. Nesta looked up to see a blonde woman smiling. Not at her, but at Rita. “She doesn’t have any sense of personal space.”

Nesta watched, amused as Rita stuck her tongue out at her wife. Turning back to Nesta, she waved her hand. “Forgive her. She’s just jealous.”

That seemed to be a good enough icebreaker as any. After being introduced, Rita led Nesta behind the bar. The next hour was spent training. Rita told her how she began her business, the bar’s signature drinks, and the other employees who worked there. Apparently, there were only four bartenders excluding herself: Emerie, Helion, Viviane, and Thesan. It had been an hour before open when Nesta had arrived and by the time the clock hit five, Nesta was pretty confident in her drink-making skills. But that wasn’t what she was worried about; it was more the whole “costumer service" thing. To say the least, Nesta lacked people skills. She had no problem calling people out on their shit, and she was going to have to learn how to keep her mouth shut in front of customers. Gods only knew how angry Rita would be.

That anxiety dissipated when one of the workers, Emerie, clocked in. She strode in confidently, her gaze unwavering as she approached Nesta.

“Three things you need to know. First thing, don’t ask me to cover your shift unless you’re dying or you win two tickets to a Beyonce concert, in which case I’m coming. Second of all, wear a lower cut shirt next time. Men are disgusting and won’t spare a look at you unless you flash a little cleavage.”

Nesta crossed her arms. “And the third?”

Emerie pointed to a board behind them, one that Nesta hadn’t noticed when she walked in. “We have a competition going on to see who earns the most tips. Lucky for you, we just started last week. The winner gets full control of the music for a month and as many rounds of drinks they can handle paid in full by the losers. So,” Emerie appraised her, “don’t fall behind.”

Nesta inwardly laughed at the woman’s attempt to intimidate her, especially considering she was a good foot shorter than her. Little did Emerie know, Nesta was competitive as fuck and she would do anything to win. Especially if there was alcohol involved. She smirked. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

Emerie blinked at her in surprise. Nesta just held her stare.

Then, Emerie’s lips broke into a smile. “Oh, I’m going to like you.”

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

Since their first meeting, Nesta and Tomas had studied together about once a week. If Nesta was being honest, she would have completely forgotten about finals if Tomas hadn’t offered to help her study. Her mind was preoccupied with all the other shit going on in her life, and the only reason Nesta hadn’t yet failed that class was thanks to Tomas. She was baffled at his reputation as an asshole T.A.; he’d been nothing but resourceful to her since the beginning of the semester.

At least the job at Rita’s was going well. She liked all her coworkers for the most part. Helion was loud. Viviane was sassy. Thesan kept to himself. Emerie was her favorite. Nesta learned that she had been working there since its beginnings. Apparently, Rita and her wife took her in when she was young, and they’d been like family ever since. Nesta and her couldn’t be more similar. They would complain about customers before they even turned their back. Both of them were no-nonsense women who didn't tolerate bullshit. They were both suckers for romance novels and had a large distaste for country music. And most importantly, they bonded over their hatred for the same people.

It made for the perfect friendship.

But her job was only taking away time that she needed to utilize for academia. Despite Nesta’s efforts to study for the gods-damn exam, she wasn’t prepared in the slightest. During their sessions, she could barely focus. Tomas’s words went in one ear and out the other. When he gave her extra work, she rarely did it. Her mind was scattered; it was as if she was sleepwalking through her days. Wake up, go to class, work, study, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Nesta was exhausted.

So, with the exam just three days away, Nesta didn’t have any other options. She couldn’t fail this course and jeopardize her education.

Her plan was simple. T.A.’s had access to exam answers. Tomas was a T.A. All she needed to do was get those answers from him in one way or another.

The idea had been swirling around in her head for the past week, but she’d always shoved it to the background when it surfaced. After all, it was her last resort. Nesta didn’t cheat. In fact, she despised when people took credit for doing jackshit. It was hypocritical, and yet...

 I can’t fail. Not again.

It wasn’t like it would be hard either. She didn’t have to do much to get Tomas’s attention. That first day she'd introduced herself after class, it was impossible to miss the way his eyes flicked down to her chest every few minutes. Add to that a lip bite and a suggestive glance, and those answers would be hers.

What could she say? Men were simple like that.

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

It was Tuesday, Nesta and Tomas's last study session before the exam.  

As Nesta sat at the table eating dinner, which consisted of a cup of coffee and a granola bar, her phone vibrated beside her. Picking it up, she saw Tomas’s name flash across the screen as she received his text.  

Hey – my roommate had to borrow my car so I can’t meet you at the library. How about  we  study at my place?

Nesta smirked. Gods, he made it so easy.

What’s your address?

Nesta retreated to her room and opened her closet. Glancing at the time, she hurried as she grabbed the most provocative outfit she could find. She threw on a lacy, long-sleeve bodysuit that molded to her every curve. Stepping into a skirt, Nesta had to shimmy her hips to pull the tight fabric up, covering only a couple inches of her upper thigh.  With a couple flicks of her wrist, she adjusted her makeup and fluffed her hair.

Nesta spared a glance at the mirror. She grinned.

There was no way she would be leaving his place without those answers tonight.

Nesta shoved on a pair of booties and gathered her things. She quickly shut the bedroom door behind her.

“Ooooh!” Elain peered over the couch as Nesta beelined for the front door, her heels clicking loudly on the hardwood floor. “Special occasion?”

Nesta didn't respond.

But Elain didn’t take to being ignored.

Nesta watched as she pulled herself off the couch and faced her with a sly grin. “Hot date?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “I’m going to Tomas’s to study for my exam.”

Elain nodded her head, shooting a look at her that said, Sure, you are.

Nesta ignored her again, not slowing down.

“Should I expect you to return tonight?”

“Mind your business, Elain. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

“Be safe!” Elain called as Nesta hurriedly walked out of the apartment.

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

When Nesta pulled into his gravel driveway, there weren’t any lights on, save for one on the first floor. She noticed his parked car.

Weird.

Nesta didn’t bother questioning it, though. Her stomach was already a bundle of nerves. Fidgeting in the skintight skirt, she tugged it down an inch so the neighbors wouldn’t look out the window and catch a free showing.

Gods, what am I doing?

Every step she took closer to Tomas's house, the further her heart sunk. It's not like she wanted to do this. But Nesta didn't have any other options. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and she was the one who put herself in that situation to begin with. So it was going to be her who got herself out of it.

You're going to hate yourself if you do this, a voice warned inside her head.

She shoved away the thought.

Even though her heart raced as she approached the front door, her strut was strong and confident. She didn’t falter for a step.

Nesta released a shaky breath and composed herself. She knocked once and the door was already opening.

“Nesta,” Tomas greeted her, eyes roaming over her body. He wore a polo shirt and sweatpants. She wasn’t sure if she shivered from the numbing winter air or his raunchy gaze. Nesta stifled the urge to zip her jacket all the way to her neck. “I’m glad you made it.”

Nesta pushed past the desire to say fuck it. To just go back home and accept the fact that she was going to fail. Instead, she plastered on a charming smile and giggled softly. “Thank you for inviting me.”

He led her inside. As she followed him, she caught a whiff of something strong. Vodka? Rum? She wasn't sure. But it was coming from Tomas.

Why the fuck did he drink when we're about to study?

They walked past the kitchen table. Nesta faltered.

“Aren’t we going to study here?”

Tomas looked over his shoulder with an easy smile. “I figured we could do it in my bedroom. It’ll be more comfortable anyway.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond as he kept walking. Nesta followed him reluctantly. She wanted to seduce him, sure, but there was no way in hell she was going to fuck him for the answers. She wasn't going to go that far.

“Welcome to the man cave.” He gestured to his room.

Nesta rolled her eyes inwardly. Man cave? Really? Gods, men are insufferable.

When she took a step in, she was assaulted by the overwhelming scent of men’s cologne. She stifled the urge to cough. His room was cramped; there was barely any space to walk. The comforter was brown, along with his pillows and walls.

Nesta hated brown.

The one thing she noticed was none of Tomas’s textbooks were out. In fact, his backpack was shoved in the corner.

“So where -"

Nesta was cut off when she felt Tomas directly behind her.

She spun around to face him. That's when she noticed his eyes. They were red-rimmed and glossy.

He hadn't just had one drink. He was drunk.

“Damn, girl," Tomas leered, taking a step closer to her. Nesta took a step back, trying to keep distance between them. "I thought it was going to take a little more effort than this to get you into my bed, but then you showed up dressed like that."

What the fuck?

“I think there was a misunderstanding –"

“Oh, trust me, I don’t think that’s the case.” Then Tomas's arm was around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Nesta tried to back away, but he only held her closer. His grip was tight. Too tight to shove him off.

“Tomas, no – “

“Aw, you don’t mean that, baby. I see the way you look at me.” His mouth pressed against her ear, his hot breath enough to make Nesta gag. “You’ve wanted this for a long, long time. Just as long as I have."

Nesta scanned his room frantically. There were no windows. His bedroom door was closed. And locked.

That’s when she started to panic.

"Can we just talk for a minute?" She willed her voice not to shake. Maybe if she remained calm, tried to reason with him -

Nesta cried out in pain as Tomas pushed her onto the bed. Hard.

"Please, stop!"

Tomas paid no mind to her pleas as he straddled her waist before she had the chance to get up. Nesta could only look at him with wide eyes as he loomed over her. Fear crawled its way up her throat at the look he was giving her. He placed a damp hand on her hip, his nails digging into her skin. He slid his hand further up, past her stomach until -

No, no, no nononono.

Tomas palmed her breast over her shirt, squeezing so hard that tears spilled over Nesta's cheeks. She tried to kick her legs but he was so heavy, too heavy. His weight was suffocating, her breathing was rapid and her heart was pounding and she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think; what should she do, what should she do, what should she do -

His lips slammed down on hers. Her cry was silenced. Tomas tried to shove his tongue into her mouth, but Nesta kept her lips closed as she squirmed underneath him and kicked her legs. But he remained on top of her. He wasn't budging.

"Open your fucking mouth," he growled against her lips. Nesta sobbed as she kept fighting to get him off her. He kept moving his mouth against hers, forcefully trying to open her mouth until Nesta bit down on his lip as hard as she possibly could.

Tomas reeled back with a hiss and touched his lip with a hand. When he withdrew it, blood shone on his finger. He glared at her. "You bitch."

Nesta didn't see his palm coming until she felt the sharp slap on her cheek, her head snapping to the side from the sheer force. The wind was knocked out of her. She felt paralyzed, helpless.

Nesta was motionless under him as his mouth dragged along her bared neck. He sucked on her skin hard even to bruise. Another sob escaped her clenched teeth. Her fists were balled tightly, a scream trapped in her. Bile rose in her throat when Tomas rubbed himself against her. She felt his erection press hard against her stomach, and she nearly threw up right there. His hands fell to the fabric of her skirt as he began to hike it up to her hips.

Something within her snapped.

Nesta didn't know what happened next. All she knew was her fist was burning with pain and she was shoving Tomas off her, sprinting for the door, racing through the house. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins as she heard Tomas yell her name behind her but she was too fast. He was too far behind.

She didn't stop running until she fell into the driver's seat of her car. She didn't bother buckling her seat belt as she peeled out of his driveway.

Sometime along the way home, Nesta stopped shaking. Her tears dried. Her heart stopped pounding. Her thoughts disappeared until she was left only with a silent mind and an empty feeling.

Nesta stared at the road in front of her, and she happily invited the feeling of numbness as it flooded into her body.

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

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[wkngsnds]

So remember when I published “Whether You Fail or Fly”? I rewrote it! Well, some parts of it; I tried my best to reach the dark tone I was aiming for, fixed some things I thought were awkward, and so and so forth. I hope y’all enjoy it all the same.

I’ll post it on here too under a read more.

Title: Your Side

RATING: Teen and older audience

Two weeks ago, he never wanted a tool. Tonight, he’s grateful to his hitwoman.

Fuyuhiko had not been the type to black out during his fights; in fact, he savored every cut and bruise that he could take before Peko eventually intervened. He exists in a constant state of irritation with his anger never falling far behind. Despite being a yakuza, or perhaps that is exactly why, his anger was his weak point— almost as blinding and fervent as Kabukicho during the night. Just like his parents, he got hot under the collar relatively quickly and chose to focus all his energy on his victim, so he’s an extremist in his own right too. Fuyuhiko preferred to handle things “a man’s way”: being direct as possible instead of exhibiting a passive aggressive attitude. He believed he could smash his way through his opponents as he refused to lose sight of his goal.

Tonight was no different.

Peko never got hit during a fight— she was fast, strong, and cunning. However, it would be more accurate to say that she couldn’t afford to get hit; a thousandth second too slow, a single hair strand out of place, and it would all be over. She exists in a hypervigilant state even within the confines of the Kuzuryuu manor. It is not that she lacks trust in her “coworkers'', per say, but protecting Fuyuhiko is the only thing she finds herself capable of doing. Truth be told, even with a small army of guards roaming the grounds it does not guarantee his safety, but by acting as his shield he’s all the more safer. It’s why she keeps her mind blank, but never loses focus; that is not to say she does not think at all— if anything, she is the type to overthink matters more than someone in her position should. These constraints both forced upon her and self practiced are why her rage is restrained. She’s not the type to anger easily, but when the emotion visits her it must be leashed and kept within bounds.

Tonight was no different. 

An ocean of alarm and disquietude drowned the underground of Tokyo, and nearly flooded the overground the day after Fuyuhiko confirmed Natsumi’s corpse. It had not been long until civilians heard of the misfortunate incident, and they took it upon themselves to go home earlier than usual as a precautionary measure. Even if they did not know Natsumi, her surname carried all the weight it needed to: it was not just a member of the clan who died, but someone with a direct relation to the leader. This action of avoidance, of course, did nothing to deter the Kuzuryu clan from their own private investigations; they were a 24/7 kind of business, after all. Each family belonging to the Kuzuryu-gumi had crawled out of their own holes-- those who supported Natsumi above Fuyuhiko worked especially hard to find their princess’s murderer. Then there were those, in their true yakuza nature, who wanted to take advantage of her death to strip the Ultimate of his inheritance. For them, it had not been a simple preference of the younger sibling, but instead a dissatisfaction and disfavor for their patriarch’s son. By extension, Peko received the same condemnation if not to a worse degree. Those in Natsumi’s faction who were slightly sympathetic to the heir blamed the bodyguard for his physical weakness and lack of will; her entire presence caused his spoiled and rotten nature. Put simply her existence, they thought, hindered his bloodlust. Others argued that the main family was not meant to kill as they were an ‘invisible hand’ which directed them all. A minority thought Peko to be a better yakuza than him, but they were smarter than to voice that opinion. There were also a few who thought him cursed— a way of karma for all the blood the clan spilled since its early days, and that blood most certainly flowed like a river. Nevertheless subsidiary matriarchs and patriarchs respected him as their heir at best, but they would not hold their breath for him either.

The funeral service would bring out the worst in the family.

Nastumi died in less than a week of attending the academy, so the two knew their investigation was limited to this timeframe. After confirming her corpse’s identity, the next step was to speak with the custodian who found her; if he had decided to keep information from the police Fuyuhiko had no qualms in using extensive methods of extraction. Meanwhile, Peko worked to address the rumors of a supposed pervert who was thought by the students to be the perpetrator. The mysterious figure had stolen one girl’s swimsuit, and then planned to violate the young mistress (the disgusted rage she felt momentarily dulled the pain in her wrist as her hand formed into a tight fist). Peko knew she needed to focus, so she took a deep breath and went to look for the first girl whose swimsuit had been taken; if the two were both victims to the degenerate, then it was important to establish a possible connection or a pattern. On the hand, if the attacks were random, it would have been hard to track down a possible suspect with the incredibly vague information. They also did not allow Fuyuhiko, understandably, to enter the crime scene, so her chances of success in that area were virtually zero. On the other hand, if this were a targeted attack, then there was a greater problem to be dealt with, and this girl might be connected.

She could not recall any subsidiaries with the name Sato, but it was also possible her mother married out of the respective family. Furthermore, Peko had not been ignorant to the clan’s...favoritism, but she would not be convinced by the apparent blind adoration; it could have been the start of a coup d’etat, and her young master would be the next target. Peko already failed both Fuyuhiko and Natsumi by not protecting the latter, failure to aid him in apprehending her killer or letting him die meant she truly was useless. Therefore, finding this girl and ‘speaking’ to her took over all her priorities. The kendo athlete scans the morning cafeteria until she spots her suspect (someone had kindly described her appearance) sitting at an empty table near the large windows. Like a tiger, she moves carefully to disappear from the girl’s direct line of sight and peripheral vision; she intended to take her by surprise— using that confusion to assert dominance in the conversation and as momentum for a potential confession. However, before Peko could get any closer Mikan had unfortunately bumped into her; like always, the nurse made a scene whenever she apologized to someone, and blew Peko’s cover. To make matters worse, she spotted the injured wrist she acquired from punching the wall yesterday, and became shockingly insistent on treating the wound. Mikan did not yield to any of her protest, and all but dragged her out of the cafeteria to the nurse’s office. For a weak willed clumsy girl, the kendo athlete did not expect her to be as firm in her handling.

True to her sensitive nature, Mikan noticed Peko’s state of irate despite the latter having a stoic face, and began to apologize once again. Stuttering throughout her explanation, it appeared as though she hardly slept the prior night. Mistaking the red eyed girl’s neutral, if not apathetic, question for sympathy the super high school level nurse rambled on about doing an emergency shift at a nearby clinic. Yet, even for Peko who was only half listening something felt off.

‘What you just said...was a lie, wasn’t it?’ A tit for tat question. 

‘H-Huh?! You w-were able t-to tell?’ She focused on the splinting for a moment, ‘U-Um...Pekoyama would it be too presumptuous to ask...if I could c-confide in you with s-something? I-It feels like my chest is going to explode if I can’t g-g-get it out.’

She’s weary of agreeing, but slowly nods her head nevertheless. 

‘I...I saw the body. Kuzuryu’s little sister...W-We found her in the music room l-last night.’ 

‘What did you say?!’

‘Eek! I..I’m sorry!’

‘Tsumiki, you need to explain to me exactly what happened. What do you mean ‘we’?’

At 7:30 pm, both yakuza convened at the heir’s off campus apartment to consolidate all the information they gathered. After deeming that he had nothing left to hide, Fuyuhiko “convinced” the custodian to allow him into the music room. There’s a tight feeling in his chest at the sight of the white tape— he had seen it plenty of time, but knowing it was his sister’s outline made him lightheaded. However, he knew there was no time to be distracted by his grief; he needed to devote all his energy on finding her murderer. Fuyuhiko mentioned to Peko that he saw the broken glass from where, according to the police report, the criminal had escaped.

‘It also said a nearby guard heard the sound of the glass breakin’ but never saw or heard anyone runnin’.’

‘That’s suspicious.’

‘Yeah, and there ain’t any security video footage of a shady person walkin’ ‘round campus. Not to mention, that hole in the window don’t look big enough for someone to jump through. None of this fucking shit adds up!’ He viciously kicks the low table before falling onto the couch behind it, rubbing his eyes and groaning loudly as he did, ‘Either this sick bastard is crafty as hell or...or someone who knows this fuckin’ school’s layout did it.’

She assumes a pensive position, ‘So, someone within the school is the culprit...? I believe that is an accurate deduction. There are even suspects to support your theory.’

‘W-What? Suspects?!’

‘Tsumiki, Koizumi, Hiyoko, Mioda, and a person by the name of Sato were at the crime scene. As it were, those five were the first to encounter the young mistress, and most likely—’

‘The ones who started the rumor of a pervert going around.’ His fists tightened to the point where his fingernails cut his skin and he began to bleed, ‘Those cunts...those goddamn fucking cunts...if it turns one of them killed Natsumi...I will never fucking forgive them. If all five of them were in on it...I don’t care how much blood is on my hands I’ll slaughter them all.’

Peko could not bring herself to calm him down; she shared his sentiments, after all. 

The next day went by in a blur. For the first time in a long while, the two yakuza were on the same wavelength: Peko advised him to avoid confronting any of the suspected girls without enough proof less he scared them away losing their only lead. Conceding to her counseling, he keeps his distance from them and their own classmates in general. However, he did not stand by, and instead went to question a few of the students in 77A. In return, he asked her to monitor the behavior of those four— they were citizens who, more than likely, had never dealt with corpses or killings in their life which he thought gave Peko a great advantage. Bluntly put, it takes a killer to know a killer. 

At the end of the day, when all was said and done their respective tasks were successful enough to narrow down their suspect list quite considerably. Fuyuhiko learned that not only was Sato with his sister on the day of the incident, but the two often bumped heads with one another. Concurrently, Peko overheard an anxious Mahiru mumble about needing to meet with the same Sato during their lunch break, so she messaged him those details when Koizumi had left the classroom. Although he didn’t find them in time to eavesdrop on their conversation, he had caught a glimpse of someone (he assumed to be Sato) throwing away what looked like paper into the garbage. At first he made sure to stay out of sight, but as soon as the coast was clear he made a beeline for the trash bin.

And just like that the number of suspects dropped from five to two to one.

In hindsight, investigating Sato and Koizumi should have been their first thought, but both were neglectful towards Natsumi’s own complaints and scheming. They had not noticed the particular animosity she held towards the photographer, and instead considered it yet another part of her antics. With Fuyuhiko constantly running away from all criticism and Peko mindlessly chasing after him, they never once considered looking behind them to see if she needed help. However, why would they need to? She was strong, probably stronger than the both of them combined and more than they’ll ever be. It is why she had been so reverend throughout the clan-- the reincarnation of a legend or perhaps something even greater than that. Where they both lacked brutality, bloodlust, and pride Natsumi made up for it a thousand times over. Fuyuhiko could still remember the day his father scolded him right after Peko rescued him from the man’s chokehold; it was a heated argument over something senseless the teenager had done earlier that week which left the patriarch a mess to clean up. 

‘This is why you need a fucking tool and your sister doesn’t. Maybe if you had your act more together like her, you would be half the fucking yakuza she is!’

Whether or not they moved forward is debatable, but they left her behind to fend for herself. Natsumi was a tough girl in a league beyond their own, and they were too wrapped up in their selfish problems. Truthfully, Fuyuhiko and Peko knew they were as responsible for her murder as Sato was. 

‘I will NEVER FORGIVE YOU!’

-- 

When the two finally returned to Fuyuhiko’s apartment they sloppily kicked off their shoes, and collapsed from exhaustion in the seats of the sleek black dining table. True to their upbringing, they had chosen a seclusive section of the nearby riverbank as the dumping ground. The route from the school to the river was relatively light, but the combined weight of the corpse, adrenaline, and guilt made it all the more treacherous to walk. Initially, Peko suggested contacting one of the nearby families who worked in construction to place the cadaver in concrete, and then toss it into the river. After a few moments, however, he refused. Fuyuhiko did not want to hide the body; he wanted her to rot for as long as possible before she was found— maggots crawling in and out of the holes they made of her. Normally, he wasn’t the morbidity type, but it would be a lie if he were satisfied with her death alone. Again, it was the first time in a very long while that they were on the same wavelength. 

Fuyuhiko could only watch as Peko stood, unsurprisingly, before he did; she had greater stamina and...experience than he did in all of this. She left his direct line of sight, but kept herself in his peripherals. For him, once the adrenaline of killing passed, the soreness dropped upon him like a ton of bricks, his muscles were tense, and it felt as though the slightest movement made his joints crack. He could feel the phantom force from swinging the corpse back and forth before throwing it down the bank. He rested his forehead on crossed fingers as his eyes briefly crossed over; part of him felt ashamed for feeling so weak-- what did that say about his future as a patriarch? He only did the killing, but Peko, like always, ended up cleaning his dirty work. In this case, she was the one who quite literally carried dead weight on their walk to the river. He did not argue when she picked up the corpse like a sack of rice and arranged it to fit in her kendo. The angles were awkward, but after breaking some joints here and a few bones there the corpse fit perfectly. All he could do was watch her. What could he say that would not end with him being in her way? He knows he can trust her to handle this, but what gave him the right to sit back and do nothing? He can do with expressing gratitude towards her or, at the very least, express a greater sense of gratification at avenging his sister. 

But all he felt was exhaustion.

 “You need to bathe.” It is rare for her to speak with a semblance of authority in her tone towards him, so she captures his attention quickly. On any other day, he might have told her kick rocks for treating him like a child, but he can only put up half a fight tonight. 

“It can wait until morning.”

“No, it cannot.” He heard her reach into a separate duffel bag she left in his apartment earlier this morning, “The stenches of blood and death are ones that linger if you do not remove them immediately. I am sure the doorman noticed, but kept his mouth shut.”

From the bag, she first pulled out a loofah and an antibacterial wash set. Next, there was a roll of black bags, a bottle filled with what he assumed were cleaning chemicals for the bat, and a cardboard box. He handed over the baseball cap at her request; she placed them in one of the aforementioned black bags along with her own and instructed him to throw his personal trash in there as well since she would burn everything later. He could also hear the crinkling of the paper that was used to wrap the corpse being stuffed into the bag. Watching her fix the box and line it with another black bag— the way her movements were quick and sharp nearly gave him vertigo, but it’s her calm demeanor (as if doing everything from muscle memory, which was most likely the case) that causes all his hairs to stand. This...this was her true speciality, wasn’t it?

Still not being able to raise his head, he asked if his own clothes needed to be burned as well, but the kendo athlete reminded him of the suit’s hefty price tag, thus intended to send it back home to be thoroughly cleaned. However, in all her fretting of his needs the realization hits him,

“What about your clothes?”

“Please do not worry about that.” 

“You just said we have to get rid of the stench, so do you have clothes of your own--”

 “Young master. Please go bathe.” Her voice initially sounded strained, then slowed down as if she were controlling her breathing. Not only was this a part of her speciality, but it was clear she had a method for her work that she hadn’t been too keen on straying from-- it was the same inflexibility (one not so different from the blond) that would get her killed on Jabberwock Island. For all the exhaustion Fuyuhiko felt, Peko silently masked her oncoming mental fatigue whilst also trying to ignore the ton of guilt weighing on her. From her perspective, she had just failed for the second time in a row: first, by allowing Natsumi to die and second, by allowing Fuyuhiko to kill by himself. It was not as though she could rid herself of any culpability, because she has disobeyed him in the past for the “sake” of his protection. So why didn’t she refuse him now? He had instructed her to act as if they were fellow high school students, so she would have been well within her orders to randomly check on her-- if not as the young master’s sister, then as a member of the Kuzuryu family she was owed the respect of being welcomed. What made his order so particular this time around that she found herself unable to deny? To make matters even worse, she allowed him to sully his hands with death while she stood and watched the bat crack Sato’s skull open. If she were forced to make an excuse, then it was as if some external power prevented her from interfering. Maybe it was a part of her, the human part, that understood it had not been her place to interject-- that she knew him well enough to know this revenge and avenge was to quench his heart from the sorrow plaguing him. No, perhaps this humanity of hers knew from the very beginning that he would not have been satisfied if Sato died by anyone's hands but his own, so she took the extra precautions to protect him throughout the conspiracy. Taking this into account, it was only natural that the tool she considered herself to be would come into conflict with the meddlesome human she actually was. 

As per usual, his movements drew her out of her spiraling thoughts; his stumbling did not go unnoticed, but before she could reach him to help stand, he had already taken the wash set, grabbed his nightwear, and headed towards the bathroom. 

 “There’s a washer-dryer set in this closet. Wash your clothes.” The door shut promptly behind him

Normally, it took him 15 minutes to get himself clean, but the falling of hot water on his back kept him in for five minutes longer. For five minutes longer, he mulled over his ambivalent thoughts— remembering how Sato’s face contorted into shock, and then overcame by dread and terror at the sight of him...it elevated him. The way she tried to run from him, but Peko threw her to the ground; kept down by an elbow between the shoulders, yet her head kept up by her hair. He’s never felt that kind of power: having everything and everyone in his control. For once, they feared him and not her. For once, someone begged at the feet for his mercy and not his father. 

Did Natsumi beg for her life?

Was she afraid?

Did she call out for him?

Then came the boiling rage once again; the jarring reality that it didn’t matter if he killed one person or left an entire town to die, he still had to bury his little sister. He knew her death wasn’t his fault, he’s not that delusional, but he thinks he could have stopped it. If he stopped running away from being compared to her, would she still be alive? He could have been a better brother if he had not been such a damn child. Would she have come to him for her personal problems if he was? If he had convinced their father that she needed a bodyguard if only to keep her out of trouble would that have kept her safe? If he let Peko go check on her, she would still be here, wouldn’t she? He watched as the blood from his hand (there’s only a crack on the tiled wall) washed down the drain, and then turned the faucet off altogether. As he dried himself, he noticed the basket he left in the washroom before the shower had almost been emptied save for his underwear and socks. He only rolled his eyes at this; she did this every once in a while when they were at home, and he grew tired of chastising her to let the maids do their jobs. Fuyuhiko could not begin to understand why Peko did these silent and small acts for him-- her only “job” was to follow his commands; going beyond that just seemed unecessary. It only dumbfounded him more when he realized, at some point, that she’d done more for him in a single week than he’d seen his parents do for each other since he was born. Of course, it was twice as aggravating when she opposed him returning those small acts every once in a blue moon. 

He exited the bathroom with his pajamas on and towel over his head as he found her meditating in the same clothes she arrived in. Everything around her had been prepared: the box of his clothes was closed ready to be sent home, the ‘burn bag’ was placed into her kendo duffel, and her black yukata was folded neatly next to her. 

Truly, that was what a professional looked like. 

“There’s an extra clean towel in the washroom. ‘Left the soap and shampoo inside the shower for you.” 

“Thank you.” Her weakened voice does not go unnoticed by him-- in fact, much of her behavior and mannerisms are more observed than she thinks. Though Peko believed herself to have spoken in perfect monotone, Fuyuhiko was able to hear the falter in the middle syllables*. It had been easier for him to count the days they were separate than together, so it would be highly alarming if he couldn’t pick out some difference in her attitude. Of course, recognizing the problem and doing something about it were two different objectives; furthermore, doing the obvious by asking her what was wrong didn’t seem like the right answer either. How many times has she asked him, and he’d brush her off at best and yell at her ‘to leave him alone’ at worst. What right did he have to interrogate her when he wasn’t the talkative type himself**? 

Besides, the yakuza heir knew the kendo athlete well enough to sense that she would also brush him off in return just so that he would not worry about her. In this regard, he understood how she felt: just like him, she hated when people fussed about her or gave her any more attention than what she could tolerate.  Peko was simply better at masking her disdain than he was; not that Fuyuhiko tried, of course, but still better nevertheless. In fact, this had been one of the many traits they had in common; regardless of surface level differences, Peko and Fuyuhiko were more similar at heart and at will than other people, or themselves for that matter, tended to realize. It’s why they were able to coordinate manslaughter so well.        

She cleared her throat which snapped him back to reality; it’s clear he had been staring at her for far too long causing her to become both concerned and uncomfortable. She tried not to express the latter, but, again, he’s well versed in her micro expressions. 

“Is there something you need, sir?” Now it’s her turn to watch his movements as he made his way to his bedroom, hands fumbling with the towel still on his head as he slid it down to his neck. 

 “It’s nothing. Go bathe while the bathroom is still warm.” And with that she disappeared, the door shutting quietly behind her.

Fuyuhiko released a tense sigh as he sat heavily on his bed. He could feel the conflicting twitch of his nerves; his muscles ached now that the adrenaline passed, but the near state of silence save for the hum of the shower relaxed him. If he has access to a mass fortune (legality of said money’s source notwithstanding), he might as well spend it on a condo away from the loudmouths that inhabited the Hope’s Peak Academy student dorms. Slowly, he picked his feet up onto his bed and laid down on his pillow; it felt like his head would explode with all the pulsing in his veins.

2:20 AM.

In three and half more hours, he will be awake for twenty four hours— nothing unusual for him, but worth noting in silence.

He breathed. 

Shuffling was heard in the background. 

 2:36 AM

Fuyuhiko was half asleep when Peko finished showering, and caught her trying to leave quietly. He slowly got up and made his way to lean on the doorframe, hand lazily stuck in his jinbei, and watched her. Despite all her yukatas being black, they had subdued patterns on each of them if one looked closely enough-- the blond was trying to discern whether it was her plain one or one that he bought her. He had gotten two of them for her birthday and Christmas last year, and all but screamed at her in an attempt to convince her to keep them.  

He speaks up “That’s the birthday one, right? Your yukata.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you greatly once again.” With a towel in hand, she continuously wrung out the excess water out of her hair, “The material is incredibly comfortable and breathable.” 

Recognizing his semi consciousness, Peko seemed more relaxed under his watch; though it wasn’t her place to understand, she remembered him doing this when they were children. On the worst days (i.e the patriarch and matriarch endangering his life during their fights), he would not fall asleep despite being put to bed first by the maids. Instead, he would watch her nestle into her spot beside him, and only then could he fall asleep. She just like then, she told him to put his worries aside, sleep for the rest of the night, and advised him to take today off as no one would dare pester him over his absence. Though, for as long and as well as she knew him, it was ironic how concerned Peko was for Fuyuhiko yet remained oblivious to his deeper troubles. It’s why she mistook the worry in his apprehension at her leaving for a sense of weariness and exhaustion to which she promised she’d quickly leave him to rest. Of course, her words only inflamed the expression on his face (that was not ironic, but instead typical) while his arms crossed in a defensive position.    

Even if she knew her heart to be kind, she could not comprehend why that kindness would be extended to herself, a tool, and therefore she could not understand why he protested her leaving.

“I-It’s the middle of the night in Tokyo; there’s some pretty drunk bastard roaming out, no doubt.” 

“I will avoid confrontation.” 

“Didn’t you say the lock at the girls dormitory is super loud? Wouldn’t you cause a scene entering this late?”  

“I can move quickly before I am spotted.”

“Gh-- Your hair is still wet, and then you’ll get sick dumbass!”

At this she looks at him directly with a raised brow, but he doesn’t meet her gaze. Her hand rested on the string of her sword bag, “Please do not worry me. I will be fine.”

He seemed to have no more arguments.

 “Then, if there is nothing else you need of me, I shall leave you alone now.” Just as she headed to the door and reached for the handle, Peko paused. Perhaps what he needed now was...comfort, though the bodyguard is not confident enough in doing such a thing-- at least, not in the way he may need it, if at all. Who could fault her hesitation? The last time she tried to ease his worries she let too much of her own weakness show and it worsened the situation.

But if she could provide him some closure...

“What?”

Her posture straightens to face him, “Sato deserved to die-- no, she deserved a fate worse than death. Even Koizumi should...” She stabilizes her breath and unclenches her hand, “I digress. You did it: with your strength and your wits, you killed Sato. That being said, accepting the fact you’ve murdered another person is not without trouble. Regardless if they deserved to die or not, regardless of how strong or skilled you are, regardless of premeditation or in the heat of the moment. Someone’s blood is now personally on your hands.”

“And there’s going to be more in the future.” 

“Yes...I suppose that is inevitable. Please forgive my impudence, young master. Sleep well.”

Just like that she messed up again; she wonders when she’ll learn to just keep her mouth shut instead of trying to comfort him...or whatever that pathetic display of encouragement-- if one could call it that. Peko reckons that life would be easier for the both of them if she were a simple yes man. As per usual, being so wrapped in her worries of offending him she failed to perceive the true problem he was facing at hand. When the yakuza heir said there would be more bloodshed, he did not intend to brush her off, but meant that the responsibility and weight of killing was something he needed to adjust to sooner rather than later. Of course, his usual poor communication which fought with a trepidation he tried to hide from her did nothing to help her understanding.

Sometimes, Fuyuhiko forgets that Peko isn’t a mind reader, so there’s no possible way she would know he feared losing her the same way he lost Natsumi if she walked out the door this instance unless he spoke bluntly.

“Stay with me.” 

The blond wasn’t sure if the words even left his mouth, and if they did he had not been sure if she heard him. Even though he had always been told to command her, he could never bring himself to do it-- there schools lives notwithstanding as he convinced himself it was for both of their sakes. It wasn’t like Peko’s...circumstances were unique to her; in fact, there were plenty of subordinates throughout the gang who shared her position, her ‘status’ as an object. The self-justified feudal system the clan upheld made bile rise to his throat each time he thought about it. Fuyuhiko has witnessed firsthand the horrid treatment of those people (tools, as they were denoted): the fear in their eyes, the way their bodies are thrown like rag dolls, and the absolute aura despair surrounding them. He doesn’t want that for Peko, he doesn’t want her to be his victim anymore than she already is.

In the end, it seemed that she did hear him, but not in the way he expected when she kneels with her back to the door placing her shinai on her lap. 

“I don’t mean guard my door. I meant that I want you to spend the night with me.” 

So much for speaking bluntly.

“Young master...?” 

“Fucking hell-- look, what I meant was,” He exhales forcibly, “What I mean is...remember when we were really small, and I had those shit fucking nightmares? How I wouldn’t sleep until you climbed into bed next to me?” 

He relaxed when he saw her relax. 

“I understand.”

He speaks slowly hoping to regain some composure, “I know this kind of thing is inappropriate even if we’ve done it already. I-I mean, we’re high school students now, ya know? Even if it’s just sharing the same bed space, this isn’t something teenagers should be doing. But I...I just--” 

“It’s fine. You do not have to explain yourself to me.”

“So you’re okay with doing it? Sh-Sharing the bed, I mean. And don’t say just yes because I asked you, got it?!”

For the third time, “I understand.” 

Now it was Fuyuhiko’s turn to overthink their conversation; he knew neither of them were the ‘heart on the sleeve’ types, but he wonders how much exactly she keeps to herself. Whether she thinks him pathetic or weak, but wouldn’t dare tell him directly to his face. Whether she truly hated his existence, and put on a front because she had no other choice. Theoretically speaking, it was a silly thought to worry about. He knew she all but worshiped the floor he walked on-- excused his behavior when it shouldn’t have been excused, took all the cursing he threw at her without blinking, and so on and so forth. But knowing all this and hearing her curt responses did nothing to ease the tension of his nerves.

If Peko thought him incompetent, was there truly any hope for him?

 It doesn’t take him long to set up a makeshift divide on his queen size mattress with an extra pair of flat sheets. Fuyuhiko was in bed before Peko as the latter made sure to lock the door; just like earlier, all he could do was watch her move about doing her own security check. He doesn’t think he’d ever find a justifiable reason for all his starring-- perhaps hypnotism would be the closest explanation. She does everything from opening and closing the window (checking it’s bullet resistance and angles for assassins, no doubt) to leaving the room to make sure the front door and balcony door were properly locked. When she returned, Peko looked over the bedroom; with a small sigh, it seemed her rigid inspection was finally finished. 

Seconds after this, the lights were turned off as now the soft glow of his bedside lamps filled their portion of the room. The mattress dipped when she sat down, and Fuyuhiko heard the faint sound of the silver haired girl fixing her bamboo sword between the bed frame and the nightstand. Her glasses were the last to leave her body, and joined the lamp on said stand. However, before she could lay down Fuyuhiko stopped her with a sudden jolt that even caught her off guard. The yakuza heir reached under the pillow to find the tanto knife he always kept hidden. She had lent it to him long before they arrived at Hope’s Peak Academy— when they went to different high schools; if she were to be separated from him, then at least he could use it to defend himself. Obviously, there were no qualms of ‘packing’ in the estate, but no one bothered to give him a weapon in the first place-- he even had to use part of his allowance to buy his favorite brass knuckles. The clan members assumed with her by his side she was the only weapon he would use. Nevertheless, there had been a sense of satisfaction for Peko that he had kept it with him for the past two years. She had selected the knife from her collection based on what she assessed of his skills and strength.  Once he placed the weapon beneath his pillow, their bodies collapsed on top of the blankets— each letting out an exhaustive sigh. It was the kind of exhaustion that made it impossible to sleep despite a long day of physical labor. Neither of them could be bothered to switch off the lamps, so they laid in silence for a few moments, eyes facing the smooth ceiling above them.

“Hey, Peko. My bad for cutting you off like and saying shit like that.”

Peko was never sure how to take his apologies; she was not the type to hold grudges, and she had never done so with him. They were unnecessary, as she thinks she would forgive him no matter what he does (to her or otherwise). Therefore, she took a moment to choose her words carefully; perhaps if their relationship were better, she would be able to speak more comfortably around him. 

“You needn’t apologize. You are correct: once you ascend to your role as the patriarch, you will have even more enemies.” Her tone becomes more assertive, “Rest assured, I will be the one to dirty my hands and cut them down if they oppose you.”

 “I still should let you speak.” He stared back at the ceiling,  “You said something like that before, ‘Someone’s blood is my hand now’. What were you gonna say after that?”

“Simply...that it would be wise to detach yourself from what you’ve done. Regret is futile, but to associate this with any kind of pleasure is dangerous as well. If you let Sato haunt you it will be as if you never killed her at all.”

“I-Is that what you do?”

Peko eyes darted across the roof above them as if looking for something that wasn’t there. She was a child the last time she gave too much thought into her first assassination; she’s more ashamed for allowing her emotions to seep through than the killing itself. 

“I don’t feel anything when I do. Not anymore.”  

“When was the first time,” Why does he keep pushing her about this, “That you killed someone?”

How could she forget, “When Mr.Hiromitsu notified Lord Raiden that his team identified our kidnappers, I was instructed to dispose of them.” 

He could only stare horrified at her. How does one respond to that? To be told that the person laying next to you, who you grew up with and were closer to anyone else in this world, had been turned into a murder at the age of six. He knew his father wasn’t a saint and in fact might have been the devil himself, but there was something particularly putrid about involving children with his bloodthirst. What was the point of having a code if the boundaries were blurred altogether? Sure, Peko had stained her hands with blood now, but what was his father hoping to accomplish by sending her out to do something so dangerous at the age of six? What if Peko failed and died? Did his father, or his mother for that matter, think they could just replace her without him noticing or caring? His parents should be smarter than that. His parents should know... 

He might have been foolish enough to fear her as children, but they should have known how worse everything would have turned out if they let her die.

 “Young master, I am sorry for my failures on that day.” Her voice brought him back before he spiralled into an abyss.

 “Huh?! Peko, what the hell are you talking about? We’re both still alive ‘cause you were the only one who had any sense left.” 

The swordswoman sat up, feet swinging onto the floor— he couldn’t see the expression she was making, but he didn’t need to know she was blaming herself. Again.

 “My inability to control my emotions worsened our predicament. If I had controlled myself as I was supposed to,” Her fingers gripped the yukata, red eyes dulled and downcasted, “Then perhaps we would have returned to the manor sooner. If I kept my head clear…it is my fault we were lost in those woods for so long.”

He quickly sat up, “Peko, we were six! I’m pretty fuckin’ sure any normal six year old-- hell, any normal person would have also been scared out their fuckin’ wits. Weren’t you just on my case about letting shit go?”

“That is…” What he didn’t expect was for her to turn to him with a pained expression; somewhere along the lines of pleading, regret, and shame all bundled into eyes that once, unwillingly, struck fear into him, “I’m...not...a normal person, I’m-- I am my young master’s tool, a tool to protect you and to kill for you. That is my only purpose. I should never make you doubt your safety. This also means that I must protect what is precious to you, and Lady Natsumi...if I were not so useless she would still be alive and you would not have dirtied your hands.” 

It returned again: the heavy feeling in his chest that was filled with remorse and his self-loathing. He knew she was right, but not in the way she thought. How many times had he pushed for her to be independent of him, to express her opinions and insight? Then, the one time she did as he asked he proceeded to not only dismiss her altogether, but brushed off her rightful concerns for Natsumi’s adjustment into Hope’s Peak. He knew his sister better than anyone, knew the type of trouble she would get into in a normal high school; sure she could throw her weight around ordinary bastards, but this school had its fair share of freaks and superhumans. He also knew that she had Peko run her a few favors (both normal and yakuza related), so it would only be natural for the swordswoman to investigate her transfer even if had no desire of doing so. 

“You...you can’t blame yourself; you were just following my orders. Natsumi was my responsibility and mine alone, and I fucked it up by not checking in on her.” 

But Peko, as stubborn as Fuyuhiko, would not hear it.

“Sir, you mustn’t blame yourself. If I were a tool capable of being trusted, then I am sure your orders would have been different.”

“Why don’t you get it already? Out of everyone in this world, you’re the only person I can trust. Everyone else is willing to kill me without a second thought.” It felt like he was suffocating, “You’re always putting my life first with no damn regard to your own. You're not invincible, Peko!”

“That is exactly why I intend to fulfill my purpose as your tool until I am a corpse at your feet.”

“Goddamnit, we are done with that crap!” He’s grateful that the room was sound proof, “I don’t want a tool! Tools can’t die. They become dull, they break, and you replace them, but they definitely cannot die. If some fucking rotten cunt smashed your skull in you’d die!”

“I-I wouldn’t let that happen, I assure--!” 

Peko’s eyes widened when he suddenly gripped her shoulders; shaking her not violently, but almost desperately as if she would have disappeared into thin air if he didn’t cling onto her that very moment. She had not realized the full look of anxiety and fear on his face until she fully met his stare for the first time that night.

“But you can’t know that,” His voice broke, “You can’t possibly fucking know that! What the hell’s the point if you’re dead?! Natsumi thought she was untouchable, that’s why she was all starting shit with everyone around her. And now what? Now we have to cremate her.”

Finally, his guard breaks and he rests his forehead on her shoulder,

 “So, please...stop saying you’ll protect me until the day you die. I don’t...you can’t expect to keep going with whatever life you give me. It’s not worth it, because if I have to bury you too—”

“...Young master?” Peko remained as still as she could; his voice was so weak that she feared he’d fade away from existence if she made any sudden movements. He was so close to her she was sure he could hear, if not feel, her erratic heartbeat-- not that he fared any better than her at the moment, of course. Since neither were the hugging type (at least not openly), the silver haired girl thought to support him through a light touch on his arms.  

“Please don’t leave me. I’m so afraid. I can’t do this on my own, Peko, I need you.”

Suddenly, his confession sparked a fundamental shift within the two. From her shoulders, Fuyuhiko’s hands now clung onto the fabric of her back leaning into her more, and Peko welcomed him without a second thought. Relying more on her instincts, one arm supported his weight while her other hand rested below the nape of his neck. An outsider looking in may think it a fond scene: two high school sweethearts expressing their love for another in the middle of the night. However, that sort of naivety could only last so long. What the outsider misunderstood was their embrace had not stemmed from affection or intimacy, but possession and obsession as they clung to one another.

In other words

“I will never leave your side, young master. There is no other place for me than by your side. If you wish for me to stay next to you for all eternity then that is where I shall stay no matter what. Even if the world turns upside down, I will stay beside you.” 

“Good.” He pries away from shoulder just to meet her ever intensive stare; it doesn’t affect him anymore (he welcomes it), “Peko, from now on it’s just you and me. Not as master and tool...just together, okay? We live together and we die together.”

“Then let us die of old age and nothing else.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

 Finally, they laid down embracing each other and fell asleep.

 ———

[llnwritings]

♫ JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS APPRECIATION WEEK ♫

DAY 6 | Write a fic with your favourite fanfiction trope.

Summary: Alex is one of the few special people born with a soulmate mark. However, unfortunately at a young age the mark fades and leaves a scar, indicating that his soulmate has died. Alex knew he wasn’t meant to be happy.

Trigger warnings: Bad Parenting, Homophobic Language

[[Read on Ao3]]

Everyone knew about the stories of soul marks, those lucky few born with a name written on their wrist of the person that they were destined to love and be loved by. The name was written in grey, that was until you met your soulmate, then the name changed to your soulmate’s favourite colour when you touched each other for the first time. Or so the stories went. Soulmarks were so rare that there wasn’t much research into how they really worked. 

Alex was one of those lucky few. Born with the name William written in blocky handwriting on his right wrist, it was one of the first words he learnt to read and recognise. But as happy as his parents were that he was special and he had a soulmate, there was unsaid tension between the two of them. His mother was supportive as much as she could be, but his father was distant and cold. It wasn't until Alex was six that he learnt why, the memory forever seared into his young mind.

----

Six year old Alex was too excited to sleep, in the next few days he would be starting school. Ever since he could remember, his parents hadn’t really allowed him to play with other kids and even when he did, his father had always made sure he had a leather cuff attached to his wrist that he was forbidden to take off in front of others, under threat of punishment. It hid his mark, something that made Alex sad and nervous. His father would always put it on too tight, which would leave red markings for days.

But soon he would be going to big boy school and his mother had even said that she would talk to father about not wearing the cuff to school. Alex quietly walked down the stairs and headed towards the kitchen for a drink, but he stopped when he heard voices talking. He crouched against the hallway wall and listened as his parents argued loudly.

"Mark please," He heard mother beg, "Let’s at least talk about this. Think about what's best for Alex, is our local standing more important than our son’s happiness? Let him love whoever he wants, for all we know, he’ll never even meet this William."

"I am Allison, no son of mine will be a flaming homosexual," His father hissed at his wife, spitting the last word out like a curse, "That name will bring this family nothing but trouble and shame. Once they find out about his mark, how will we look to the neighbours? Work colleagues? My boss? The church? No, my mind is made up! I'll take him to the centre tomorrow and they will remove the mark. No one needs to ever know about that thing on his wrist."

“You’ll be destroying a part of him,” His mother sobbed, “Why would you want to do that? What if he hates you when he grows up, what if he never forgives you?”

His father was silent and Alex peered around the edge of the doorway hoping to catch a glimpse of the man. His father ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “I can live with Allison. He can hate me all he wants but I’m looking out for what’s best for this family. I will not stand for my own flesh and blood loving the same gender under my roof. My decision’s final.”

Alex crept out back down the hallway and back towards his bedroom, his drink totally forgotten. He frowned at the words his father was saying, not really understanding what they meant. Looking down at his wrist, he traced the name, Alex didn't think William was a bad name and so what if it was a boy's name, boy’s were awesome, Alex would love to spend all his time with another boy, all he had at the moment was a sister and she was no fun at all. Girls weren't fun to play with either, they all had cooties.

Alex got back into bed and tried to go to sleep, but his mind was going a million miles an hour. His father’s words repeating themselves over and over again, Alex couldn’t understand how loving someone could be wrong. It was nearly 3 in the morning before Alex was finally able to drift off.

The trip to the center never happened.

The next morning, Alex woke up screaming in pain and all the noise he made caused mother to come rushing into his bedroom still in her pajamas, worry etched into her face.

“Honey, what’s wrong,” She came and sat on the edge of his bed, her hands reaching to comfort her son.

“It hurts,” Alex cried, tears streaming down his face, as he pushed his wrist into his mother’s open hands, “It hurts.”

Allison frowned, looking down at her son’s wrist, she gasped in shock. The once grey name was slowly fading away to nothingness, the edge of the name an angry red as if someone had burnt the skin. The change in the name could only mean one thing, Alex’s soulmate had died before they even had the chance to meet.

Allison wrapped her arms around the sobbing boy and comforted him the best she could, not knowing the pain he was feeling or how to make it stop.

“It’s going to be alright, honey,” She whispered as she held him close and rubbed his back, “We’ll get through this. You’re going to be fine.” Allison repeated the words over and over again, not just for Alex’s sake but for her own as well, her heart breaking at the sounds he was making.

Alex continued to cry, not only from the pain in his wrist but from a pain he felt deep within himself, a pain that he couldn’t put into words. It was like something broke and he didn’t know how to fix it. He curled into his mother’s embrace, his face tucked into her neck, he wanted her to fix the pain but somehow knew that she couldn’t.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Alex’s sobs had turned into sniffles as he cried himself back to sleep. Allison layed her son back down on his bed and tucked the blankets around him. She gave him a kiss on the forehead and quietly left the bedroom to find her husband.

She found him in the kitchen, sitting at the table with the newspaper out and a coffee in hand.

“You’ll be happy to know that you got what you wanted and you didn't have to spend any money at all,” Allison spoke softly to her husband as she made herself a cup of strong black coffee, “Your son’s soulmark faded and scarred last night. William is dead.” Allison sat down at the opposite end of the table, letting her words sink in, “You don’t have to be ashamed anymore. No one will be able to tell that our son was to have a soulmate."

"Good then," Mark scoffed and went back to his newspaper. He dropped the matter for now.

----

Years went on and Alex grew up, he never did forget the name William and would still spend time tracing over the light scarring on his wrist when he was feeling sad. The name was hardly visible now, only if you knew it was there and where to look, could you see it. Alex never told a soul that he used to have a mark, he never saw the point.

His dad’s attitude never changed towards Alex, no matter how hard he tried to please him. He went to school, got excellent grades, went to church, he was a good son but no matter what he did, his dad never looked at him with pride, love or affection. Alex knew it was because of the soulmark he used to have, just by having a boy’s name on him had tainted himself in his dad’s eyes forever. He was older enough to recognise the looks his dad would give same sex couples walking down the street hand in hand, were the same ones he would he would give Alex before hiding his mark with that leather cuff.

So at age 14, Alex stopped trying to please his dad. He still did well in school - he actually liked learning - but he stopped going to church, not seeing the point of it and always found a reason to not be in the house if his dad was home. He became friends with Luke, Reggie and Bobby and started a band. Sunset Curve was on its way to be a huge success! Well according to Luke anyway.

At age 16, Alex took a chance on love, but was caught kissing a boy behind the high school gym. When his dad had been told from one of his church friends, he blew his top and knocked Alex around before kicking him out of the house, saying he never wanted to see him again. Alex spent the night on Bobby’s pullout couch.

He spent a lot of nights on Bobby’s couch, luckily his parents were cool having a teenager crash with them. Bobby’s parents had spoken to Alex’s mum and they came to an agreement. Alex would stay at Bobby’s for the foreseeable future, at least until Alex’s mum could convince Alex’s dad to let him come home and she would pay them for the inconvenience of housing another teenage boy.

He never did make it home.

Alex, along with Luke and Reggie died at 17 to a hotdog and not even a good tasting one! After their death, the trio spent 25 years in a black room and in that time Alex never noticed his soulmark return to its grey colouring and the scarring disappeared.

----

Alex wasn’t handling being a ghost very well, the lack of answers to things was driving him insane. While Luke and Reggie’s lack of concern was causing his anxiety to skyrocket. He needed to get away and breathe.

Alex poofed out of the studio and found him on Hollywood Boulevard. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on slowing down his thoughts. After a few moments, he reopened his eyes only to jump in fright when he caught sight of two ghostbusters ahead of him. It was stupid to that they were here for him, Alex freaked out as they began to walk purposefully towards him.

“No, no, no,” Alex whispered in fright, only for the two ghostbusters to walk straight through him, “Oh,” Alex glanced around to see if anyone saw his freak out, he then huffed and rolled his eyes at himself. He was dead, no one could see him.

With a sigh, Alex started to walk down the street, his thoughts starting to roam again.

Still lost in his thoughts, Alex was completely unaware of his surroundings. He gasped out in shock as someone collided with his shoulder, sending them both to the floor with a thud. Pain burst from his wrist at the contact, leaving Alex confused, while being a ghost things weren’t supposed to hurt.

Alex heard the other person to his right grunt in pain as well.

Alex pulled himself to his feet, while rubbing his wrist, the pain had now receded to a tingle.

“Uh, man you dinged my board,” Alex heard the other person moan.

“I dinged your board,” Alex huffed, “No dude,you ran me over, you’re lucky I didn’t-” Alex blinked, realizing that there was only one reason as to why this guy could have knocked him over in the first place, “Yo-you ran me over. You’re a ghost?”

“Well yeah,” The other ghost unbuckled his helmet, “Ever since I learnt the hard way that skating in traffic was bad.” Alex watched, slacked jawed as the ghost removed his helmet and shook out his hair.

‘Oh no, he’s hot.’

As they made eye contact, Alex saw something change in the other ghost’s demeanor, he no longer looked annoyed about his skateboard.

“Hey, sorry I smashed into you,” He apologised. “I thought you were a��lifer and I’d just, like, pass through.”

Alex blinked at the term, “Uh, a lifer?”

“Uh yeah,” The other teen looked confused, “That’s what we call people who are living.”

Alex nodded his understanding but was still slightly confused.

“You’re new to this whole ghost thing, aren’t you?”

Alex winced, “Yeah, is it that obvious?”

“Totally,’ The other ghost laughed, but not in a mean way.

The other ghost then stuck out his hand, “Hey uh, I’m Willie.”

“Oh, uh Alex,” Alex took the offered hand and shook it.

“Ah.” “Ow.”

Both ghost’s quickly released the other’s hand and grabbed their wrists to ward off the sharp tingle. Alex looked down at his wrist and watched in shock as the grey of his soulmark changed to blue. Alex looked up to see Willie looking back at him in awe.

“Alex, as in short for Alexander?” Willie asked softly, turning over his wrist to show Alex’s name written in his own handwriting and coloured pink.

“Oh wow, yeah that’s me,” Alex blinked in shock at his name, gently taking a hold of Willie’s wrist to get a closer look, “I thought you died,” The blonde frowned and looked back to Willie, “Well I guess technically you did die, if you're standing here as a ghost. I’ve never heard of a faded mark regaining colour before.”

Willie smiled as he listened to Alex ramble on. It was cute.

“I guess that means Willie is short for William then?” Alex asked hopefully, turning over his own wrist for Willie to see.

Willie traced over his own handwriting with his thumb on Alex’s wrist, “Yeah that’s my writing,” Willie looked back to Alex, “Say, you doing anything right now?”

“No,” Alex tilted his head in confusion, “Why?”

“Want to hang out? I could show you around and answer your ghost questions. If you have fun, maybe we could hang out again?”

“Uh, okay, that sounds fine.”

“And by hang out, I mean do you want to go on a date?” Willie wasn’t masking his intentions, he had been without his soulmate for years and he wasn’t going to screw this up now that he had found him.

“A date sounds fun,” Alex squeaked out with a smile.

“Awesome.” Willie took a hold of Alex’s hand and poofed them to one of his favourite places, he had a soulmate to woo.

The End

[sukifms]

            *  GET  A  LOAD  OF  THIS  GUY  .  well  ,  well  ,  look  who  it  is  ....  late  and  highly  ashamed  of  it  :  it’s  me  ,  it’s  kofi  .  as  mentioned  in  my  intro  within  the  di.scor.d  chat  ,  i  prefer  she / her  or  they / them  pronouns  and  i  reside  in  the  eastern  tz  .  i’ll  be  introducing  the  too  hot  to  trot  sukanda  baramichai  ,  known  affectionately  around  the  world  as  suki  .  i  already  know  i’m  about  to  write  a  NOVEL  so  strap  yourself  in  ladies  ,  gents  ,  and  non - binary  pals  !

            read   all   about   sukanda  ‘suki’  baramichai,   otherwise   affectionately   nicknamed   the  prom  queen.   the   twenty  three  year  old   model  and  podcaster   is   widely   known   for   being   scintillating,  poised,  bellicose,  and  vampish,   and   recently   made   headlines   when   they   allegedly  was  seen  vacationing  on  a  yacht  with  an  older  man  who  is  married  and  has  children.   apparently   judas   claims   to   be   sitting   on   an   even   bigger   story   involving   them   -   whatever   the   truth   may   be,   i'm   sure   it   won't   stay   hidden   for   long.   &   luxurious  satin  robes  brushing  against  tan  skin,  crystalline  eyes  glassed  with  glittering  tears,  the  lingering  scent  of  peach  vanilla  long  after  she’s  gone,  and  a  practiced  smile  highlighted  by  bright  stage  lights.   ◜   ⭒   ◞

trigger  warning(s)  :  mentions  of  an  eating  disorder  and  poor  parenting  .  

stars  can’t  shine  without  darkness  .

name  :  sukanda  baramichai .

nickname(s)  :  suki  ,  the  prom  queen  .

age  +  date  of  birth  :  23  +  may  25th  ,  1997  .

astrological  sign  :  gemini  .

myers - briggs  personality  type  :  esfp  ,  the  entertainer  .

enneagram  type  :  the  individualist  .

moral  alignment  :  chaotic  neutral  .

gender  +  pronouns  :  cis  female  +  she / her / hers  .

place  of  birth  :  pathumwan  ,  thailand  .

place  of  residence  :  manhattan  ,  new  york  city  .

sexual  orientation  :  bisexual  .

romantic  orientation  :  biromantic  .

occupation  :  former  beauty  queen  ,  sugar  baby  ,  model  +  podcaster  (  suki  &  sage  )  .

nationality  :  thai  ,  obtained  american  citizenship  in  2018  .

ethnicity  :  thai  .

language  spoken  :  english  ,  thai  ,  and  basic  japanese  .

instagram  handle  :  sukichai  .

what  would  you  wish  for  if  you  had  one  more  chance  ?

            sukanda’s  story  begins  in  the  beautiful  district  of  pathumwan  ,  where  she  was  the  second  child  of  five  .  the  first  child  in  the  baramichai  family  was  her  older  brother  phya  ,  who  was  three  years  older  and  absolutely  terrified  of  the  baby  that  didn’t  speak  .  by  the  time  sukanda  was  three  ,  the  two  had  become  best  friends  ,  and  although  sukanda  couldn’t  keep  up  with  him  and  his  friends  ,  he  always  made  sure  to  play  with  her  once  big  tears  collected  in  her  eyes  .  after  sukanda  ,  the  baramichai  family  was  filled  with  three  other  children  :  two  daughters  named  hansa  and  tulaya  ,  and  lastly  with  a  son  named  daeng  when  sukanda  was  thirteen  .

           while  growing  up  ,  sukanda  lived  in  a  world  of  wealth  .  her  mother  ,  kamlai  was  known  throughout  thailand  for  being  one  of  the  country’s  best  dermatologists  and  also  owning  chai  cosmetics  ,  a  luxurious  skincare  brand  .  her  husband  ,  suran  ,  is  a  highly  respected  cardiothoracic surgeon  at  one  of  the  best  teaching  hospitals  in  their  country  .  the  two  made  a  lavish  living  for  their  children  ,  continuously  taking  them  on  trips  around  the  world  ,  educating  them  at  the  best  schools  ,  and  never  allowing  them  to  leave  with  a  hair  out  of  place  .  for  sukanda  ,  though  ,  her  mother  seemed  to  take  more  of  an  interest  to  her  .

           of  course  ,  sukanda  was  a  little  girl  who  liked  to  play  with  her  mom’s  makeup  ,  and  would  ask  for  her  mom  to  put  lipstick  on  her  while  she  was  getting  ready  in  the  mornings  .  she  appreciated  clothes  and  shoes  ,  and  even  formed  a  love  for  perfume  when  her  mom  let  her  wear  it  to  school  once  .  naturally  ,  kamlai  took  sukanda’s  interest  and  decided to  run  with  it  .  when  sukanda  was  four  ,  her  mother  put  her  in  her  first  beauty  pageant  .  despite  not  being  trained  ,  it  was  evident  that  sukanda  had  a  natural  talent  for  pageantry  ,  so  that  became  her  way  of  bonding  with  her  mother  .  she  also  entered  dance  classes  for  her  talent  in  the  show  ,  and  naturally  ,  sukanda  was  good  at  that  as  well  .

           as  she  grew  older  ,  though  ,  sukanda’s  mother  began  to  take  more  interest  in  ensuring  that  she  was  the  most  perfect  out  of  siblings  .  when  they  were  playing  outside  ,  sukanda  was  kept  in  the  house  ,  running  through  her  pageant  routine  over  and  over  again  until  her  eyes  were  heavy  from  sleep  .  during  the  school  year  ,  she  did  her  homework  ,  went  to  dance  practice  ,  practiced  her  routine  ,  slept  ,  and  did  it  all  over  again  the  next  day  .  sukanda’s  love  for  pageants  never  changed  ,  but  she  was  beginning  to  resent  how  much  she  was  unable  to  enjoy  the  things  that  her  siblings  and  friends  were  able  to  .

oh  ,  but  you’re  so  pretty  ,  the  stars  would  cry  .

          start  of  trigger  warning  --  sukanda  was  fifteen  when  she  began  to  train  for  the  miss  teen  thailand  pageant  ,  and  her  mother  changed  for  the  worst  .  sukanda  spent  her  days  working  out  and  dancing  ,  and  if  she  so  dared  to  reach  for  something  unhealthy  during  her  meals  ,  her  mother  would  throw  a  fit  and  berate  her  .  ‘  do  you  want  to  be  fat  ?  ’  her  mother  would  ask  while  throwing  the  food  away  .  ‘  do  you  want  to  start  losing  because  you  can’t  fit  into  your�� dresses  ?  ’  the  constant  belief  that  she  would  lose  due  to  her  weight  made  sukanda  think  twice  whenever  it  was  dinner  time  .  she  suddenly  began  to  have  protein  shakes  for  breakfast  and  lunch  ,  there  was  no  snacking  in  her  diet  ,  and  dinners  were  always  small  .  workouts  became  most  important  ,  and  her  pageant  dress  in  the  closet  continuously  loomed  over  her  head  .

          the  stress  of  wanting  to  win  continuously  took  over  the  young  girl  ,  and  she  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  win  ,  and  she  did  .  at  the  age  of  sixteen  ,  sukanda  earned  the  title  of  miss  teen  thailand  ,  but  she  didn’t  stop  there  .  she  continued  on  her  journey  ,  and  it  was  unfortunate  that  food  had  become  the  enemy  .  she  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  remain  skinny  ,  to  remain  beautiful  ,  and  to  remain  a  winner  .  her  siblings  noticed  the  change  in  sukanda  ,  and  would  often  try  to  sneak  food  to  her  at  night  ,  but  were  often  caught  by  their  mother  .  the  punishments  for  natasha  seemingly  never  ended  ,  and  it  all  came  to  a  head  when  she  was  eighteen  years  old  .

           sukanda’s  father  ,  suran  ,  had  taken  her  out  to  have  their  annual  father - daughter  date  .  it  was  filled  with  fun  and  shopping  ,  but  when  suran  had  taken  sukanda  out  for  lunch  ,  he  noticed  how  despondent  his  daughter  was  .  she  simply  sipped  her  water  and  munched  on  small  pieces  of  food  ,  but  she  never  ate  anything  more  than  that  .  worried  ,  suran  confronted  his  wife  about  sukanda’s  eating  habits  ,  and  was  disheartened  to  know  that  she  had  been  eating  that  way  for  a  long  time  .  suran  was  upset  with  himself  for  not  noticing  his  daughter’s  changed  behavior  or  his  wife’s  ,  and  when  sukanda  fainted  from  fatigue  and  lack  of  nutrients  ,  it  was  the  final  straw  .  

          she  was  sent  off  for  treatment  ,  as  was  her  mother  ,  and  her  health  was  instantly  a  priority  .  for  two  years  ,  sukanda  had  to  slowly  relearn  that  food  was  not  the  enemy  ,  and  that  she  had  to  take  better  care  of  herself  .  it  took  months  of  struggles  to  eventually  grasp  with  this  concept  ,  and  she  was  able  to  place  herself  as  a  priority  --  end  of  trigger  warning  .  once  sukanda  returned  home  following  a  year  of  treatment  ,  she  decided  that  she  wanted  to  continue  with  pageantry  .  although  her  mother  was  still  working  through  her  own  treatment  ,  sukanda  wanted  to  provde  to  herself  that  she  was  much  happier  and  healthier  than  she  ever  had  been  .  she  trained  well  and  made  sure  to  take  care  of  herself  ,  and  when  she  was  twenty  ,  sukanda  had  won  the  title  of  miss  world  .

you  smiled  at  the  stars  like  they  knew  all  your  secrets  .

            sukanda’s  life  was  finally  back  on  track  ,  and  she  knew  that  she  needed  to  remain  on  that  path  ,  so  she  decided  to  move  out  on  her  own  .  she  had  gotten  her  own  apartment  ,  and  gained  even  more  recognition  when  she  attended  the  show  for  michael  kors  spring  2019  .  that  same  year  ,  sukanda  went  on  to  participate  in  the  miss  universe  pageant  .  although  she  placed  as  first  runner  up  ,  sukanda  was  honored  that  she  had  gotten  the  chance  .  following  the  pageant  ,  she  was  signed  to  img  models  ,  and  her  career  soared  from  there  .  insert  my  talenti  break  here  CFNJCBHVC  .  she  appeared  on  magazine  covers  such  as  harper’s  bazaar  ,  allure  ,  nylon  ,  vogue  hong  kong  ,  vogue  korea  ,  elle  korea  ,  dazed  ,  and  many  more  .  she  became  the  muse  of  celine  in  2019  as  well  ,  and  due  to  her  growing  demand  ,  sukanda  decided  to  leave  thailand  and  make  los  angeles  her  home  .

            within  a  few  months  of  living  in  manhattan  ,  sukanda  decided  to  rebrand  herself  under  the  nickname  suki  ,  and  it  aided  in  her  meteoric  rise  .  she  soon  decided  to  launch  her  own  podcast  ,  suki  &  sage  ,  where  she  primarily  talks  about  lifestyle  &  wellness  with  special  guests  every  week  .  suki’s  podcast  is  known  for  being  frank  about  various  aspects  such  as  sex  ,  relationships  ,  and  having  ‘  girl  talk  ’  sessions  .  very  recently  ,  suki  was  named  as  the  global  ambassador  for  bulgari  .

look  among  the  stars  .

           as  for  suki’s  personality  ,  the  only  word  that  comes  to  mind  is  chaos  .  she  lives  for  having  good  time  ,  and  it  mostly  stems  from  everything  that  she  missed  as  a  child  .  she  can  be  very  fun - loving  ,  and  she’s  definitely  the  girl  who  doesn’t  want  to  go  home  when  the  club  is  closing  .  she  likes  to  laugh  ,  and  she  loves  to  be  around  people  who  make  her  happy  .  she  has  a  VERY  strong  idgaf  attitude  on  the  outside  ,  but  definitely  worries  about  potentially  relapsing  on  her  ED  ,  but  she  remains  in  therapy  to  help  when  those  thoughts  arise  .  she  can  have  an  over - inflated  ego  at  times  ,  so  be  careful  when  giving  her  a  compliment  !  she’s  super  provocative  and  nows  how  to  use  her  sexuality  in  order  to  get  something  she  wants  .  suki  is  not  so  secretly  a  sugar  baby  (  in  relation  to  her  rumor  )  ,  and  she  mostly  does  it  because  it’s  fun  !  she  likes  attention  ,  very  much  an  attention  hog  ,  and  even  if  the  people  that  she  interacts  with  are  only  paying  attention  to  her  in  exchange  for  money  ,  suki  doesn’t  really  care  .

           i’m  super  late  in  terms  of  plotting  ,  but  i  will  definitely  be  posting  a  list  of  plots  that  i’d  love  to  have  for  suki  !  i  want  to  try  and  get  it  done  before  i  hop  into  doing  some  homework  ,  but  if  there  are  some  plots  where  suki  could  fit  ,  please  let  me  know  !

[theunderdogwrites]

2020: The Year I Lost My Ass

Well, we reached the end of that toilet roll only to start another one, because that is what we do for as long as we are allowed to continue revolutions around the sun – we keep going.

2020 was a terrible year for so many. My brain is incapable of processing the number of losses suffered on a global scale. Be it jobs, security, rights, sanity, relationships or life. My brain is not just incapable of these calculations, it has plain refused to entertain those thoughts on behalf of my heart. My heart, that sensitive little blood pumping work horse who not once allows itself to stop. Thank goodness.

I don’t believe the majority of people are willing and able to bring themselves to fully comprehend what was lost in 2020.

Here is a list of a few more losses suffered last year:

- People lost their shit. And over the most ridiculous things like toilet paper, having to wear a mask to secure toilet paper and being held to the consequences resulting from not wearing a mask when asked to while attempting to purchase toilet paper. Pause for a moment and let that last sentence hang around in your mind. 2020 made that happen. I didn’t make it up! Recently I saw a news piece showing a man (40’s) lying down on the floor in a Costco to protest being asked to wear a mask. He spoke loudly, he beat his hands at his sides and wildly kicked his legs when an employee asked him to get up. Now, I am not judging for I too have participated in such behaviour MANY times. Granted I was three, but hey… some of us mature faster than others.

 - People lost their damn minds. 2020 should be dubbed “The Year of The Karen”. For those of you not in the know about the Karen phenomenon, here is a description courtesy of Urban Dictionary:

 “Karen is a pejorative term used in the United States and other English-speaking countries for a woman perceived as entitled or demanding beyond the scope of what is appropriate or necessary. A common stereotype is that of a white woman who uses her privilege to demand her own way at the expense of others.’

 Basically, a Karen is a I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER type person (There is a male equivalent, but it seems no one can agree on the name… Chad, Terry, Kyle, Kevin, Steve). You can often find a Karen on her cellphone calling the police to report a black man who lives in her neighborhood, simply living his life in her neighbourhood. I didn’t make that up either.

 More recently a Karen was videoed in a UPS store claiming that she didn’t have to wear a mask because that space was government property and not a private business. Would it be safe to say that most Karen types suffer from a lack of oxygen to their brain? Possibly. But that would involve science and Karen types DO NOT enjoy hard facts.

 As always when I download my thoughts into reality, I must go within and search myself. Am I a Karen? My immediate answer is: no fucking way. I can honestly say I’ve never once asked to see a manager or called the police to report someone eating their lunch on a park bench. I do not enjoy confrontation. Unless there is a bully involved. Then I will drag that person to hell with me. I much prefer discussion over going straight to the ‘I triple dog dare you!’ approach to the world. (If you got that reference, you are my new favourite) Because that is who a Karen really is… someone who jumps right to the most extreme action in order to satisfy their need to be superior. Truly, we should feel sorry for these people because instead of engaging they’re raging. And how awful must their insides feel… always full of anger, fear and self doubt. I say instead of judging these Karen types or putting them on blast on social media, we should hug the shit out of them. Just grab them and squeeze as hard as you fucking can until they stop talking. Peaceful solutions my friends, peaceful solutions.

 - Pets lost their faith in us. Children a close second. If you are a proud owner of a pet or a child, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

I’ve always operated under the notion that my cat loves it when I’m home and hates it when I leave. 2020 has taught me it might be the other way around. Because our animals are, well, animals we just believe our presence is the greatest gift in their lives. Remember when you were old enough to be left alone by your parents and once you had the taste of that kind of freedom, you just wanted more of it and couldn’t wait for them to go out? I feel it’s like that with our pets now. We might not think animals have a routine or preferences or enjoy some alone time, but we’d be wrong.

I think at first our pets were thrilled. If we are home more it means more time for prolonged petting, walks and the opportunity to ritualistically train us to respond to their caterwauls for more food and treats than normal. But then as the weeks of lockdown and working from home increased, so did our pets desire to kill us in our sleep.

 I’m pretty sure my cat has asked me several times using her feline glare: “why the fuck won’t you just leave?”. It would be naïve of us to assume we don’t disrupt their day with our constant noise making and snacking and scotch drinking that leads to a good buzz that leads to showing too much affection to our pets. To the point where they run and hide when they see us coming. Please tell me I didn’t describe just my own experience.

 There is such a thing as everything in moderation, we know this, so I think it can be applied here. People, get away from your pets. Give them the space you often desire from human beings. Because if you don’t, that random turd in your shoe could be pointing to a much larger, more alarming problem you’re about to encounter.

 I had the absolute blessing of being able to assist in caring for and raising of my three nephews (12,9,6) for the last 11 years. So, when I say: ‘children are always watching us’, I feel I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been mimicked so often by these young boys that I’ve had to pause due to mortification. Children will hold you accountable without even knowing it. I’ve had some behaviours of mine corrected by a 5-year-old and let me tell you, it stings like hell.

 As adults, when our world was thrown into turmoil because of Covid-19, we looked to our medical health professionals and our politicians for guidance. Basically, we searched for those who would lead us. The children – looked to us. And while many adults handled this responsibility the best they possibly could, many more failed miserably and displayed attitudes I can only describe as juvenile, damaging and pathetic. I suppose it doesn’t help if the people the adults are looking to for help are themselves - juvenile, damaging and pathetic.

 When I say we still have not grasped just how much has been lost over the past year, I’m hinting at integrity, compassion and creditability. Three vital qualities you’d hope people want to instill into their children. But if they themselves are unable to display such valuable traits, what does this say for the children who are looking up to them as an example on how to act when life gets challenging?

 For myself in 2020, I gained by losing.

When they locked our gyms down for four months last spring, I came close to being one of those people who lost their shit. While people were moaning about wearing a mask for 20 minutes in the grocery store, I was contemplating if murdering those people could be considered a cardio exercise and would that hold up in a court of law.

To reflect on that time period now (especially since our gyms are closed AGAIN at the moment) the loss of the gyms brought me the knowledge of how important the routine of going to and being in the gym is to my mental health. I won’t launch into how I feel about shopping malls being open and gyms being closed despite their proven benefit to one’s overall health because then I really will lose my shit.

People always say getting to the gym is the hardest part and once they’re there it’s easy to workout. And for many that is the truth, but for me it’s all a part of the workout. Getting to the gym is the psychological effort. Putting in the work at the gym is the physical. You can’t have one without the other. I became so pathetic that I’d often walk to the closed gym from my house, stare at the closed doors and then walk home. 1.5 hour round trip. True story.

Remember a few years back everyone became obsessed with that Netflix show ‘Tidying Up with Marie Kondo’? It is the show where that lovely woman from Japan showed us all how to declutter our homes by getting rid of anything that didn’t bring us joy. Those acid wash jeans from 1989… sit with them… hold them close to your chest… if they don’t make you happy, remove them from your space. Well, the same idea can be applied to people and ideas and even feelings. And 2020 was a great year for simplifying our lives. I’ve heard so many people talk about how they can’t wait to get back to ‘normal’… not me. I’ve already started my ‘new normal’.

The loss of drama has gained me peace and a better understanding of the importance of remaining true to who I am instead of trying to please others in hopes it wins me points. Because it doesn’t. Because its inauthentic and only brings you more loss and more drama. And anxiety. And sleepless nights. And an overall sense of hatred for everyone. 2020 gave me the option to no longer care about the things that don’t make me happy and to embrace the process of letting all that stupid bullshit fade away.

It was a year of gained focus.

It was a year of gained appreciation.

It was a year of gained gratitude.

It was a year of gained love for myself.

 I’m going to leave you now, but not before I share one of my favorite songs by the Tragically Hip:

In A World Possessed by The Human Mind

Just give me the news

It can all be lies

Exciting over fair or the right thing at the right time

Everything is clear

Just how you described

The way it appears, "A world possessed by the human mind"

 Then I think I smiled

Then I think you said, "it's fine"

And quietly I dressed, in a world completely possessed by the human mind

 We're in awe of no one

We've none of their fear

Fighting's goin' nowhere and we stay right here

Where everything is quiet

A little super dangerous

"In the shadow of the law and with colours of justice"

 Then I hope I smiled

Then I'm sure you said, "It's fine"

They got no interest in a world completely possessed by the human mind

 Everything is quiet

A little super dangerous

Quiet enough to hear God rustlin' around in the bushes

Oh, but it was you

Girl, I was so afraid

You said, "You shoulda seen the look on your face"

 Then I hope I laughed

Then I hope I said, "it's fine"

And quietly undressed in a world completely possessed by the human mind

 Oh it was you

Girl, I was so afraid

You said, "You shoulda seen the look on your face"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mgXphurrsE0

[funky-club-penguin-music]

Hey rat lovers~

February 11th, 2020. Almost 3 am EST which meansss.... oumami week day 2 suckahs!!

This one is probably my favorite and will be my longest piece of the week. For a little context, I picked soulmate au AND talent swap for this one! It goes as follows:

AU - whatever you write on your skin shows up on your soulmate’s skin

Rantaro - child caregiver 

Kaede - nurse

Kokichi - chef (not implied or stated, grr)

Anyway, I feel like i left it unfinished, so maybe for day 7 I could do the free day and add onto it? I’d really be into doing that, but I dunno. whatever I do, I know that I should totally continue this at some point!

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

Day 2: Soulmate / Talent Swap

Words: 1430 (mmmm)

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

The cold water splashed against the sink's rim as Rantaro attempted to get rid of the last bits of leftover ink on his arms. Thankfully, the girls were a little less aggressive with the coloring today. They usually got up to his shoulders… With the final designs turning to a heavy fade from all the scrubbing, he turned off the water and dried his forearms off on his shirt. A glance at the clock on the wall told him it was just nearing 6 pm. Somehow, it was a pretty calm day, which was rare for the daycare. None of the kids were too rowdy at all, which Rantaro was silently glad about. Rethinking the day's events- or lack thereof -he made his way to the door, getting his keys out to lock up the classroom. Next stop, the nurse’s office.

It wasn't too far from his classroom, another thing he was glad about. He hoped Kaede hadn't left yet, but she was usually still here at the end of the day. He peeked in, and there she was at her desk. A few random trinkets sat on it, alongside some sticky notes, a desk plate with her name and her position on it, and a picture of Kaede and a group of other friends. Rantaro could actually name a few of them. He knocked on the door, and she immediately perked up. 

"Come in!" Kaede said as she straightened herself out, placing her black pen back into her breast pocket. She always had it on hand, just in case she needed to write to her soulmate. Although it was obvious from the writing on her arm that all they really talked about was books and music anyway. Rantaro couldn't consider that silly though, he never had anything worth saying to his soulmate in the first place, so who was he to judge her?

He stepped into the office, scratching his arm lightly. Maybe all that scrubbing wasn't such a great idea. Upon seeing him, she lit up. Within a few seconds, she was already trying to show him her arm and explain everything they talked about. Most of it meshed together, but he made sure to listen intently.

"-And this is a book they recommended to me! I could probably find it on Amazon, right? But enough about me!" 

She grinned and pulled her arm back, now starting to pull her hair out of its ponytail. It was obvious to him that she wanted him to braid it, so he extended his hand and grabbed onto a strand of her hair, getting to work on braiding it.

"Tell me about you. How have things been?"

Somehow, her smile got wider. 

Rantaro shrugged as his fingers worked on sectioning the hair.

"Eh, same as always. Nothing much happens usually, y'know?"

Kaede nodded, almost messing up her braid.

"Agreed. Sometimes the routine is nice, but it's getting kind of awkward… Speaking of which, I need some advice," she said with a sigh. 

Oh, advice. He's good at that. Rantaro nodded as he folded one strand of hair over another, quickly forming a neat braid. Kaede took a short breath before diving into her issue.

"Recently, I gave my soulmate my phone number and we've been talking for a long… LONG time!"

She's right about that. Rantaro remembers when they first met, Kaede would often have writing all over her arms and sometimes even legs. Whoever her soulmate was, their hands must be tired from all that writing.

"And… We're thinking about trying to meet up. Do you think we should, or…?"

He left it at silence for a moment as he finished the braid, using a small elastic to hold it together.

"I say go for it. I mean, it's your soulmate after all. If you really want to, and you think it's safe, then what's the worst that could happen?"

Kaede looked at him with wide eyes, quickly straightening out her scrubs before grinning.

"Yeah, yeah! You're right! Thanks Taro, you're the best!"

She quickly gave him a hug before looking at the clock.

"Oop- Gotta go! Thank you again. Seriously, I don't know what I'd do without you." 

With a giddy squeal, she grabbed her bag off the chair and rushed out. That just left him… He'd have to lock up by himself, blegh.

-----------

A calm day was one in a million, as was said among the staff of the daycare. Unfortunately, the statement was proven the next day, in more ways than one. For starters, all the kids seemed to have stored their energy for the exact day that one of the caregivers were unavailable, which left Rantaro with double the kids than usual. Hey, he's the Ultimate Child Caregiver, so he's supposed to be able to handle it. Still, Kaede promised she would help during her free time… Under the promise of free ice cream at the nearby diner of course. Healthy kids were just not her thing.

At the moment, it was roughly 2:30 pm, aka quiet time. Thank God. A good sum of the kids were asleep, besides one or two. The lights were off, and the only source of it was a small bit of sunlight streaming through the window. Rantaro was sitting next to it, with just enough light to see, as Sarah- one of the older girls -doodled with a giggle. He always let her color on his arms, it seemed to satisfy her creative spirit, and her parents seemed happy to not have their daughter come home with messy arms. She seemed pretty stuck on drawing flowers of all sizes, shapes, and colors. It was adorable to watch as she whispered a song to herself and filled in one of the flower's petals. 

Then, something unexpected happened. Sarah went back for another color, and Rantaro admired the colors on his arm, scanning each one carefully. Until he got to his palm. He gasped a little when he saw some words written in handwriting he didn't recognize… It was very child-like, but not messy, and all it read was 'What the fuck?'

Rantaro was less shocked about what it said, but more about how this was one of the few times, or rather the first time in a long time, that his soulmate wrote to him. Hell, when WAS the last time? Maybe this is the first time... Whatever it was, it immediately made him feel fuzzy. He leaned over to the marker box, and grabbed a purple one, quickly writing back in a neat print on his wrist; 'Hello to you too?'

Sarah yawned as she dug through the box again, her eyes shutting every so often. Quiet time didn't last forever, sadly, which prompted him to ask if she wanted to sleep. To that, she nodded and went to a free space on the mat. Wow… He watched in awe as the words formed on his skin, all by themself. No wonder Kaede liked this so much, it looked so cool to watch.

'Wasn't saying hi, but okay.'

Not the best first conversation, but it was something!

'Whatever, nice to meet you!' 

'Damn right'

A bit of an attitude… Rantaro switched to a red marker, just because he thought it looked better.

'So who are you?'

'A person'

'Wow, so impressive. I'm Rantaro!'

'Kokichi and your use of punctuation scares me'

He smiled to himself and looked at the clock. It's almost 3 pm, and he'd have to wake up the kids. No way he was doing that with all this writing on his arm though, no way. He looked back at his arm and tried to fit in as much as he could in as little space as possible. 

'I hate to cut this so short, but I've got stuff to do! If you want I could probably write something later, but right now I need to wash this off. Does that sound okay?'

He was already standing up and walking over to the sink while waiting.

'You didn't need to write an essay for that, but okay'

With that, the scrub process is repeated again, effectively getting out the words and leaving his arms nice and clean. Of course, Sarah would be a little disappointed that her work got washed off, but it's nothing she can't do again. For now, Rantaro spent the last small chunk of quiet time thinking about how nice it felt to finally get a reply… Oh did he have high hopes, and unknown to him right now, they would certainly be exceeded. 

[kyvir]

Sincerely Yours

Sarada loves her job, and lost an opportunity because the President gave it to his son, Boruto. Why did Boruto take it? Because he heard there was a feisty manager on the team. Watch them fight, argue, tease, flirt, “accidentally” fall in love, and deny it to the bitter end.

Rating: M Pairing: BoruSara

Collaboration with @kairi-chan!

Chapter Two 

previous

After finishing university, Boruto has plans to take a nice, long vacation. After six years of intense studies, he just wanted to take it easy for a while. It was all planned out, after a week of relaxing home life he would begin a luxurious tropical vacation. The beach was within his reach, lots of sun, warm ocean water and clear blue skies. 

As if he was so lucky. 

Four days. 

Four days was all he had before his father dropped a bomb on him. 

Boruto was laid out on his living room floor on his side, snacking on chips instead of working out like he should have been. Instead of doing something productive or… healthy, he was binge-watching four seasons of comedic thriller and stuffing his face with anything he wouldn’t normally even have in his house. 

He was living the life. 

It wasn’t even noon yet but that didn’t stop him from having a few beers either. Needless to say, he was in no position to face any family members whenever his front door opened. 

“Dad!” Boruto screeched and jumped into a sitting position. Too many jump-scares had left him on edge and he wasn’t expecting the intrusion. 

He wasn’t dressed. His spot on the floor was a mess. He was a mess. There was no way he could hide the beer bottles he hadn’t bothered to carry to the garbage yet. 

“Boruto, we need to talk,” Naruto said as he closed the door behind himself and started walking towards him. 

“This… this isn’t what it looks like.” He quickly said in his defense, scrambling to his feet to gather his trash in a hurry. 

Naruto shook his head, smiling fondly at his son. “Relax, I’m not here to ruin your celebrating. You deserve it, Boruto.”

His father’s kind words or his sweet smile did not settle the younger Uzumaki. Not another word fell from his lips until after he’d cleaned his mess completely and then joined Naruto on the couch. For his dad to visit without notice, it had to be something important. 

“So… what is it?” Boruto asked while trying to mask his concern. 

Not my vacation. 

“You’re not going to like it, but just let me explain.”

Fuck, it’s my vacation. 

Boruto didn’t speak, he just waited and listened to his father explain his company’s current predicament—or lack of a marketing director. It brought about a long conversation with Naruto pitching the position to his son as professionally as any director would—and Boruto explaining his own reasoning for not wanting to accept. 

It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle the job, it was that he didn’t want that job. 

He had not spent the last six years working towards his dreams for him to just push them aside and settle. 

He wasn’t settling for anything. 

However, after listening to his father’s reasoning throughout the course of an hour, Boruto relented. Because Naruto really needed him for this and it wouldn’t be forever. 

What luck it was to learn that the young woman Naruto spoke so highly of, Sarada, happened to be the same woman he bumped into at Ninbucks. Oh, she was beautiful in all the right ways and those legs… he hadn’t minded cleaning the coffee off of them one bit. The instant he learned her name, he knew she was the one. She had a sophisticated look about her that only intrigued him more.

He didn’t give his last name because he knew it would bring about some questions and she was smart, so she’s probably figured it out pretty easily. It had been much more amusing to see her accusing him of following her. She was a spitfire and Boruto likes that a lot.  

She spilled her coffee again.

It seems Sarada really hadn’t expected him to be her new boss and truthfully didn’t appear happy at all. Boruto never said anything though and it was less than a minute later that his father called him into the office. It was a lot to take in, but nothing he couldn’t handle. 

He knew of his father’s plans for Sarada, so Boruto proposed her promotion and pay raise. It was only right, the girl deserved something. 

How much fun would he have seeing how dedicated she was to her job?

A lot. 

Oh, she was definitely a strong-willed woman, prideful too. She was also cautious and thorough, even under pressure. Sarada knew how to act appropriately in any circumstance and that was important. She didn’t cave. 

His first day had been interesting, to say the least, and it definitely left him feeling a lot lighter about his new position. 

The morning of day number two on the job, when things were set to be as real for Boruto as they would get, he brought in some things for his office and stopped for coffee and a bagel before going in. 

Wanting to get settled, Boruto arrived nearly an hour early to prepare himself for the day. His father had been pulling a lot of slack since losing the previous marketing director and he’d poured everything into Boruto without remorse. 

He might’ve had two hours of sleep, but he was in a relatively good mood. After organizing his desk and getting his computer up and running, he started going over the remaining spreadsheets he hadn’t gotten to because of passing out. Finally, he enjoyed his bagel and coffee. Ninbucks was truly a lifesaver. 

Soon, it was time for everyone else to start piling in and Boruto was sipping the last of his coffee. There was plenty of work to do for them all, but the employees were good. Enough that they impressed Boruto, even if things could be a little unethical at times. Learning more about them was important, they were a team and understanding one another was something that had to be done. He hadn’t chatted with Inojin and Chocho yet.

That needed to change, so he called the team into his office, along with Sarada of course. She would be the one reporting to him for them and herself and he would relay most things through her, but he wanted them to know who he was.

The three of them walked into his office, and Inojin closed the door. Boruto sat behind his desk and looked at the three of them. Chocho was the first to enter, dressed as fabulous as her personality appeared. The air of confidence she carried made Boruto feel some form of pride, having her along with Sarada was sure to be a blessing. 

Inojin was a wonderful graphic artist who seemed quiet at first glance. Boruto wasn’t sure what to think about him from just looking at him, but he was well aware of his skills. Truly an asset to the team. 

And then there was Sarada.

Dressed as impeccably as the day before—and in another skirt—Sarada appeared absolutely perfect. Not a hair on her head was out of place and she looked completely in her element. Boruto feared he would get lost in those gorgeous black eyes if he stared more than a few seconds, so he forced his gaze aside and stood to greet them properly. 

“Good morning. Inojin, Chocho, I wanted to formally introduce myself,” He said, extending his hand first to Chocho for a quick shake and then Inojin. With a smile, he then turned his eyes back to Sarada. “We already met.”

Sarada nodded her head, forcing to keep the smirk on her lips at bay. “Indeed we have.” She turned to the two other people in the room and smiled at them before turning back to face Boruto. “Thank you for the opportunity again, we all look forward to working with you and have you lead our team.” 

“I’m sure we’ll do great work together. I don’t want to give anyone any trouble, as I know you three are responsible and capable of doing your work efficiently. All I ask is that you continue to do your best and show me that you love your work. Because if you don’t, we don’t need you.”

Inojin pulled a face at the last line, “Excuse me? I don’t think I heard that right.” 

Sarada gave him a pointed stare, but Inojin did not give his attitude up. He threw his hands up in the air and gave Sarada a questioning look. “Did you hear that right?” 

Taking a deep breath in, Sarada turned back to face Boruto, no smile this time. “Fully understood. We expect no less of the same from you.” 

Chocho snickered. The room’s aura went from light and encouraging to claws and attitude out. The guy behind the desk looked like an angel but by the looks of his own smirk, he surely wasn’t. “Work just got a lot more interesting,” she side-eyed Sarada, who had no trace of emotions on her face, but swore she could see the fire in her onyx eyes. 

“Is that all? We need to get back to work,” Sarada said. 

“Actually, you can take a seat. Chocho, Inojin, you may get back to work.” Boruto waved at them with a grin and then gestures to the seat across from his desk for Sarada. 

She sat down and straightened out her skirt, waiting for him to settle into his seat. Oh, she was quite a sight. Boruto could have looked at her all day, he couldn’t decide what he liked about her the most. 

Everything. 

“So,” he smoothed down his tie as he sat back in his seat and smiled at her. “You seem to be close to your coworkers. I take it they’re not upset with your promotion?”

A tight smile set on her lips. “Of course not. They expected something like this to happen. They’re both amazing colleagues.” The little party the two set up that night for her was something she didn’t dare mention to Boruto. 

“You know how important leadership is. I expect great things from you. Can you truly handle those two and keep them and yourself on top of everything? I want you to prove to me how great you are.”

How dare he question her capabilities. Her smile widened. “Without a doubt.” She leaned into him, and added smugly, “I hope you can keep me, and yourself on top of everything as well, Boruto.” 

That was a challenge Boruto was happy to accept. He couldn’t stop grinning as he leaned back in his seat, blue eyes never leaving her. “That won’t be a problem. Doubt me if you want, but I’m more than qualified for the position.”

I highly doubt it, she thought. But grinned at him nonetheless. “I’m sure you are.” The time the three of them spent stalking him instead of working yesterday could have said otherwise. He had good grades and did top his batch. Looks like the gap year story was a wrong assumption.  But 6-years? He slacked and probably took fewer units to have it easier than the rest… 

“If you ever need my help, though, just ping me.” Her words were sweet, as was her tone, but she was more than sure he would be running to her for help on a daily. He had to. Even the previous marketing director was dependent on her, and she was twice Sarada’s age and had much more experience. Boruto would be eating out of the palm of her hand in no time. 

“Oh yes. You’ll be of great use to me, Sarada.” Boruto toned down his smile, hard as it was and forced his attention to his computer. He had to get her out of there, she excited him a little too much. “Thank you for your time.”

She stood up and thanked him as well before leaving his office and closing his door with a soft click, though not before he got a good, long look at her backside. 

Yeah. Every inch of her was perfection. 

When lunchtime came around, Boruto didn’t realize it. He was too invested in going over Sarada’s last two dozen reports. Oh, she was detailed and good. So good, it didn’t make sense how proud he was of her, but he couldn’t help how he felt. Somehow, he was actually enjoying himself but then a knock on his door pulled him away from her flawless work. 

“Come in.”

The door opened, and a guy with a spiky pony-tail came in. “Yo. Welcome to the Ramen business, Boruto.” 

“Shikadai!” Boruto beamed, standing up quickly to shake hands with a familiar face. “It’s been a while, still getting along well here?”

Shikadai grinned. “Yeah, moved here a year back. So far, it’s been pretty easy in Supply. The Marketing and Sales team here is actually pretty decent, you know? Well, it was. Now you’re here, I’m not so sure,” he snickered. 

“Fuck you—I mean, whatever.” Boruto scoffed, glad his slip up had been around someone he knew outside of this place. “Did you come by just to drag me down?”

Shikadai laughed. “Yeah, that was a bonus, but no,” he lifted a lunch box. “Came by to ask you if you wanted to have lunch? Do you bring it, or do you need to buy it? I can show you where most of the guys get lunch around here if ever.” 

“I didn’t bring anything today. Crazy night last night.” Boruto rolled his eyes when his words sounded as if he did something more interesting than work. “I guess I’ll join you. Gotta eat, right?” 

Laughing, Boruto walked around his desk to leave with Shikadai. The small restaurant that was frequented by most employees wasn’t far and the selection wasn’t grand, but it was satisfying. It was a nice, calm day with other employees coming by as they sat down together to eat. 

“Hey, Shikadai!” A girl with pigtails greeted him, a warm smile on her face. 

“Ah, Namida.” Shikadai returned the smile and then turned to Boruto, “This is Boruto, the new Marketing Director. Boruto, Namida. She works in Finance.” 

Boruto waved, not wanting to talk as he had food in his mouth. 

Namida greeted him but turned quickly to Shikadai. “Just wanted to check if you were going later? I haven’t confirmed yet, but the Ninpub usually fills up quickly, and Inojin wanted to set the headcount for the reservation.”

“Oh right, for Sarada, right? Yeah, I’ll be there. I’ll text him.” 

“Great!” Namida waved at them before leaving.

“What’s this for Sarada?” Boruto asked as the girl walked away, barely taking the time to swallow his mouthful. 

“Ah, something Chocho and Inojin put together for her promotion,” Shikadai took a sip of his water and then continued. “Didn’t you get an invitation? It’s happening after work at the bar nearby.” 

“Must have missed the memo.” Boruto shrugged, but he was a little wounded he hadn’t been invited. Why, he didn’t know. “What time is this happening?”

“Uuuhh,” Shikadai pulled out his phone to read the email. “Seven. I expect Sarada to come a little later, though. We have a meeting ending a little late beforehand. Will you walk with us?” 

“Oh, I may be a little late myself. I’ll just see you guys there.” Boruto smiled and then took another bite of his sandwich. 

Being uninvited was a little unsettling, but he was new and Sarada wasn’t exactly very happy with him right now so he could understand it on some level. That didn’t mean he was willing to miss out on seeing her outside of work. He went back to his office wondering what she’d be wearing, how she would act. Maybe she would be completely different. 

Boruto couldn’t wait to find out. 

He left the office at six, went home for dinner and a shower, dressing more casually in jeans and a pink button-down shirt. He was excited to go out for drinks, unable to remember the last time he did so. For a while, he debated on asking some friends to go out with him but in the end, he just decided to go alone. 

Half an hour after seven, Boruto walked into Ninpub with a smile on his face. The place wasn’t huge, but it was modern and stylish. He’d never been before, but he was happy to check it out. Of course, he was more excited about seeing the newly promoted beauty. 

She wasn’t there. 

Not yet. 

Unfortunate as it was, it also left room for opportunity. Boruto didn’t let the chance to bump into them pass him by. Chocho seemed easiest, so he approached her with a warm and genuine smile. 

“Miss Akimichi.” He waved. “What a coincidence.”

Chocho was holding on to two cocktails, which nearly spilled when she stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh my god,” she muttered under her breath, but quickly smiled and gave a high pitched, “Hiiii! I didn’t know you… would… be here!” She shook her head, probably realized that sounded stupid. “I mean, you’re changed and all. Do you live nearby?” 

“Not far.” He chuckled while mentally fearing he’d come too soon. Damn his impatience. “What are you guys up to tonight?”

She lifted the drinks in her hands. “Getting a few drinks…” She looked at the table where Inojin, Namida, Wasabi and Denki watched the whole exchange with wide, fearful eyes. Shit. How could she not invite him to sit with them? They’re all from the same company! “Would you want to join us?” 

Please say no. Please say no. Please. Say. No.

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t be weird since I’m your boss?” Boruto didn’t want to impose, but he planned to anyway. 

“Nooo,” her voice was far too high and squeaky for her liking. “Not at all.” She led the way to the table, and handed Namida her drink. She took a seat next to Inojin, who was glaring at her. All she could do was grin and ask her colleagues, “So, does anyone here not know Boruto? He’s the new Marketing Director.” 

Thank god for Denki, being the kind soul he was, extended his hand for a shake. “Denki. I’m in IT. Nice to meet you, can I get you a drink? I was just about to go to the bar.” 

“That’s nice of you, please.” Boruto nodded with a smile. He hadn’t stopped smiling, but he wanted to know where Sarada was. “Have you all been here long?”

Wasabi spoke up, after introducing herself. “Namida and I just got here. Denki, too. She put her drink down and grinned, “Where did you work before here, Boruto? I don’t think I’ve read the memo about you arriving yet. Might have missed it.” 

“I’m straight out of university, actually.” He told her honestly. 

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh wow, you don’t say! Amazing. You took up marketing, then? Where did you go?” 

“Amongst some other things, yes.” Boruto nodded. “I went to Konoha U.”

Inojin coughed. “No way!” He really didn’t bother hiding how he felt. “Oh my god. Shikadai graduated from there. You know him? He works over at Supply Chain.” 

“Oh, is that why you were having lunch together earlier?” Namida asked. 

“Had lunch together?” Chocho looked at Namida, eyes narrowing.

Denki came back and handed Boruto a beer, before sitting back down. “What did I miss?” He asked. 

Before Boruto could even say a word, quick footsteps came behind him and announced, “Oh my god, guys! Look who’s here!” Sarada was holding on to another man’s arm, clearly excited about his presence. “Back from the field!” 

Boruto’s light mood evaporated and he was sure his nose scrunched at the unwanted sight. Who the fuck is this guy? This was outrageous. She wasn’t supposed to have a boyfriend. If she did, she needed to pretend otherwise. He was definitely a pretty boy, it made Boruto nauseous just looking at him. 

“Kaguraaaa!” Namida squealed and walked over to give him a hug. It wasn’t soon until everyone was gravitating towards the guy like he was some hero or something. 

Sarada was still wearing the same skirt, but she had a different top on. It was tiny, and whenever she raised her arms, it showed some of her flat belly. She hadn’t noticed he was there yet, still excited and explaining that Kagura was back from his field assignment and would be working in the office more often now. 

She stopped when her gaze landed on Boruto, eyes meeting. He would not allow her to believe he cared about her showing off her stupid boyfriend. Not on his life. So, he smiled brightly at her and ignored her guest completely. 

“Hey, Sarada.”

Her mouth opened and closed. She looked at Chocho and Inojin for a split second before she went back to look at Boruto. “Hey, what’re you doing here? I mean…” she swallowed. “I didn’t know you were going to be here!” 

“Hey, Boruto!” Shikadai patted his shoulder and dragged the guest over to meet him. “This is Kagura. He’s in Sales. Kagura, this is the new Marketing Director I told you about.” 

“Oh yeah, nice to meet you!” Kagura extended his hand for a shake. 

“Kagura,” The name, Boruto recognized. He’d learned a lot about his father’s employees, but he didn’t want to know this guy. Still, nobody else would know that. Not with the way Boruto greeted him so warmly, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You do remarkable work. Thank you.”

Kagura blushed lightly at the compliment, and his smile grew wider. “You’re too kind. Just doing my job, is all. So happy to be back in the office, too. I missed working with everyone here.” 

“Oh, I can only imagine. It will be a nice change for you for a while.” He had a sip of his beer and kept his eyes on his enemy. The guy was so… princely. It was sickening. “It’s great to meet such wonderful, hard-working people.”

“Likewise,” Kagura agreed and then looked around. “But hey, are we going to stand around here or take some shots for Sarada’s promotion?” 

Wasabi, Namida, Denki, and Shikadai cheered. The latter went over to the bar, and the rest followed. Sarada was talking to Inojin and Chocho, their voices far too soft for anyone to hear. 

“Sarada, you coming?” Kagura called her. 

“Coming!” She grinned, and then looked back at Inojin and Chocho, who smiled apologetically at her. 

Everyone took a shot glass and raised it towards Sarada. Chocho said, “Cheers to her promotion and success!” 

“Cheers!” Everyone said before downing the golden liquid, everyone reaching for their own chasers afterward. 

“Hey, Sarada,” Shikadai smirked and pointed his thumb at Boruto, “Bet you ten that he can beat you with five shots, straight.” 

What the— No way Boruto would ever stoop so low. “Without a doubt.” 

Kagura grinned, “Raise it to a twenty! My money’s on Sarada.” 

Boruto almost scowled. Nobody asked pretty boy for his two cents, but he didn’t care. Boruto would not lose to her. “Your loss.” He huffed, ready to go. 

The bartender placed down ten shots and some lemon slices and salt for them. Sarada placed some salt on the back of her left hand before taking her place behind the shots.

“No hard feelings, boss,” she teased. “No coming in late tomorrow, too.”  

“Practice what you preach, baby,” Boruto smirked, eager to put her in her place. 

Her cheeks flushed by the tiniest bit before holding on to the first glass. 

“Ready!” The bartender smiled. “Set… go!” 

They both knocked back the shots seamlessly but Boruto was intent not to lose. Even if he knew he would regret this—and he knew—he had to win. He downed each one as quickly as he possibly could, feeling a burn build in his chest that clenched and worried him. He couldn’t let anything come back up, that would be worse than losing. It was strong, but luckily for him, he was faster, even if only just enough. 

When he slammed his last glass down, Boruto grabbed a lemon slice and sucked it harshly, praying to rid the bitter, burning taste from his tongue. He glanced at his competition now that it was over, and just in time to see her lowering her final shot glass. Then she raised that hand to her lips, peeked out a tongue Boruto would like to taste and feel, and licked the salt from her hand. 

Shit. He felt that. 

Pulling the lemon from his mouth, Boruto licked his lips reflexively while staring slightly in awe at her. “So close.” He murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But not close enough.”

Sarada couldn’t believe it. He finished before she did. Clearing her throat, she looked away and congratulated him. “Nice one. I guess Shikadai makes money tonight.” 

Everyone behind them was cheering, and Kagura handed a twenty over to Shikadai, who took it with a smirk on his face. “Thanks, dude,” He smiled at Boruto. “Your lunch is on me tomorrow. If you make it to work tomorrow, that is.” 

“Oh, I’ll be there. Before anybody else. Watch.” Oh goodness, that was way too much too fast. Boruto could already feel the intoxication and it felt as if it was intensifying by the second. “You better not forget either. I already know what I want to eat.”

In just a few moments, Boruto and Sarada both were really feeling the effects of all those shots and they’d been ushered onto a couch. They were close, though Boruto would have liked to be closer. She smelled as good as she looked and that was really saying something. Boruto liked her a lot. He just found her appealing. 

“I kicked your ass.” He grumbled, eyes closing as he sat with a spinning sensation happening all over his body. He liked it. 

Sarada sat down and removed her glasses, massaging her forehead, pretending she didn’t hear a thing. Her own world was spinning and she didn’t want to hear him gloat on. “Okay, you did.” She relented. “Congratulations.” 

Boruto laughed and opened his eyes to look at her, she was definitely feeling as drunk as he was. He still hadn’t learned anything different about her—besides the fact that she could drink. 

“Yeah, congratulations. On your promotion that is.” It wasn’t easy to gather his words and he was vaguely aware that his speech had slowed considerably, but he went on. “You’re good. You deserved it. Just be happy.” The spinning was worse now and Boruto closed his eyes again, needing to collect himself. He wasn’t a drinker, he should have known better. 

“I’m trying,” she muttered, and then leaned towards his direction on the couch. 

Boruto unconsciously moved towards her as well. “I think you’re drunk, Sarada.” He grinned, knowing it was really himself who was drunk.  

“I’m not drunk,” she grunted. “You’re drunk.” 

“Ha!” Boruto snorted his whole body jerking and causing him to lean even further towards the girl. Until they were touching. He didn’t want to move. 

Sarada shook her head, making her lean on him more. “I’m not… drunk. Who’s drunk? You’re... drunk.” Her cheek on his shoulder felt so good. “I’m… not… drunk…” she kept muttering, her eyes were closed and it looked like she was about to fall asleep. 

Boruto didn’t want her to move. She was painfully adorable and soft and he wanted to keep her. But, they were in a bar and what would happen if she actually fell asleep?

Maybe he would get to carry her. 

No no. 

“Sarada. If you’re late in the morning, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.” He would just get her fired up and then she’s sober up a little. 

“I won’t be laaaate!” She whined and attempted to get up. “I’m fiiiine!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Boruto chided her while wrapping an arm around her slim waist to keep her pinned next to him. “Stay here.”

“Nooo,” she whined some more but didn’t make a move to leave. Instead, she nuzzled up her cheek on his shoulder and made herself comfortable. “I can walk. I’m… fine.” Her breath was slowing down again. Sarada being drunk didn’t seem like the sleeping type, but apparently, she was. 

Boruto smiled drunkenly at her cute face, knowing she was drifting off. Maybe she just needed a short nap and that was fine. As long as she stayed here where she was. This was crazy, how someone could so easily pull him in. While he hated it, because he did, Boruto also found that he almost craved it at the same time. Nobody else was like this. He just couldn’t exactly let her know that he wanted her as much as he did. 

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 3/?

May I? - 3/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she's truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

Data went back to his work.

Before that day he had not had a conversation with Faith and after two he found himself more puzzled than before. 

When Geordi had spoken of the ensign, he had mentioned her tardiness and overall dismissive demeanor over the last few weeks. Data could not comment on the tardiness but he had not found her to be dismissive unless questions were directed at her own well-being.

The fact that she used the Jefferies Tubes as a way to escape during her rotation was troubling. Handling stress in a fast-paced environment was essential to any position within Starfleet. If Faith could not handle the stress, how had she gotten as far as the Enterprise?

Data scanned Faith's Starfleet personnel file and found nothing of significance. She had adequate marks in the academy and had served on another vessel before the Enterprise. Her transfer orders included a glowing recommendation from her previous superior officer. 

Data concluded that something must have happened in the time between her last posting and her current one. If her behavior had changed once on the Enterprise, then it stood to reason the Enterprise was the issue. He had several hundred theories but not enough evidence for a clear hypothesis.

Switching his main focus, Data finished the project he had been working on and decided it was the best time to dream before the night ended. 

He climbed into bed, dimmed the lights, and closed his eyes. 

He was in a forest. A dense forest, thick with vegetation. It may have been daylight but he could not tell through the canopy created by the massive trees around him.

Data walked forward, listening to the crunching of the leaves under his shoes. It was the only sound he heard which was strange. Forests had animals did they not? He should be hearing birds at the very least. 

"Data."

His name was whispered and he turned in the direction it came but saw no one. He kept moving forward.

"Data."

This time the whisper came from a different direction. Yet still, he saw no one. At first. The harder he stared, the more the plants began to twist and change, winding themselves into a distinct shape. He took a step closer for a better look.

"Data!"

This time the voice with louder, right behind him. Data spun around and came face-to-face with Dr. Soong.

"Father?"

Dr. Soong smiled. "I'm surprised you found this place so quickly, son," he said. "I didn't even program it. It developed on its own when I added your dream function."

"What is it?"

Soong looked around, a mysterious glint in his eye. "The unknown, Data." He turned Data around and suddenly there was an archway of branches and vines, unintelligible whispers beckoning him forward. "The unknown."

Then he pushed Data through.

Data sat up. In the months since he began dreaming, he had cataloged over one-hundred and fifty dreams. In ninety-two percent of those dreams, he had found himself on the Enterprise while the remaining eight percent took place in various locations he had visited throughout his life.

This was the first dream where the location was fictitious. He was not sure how to interpret what he saw. Was Dr. Soong there or did his brain create his image as a "guide" of sorts? 

Data was required on the Bridge, which left little time for him to dwell on the matter. He would have to examine the dream another time, perhaps during his session with Counselor Troi the next day.

He reported to his station on time, as always. 

The planet they were surveying had no life forms and the previous day's excursion to the surface yielded nothing special. 

"What are your thoughts, Number One?" Captain Picard asked.

"It's like I said in my report," Riker responded. "There were a few structures but they were empty, seemingly abandoned years ago. No idea who made them but whoever did couldn't be found."

"Any reason why they were left?"

"I'm assuming it was due to the atmosphere. We were down there for a short time and even then it became difficult to breathe. We just barely managed to leave before storms rolled in."

Picard studied the screen thoughtfully before he sighed. "Best move on then. Data, set a course for the next planet in this system."

"Course set. We should arrive in fourteen hours and fifty-two minutes," Data announced.

"Thank you, Mr. Data. Engage."

And so they moved on.

Data's shift ended hours later and he retired to Engineering to continue his improvements with Geordi.

"Hey, Data, glad you're here," Geordi said when he arrived. "I need your help."

"Certainly. With what?"

"Here, let me show you."

Geordi led Data to the assistant engineer's console where a piece of machinery was physically out of place. It did not interfere with the console's function. Yet it was still troubling.

"Interesting…" Data said. "This reminds me of what Faith found yesterday. There is no reason for this unit to have been disassembled."

"No there isn't." Geordi raised his eyebrow. "Two pieces of Engineering machinery physically moved in less than twenty-four hours? I don't like those odds."

"It is extremely unlikely such occurrences are random."

"But what could cause such a thing?" Geordi asked. "These things are heavy. It would take at least three people to move them, maybe four. And that's if you detach it from the wall."

"The reasoning is also unclear," Data said. "I suggest running diagnostics on both units to ensure they have not been tampered with."

Geordi nodded in agreement. "I'll start on the one Faith was examining. By the way, thanks for taking care of her. Things could have gone south fast if you weren't there."

"It was no trouble," Data said. "Geordi, may I ask you a question about Faith?"

"To tell you the truth, Data, I don't know much about her."

"It is about her work. You said her performance has been lacking in the last few weeks?"

Geordi crossed his arms, leaning against the wall in the process. "More like months. When she first joined there wasn't an issue. I mean, she worked a little slow but still got the job done. Now she seems...I don't know, distracted. She's been late multiple times. Sometimes I ask her to do something and it takes hours, or she gets side-tracked and forgets. She's also had a bit of an attitude." He frowned. "Why? Was she rude to you?"

Data shook his head. "I did not find her rude. Although, I am curious about her behavior."

"What do you mean?"

"She injured herself but was reluctant to seek medical attention. Even when she was bleeding."

Geordi's dismay turned to concern. "That is troubling. Well, I know she's been ordered to rest per Dr. Crusher. Maybe she just needs a break. We haven't had shore leave in a while and who knows when she had a break on her last ship. I guess I never considered she may be overworked."

"It is possible. She was particularly unconcerned regarding her own safety. As her superior officer, I thought you should know."

Geordi stood up straight and adjusted his uniform. "Thanks, Data. I'll keep that in mind and will keep an eye on her when she gets back."

"That would be wise."

Satisfied the matter was settled, Data took a seat at the center terminal to begin to work. A few moments later Geordi joined him. 

"Data?"

"Yes, Geordi?"

"Why the sudden interest in Faith?"

Data stared at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"You seem particularly concerned about her."

"Should I not be?"

"I'm not trying to discourage you. I think it's great. I guess I'm just curious."

"I am as well."

A sly smile spread across Geordi's face, though Data was not sure why. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Data studied him for a moment. "Judging by your tone you find this amusing."

"Maybe a little."

"May I ask why?"

"I've never known you to show such fast interest in a woman before."

"Ah. You think my interest is sexual in nature."

Geordi snorted with laughter. "Well, is it?"

"It is not. You of all people know I do not have any feelings, let alone sexual ones."

"It doesn't have to be sexual. You can just want companionship."

Data considered Geordi's point of view. "Currently I only wish to understand what Faith is going through. However, I have found our brief interactions pleasant enough, if not confusing."

"Confusing?"

"Yes. Her reactions to certain topics. For example, at times she will be conversing with no issue but when certain subjects come up she shuts down or grows defensive."

"That's not new to you, Data. You've been around plenty of people who don't want to share what's on their minds."

"I am aware of that, Geordi. But this is different."

"How?"

"I do not know. Hence the curiosity."

Geordi still had a slight smile on his face, almost as if he knew something Data did not. "As your friend, all I ask is that you be mindful of your questions. You may not feel, but Faith does. And she may not appreciate the extra attention." He picked up his tricorder. "I'm going to go check that console. Let me know if you need anything."

Data frowned as he watched Geordi walk away. Faith had approached him the previous evening and had even apologized for snapping at him. She did not seem bothered by his interest, only frustrated by the repeated question of her well-being. Data planned to avoid asking that particular question in the future, especially with Geordi's warning.

The more he learned about humans the more he grew confused. Yet, his resolve to be like them never wavered. If anything it strengthened as he hoped to fully understand them someday.

He and Geordi worked for several hours, exchanging thoughts about the latest mystery and reviewing the results of the diagnostics. In Geordi's initial sweep nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Still, the staff was told to keep an eye out for anything that seemed physically out of place. 

"I need a break," Geordi announced, rubbing his forehead. "My brain feels like mush and I still have some calibrations I have to run. Why don't we call it a day and meet up in the morning? Start fresh."

"Good idea. I need to feed Spot and I would like to work on my painting."

"Well, enjoy. I'll see you tomorrow."

Data took his leave, heading for his quarters. Spot greeted him when he arrived, meowing and curling around his legs. 

"I know it is time for your dinner," Data said, making his way to the replicator. 

After making sure Spot was fed, Data turned to his paint supplies. There was an abstract painting he had been working on for a number of weeks, but when he reached for the canvas, he decided he did not want to work on it. He wanted to start something new.

Data propped a fresh canvas in his easel and carefully selected several paints for his palette. His thoughts focused on the dream he had and he found himself painting the lush forest, dark and mysterious with beams of light attempting to peek through the canopy.

When he was finished, he stared at it for some time, reliving the dream vividly. There had been something in the underbrush before his father had appeared. It nagged at him, tugged on his mind until he propped up another fresh canvas.

Without hesitation, he dipped his brush in brown paint, mixing it with a small amount of white to lighten it some.

Then he began to paint.

Data was capable of computing multiple thoughts and actions at once, yet often limited them when he painted. He had been told creative endeavors required your full attention and he made it a point to follow said rule. 

Often he knew exactly what he wanted to paint and what techniques he needed to implore to achieve his goal. 

This time, it was different. This time, his hand seemed to have a mind of his own, gliding across the canvas in sure, deliberate strokes. It took Data a moment to register what he was actually painting.

Two light brown eyes stared back at him from the canvas. There was no face, no skin, just the eyes framed with long dark lashes. 

Faith's eyes.

Data lowered his brush, staring at what he had done and unsure of why he had done it. It was supposed to paint the vines and leaves, twisting together. Not this. He considered stopping but the urge to continue was strong. So he did not fight it. 

He added more white to the brown mixture until he was able to match her skin tone, filling in the blank spots on the canvas. 

Fresh brown paint was squeezed onto the palette, and this time Data added a drop of black, darkening it to match her hair. The eyebrows came next, thick and dark, with a small imperfection in the left one, no doubt leftover from a faded scar. 

Last was her hair, escaping its braid as it swirled around her face. It was not until her image was complete that he finally added the vines he had been attempting to recreate. Various shades of green wove together, twisting just as they appeared in his dream. They blended into her face, almost as if they made her.

Hours had passed by the time Data lowered his brush, staring in awe at the image he had managed to produce. It was nothing like he had ever painted before.

"Most curious."

[tragedybunny]

The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 15

Hello Lovelies! Here's Chapter 15 for you. My housing situation is in flux so I will keep working on this as much as possible. Please remember to like, comment, and reblog if you like what I'm doing! It means a lot to see notes!  Your playlist song: Monsters - Ruelle ❤Tragedybunny❤ Follow me on Twitter as well if you're so inclined

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

Get married in less than a week, it sounded simple enough once I bought into this notion of his. But no, nothing was ever simple, and there was one particularly irritating complication I had to deal with tonight after I finished with the Capitol Guard Commander. 

My target had been ineffective in dealing with the attacks on the black powder weapon factories Jericho had helped establish since the meeting at Solstice. They’d been dismissed as the acts of agitated citizens, inflamed by the reshaping of the waterfront district for the optimal placement of the steam-driven machines. Jericho had interpreted them as personal attacks on his supply line of the new weapons. He claimed it was likely another move in the plot against him, maybe even nothing more than a distractionary tactic, nevertheless, the Commander would be the one to pay.

The Guild ledger snaps shut as I finish reviewing contracts and assignments. Seated across from me, Inara impatiently drums her fingers on the desk, head leaned on her hand. “Everything to your satisfaction, Commander?”

I glower at the spiky attitude but decide to give it a pass since so much falls to her when I have to deal with official Intelligence business. “You know this all needs to pass through me eventually, I’m supposed to be in charge here.” I think of the meager size of the member logs again, still not nearly as many names as I’d like to see. “I’ll get us an invite to recruit from the Military Academy, see if we can find anyone more talented than an infantry grunt. We’re the only operation in this damned city, we should be thriving.”

“Well.” She shakes her head side to side as if she’s trying to decide, it’s too expressive, like a performance. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you. I’m hearing from some old contacts, someone is recruiting against you. Independents are moving underground if they don’t want to take a side. It would appear they are looking to topple your regime.” There’s an odd inflection to some of her words, again, like she’s rehearsed this.

“Damn it.” I slam my fist on the desk. I’d let myself get complacent after my stalker had seemingly disappeared. And now this, everything I fought for is being threatened.  I should have made more of an effort to catch them. “Then we recruit younger, build some loyalty from the ground up.”  I fling the ledger book adown, looking at it is tiresome.

“I assume that can wait until you’ve said your wedding vows, Madame Swain.” She grins at me, a much more natural expression than earlier, daring my wrath to come down on her. She hasn’t let up with the name since she found out about all this.

“Someday I’ll have a Second that doesn’t test me.” I push myself back from the desk, suddenly anxious to be out on the rooftops tracking down my target. “Speaking of, have you seen Lark lately? I’ve noticed a bit of hesitation to take on assignments.”

She fiddles with the ledger in her hands. “He’s with Alrich quite a bit. That poor little thing has been quite sick lately.”

“While I empathize, he’s neglecting his duties here.” I would hate to have to reprimand Lark, I’ve grown quite fond of him.

She shrugs. “Young love. You should know how it goes.”

I refuse to acknowledge the teasing tone that has returned to her voice. “Since you’ve kept everything in such a satisfactory order, I’ll leave you to continue it. I’ve got a private assignment.”

“Have fun. Don’t go getting your face bruised up again before the wedding.” I wave her off and head out into the night to hunt down my target. This one could be problematic, I’ve been instructed to keep it deniable.

Alessa Braun is a veteran of a harsh reputation. She’s kept an iron grip on the Capitol Guard even during the upheaval of Jericho’s ascent to Grand General and the purges that followed. Either her age was beginning to catch up with her or she had been caught up in the plot that was winding its roots into every facet of the Capitol. She couldn’t be easily dismissed from her position either, due to heavy support from within High Command. Gwen’s ring of servant-spies came through for me again, Commander Braun was just finishing dinner with her only son, a burgeoning battle mage,  when I steal in and conceal myself to lie in wait.

It isn’t long before I hear them exchanging heated words on the stairs. The tone of harsh whispers carries to me, but the words themselves are lost. I ponder if it is about her rumored weakness, some were saying frailty was creeping up on her even before this latest turn of events. Another tidbit from the spies tells me some of her closest staff are working to hide something. It won’t matter much longer either way. I slip into the bath, her destination,  as I hear her dismiss those attending her. She’s a soldier first and noble second, she’ll not want to be fussed over in her private moments.

She never checks behind her, intent on filling the tub, her movements slow and a bit stiff. With hands that clearly lack the strength of their younger days, she begins to disrobe. “Hello, Commander Braun.”

She freezes. “Ah, the Blade herself comes to me. How have I offended the Grand General that I am graced with your presence?”  

“You’re failure to protect the future of Noxus.” I’ve already moved between her and the door, there is no escape.

“So you’ve come to kill me for that? Because I cannot stop every act of violence done in this teeming mess of a city?” Her frustration is palpable and her eyes are haunted with grief. In this moment I believe that she is not part of that plot, but she is hopelessly beyond her prime, and that famous iron grip has finally faltered.

“No, you’re going to kill yourself for me.” I hold out one of her own personal daggers I lifted from her room when I first arrived. “You’re going to get in that tub of lovely warm water, and open up your veins.”

She starts forward, as though she means to shove her way through me, but her hands tremble so much she sharply pulls back. “Why would I do that?” She snarls, trying desperately to sound like the intimidating warrior she no longer is.

“For your son. Prove to me that you are indeed still loyal to the Trifarix, to Noxus, and he will be clear of suspicion. His magical talents could lead him to a brilliant career, but if he is the son of a traitor he will be nothing.” She tries to interrupt, but I raise my hand and with a gesture silence her. This is why they all deride me, they fear me. I am an extension of him, of his will and power, in a way that haunts their nightmares and causes their souls to quake. “You are old, your body is quite obviously failing you. Even if you lived through tonight, you would not hold your position long. Accusations surround you, many say you have been bought. Show me your loyalty, give your son his future.”

Hot tears fill her eyes and spill out. “Damn you and the monster that sent you.” She snatches the blade from my hand, and turns from me, placing it on the edge of the tub. With the water at its peak, she cuts off the tap before finally removing the last of her clothes. Even with her age, she’s maintained the lean muscle of a warrior, covered in the scars from a lifetime of battle. She lowers herself into the water with precise care, but without a trace of hesitation, I note. I cross my arms and wait, eyes never leaving her. If she decided to fight, it would at the least draw unwanted attention. “Bear witness, this is my pledge of loyalty. For Noxus.” The dagger rends the flesh of her wrist easily and quickly she shifts hands, the second opening just as efficiently.

Crimson tendrils flow into the water around her as she lies back and sighs as though her burdens have been lifted from her. I remain with her, keeping watch as her breathing slows and the flow from her wounds turns into a trickle. When at last there is no life left in her, I take my leave.

If only my next task was as simple. I backtrack from the modern little estate of the Braun family in Goldstone to the aged monoliths of Old Town, the path where I’m headed so horribly familiar. I slip over the garden wall where I know the guards have a blindspot and make it to the weathered stones I’ve climbed a thousand times before anyone can catch sight of me. The window I’m looking for is open to let in the cool night air, as I anticipated. I don’t hesitate, instead leaping through it before I let myself overthink this.

She looks up from the pristine desk she’s working at, the second-floor study has always been her little kingdom. “Well, this is unexpected.”

“Hello, Mother.” I stride toward her, intent on remaining intimidating.

“Have you come at last to kill me, Daughter?” She stares me down with that glower I know so well from childhood.

I haven’t seen her since the night of the Solstice revels. I’d been admittedly out of my element in the pressing crowd and she pounced on that weakness when she’d seen it. Her words had disarmed me, making me that small child being disapproved of all over again. Its familiarity had been awful, and to my humiliation, I’d frozen, trapped in the past. Now here I was confronting her. After we’d come to an agreement on his proposal we’d both realized this little snag. It had fallen to me to handle this and clear the way for our wedding.

“Sadly no, it’s been deemed unnecessary.” I loom over her, one hand resting on the handle of a dagger, the other removing a document from a pouch on my belt and tossing it on the desk. “I only require your signature, and then I’ll be on my way, nothing more than a slight interruption to your evening.”

She snatches it up from where it landed and quickly scans through it before howling with laughter, much to my irritation. “You want my permission to get married?”

“No, legality requires permission from my head of household. If you refuse I’ll be more than happy to remove you from that position.” I keep my tone neutral, any sign of the resentment that burns against her and she’ll twist it to her own advantage.

“Oh my dear little girl, why ever would I stand in your way? Wife of the Grand General, that’s a match I could never have dreamed of, even for Cassiopeia. Then again, look at what it has cost to get you there.” She focuses back on the document, pouring over every detail.

“Will you just hurry and sign it! I’m not feeling particularly patient tonight.” I shove the pen on her desk at her with no small amount of violence.

She holds her hand up in a gesture to silence me and I let our frustrated growl. “ ‘She comes into this marriage with no familial assets.’ We have to change that.” She’s scandalized.

“I have been living with him this whole time with nothing from you. It. Is. Fine.” I spit the words at her and my hand goes back to the dagger. This would be so much easier if I was allowed to kill her.

“This is a legal document. It will become a matter of record that I sent my daughter off to her marriage with nothing to call her own.” That would be the real tragedy, that her name would be dishonored. It is always about her.

The blade flashes out of its sheath and I bury it in the desk.  Much to my satisfaction, she jumps back a bit, colliding with her chair. “Just sign it.”

She huffs. “Fine, always so much like your father.” I feel my jaw tighten, how dare she mention him. She’s the one that led him down the path to his destruction. She takes pen in hand finally and applies her immaculate signature. When the ink is dry she hands it back to me finally. “I hope your marriage is everything you desire. You and Jericho Swain deserve one another.”

I pull my dagger from her desk. “Throw stones if you must.” I’ve already begun to walk away, intent on leaving her behind.

“Then allow me to offer you a warning instead, even though you’ve refused to listen to others that have been offered to you. The Usurper will not retain his hold on Noxus forever. You will share his fate if you remain at his side.” Her words drip venom, her hatred is a living thing, creeping about in the space between us.

“More talk Mother? That’s all you and the Black Rose seem to be capable of. My decision is made and I will hold to it.” I try again to walk away from her.

“This has always been your problem. You’re stubborn beyond reason and insist you are never wrong. No wonder your Father…” I don’t think, the blade cuts through the air towards her. I know it goes wide, I only want to scare her again. In seconds I’m back through the window, taking a leap toward the ground. I land, tuck and roll. I need to get out of here, I feel like I can’t breathe. No turning back, over the wall before anyone can see. Damn it all, she wasn’t supposed to get to me. Damn her.

To my shock, the sound of the guards being roused doesn’t follow me. I still sprint away from the house, not wanting her to change her mind. When I finally slow my head is spinning and I’ve pointed myself in the direction of a much seedier area of the city. I need a drink and a drinking partner. Thankfully I know where I can find both.

I find Draven occupying his usual table at the Maiden's Bowery, a few lovely young things surrounding him. For him it’s not so much man or woman, but what flattery you can give his ego. He waves some of his retinue away when he spots me headed towards him, full bottle of wine in hand. “Look what the cat dragged in.” He chuckles like it’s not the thousandth time he’s said that.

“I see you’re still a bastion of wit.” I drop in the seat cleared for me while his companions eye me warily.

“That’s a big word, fitting for the wife of the Grand General.” He grins widely but it fades after a moment. “Speaking of, should you be here the night before your wedding?” There’s trepidation in his voice. If anyone knows what Jericho is truly capable of, it’s him.

He watches my face, looking for tells, wanting to assure himself he won’t wake to a world of trouble in the morning. “It’s not until later. Plenty of time to sober up.” I lift the bottle to my lips and take a drink, continuing for several seconds, to prove my point.

The showman in him can’t resist and he begins to clap and cheer, encouraging those around us to join in. I continue the long pull until my stomach lurches a bit and I slam the bottle down on the table, nearly half of it gone. The room begins to spin almost as soon as I release my grip on it. Draven hoots again and roughly claps me on the back. “Well, let’s enjoy one more wild night before you’re too important and proper for all this, eh Kitty-Kat.”

I groan as he motions to the barkeep. “As long as you promise to stop calling me that.”

Bottles and cups appear almost instantly around us as Draven settles into the seat next to me. “How about I treat instead? All the questionable quality wine you can stomach!”

His enthusiasm lifts my mood and I find myself giving him a genuine smile. “Deal.” I pour a glass for us and raise a toast. “To Draven, best friend to those in need of a strong drink.” The haziness I was feeling continues to wrap around my mind and I surrender to it, letting myself float away in the moment.

I’m on my second or maybe third and an immense shadow falls over the table. I lean back in my seat, my head lolling to the side so I can peer up at the shadow’s owner. “DarDar!” I stumble out of my seat to rush at him and attempt to throw my arms around his impossibly broad chest. “When was the last time I saw you?”

He puts his massive hands on my shoulders and pushes me back ever so softly, causing me to relinquish my hold on him. “Been a while. What’re you doing in this hole? Isn’t tomorrow important?”

I huff, everyone wants to ruin my fun. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just blowing off a little steam.” I nearly fall back into my seat and gesture to the raucous crowd around me. “Why don’t you join us?”

To my left Draven snickers and slides a bottle across the table toward his brother. “Yeah ‘DarDar’ have some fun for once.”

He snorts before finally giving in and sitting. “I’ll join, but only to keep you two out of trouble.”

“Don’t be so mean.” I pout and pour myself another glass. “We’re celebrating tonight. Here’s to me, finally achieving my Mother’s dreams.” I drain it in one single drink.

He sighs. “Nothing but trouble, the two of you.”

I feel myself fading as the wine goes down my throat. The tavern becomes sweltering, and all the light and noise blur together, the edges of my vision becoming an indistinct haze. Slowly, the sights and sounds begin to spin. I close my eyes, head resting in my hand for a moment.

Draven is leading the crowd in a song. I think it’s about him. It’s an old melody all children know and every so often you need to clap. I clap loudly at the wrong time and laugh to cover my mistake. I glance at Darius and he at least seems to be bearing his brother’s antics with amusement. I try to pour myself another glass and lose control of the bottle. It smashes into the table and cracks. I stare at it, for some reason it’s heartbreaking and I fight back tears.

Darius is removing me from his lap, just forcefully enough that I comply. “Aww, what’s wrong? It never bothered you before. Back when we used to…”

“That was then. You have had way too much. Sit down and sober up Kat.” The stern tone he takes irritates me.

“Don’t scold me. I’m not a child!” I sit back in my chair anyway, I’m suddenly too tired to do anything else.

I’m being separated from a man roaring with fury and covered in blood. I think it’s his. “He had it coming. Get off me.”

The barkeep sounds at his wit’s end. “Can someone keep control of her?”

“Stay out of it!” I snap, shaking off the hands clasping at me.

“That’s quite enough Katarina.” His voice always sounds like silk, even when I can tell he’s displeased.

“Jericho!” I turn behind me and leap at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. I’m overjoyed to see him until I realize why he sounded so aggravated. “Oh, you’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Beth!

You have been accepted for the role of SIRIUS BLACK with the faceclaim of Jade Hassoune! We really enjoyed your discussion of Sirius’ relationships, particularly how his adult relationships (both negative and positive) have shaped his life. We also loved his biases and privileges section and thought it showed both strengths and flaws! We are so excited to have you as part of this roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Beth

AGE: 24

TIMEZONE: CST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I do work full time, but having a strong writing community is important to me and something that I actively make time for. Even on a bad week, I’ll check in at least two or three times to write, and I try to be around when I can to check the dash and talk even if I don’t have time for a reply. Also, I am that person who goes on semi-hiatus during a particular season and still tries to make regular activity because it’s important to me to try and stay on top of owed replies.

ANYTHING ELSE: I have no major triggers or squicks.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Sirius Black

AGE: 21

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis-male, He/Him. Sirius is bisexual, and while it isn’t something he hides, it also isn’t something he advertises. He’s been accused of being willing to flirt with anything that moves. While he finds that accusation unfair, he knows it’s not always untrue.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: I would like to request an FC change to Jade Hassoune. I have a few reasons for this. The lazy one is that I already have gifs for him. That said, I think he can bring an interesting range for Sirius because some of his gifs are a little more brooding while others are big and expressive. He has a certain edge to most of the characters he has played that can work for situations where Sirius is being defiant or stubborn. I also like that because he is a person of color, it continues the tradition of taking what JKR gave us and making it more diverse. Plus, he has the hair (well, had) and effortless looks Sirius is known for.

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Sirius has always been too big for some people to handle, and his response has always been that it isn’t his problem. Toning himself down for a situation is easier said that done, especially given Sirius’ tendency to speak first and think after. That impulsiveness has been there since he was young, and it can be a big disadvantage to him, especially when combined with his stubbornness. Sirius will say something without thinking of consequences, then dig in his heels about whatever it was rather than admit he might be wrong. This also means that he’ll sometimes go in-depth with planning for something that started out as a joke comment. He doesn’t know when to quit.

Choosing to instead focus on the positive, Sirius would argue that he isn’t impulsive but rather instinctual. He doesn’t always think things through before he does them, but that has worked out well for him, especially during duels.

Sirius would consider himself incredibly loyal, but the shadow side of that might be that Sirius can be a bit possessive. He makes strong assumptions that such loyalty will always be reciprocated, and he has a hard time understanding when that isn’t the case.

It frustrates him greatly that it feels like people around him focus on his flaws and don’t appreciate his strengths because he’s a fairly gifted duelist and fast thinker. Plus, his transfiguration skills are pretty great. Sirius never had to study in school because things came easy to him, and now that he’s out of school, it seems like everyone else is still “studying” at war when Sirius just wants to make a decision and go do.

Sirius doesn’t have a lot of patience for time or for people. When he gets frustrated or otherwise emotionally overwhelmed, it tends to make him rash and angry. Sirius would respond to one of his friends getting hurt, for example, by shouting at whoever their patrol partner was that should have been protecting them. He knows he’s no diplomat, but Sirius spent his formative years purposefully being the opposite. He can’t suddenly change it now.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: (child abuse tw, but it’s minimally referenced)

Sirius spent his early days fighting against anything and everything. His father was once someone Sirius looked up to, but he doesn’t remember a time now of it being fondly. Instead Orion was someone to look at with fear, someone to flinch away from when he raised his voice or his hand. Sirius didn’t always know what he did wrong in those early days, but he quickly learned that sometimes it was better to be wrong on purpose because at least it felt earned. His mother was just as bad but in different ways. Sirius tended to hear her screaming more often, but he flat out ran once when he was nine because he knew one of her punishments was coming. Walburga was more creative than her husband, but she was also more of a perfectionist. Thanks to her, Sirius felt policed constantly.

His only shelter in those days was Regulus. Most days it was the two of them against the world.  They didn’t always publicly get along, especially when Sirius’ antics landed them both in trouble. Still, they had each other on nights when it hurt to be alone or the nightmares crept in. They could sit side by side in the dark and whisper about what life would be like someday  when they had magic of their own. Hogwarts changed everything for Sirius, and while that was mostly positive, it unfortunately meant that he lost Regulus. He couldn’t talk to his brother anymore; the language was gone. Even over the summers, things could never be the same. When Sirius ran away, he didn’t even tell Regulus he was going (although to be fair, he didn’t realize he was until a moment blew up too big with his parents to ever turn back). While he spent the rest of the summer wishing he had, the two didn’t even look at each other when they were first in the Great Hall together again at school. That childhood bond felt like it had finally severed completely.

The one person who seemed to humor Sirius at family events when he was young was Uncle Alphard, who always stuck out just a little bit. Sirius remembered hearing whispered about how Alphard was ‘peculiar,’ which wouldn’t have been a problem, except that he wouldn’t put duty first and produce an heir, which was a problem to a family as obsessed with legacy as the Blacks. Sirius had loved to hide in his shadow to avoid Orion and Walburga. He died a year after Sirius ran away, but Sirius had never imagined he’d be left Alphard’s fortune.

He immediately tried to use that fortunate to try and pay back the Potters for taking him in. While he’d suspected they wouldn’t accept anything, it choked up Sirius that they insisted that would be taking money from family. In many ways, Sirius considers James as much a brother as Regulus. Maybe they didn’t have the childhood history, but they had the important stuff. They had shared values and adventures, similar ideas and likeminded attitudes. At least they used to. Some days Sirius isn’t sure he knows who James is anymore. He doesn’t know what happened to the carefree James he used to know. Regardless, he isn’t about to let him go the way he once did Regulus.

OCCUPATION: 

Employee at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour—Sirius has some money left from his uncle’s inheritance, but he needed something to keep him busy. He has toyed with applying for the Auror training program, but Sirius rationalized that he can do more for the Order with a less specific work schedule. Plus, he is aware of his own authority issues and feels like that might not be the best option to push himself at the Ministry with everything else going on. The job might not seem very punk rock, but working for Florean gives him something to do, people to interact with, and a fairly easy schedule to slide around.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Sirius has always been a bit self-absorbed about his role within the Order. He has always known he’d never make the inner circle, but he hadn’t wanted to. In school, Sirius had cultivated a careful rebel-without-a-cause attitude. He has a cause now, but he’s still a rebel first and foremost. Of course, Sirius is fighting for muggles and muggleborns. They just aren’t his first priority. Sirius’ first priority is fighting against the pureblood society he was raised in because he sees nothing good about it. The two causes aren’t necessarily the same thing. He often feels frustrated by the lack of progress because it feels like the people he grew up resenting just continue to grow more powerful. He sees no progress for the real cause nor progress for his own. Much of the time, Sirius would like to just do something big. If they can’t make progress, he’d like to at least make a statement, but he doesn’t even seem to be able to do that. Too much fine print in what’s supposed to be vigilante justice.

SURVIVAL:

If you asked Sirius what his plan was for tomorrow, he’d says the present is all that matters. That’s how he lives his life in most aspects. No matter what the war looks like, Sirius doesn’t look forward and see a bleak future because he doesn’t think that far away.

Right now, he’s living in an apartment that’s technically in Muggle London but as close to the Leaky Cauldron as he could find. He lives there alone and likes that only one of his neighbors complains about the loud music. He prefers muggle music, but the occasional wizarding rock album is similar enough to not give anyone pause. Sirius can mostly cook for himself, although his cooking does tend to be a bit basic. He can do pasta and protein with the occasional veggie when he feels like he has to. He can, though, make a mean cocktail, and that’s a skill Sirius has used often.

RELATIONSHIPS:

James was the first person Sirius had ever really found that understood him completely and totally. He saw James as this magnetic person he always wanted to have around. As they got older, things shifted, but Sirius never wants to lose that. Right now he feels like James is beginning to pull away and leave him behind. For what, Sirius isn’t sure. Stuffy meetings and worrying about people who take you for granted seems ridiculous to Sirius, but he tries not to say anything. James might act the part, but Sirius knows deep down he has to still be the same person. But Sirius has lost a brother before because of growing differences. He doesn’t want to do it again.

Remus is something that Sirius has always admired and thought the best of. Lately things have changed as Remus seems to make choices that Sirius doesn’t understand, and he also can’t figure out if they’re actually Remus’ choices or things being dictated to him. Sirius doesn’t like the idea that Remus is spending all his time around werewolves and wanna-be Death Eaters. Sirius doesn’t trust it and doesn’t like that Remus doesn’t have anyone with him to have his back. Lately he’s had a nagging thought that he wants to push down. If Remus won’t talk about it, what isn’t he saying? What’s going on when the Order isn’t around? Some days Sirius is afraid to find out. Others he can’t believe himself for ever doubting.

Then there’s Peter. Sirius has always suspected he’s too loud for Peter, too much. But Peter has been a loyal friend for years, always there when Sirius needs him. Lately he doesn’t see Peter as much, and while that’s hard, at least Sirius doesn’t have to worry about who he’s with. Peter’s too smart to accept a mission that sends him undercover among people with sharp dark magic skills and sharper tongues.

Lately Sirius has become enamored with the things Dorcas says, enjoying the lack of care in her voice. He remembers those days. He remembers when he wasn’t trying to temper himself to help James keep an image. She seems to agree with his frustration about the lack of progress. Her methods perhaps seem questionable, but in Sirius’ experience, the best things in life often do. He wishes the rest of his friends would remember that.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

I ship chemistry above all else. I really like the idea of potentially exploring an m/m relationship with Sirius but am really just open to whatever comes up with a partner of any gender identity. The only specific ship I am mildly interested in is Sirius/Remus, but looking at the bio materials, the at-odds angle seems like it will be much more fun.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Sirius grew up being taught that muggles were inherently primitive and uncivilized, despite the neighbors sharing their very walls at 12 Grimmauld Place being muggles. He learned pretty quickly to fix his own perspective on that in school, especially when surrounded by supposedly inferior magic users like Lily who were so gifted. It was one more reason his parents were wrong, and Sirius did so love when his parents were wrong.

He had a harder time wrapping his head around the idea that not everyone could just decide to  be something different than what they were used to. Sirius always had a safety net to catch them when he was about to fall. When the final straw hit and he ran away from home, he had the Potter household to turn to, an equally pureblood, equally rich family who had the means to take him in. At a critical point when he needed his own money, Sirius received his inheritance from Alphard’s passing. Sirius has always managed to bounce up when he was at a crossroads that could have ended disastrously. The idea that someone else could be in a tricky situation with an “obvious right choice” and choose wrong because they didn’t have the resources to choose right is completely foreign to Sirius.

This sense of choice also fits into Sirius’ opinions on werewolves. He’d grown up hearing they were nothing but savage monsters, but Remus had never seemed that way. Once the other Marauders had become animagi, Sirius saw the full moons as proof that while Remus as a werewolf was wild, he was still Remus in some ways. They needed a different form, but the wolf didn’t attack them on sight. The knowledge, though flawed, gave Sirius a strong believe that the choices Remus and any other werewolf made on a full moon could be changed with the right leadup and decisions.

Back on the subject of muggles, Sirius has tried to embrace muggle culture, but he’s done so in a way that almost borders on fetish. He has spent time in muggle spaces, but it’s usually bars, movies, and other places that give him some kind of entertainment or satisfaction. He’s embraced muggle transportation, even if it did mean tweaking the motorcycle as soon as he bought it. Sirius would like to believe he has completely understood muggle culture, but in some ways he still holds on to that muggles-are-primitive mindset without realizing it. He doesn’t think they’re lesser; he just only pays attention to the things that can be of use to him.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I love the concept of it being just the Order and the nuances that come from that. In the books, we see glimpses of just how much friction for the organization we see in Harry’s time. I can only imagine the first time around when not everyone believed he could be beaten. Everyone has a slightly different agenda, and since this rp focuses so specifically on the good, it means more time to devote to complicating what that means.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: 

I have no specific ideas, although it would be interesting to see Sirius having to deal with family-related consequences, whether that’s something like dealing with Orion’s death eventually or maybe the consequences of something anti-muggle/pro-Death Eater that his parents sponsored or created.

ANYTHING ELSE: Not that I can think of!

[rogsclogs]

Some Day One Day (Brian May x Reader); Part 2.

taglist: @brighter-thanthe-sky @im-a-sheerheartattack @fruityfreddie @discodeacygotmorerhythm (If you want to be added please message me)

If you still haven’t read part 1 just look up ‘Some day one day’ within my tags, I tag every fan fiction under the name of the series

Feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy :) 

Y/N probably would never admit it to anyone else other than her own subconscious, but she soon started finding the coursework more demanding than she’d initially expected and things started getting a bit out of control for her, making her doubt her choice of a lifetime. At first everything seemed to be going great, she’d made a good impression on Mr. May who knew just how far to push her and the rest of the class so that they could learn new things without tiring them out, but at some point Y/N started losing track of her progress and falling behind unexpectedly.

She didn't even know the reason for all of her mental confusion, but she assumed it was just stress due to all her other classes and assignments and trying to keep up with her social life as well, which is something that most students struggle with, but she was probably just suffering more from it.

All of a sudden the numbers on her papers got mixed up with letters from ancient languages that she struggled to give meaning to and her grades kept dropping like never before, leaving her an anxious mess on her apartment floor every Thursday and Friday after class, wondering why she couldn't just get the fucking answer right and why the fuck it all seemed so fucking fucked up (her own words). Truth is, she wasn't used to failing. She’d been the best pupil of the bunch ever since third grade and, while she truly didn't care too much about being the best at everything, she was used to doing the bare minimum and still getting great results, this simply wasn't the case and she didn't know how to handle the truth of the situation, nor did she know how to break it to her parents that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't meant for astrophysics. 

She’d never hear the end of it, they would assume she was giving up on life altogether and she’d be in deep shit.

Mr. May (he’d told his class that his first name was Brian, but he still expected to be addressed properly in the formal environment of the college campus) had noticed a shift in her attitude, she had always had a sparkling personality in class, raising her hand and proving all the annoying geniuses wannabe wrong when they thought she couldn't figure the answer out and she provided the right one each and every single time. And Brian was so happy with her, he really was, because he’d started to like the girl, he’d started to like the way her eyes lit up when they approached a new topic in class and she wanted to know all about it within the first half hour. He’d sometimes laughed at her enthusiasm, but as the days went by and it started to wear out and be replaced by hollow looking eyes, he realized how much he really missed it. 

Every student was struggling, that's just the way it was meant to work and he knew it. He'd been assigned this course five years prior, so he wasn't new to the job or anything and he was aware that even the smartest of students were bound to have issues, that's what the tutoring sessions were for, but although some of them had quit and given up on the subject altogether, none of them seemed so torn by their grades as she did.

It literally broke his heart to have to give her another bad grade after each test, especially when rewarding her hard work was so much more enthusiastic, but there was close to nothing he could do about it so he just let the look on her face get sadder each day, wondering where he went wrong. Was he really such a bad teacher? He wanted all his students to succeed but maybe he was doing something to prevent that.

“Okay class, good morning and welcome back. So, today you were supposed to hand in your quantum physics assignment, which I hope you all found reasonable enough to finish. I expect it on my desk by the end of class, is everyone good with that?” He spoke while fixing his glasses back on his slim nose and pushing his long curly hair out of his face so he could see better, something he tended to do whenever he started his lecture. 

His big and attentive eyes scanned the room as he softly smiled at his students and their barely awake faces that he had grown so accustomed to. His eyes lingered a bit longer on a certain person though, he’d been keeping an eye on her for some time after all and he watched her from afar, trying to understand what was going on inside her beautiful mind. Y/N wanted to disappear as soon as the words left her professor’s lips, as she realized she’d completely forgotten about that one assignment, too busy trying to finish the one from the week prior, which she still had to hand in. 

Mr. May had been kind enough to give her a pass for once, considering she’d always been on top of her game with handing things in and such, but she was sure that this time around he wouldn't be as understanding and she was admittedly quite scared of talking to him. The lesson went on as normal, they were covering the topic of interplanetary dust and learning all the basics about it since they were then expected to do a whole research about it as part of their final exam.

Y/N was trying her hardest to focus on the enormous blackboard stuck to the wall in front of her, but a little voice inside her head kept reminding her that she was a failure and she absolutely did not deserve to be in the same class as some of the smartest people from her college. She was just another average girl who’d gotten lucky and who had never developed actual skills for the subject, she didn't even know why she was aiming so high-

“Miss Y/L/N, is everything okay?” his voice had managed to catch her attention fully and she sat up straight and just nodded back at Mr. May, hoping he’d let her get away with her lack of concentration once again, but apparently he had different plans.

“Will you stay for a while after class, miss? I want to talk to you briefly” his eyes were stern as he let her know that she was in trouble, and understandably so. He probably wanted to kick her out of his class at that exact moment.

She deserved to fail. She couldn't think of anything else and she spent the last hour of lecture fidgeting with her own fingers and trying to take some notes on whatever it was that was written on the blackboard, while harshly scratching her face with her nails every once in a while out of frustration and nervousness. Time went by faster than she’s hoped, and while everyone stopped by the professor’s desk to hand in their work before leaving the hall to finally talk about something that didn't involve physics, she slowly walked over to him and waited for him to say goodbye to all the other students.

“Where’s your homework, Miss?” He was talking directly at her this time and she knew she couldn't hide anymore.

“I’m sorry Mr. May, I completely forgot about it until you mentioned it earlier today, it won’t happen again”

“But this is not even the first time something like this happens to you, if I’m not mistaken I gave you a pass last week for the same reason, what is going on with you?” He couldn't help but raising his voice a little towards the end, she’d begun the semester so well and here she was, throwing all her hard work away.

“I’m sorry, it was just distraction and nothing else, I don’t know where my mind is lately” Y/N tried to joke although it came out a bit choked since she was holding back tears from all the anger and frustration she was going through, but Brian could tell that something else was up with her and he couldn't just ignore it and let her get back to her self destructive means.

“I can see that something is bothering you and taking a toll on you, I don't want to intrude, but I’m truly worried about whatever it is that’s making you behave this way Miss. You used to be one of my best students, what the hell is going on now?” He was getting carried away and although he could hear it in his voice himself, he was coming from a place of care and wasn't able to stop himself to think about the consequences of his harsh sounding voice, so it took him by surprise when the girl in front of him bursted into tears.