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poptod · 3 years

Text

The Breeding Kings, pt. 3 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: The blacksmith.

Notes: I Love this story but i know yall arent that interested in it which is kinda yikes for me but theres no way im not finishing this fic whether its now or two years from now WC: 7.8k (again im so sorry)

By the time you and Ahkmen actually made it out of the pyramid, most of the stars had vanished, and the dawning light of the sun sparked a panic in the Prince's heart. He hurried you back to the shore, picking you up and setting you in the boat before pushing the boat far into the water. Constant glances over your head let him keep an eye on the shore, on the rotating guards at the gates, and where was best to tie the canoe back up.

In the end, he found a spot as far away from the gates as possible, securing the boat before helping you out of the rickety contraption.

"Have you school?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered beneath his breath, adjusting his belt.

With that he took your hand, jogging down the wooden docks until you came to the entrance. He ran through that as well, terrified of anyone recognizing him, and didn't leave enough time for you to think on it long. Ever respectful, he saw you home before sprinting back to the palace by himself, wind burning his eyes all the way up.

For the next couple days he took extra care in his physical health. Learning to calculate the time of day and its' relation to the curvature of the earth, while in the blazing heat of the sun, had not fared well on his sleep-deprived mind. When he returned home that evening, he slept over 12 hours in a dead faceplant on his bed. Upon waking he found Piye looming above him with a knowing expression.

"How much time have you been spending with that Yogi?" They asked in a clearer, less clogged voice than Ahkmen had been able to manage through the amount of beer he'd had recently, paired with how little sleep he had.

"Didn't come home one evening," he grumbled, raising his hand to wipe away the tiredness from his eyes. "Got a lot of sleep last night, though."

"I can see that. Get up. We've got some time yet before the weekend," Piye said with a clap that roused the young Prince.

"Good morning, my Prince," said Naguib, who slipped in through the door. "The Pharaoh's dinner with the emissaries from Ebla is tonight. He wants you there."

"I have other places to be," Ahkmen whined, his shoulders drooping as he looked up.

"So does he," Piye said flatly.

School passed by without him ever seeing you, a fact that disappointed him more than it saddened him. His mood got him into a small verbal bout with one of his teachers, and though Piye tried to hold him back, the school day ended with him in one of the study rooms watching Yafeu argue with his father.

Ahkmen huffed, resting the weight of his head on his open palm balanced on the table in front of him. Yafeu couldn't tell him that he wasn't allowed in the school anymore, but the Priest would do his best to make sure Ahk got the second best punishment.

"I expect more from you, Ahkmen," his father said quietly as they walked side by side back to the palace. "None of your brothers have the skills or the wherewithal to lead a country. That responsibility may fall to you."

"Kamun is the oldest, isn't he?" Ahkmen grumbled. "He's the one who's going to be Pharaoh."

"Nothing is set in certainty, my son. Now then, in a few hours the Eblans will arrive, and a dinner will follow."

"Does that mean I have some free time, then?" Ahk asked with a sudden, bright change in tone.

"I want you to get ready," Merenkahre said, frowning. "Not play around with your friends."

"I'll only be there an hour at most," he said, playing off his own innocence.

The Pharaoh paused in the street to look down at Ahkmen, before letting out a long sigh.

"Very well. One hour."

Ahkmen didn't wait to return to his room––he turned and immediately set back off down the road, dashing and twisting through the crowds that formed the closer he got to the temple of Osiris. He barely looked to see where his hands and feet were as he climbed over the familiar crates, landing back in your alley and ducking back into your home.

To his surprise, Piye was already sitting in your waiting room, their feet set on a high shelf with their butt in a pile of blankets.

"Oh, hello Ah–"

You entered the room with massive goggles on.

"-hhh whhhat's up?" Piye corrected with wide eyes.

"... not much," Ahkmen said slowly. "I have a dinner with my parents in an hour, so I can't stay for long."

"I do need one help," you said as you pulled your goggles off, examining the material in your glove-clad hands. "I need a.. a..."

You snapped your fingers, attempting to recall the name of something. Ahk and Piye waited patiently.

"A kaentam," you muttered before a curse. "It is the rocks that kiss."

Piye stared at you dumbfounded, their mouth half open.

"You mean a magnet?"

"I think, yes," you said, though you didn't look sure. "Panya and her rock are still not... I do not know the type of her rock. I need your 'magnet' for to find the – the name."

"Well it's not exactly easy to find magnets," Ahkmen said slowly, picking at his chin as he thought.

"No, yeah," Piye agreed in the same contemplating tone. "I know they're used in medicine, but it's a... an unconventional treatment. Kind of expensive."

Ahk stared at the ground, continuing to play with the skin of his jaw.

"I think I know where we might find some," Ahk said after a moment.

"What is it?" You asked, stepping nearer.

"Osiris' temple. Priests have areas for medicine, and we already know the layout of the place."

"It's late, though. We're not allowed to enter after sunset," Piye pointed out.

"That's why it's good we know the layout!" Ahk said as he stood. "Now let's go."

"Don't you have a formal dinner in an hour?" Piye asked, watching Ahkmen leave out the door with a quirked brow.

"Let's gooo!" Ahkmen sang from outside.

Anything to distract from the coming responsibilities––anything to earn your favor, to win you over in some fashion he was convinced he hadn't already won you over in. You followed him out with a smile, murmuring a small greeting and thanks before Piye also appeared from behind you.

"And onwards we go, to Osiris, to Osiris," Ahk sung as he scaled the crates, followed by you and Piye in order.

"We have obtained," Piye continued the song with a grunt, "forever and ever, what your Grace will gift us."

"You talk like your heads have nothing in their side," you said, to Ahkmen's great amusement.

As Ahkmen originally suspected, most of the temple's inhabitants were too preoccupied with the evening adulations to notice three children, however strange looking, entering the complex. Ahk entered first, donned in his usual golden fabrics, followed by Piye, who by themselves always looked out of place no matter where they were or what they wore, and then you, a child at Piye's side, dressed in an unfamiliar but royal fashion.

Murmurings and voices could be heard from the tall roof of Osiris' temple, where many of the hour priests gathered to scan the heavens. Already the brightest stars shone through the light of sunset, a fact Ahkmen was quite glad about, since it would keep attention off him.

"Yafeu's room here has many, many supplies," Ahkmen whispered as the three of you crept down the open hallway.

"How do you know that?" Piye asked.

"I was sent there so he could yell at me and he's got bookcases and chests worth of things in there. What a monetary bastard," Ahk said with a tut, chuckling from his own humor.

When he reached the door to Yafeu's office, he slowly turned the lock, letting the wood door swing open with a creak. He motioned Piye in, then you, before following in himself, locking the door behind him.

Although Ahkmen might've been privy to the private belongings of the high priest, you and Piye shared no such knowledge. Piye, who had to bow down slightly due to the height of the ceiling, slowly scanned the room, from the pots to the jars and tapestries hanging from the walls. A reed mat had been set on the floor, keeping away the dirt and sand anyone might drag in.

"Where does he keep his medical supplies?" Piye asked quietly, taking a ginger step forward as they scanned the shelves with their eyes. When they spotted nothing useful, they began to rifle through them with their hands.

"No clue. Let's start, shall we?"

The three of you set to searching the room, categorically searching the different shelves––Piye for the tallest two, Ahk for the middle, and you for the lowest. You tried your best to keep quiet, wary of those who passed by outside the door.

"Why do you need a magnet again?" Ahkmen asked after several minutes of silent searching.

"Panya's rock seems iron in a... clean.. way? It is.. not how you see it in earth, and I don't know it. But your magnet will," you made a motion with your hands of them colliding together, "if I am right."

"You must know quite a lot about metals," Piye said, not bothering to tear away from the work at hand. You and Ahkmen, however, had stopped to look at each other when he spoke.

"My family is... kaghruppakal, moving.. metal, to make into things," you said as you reluctantly returned to the baskets on the bottom shelves.

"Blacksmiths," Piye said.

"Thank you," you said. "My father father's had it learned by the Kings in my home. They give us a good home for years, but they give no... money. So when new King comes, we had no home after."

"What do you mean, new King?" Ahk asked with a confused furrow in his brow.

"It is long and I do not know the how to say in Egyptian, but a man killed the King and stole his name," you said quietly.

"Is that why you left your home?" Ahkmen asked. "There was a revolution?"

"More of a usurping," Piye muttered.

"A little, yes," you said with a nod, before falling quiet.

Ahkmen waited a moment to see if you would say anything else, and a moment to wonder if he would say anything else, but ultimately returned to scavenging through Yafeu's belongings.

Statuette.

More gold bracelets.

Ancient scripture.

"You have to leave for that dinner pretty soon," Piye said in a dull voice.

"I don't need to leave for anything or anyone."

"Ureka!" you suddenly cried, a toothy smile coming to you as you forgot yourself.

Ahkmen and Piye both shushed you, to which you quickly apologized in a much quieter voice.

"I saw them," you said, extending in your hand a pair of magnets stuck to one another.

"Oh thank Gods," Piye said in a rush of breath, their hands immediately falling from the tall shelves. "Let's get back and see if it reacts to your stone."

"No, no, I bring it here," you mumbled distractedly as you dug into your large pockets, pulling out the shiny metal.

He watched in bated breath as you raised the magnets to Panya's stone. The whole of the process meant little to him, but it was part of your job, and he enjoyed partaking in little bits of your life.

This handicapped understanding of your work left him rather confused at your excitement when the magnets stuck to Panya's rock. You gasped, marveling at the reaction. As you moved to your feet, you never looked away, holding it close to your chest.

"Irumpu," you said through your smile. "Iron."

"I'm quite glad you've figured this out, but for the time being, we need to get out of here without being spotted," Ahkmen said, putting his hands on your shoulders before gently moving you aside, and opening the door a crack.

Piye spoke in a mumble with you as he stuck his head outside, the cool air of night filling his lungs, distinct from the stuffy walls of Yafeu's office. There were few people in the courtyard, as most of the priests and workers were still preoccupied with their finishing tasks for the night.

He motioned the two of you over, leading you silently outside. You crept along the wall with quick feet, skipping out of the temple, and running back into your home in a smiling rush.

The rush of adrenaline in his blood soon dissipated, comforted by the familiar shades of red and gold always resting upon your crown. Still staring at the metal, you collapsed down in your cushion pile, moving to hold the ball above your head as you stared. Ahkmen chuckled at your behavior, taking a seat beside you as Piye fell in a similar manner as you did across the room.

"Happy?" Ahk asked teasingly.

"Very," you said. "I must to find who had made it. The old King shows my father father's how to make it, but I never ask. And," you snapped your fingers, "then it is gone. When they go."

"Your grandfather knew how to purify and mold iron?" Piye asked in a low but loud voice, sitting quickly up.

"Yes, and it is good for..." you made a stabbing motion, "things that make people dead."

"Weapons," said Ahkmen.

"Etuvaka. Not many know how it makes, and that is how – why we come here. Makes better money, more than a city. Our city, people know how to," you mimicked squishing and molding things in your empty hands, "do with iron, so it is all every shop. Here, it was my family, only my family."

"That must've been quite the business at the time," Piye said in a softer voice, still low as they contemplated your words.

"We make good money," you said with a nod. "But I know this not. I want... to see.. find the maker. Hear his words."

"You'll probably want to see Panya, then," Ahk said. "It was her who found it, right?"

"I think yes."

"Wonderful. You'll go find her, and I will take him home," Piye said as they stood, gesturing to Ahk with their chin. "Dinner, remember?"

"Has anyone told you how irritating you are?" Ahkmen said, but nonetheless obeyed and stood.

"Your father reminds me every day," Piye responded flatly as the two returned to the palace.

Ahkmen drummed his fingers against the table below him, leaning the weight of his head on his raised knee. His mother had forced him into his royal clothes––the actual royal clothes, not just the expensive ones––and the crown his parents had made him gave him headaches with its' weight. Pure gold was heavy.

Ebla was a trading nation from the north who supplied a small but important type of material rarely found in the desert; wood. That was what Merenkahre and the Eblaite queen spent two hours talking about. Wood. They brought other goods such as rarely-found textiles and handcrafted artifacts as well, but they focused on the wood. It made sense, since that was what Egypt required the most, but it still bored him terribly.

Piye was much luckier by his reckoning. They didn't have to attend duties such as these. All the things they had to do were fun, things like gathering ingredients from the markets or the side of the Nile, going off on quests to defeat mythical beasts.

The young prince huffed, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from tapping his fingers too loudly. Walls of grandeur surrounded him, a good enough difference from your home that he was nearly shocked when he entered his own home, staring up at the towering ceiling. His style was slowly changing, as it usually did, to accommodate new aspects of his life; this had happened before on many occasions, as he suspected it did with many other teenagers his age.

A dream to look at. He would reckon your smile would match against any angelic beauty––anything holy was a common miracle in comparison to the subtle, entrancing magic of your laughter, his hand holding yours as he dragged you, pretending not to notice the racing of his heartbeat. A dream.

He wanted nothing more than to scoop you up and drown you in kisses. In order to avoid his own disappointment at his fantasy not currently being reality, he bit deeper into the inside of his cheek, pressing down harder on his open palm.

Hours later, he stared up at the canopy of his bed, the sheets tossed around his body till most of them hung half of the bed. His breathing was the only noise in the still room.

Until his breathing irritated him so fiercely he sat straight up in a huff, a frown on his forced expression.

"Fucking... thoughts," he muttered to himself, halfheartedly punching one of his pillows.

He could not manage to tear his mind from you. Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of you, and adrenaline built in him as he unwillingly imagined your face. Would you mind if he came to see you? It must've been past midnight. You worked during the day. He shouldn't bother you.

Ten minutes later he was fully dressed and sneaking out of the palace, a shroud of cloth concealing his identity as he moved along the shadows. He reckoned Piye, who also slept inside the palace, did not want to see you at this hour, and he left them to sleep.

Ahkmen wasn't sure what he was looking for in returning to you, but as per usual, fantasies spared no expense in the luxurious self-indulgence department, scenes playing behind his eyes of the two of you 'naturally' finding yourselves in intimate situations. Most of it consisted of him finally getting some sleep, this time with you in his arms or wrapped around his waist.

Despite his embarrassment concerning previously mentioned fantasies, they did inspire him to move faster, and before he knew it he found himself standing in front of your tent, hesitating for the first time.

Again his doubts plagued him. He comforted himself with the fact that he had come all this way, and it seemed a rather foolish idea to give it up now.

With that he entered, his eyes immediately falling to the one candle lit in the shadowed room. The usual rushlights set about the entrance room––where he and his friends usually sat about and did nothing––had disappeared, leaving much of the folds of cloths in shadows that casted stark against the single flame.

"Yogi?" Ahk said in a much quieter voice than required.

The sound of rustling blankets had his heart sinking in his chest. He had hoped, at least, that he wouldn't bother you from your sleep––most of him believed you would be up all night working.

"Aganu?" You murmured softly, high and quiet with the sleep pulling at your lips.

"Uh, yes," he said, trying to peek behind the curtain separating your bedroom front your shop. "I'm sorry to disturb you so late. I thought you'd be up, I – I can leave."

"No, no," you mumbled. "Is good. Come here."

He gulped, gingerly stepping forward and pulling away the cloth door. Behind it, you lay in a pocket of space built into your fabric wall, drowning you in luxurious blankets of red and gold. All that remained visible was your eyes, an adoring sight in his mind.

"Why've you got that light in the other room?" Ahk asked quietly, kneeling down in front of you.

"More not strong. It is very red," you said, poking your finger out to gesture to the room as a whole. "Good for night sleeping. Why are you coming here?"

"You mean your house or your bed?" Ahk said, stepping away as he became aware of his closeness to you.

"My house."

"Couldn't sleep," he said with a shrug. "Thought you might be able to help."

"Why?" You asked, before backtracking. "Wait, that is not the word I mean. Um... how do you want help?"

"I don't know. Maybe you have a potion, or just a better bed than I do," he said, chuckling.

"I have both."

"Hey, you haven't even felt my bed," he said in a teasing manner. "How do you already know your bed's better?"

"Because it is not hard."

Fair enough point––Egyptian beds were essentially a table built for the purpose of sleeping. Good for the hot weather, bad for the joints.

"I don't want to disturb you, though," he said quietly as you began to rise, sheets and thick blankets falling from your shoulders to reveal the naked expanse of your chest and stomach. He gulped, though fortunately not audible, as you stretched your hands up.

"It is no problem," you said, sighing deeply as your arms fell.

Rooting around in your bed, you found a large but thin blanket, wrapping it around your body before you left your comforts. You yawned as you stood, but faithfully wandered to your potion storage. Ahkmen had never seen any of your potions, as he didn't believe a hangover cure counted as one, and thus he looked eagerly over your shoulder when you knelt down. Glass and pottery clinked together as you searched.

"What kind of potions do you make?" Ahk asked, stepping back when you once more rose to your feet.

"To help bodies," you said, gesturing to your own body, "and soul." You tapped your heart.

He frowned. Obviously.

"Do you have like, a love potion?"

"Why you ask that?"

"Just curious," he said quickly.

"I have... khamam potion. You make a man drink it and they will.. have..." you trailed off, unable to explain fully. "Love to you? When they make the children."

"Sex?"

"Sure. They do the sex. Man or woman," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand.

"How do you make a potion like that?"

"You think I give it with no paying? I must make money, Aganu," you chuckled softly, bopping his nose with your finger, before sobering to speak. "This is a potion that will make you calm. Ready for sleep, yes."

"Oh, thank you," Ahkmen said, taking the small, clay bottle. "How much do I owe you?"

"Speak more about the sky."

He quirked a brow.

"That's your price?"

"I want to know more. I go to school to clean, not hear, but I want to," you said, taking his hands in your cloth-covered hands, and staring upwards. "I am alive to see and hear and I want to hear you."

You couldn't be aware of the effect of your words. Not with eyes that innocent. But, as usual, his heart raced painfully in his chest, overflown with an affection he had no choice but to hold back.

"... very well," he murmured, and led you back to your bed. You crawled in, surrounding yourself in blankets once more as Ahk sat on the floor, carefully watching your sleepy, fluttering eyes.

"The sky––well, more specifically the night sky, is a woman. Her name is Nuit. At sunset, her head in the west consumes Ra, and in the morning, she births him again. Her eyes are the sun and moon. Her lover, Geb, is the earth, but they are forever forced apart by Ra, who placed their father to separate them," Ahk said, reciting information he had long known. "His name is Shu. He is the air that lets us breathe."

"Why did Ra want them apart?" You asked quietly, muffled behind your blankets.

"Nuit became pregnant by Geb. Ra found it an abomination, cursed her to never give birth on any day of the year. But Thoth helped her––won a few games of Senet against Khonsu, god of time, and earned her five days in which she gave birth to five children."

"Who?"

"Osiris on the first day. That's his temple you work at. Then I believe it was.. Horus.. Seth, Isis, and her sister, Nephthys." He paused to yawn. "Those are the epagomenal days, at the end of the year. Pretty big celebration."

"I like to see this," you mumbled.

"I'll take you this next year," he said. "There's plenty of food and beer for everyone."

Your breathing was beginning to slow, and when Ahk noticed that, he fell into silence. Instead he stared at your closed eyes, your cheek squished into your pillow. Too much to look at. The better half of him yearned to reach out and touch you, but the remaining bits of his conscious reminded him that that was, beyond anything, an incredibly strange thing to do.

He was even more grateful for his decision to remain still when your eyes opened on an inhale, blinking slowly as you met his gaze.

"Tired?" You asked. "Potion does not takes long."

He chuckled, "yeah. I'm pretty tired now."

"What time does it take to walk to your house?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe thirty minutes."

"You are.. you will fall by then," you murmured.

"Asleep?"

"Yes. It is a strong potion."

You paused, scanning his body and its' position near you.

"Remain here," you said, soft as the silk you drowned yourself in. "For the night."

The rope around his heart tightened at your request. His imagination, somehow, had come to fruition.

"Where will I sleep?" He asked, fighting back another yawn.

"All places. Do what you want," you sighed. "Or you fall sleep in the street."

"Very funny. Scoot over."

You glared up at him, but eventually gave in, scooting closer to the wall to make room for him. He pulled his jewelry off him before sidling in, hoping to avoid hurting you accidentally.

When he turned to face you, he found his forehead crowning you, his nose just barely brushing against yours.

"Thanks," he murmured. "You didn't have to."

"I know," you whispered in a breath, closing your eyes.

Only a few hours later he was awakened by something prodding at his face. His eyes fluttered open, blearily finding Piye above him, poking his cheek with a fireplace fork. Ahkmen groaned, turning over on his side.

"Don't you ignore me, you royal pain," Piye said, prodding him harder yet. "Do you know how many lies I had to tell to your father?"

"Piye, it's way too early in the morning for this," he said groggily, throwing his arm over his eyes.

"It's midday!"

"I got here late," Ahkmen said as he slowly fell out of the bed, sliding onto the floor.

Piye grasped the top of Ahk's head by his hair, lifting his face and kneeling to meet him.

"I swear to the Gods if you had sex with a ci–"

"I did not," Ahk hissed, wriggling till Piye's grip loosened.

Reluctantly, Ahkmen rose to his feet, brushing the wrinkles out of his clothes and pulling your blankets off the floor, placing them back on the bed. The lumps in the cloth suggested your presence, but as he pulled them away he found the rest of the bed empty. He stepped back in surprise.

Piye looked over his shoulder, frowning as they, too, saw your absence.

"Isn't this Yogi's bed?"

"It was last night," Ahk said.

"I am here," you said from behind. Ahk whirled around, coming face to face with you struggling to pull on a large, ornate coat.

"Oh. What are you doing?" Ahk asked with a frown.

"I am placing my coat."

"We can see that," Piye said flatly. "It's hot outside. Why do you need it."

"Pockets," you said, opening your jacket to reveal a plethora of pockets sewn into the inner seams. "I do go to market now. I will see for the man that had made this."

You reached into one of your pockets, pulling out the block of pure iron some blacksmith had thrown away.

"Will I go to Panya? If she wants to?" You asked, pocketing the metal once more.

"Probably should," Ahk said with a yawn, stretching his hands high enough that they raised the cloth ceiling. Piye nodded in agreement.

"She likes to stay in control," Piye added.

"I can help you get there," Ahk offered expectantly.

"Oh! Thanks many," you said, grinning wide. "I do not know to find her."

"I better come too," said Piye, who crossed their arms. "He always seems to get into trouble without me there."

"You say that as though I don't get into trouble when you're with me, too," Ahk chuckled.

"I'm not in the mood today, Ahk," Piye whispered, gripping Ahk's upper arm tight enough to leave temporary marks.

"Then don't come along," Ahk whispered back. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

Piye glared at him but said nothing, walking swiftly out the door and closing the flap behind them. It left Ahkmen once more alone with you, awkwardly shuffling his feet as you prepared yourself, carefuly to remember all your tools.

"Thank you, again," Ahkmen said after a moment of silence. "For letting me sleep here."

"Yes, yes. Go now."

You pushed him out the door, following as you fixed the tassels of your pants. Thin ropes flipped every which way till you knotted them, tightening around your waist, before you set off towards the common streets. Ahkmen followed, though he couldn't see where Piye had gone.

Murmuring conversations surrounded him, circled by flocks of people heading towards Osiris' temple. Shoulders and feet pushed on him, shoving him about as he headed in the opposite direction, always searching for your scarlet red robes. They set you quite wide apart from the usual crowd, and thus the Prince used them as an identifier.

People cast looks in his direction as he continued to shove and push, a constant stream of shaky apologies tumbling from his mouth. He considered himself adept at moving through crowds, but he had clearly not gotten as much practice as you did, which combined with your smaller size, led you to stop far ahead to wait for him.

He panted as he reached you, pausing with a heavy chest.

"Feel you good?" You asked, quirking a brow.

"I don't do well when I haven't eaten in the morning," he said, his voice cracking as he bent over slightly, his hands on his knees.

"Funny Egyptian man," you laughed, reaching up to ruffle his already messy hair. "You are... too full of money."

"I wouldn't doubt that," he muttered, recalling the many luxuries his father had given him throughout his life.

"I buy your food, we will go," you said as you returned to walking, slow to allow him time to catch up.

"Oh, don't worry about that," he said, waving his hand dismissively as he rose to follow you. "I can pay for it. Don't waste your money."

"Right?"

"... yes," he said, after having given up on trying to decode what exactly you'd meant.

As the two of you entered the main streets of the city, the conversations of strangers grew louder, more densely packed between houses and stalls full of goods. Through the street you now walked down, there must've been at least five different spice carts. Careful mountains of cumin and ginger were placed in the corner of nearly every stop.

Near the end, he found a small stall of a woman selling beer. He reached for you, pausing your step as he dug into his own pocket, pulling out a silver ring.

"One cup, please," he asked, to which the lady politely acquiesced. He set the ring down on her counter. "Will this do?"

"... one more than that," she said, her gaze flickering from the ring to Ahk's eyes.

He pulled out another ring, and with that she handed him the cup, taking the rings simultaneously.

"Have a good day!" She said as the two of you left.

Ahkmen sipped at his drink with a satisfied sigh, relaxing into the sweet, familiar taste. Your drinks were good, but far too alcoholic to be worth any sustenance.

"I want a little," you said, moving on your toes so as to see inside his cup.

"Sure," he said, and handed it to you. You returned it after a couple swallows.

"We look for Panya, yes?" You asked.

"Oh, right. I'll take you to her house."

Panya didn't live far away from the center of town, so in a matter of minutes you were already knocking on her door. What you didn't expect, however, was for the High Priest of Osiris' temple to answer it.

He eyed you up and down, your odd way of dress, the dot on your forehead, before his gaze fell to Ahkmen. It was then his eyes narrowed, coldly recognizing the prince.

"What do you want," he said, leering down at you.

"Your daughter," said Ahk, who was leant against one of the pillars outside Panya's mansion of a house.

"You may not have her."

"I –"

Before Ahk could finish, something tugged on the inside of his arm, pulling him away from the doorstep. You didn't seem to notice, busy conversing with Yafeu. He turned round, stumbling with broken balance before he looked up, meeting Piye's eye.

"What are you doing?" He whispered, glancing back to you and the priest.

"I've been thinking," Piye murmured, leaning down to lessen the space between them, "I don't think we should go around the markets just talking about a purified iron. I think it might land you in trouble."

"Why?" He scoffed.

"I’ve been at all my father’s meetings with the Pharaoh and his generals and they’re talking about iron. How to get it, how to use it, how to control it, everything,” they said.

“Well why’s that a problem? They did the same thing with wood.”

"Not like this! Iron, it – it's incredibly strong. If we had armor made of that, shields made of it, weapons made of it, it'd give us an enormous amount of military power, and with your father in rule, I don't think that's a good idea," they said in a growing volume before they remembered Yafeu was there, and quieted down again.

"What's wrong with my father?!" Ahk gasped.

"Nothing!" Piye hissed, eyes darting back up to Yafeu to see if he had noticed. "He just has a habit of oppressing people!"

Ahkmen snorted. His hand shot up to cover his mouth, quiet giggles wracking his body.

"I'm sorry," he wheezed, "that shouldn't be funny. Sorry."

"It's fine," Piye said with a long sigh. "You know what I mean. If word gets to him that this little immigrant over here has a key to finding how to shape iron, he isn't going to take a visit and credit them with the discovery. He's going to deport them, cover it up, and claim he learned it from the Gods. You know everything’s a game to him."

Ahkmen's breath caught in his throat as Piye laid out the consequences in plain, simple terms he could understand. That would be the end of your friendship, but more importantly, it was also the end of your livelihood. You were still young––around his age––and you didn't know much else except living in Egypt. If he were to take your word, your home to the east was far, far away, and ruled by an unjust dictator. You would not make the journey there alone, let alone when you actually reached your city.

"What do you suppose we do?" Ahkmen said after a minute or two of deep thought.

"I think –"

"We can go here," you said, passing by them with Panya and, unsurprisingly, Unas bringing up the rear.

"Wait –"

He went to stop you, but Piye stopped him first.

"Best you don't tell them. We're not from the palace, remember?" Piye muttered, before promptly following you off the steps of Panya's house. Ahkmen, however disgruntled as he was, followed as well.

"I wish I was poor," he grumbled, walking alongside Piye, who kept a fair enough distance from you and your customers.

Piye struck him with a flat palm against the back of his head. The weight in his neck rolled forward, kinking it awkwardly, to which he let out a yelp of pain.

"Don't say that. Others in your country, in this city, starve. They would give anything to be you."

His frown drew tighter, irritant clogging his thoughts. Every inconvenience angering. He breathed deeply, willing the feeling away, and sped his pace to catch up to you. Panya might've been up there, but her presence would be a small price for yours.

The markets approached faster than he realized, and soon he was once more surrounded by strangers bartering and advertising. Thin tarps of orange and dusty yellow spread from one side of the thin street to the other, sheltering merchants from the hot sun, and allowing them to hang different products on the lines. He ducked under rings of cloth and over piles of incense, shakily following your wavy trail through the walkway.

Heat began to redden his cheeks, and it was then he realized that you'd made it to the blacksmith area of market, near to the kitchens. Fire stoking bread and metal filled the open air, made much clearer by the absence of the shading tarps.

"Uh, Yogi," he said, grabbing your shoulder to stop you before you could enter. "I think we should keep on the down-low, this purified iron, people might start talking."

You looked him up and down.

"Okay," you said, turning back round to enter the shop.

It took until evening before you made any progress. Most everyone you met was skeptical of you, which wasn't surprising considering the size and age of your group. But the last man you came to was still working, even as everyone around him ate dinner, readying to leave for home or staying for music.

He had long hair––longer than Piye's, trailing down to his mid-thigh. Unlike theirs, his was black, and much stringier in comparison. The knotted rope used to hold his hair back as he worked was crude at best, and one he had to constantly fix. Ahkmen didn't see it, but you noticed he was much skinnier than most of the other blacksmiths, who had grown muscles over the years of their work.

You approached him much like you approached everyone; a bright, commercial cheerfulness that came across as dangerously fake. To those who had spent good time in the markets, it was easy to see through. Those who hadn't, however, couldn't quite decode why you were unsettling, other than you being foreign.

"What did you say this was for again?" The man asked, his voice a quiet, low rasp. He had seated himself amongst your menagerie, matching the height of Piye, who was of course the tallest member.

"We are trying to find the owner of an amulet," Panya lied smoothly, pulling off one of her many necklaces and handing it to the man. "Or rather, the maker."

He took the necklace with skinny fingers, twisting it round in them as he surveyed the whole of it.

"Gold, ruby.. copper," he muttered, pointing to each of the different beads as though you could understand him mumbling. "Silver?"

Panya gestured for the amulet back, which he gave, and she strung it back around her neck.

"Iron. It's the purest we've ever seen and we're looking for the source," she said, pointing to the rest of the group.

"The durability is incredible. I would love to have access to that kind of things in my buildings and such," Unas added.

"I know," the blacksmith said, his hair still drooping long in front of his face. "I have been searching for a way to purify the ore, but I cannot get my fires hot enough. I keep getting... what might be iron, but it never looks right. Then again, I – I don't know what the correct product would look like."

Well then, Ahk thought, that explains why it was in the junkyard.

You leant over to Ahk, moving to your knees so your lips met his ear as you whispered.

"Can I show him what we found now?"

"Um.." his eyes darted over to Piye, who was listening intently to the man's woes, "sure."

Tapping on the blacksmith's shoulder, you brought his attention to you and the heavy malformed metal in your hand. His eyes widened, near imperceptive behind all his hair, but certainly filled with shock.

"Is that my...?"

"It is iron," you said with a grin. "I live in a city where lots of iron everywhere. Here, not so much, but that is iron."

"Unas found it in the junkyard in the southern part of Memphis," Panya said, pointing a thumb to her friend.

"Shit," the man breathed out, combing a hand through his hair. "I don't know which one that was."

"Which what?" Ahkmen asked.

"Which heat level," Unas answered for him. "It takes a specific amount to actually purify different ores. Otherwise you might burn it into a charcoal."

"And the all other rocks and," you motioned grinding your fist into the palm of your other hand, "the rocks you smash until they are sand."

"Powder," Ahk said.

"Yes. I see, when I was 5, my father has powder in his furnace, in the iron," you said with a variety of questionable hand motions. "Red, and... a bright black. Shiny."

Ahkmen listened intently for the next hour and a half as you, Unas, and the blacksmith conversed about smelting techniques. Apparently, all of you had, at one point, attempted to smelt iron out of the ore, a fact that was made appalling because Egypt didn't have any iron. Most of the iron within the country was either imported or from the meteor, which was confined to only serving the royal family.

Even Piye eventually tired of the conversation that never seemed to stray from smelting, though you did for a short time discuss techniques for copper. Piye had an incredible sense of patience, so when they tapped Ahk to tell him they were leaving, Ahk realized he usually would've left ten minutes into the conversation.

It clicked quite quickly that he wasn't really listening––he was watching you, and that had somehow occupied him for a full hour and a half. A creeping sense of embarrassment had him hunching his shoulders.

"Unas, we should go, we have that thing in the morning," Panya murmured into Unas' ear, though Ahkmen still caught it.

"Oh, right," he said in a deflated tone. He stood, brushing off his skirt before facing the blacksmith. "Thank you for your time. Is it alright if I come back sometime? Might be better to have more than one person working on this."

"How old are you?" The blacksmith asked in his usual mumble.

"16."

"... okay," he said after a moment. "You're old enough."

"Oh, good. Well thank you, anyway," Unas said, before motioning to Panya to leave. He bowed his head slightly as he left the circle of conversation, following his friend back into the markets.

As she left, Panya turned to walk backwards, holding her hands out to you. You quickly caught her drift, and threw the ball to her. She thanked you from a distance.

"We should leave soon as well," Ahk whispered to you.

A few minutes later, the two of you were once more walking side by side, wandering down the now-vacant streets. Ahkmen had no idea where you were going, but was along for the ride no matter where you ended up. As you hastened your step, you took Ahk's hand, forcing him to match your pace with a giddy laugh.

"The night is clear," you said, walking backwards to face him without halting your step. "You will show me the star shapes, yes?"

"The constellations," he said with a soft chuckle, his body filling with a warm, lighthearted haze. "Of course."

You led him back towards your home but ignored the alleyway entrance, instead reaching the doors of Osiris' temple. The tall walls marked themselves steep against your small stature, casting long shadows in the moonlight, that tonight shone like a shell of the sun. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died stillborn as you tugged him into you. His chest met yours as he stumbled clumsily.

"Be safe, funny man," you giggled, looking down at him as his head's weight rested awkwardly in the crook of your neck.

What little citylights remained in the dead of night faded away as you scaled the tower, your neck craned upwards to the heavens. No matter how tall the roof of the temple was, no matter how high you climbed, the stars never seemed to move any closer. Their distance must've been incomprehensible, but inconsequential when grasping Ahk's hand to help him onto the roof.

He panted softly as he stood on his feet once more, brushing off the dust that came from the temple walls. You left him to wander to the center of the stone plateau. His breathing slowed, attention centering on you as your eyes still stared up into empty space.

You turned, noticing the heat of his gaze.

"Speak to me," you said in a voice that moved like music. "You tell on Sopdet, yes? And.. Sah. Nuit and Geb."

"Lie down with me," he said.

You dutifully obeyed, sliding down next to him, your clothes and hair splayed out.

For a good hour he pointed up, tracing the outlines of constellations he had studied all his life. Since you didn't know their shapes on paper, he drew the images in the dirt and sand collected on the roof, showing you how random collections of dots made up women and beautiful creatures, the everlasting Gods in the sky.

"I want to be... something beautiful," he murmured, looking down at his own shoddy illustrations. "Like the stars."

"You had say that when you will die, you will go to the stars, right?" You asked softly.

"In death," he said with a small nod. "I will not be able to see this earth. I will be one amongst millions. It's strange, but... I wish I could stay here forever. A star close to home."

"You are scared of being nothing," you said. "But we are nothing. We are nothing to birds, or to other cities. We are already nothing and everything. It is what you choose to make of you––make more of your everything, or sleep in your nothing. There is happy things in both."

"No time wasted in happiness is truly time wasted?" He said, remembering a familiar anecdote from school.

"Yes," you said with a smile.

Silence filled the space for a few minutes, stilled by the slow breathing of Ahk's chest. He closed his eyes, exhaustion tugging at him, all of which he ignored.

"Aganu?" You said, nearly whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I like my hours with you," you murmured, wide, warm eyes staring bashfully at him.

"I do too."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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bloodyshadow1 · 3 years

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Beauyasha week Day 3: Scars

You're Worth Trying to be Better For

I did metaphorical scars for today's prompt, not much more to say. Hope you like it, more prompts on their way, at least 1 more, though I'll do my best to write more. If you like my work and feel like encouraging me to write more, leave a comment if you want. They help more than you know

“Hey Yash,” Beau said calling after her girlfriend. They had just dealt with a band of giant spiders that was plaguing a small town in the southern parts of the Empire. It wasn’t a hard fight, not after the year they had, but for most normal people they could have been a problem.

Beau was worried, her girlfriend had been distant the last few days, even quieter and withdrawn than usual. Beau didn’t want to push her, she didn’t have a lot of experience being a girlfriend and didn’t think forcing Yasha to talk about things would help. But now that she wasn’t even scavenging parts of the dead spider’s to eat as a snack later Beau knew something was wrong.

So when Caleb created the tower for the night, Beau moved to talk to Yasha in private. The barbarian didn’t even come to dinner with the rest of them, she just retreated to her room in the tower without saying a word. She had barely used it since they became girlfriends, most nights they spent together in Beau’s room. But the last few days they both slept alone, Beau respecting Yasha’s privacy up until now.

Beau knocked on the door, there wasn’t an answer, but the door opened all the same. She saw Yasha sitting on her bed, just staring at her wildflower mural turned away from the door. “Yasha,” Beau said again, more pleading this time as she tried to keep her heart from breaking.

Yasha didn’t say anything but she did stop and turn around to look at her. Her eyes were distant and unfeeling, like they had been when they first met and Beau was trying to ignore the pain. She was already doomed, in the, ‘when she’s hurting I’m hurting,’ phase of their relationship.

“I’ve tried to give you space,” Beau said inching closer, “I really have. But you’ve been so closed off the last couple days. If I’ve done something wrong, I’m sorry, please just tell me so I can fix it,” she begged.

That got a reaction of Yasha, “what are you talking about,” she asked unsure of what Beau meant. Her voice was rougher than usual, after not being used for days it came out even more gravelly.

“Y-you’ve been so distant and quiet,” Beau said softly, not trying to agitate Yasha, trying to not sound too accusing. “I figured it must be something I did, so please just tell me so I can make it right.”

It all came crashing down to Yasha, it wasn’t about Beau, but it wasn’t not about her either. Yasha knew, a part of her at least, knew that Beau for all her strength, and beauty, and brilliance, was incredibly fragile. In their time together, Yasha had done her best to make Beau feel as loved as she deserved to mitigate the damage her family had done to her. No wonder she’s like this, Yasha withdrawing, instantly translated into her doing something wrong.

“Beau,” Yasha said softly, “come here,” she patted a spot next to her on the bed.

Beau moved slowly to sit down at Yasha’s side, not wanting to say or do anything to upset the larger woman. Beau knew it had to be something she did, it was always something she did.

“Beau,” Yasha said with her hand on Beau’s chin so her girlfriend would look at her, “you did nothing wrong, I promise.”

Beau was a damn good liar, that helped her know when people were lying to her. She knew in her very soul that Yasha, tall, powerful, beautiful Yasha wasn't lying to her. There wasn’t a trace of falsehood in her violet and green eyes. “T-then why,” Beau started to ask but couldn’t form the words.

“It’s not because of you Beau,” Yasha said feeling ashamed she had put her girlfriend through, “it’s because of me. A few days ago, I had a dream and it bothered me,” that was an understatement if there ever was one. She turned away from Beau, staring into her beloved’s face would make it harder to formulate her thoughts, Beau had the right way of making her mind leave her in all the best ways.

“Was it, you know,... Obann,” Beau asked carefully. Yasha had spoken the the party about her time under Obann’s control, but she knew it was still some of the worst time in Yasha’s life under his control.

“No, I haven’t dreamed about him in a long time, thankfully,” Yasha said struggling. Beau deserved to know the truth, no matter how much it hurt. “It wasn’t a nightmare, it was a good dream, a very good dream,” she said more to the room than to Beau.

“Well…, that’s good, right,” Beau said, knowing the answer. Yasha wouldn’t have been so distant if it was a good thing.

“The dream was good,” Yasha said gripping her hands, her knuckles turning white, “it was of Zuala.” Even after all this time it hurt to say her name.

“Oh,” Beau didn’t know what to say, she knew Yasha was married before, that her tribe killed her and she ran away. But she barely mentioned her and Beau didn’t want to pry. “Well I mean that’s normal, she was a huge part of your life, I’m sure you have a lot of good memories of her.”

“I didn’t dream of our past Beau,” Yasha said, the words coming out like a curse. When Beau didn’t say anything she continued, “it wasn’t real, of course, but when I dreamed I wished it was. I dreamed that I charged forward instead of running away, that I took my wife in my arms and we ran away together. I dreamed of what our life would be together, if she survived.” Yasha sounded miserable.

“I can see why that would make you feel terrible once you woke up and she wasn’t by your side anymore,” Beau said.

“I woke up miserable because I remembered that I loved you,” Yasha shouted. “No, not like that,” Yasha said moving to Beau whose face fell, cupping Beau’s face so she couldn’t look away. “I felt like I was betraying you…, by dreaming of her.”

“What,” was all Beau could get out.

“I love you Beau, I love you so much,” the pain in Yasha’s voice hurt. “But I can’t love you with all my heart. Zuala will always be a part of me, no matter how hard I try to bury my memories of her, they keep bubbling up. When I’m awake you’re there and I don’t think about her as much, but when I’m asleep alone, I can’t help where my mind goes. If I could stop them I woul-.”

She would have kept going but Beau stopped her with a finger to her lips. “Yasha,” Beau said calmly, “I don’t want you to forget about Zuala.”

“H-how can you not,” Yasha asked, as tears started to pour down her face. “How can you be with a woman who doesn’t love you with all her heart. You deserve someone who loves you more than anything in the world, Beau.”

It took a bit for Beau to get her thoughts in order, to decide on what she was going to say. Finally, she came to a conclusion, “Yasha, can I tell you a…secret I guess. I wasn’t really trying to keep it a secret but I also haven’t tried talking about it.” She looked at Yasha for confirmation and when Yasha gave her a nod she continued. “I have a crush on Jester, a big one. I’m not going to break up with you, or cheat on you, or do anything with her, I promise, but it’s still there.”

“I don’t really know when it started, you know how I am with pretty girls, she was the first real friend I ever had and then as we kept traveling together maybe something grew as my feelings for you grew also. I felt like shit, like I was living out every lesbian stereotype in the dirty books I read as a kid, obsessing over my best friend who has a crush on a guy, it’s so cliche, but it still happened. I couldn’t control it any more than I could control falling in love with you. I’m happy for her and Fjord, and I’m even happier for me and you, but I still have feelings for her. They’re not nearly as strong as the feelings I have for you now, but when you were controlled they were pretty damn strong because Jester’s cheerfulness was one of the few things that could soothe the ache in my heart not knowing if you betrayed us or not.”

“I’m not trying to say this to hurt you or to pull this out to counter what you told me, but I just wanted you to know because you need to know you’re not the only one whose heart is made to love more than one person. After telling you that, do you still love me,” Beau asked very quietly now, truths on the table, ball in Yasha’s court.

“Of course not,” Yasha said, surprising herself with how easy it was to say. Yasha knew in her heart that there wasn’t anything Beau could do that would make her hate Beau.

“Well I feel the same way,” Beau told her, giving her girlfriend a smile. “I know you don’t want to talk about Zuala, and I respect that. But I’m not the jealous type, I know she was beautiful and amazing. And I’m just happy she was there for you when you needed her to be and I’m so sorry she was taken from you before her time.” She kissed Yasha’s hands.

“You didn’t even know her,” Yasha said, trying to resist, but if their time together has proven anything, she is bad at resisting Beau.

“No,” Beau admitted, “but you loved her, you love her, I can’t believe that someone you love so strongly, even after all this time could be anything but wonderful.”

“You know that means you too now,” Yasha meeting Beau’s eyes for the first time in a while.

“I-I don’t know about that,” Beau mumbling some excuses. It was funny to see her stumbling over her words, but it hurt to see her so down on herself. Beau was amazing, she was strong, smart, funny, beautiful, and so much more, yet she can’t see it. Beau’s heart was so strong but covered in the scars of what her parents had done to her, just like Yasha’s had been for what the tribe had done to Zuala.

“Well how about we help each other out then,” Yasha suggested. “Not today, but someday, I would like to talk about Zuala, if you’ll be willing.”

“You telling me stories about beautiful women, how can I say no,” Beau said, trying to be funny.

“And maybe, I can show you how wonderful you are so you stop hating yourself Beau,” Yasha said, cupping Beau’s face softly in her massive hands.

“I’m not sure it will work Yasha, I’m pretty broken,” Beau told her, “but I’m willing to try anything for you.”

“That’s all I’ll ever ask Beau, because I won’t stop trying, ” Yasha said, kissing her. Her heart was still hurt, but it was healing, a lot of that is thanks to Beau. And she’d love Beau enough to make her stop hating herself one day. There would always be scars on her heart from losing Zuala, but that was okay because women digged scars. At least her woman did and that was all that mattered.

Notes:

To be honest, I'm not super happy about the ending, I rushed it because I wanted to post today and I have my dnd game in a few minutes but I hope you enjoyed it all the same.

#critical role #the mighty nein #beauyashaweek2021 #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #my work #fanfiction #beauyashaweek2021 day 3 scars

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ambivertwriter · 3 years

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Just Say Hello (Mirio Togata and Tamaki Amajiki HC)

Prompt: [MM4A] You and Mirio had just become friends. He introduces you to his closest friend, Tamaki, but it turns out you’re just as anxious as he is.

It wasn’t too long ago that you had created a friendship with Mirio Togata. It started off with a shared laugh over a mixup over each other’s order at some fast food restaurant. What was meant to be an interaction lasting no longer than a minute ended up lasting about 4 hours. You ended up talking about your shared interests, your differences in hero training experience, and other things of the sort. You exchanged contact information and ever since then, you’ve gotten incredibly close as friends.

About a month into the friendship, Mirio decided that it would be a good idea to introduce you to his closest friends. First was Nejire Hado, who you had hit it off with immediately. Tamaki, however, was a completely different story. Maybe it was the energy and general aura Nejire gave off that made it so easy, but with Tamaki, you couldn’t help but be the nervous wreck you were when you first met Mirio.

Even though Mirio assured you that there was nothing to worry about, your brain said differently, listing off a million ways you could screw it up. Mirio had his hand on your back, patting it before knocking on Tamaki’s door. You heard a timid “who is it?” from behind the door, and Mirio proclaimed both his and your presence. A shuffling could be heard before the door partly opened, revealing a mess of indigo fluff and half a face as Tamaki checked to verify that it really was the two of you. The door immediately shut again and a clink of chain sounded and the door was opened all the way, revealing Tamaki in his pajamas. Though it was half passed noon, you were told to expect nothing less on a weekend like this.

Tamaki softly greeted you both and allowed you into his house, shutting the door afterwards. Mirio strode around the lounge area and made himself as comfortable as if it were his own home, while you nervously stood in the same exact spot near the door. You and Tamaki went back and forth attempting to maintain eye contact, only to let it last a few seconds before looking back down at your feet whenever either of you locked eyes with each other. This went on for far too ling with deafening, awkward silence before Mirio stood up from the couch and made his way over to you, grabbing your hand and dragging you closer to Tamaki. He grabbed Tamaki’s hand and made you hold hands in a greeting manner.

“Tamaki, this is my friend. They’re a lot like you, so there’s no reason to be nervous. They like a lot of the same things we do, so you can start talking to them with a topic you’re really passionate about. Just say hello and they can do the rest... hopefully.” Mirio made your hands shake, but it only made it more awkward. After he let go, both of your hands dropped back to your sides. Tamaki uttered a quick and soft “hello”. You responded with a weak “hi” before things went silent again. Mirio sighed with a weak smile before returning to the couch and switching the TV to a channel of his liking.

You looked around to see the nature aesthetic, with faux and real plants alike, animal ceramics and decals strewn all about the place. One animal in particular that seemed to make the most common appearance was the butterfly. Different colors, sizes and decoration variations of butterflies lined the walls from corner to corner. Having gone through a lengthy Lepidopterology phase some years ago, you thought you’d bite the bullet and break the ice.

“So, uhm, I see you have a lot of butterflies all around. What’s your favorite kind?” you asked timidly, twiddling your thumbs and shifting your new look weight from foot to foot. You saw Tamaki look up and you slowly met his gaze to see him with a completely new look on his face. It was as if a switch had been flipped in his brain and he was able to distract himself from the awkwardness of meeting someone new by talking about something he was passionate about.

“I’m a really big fan of the Siproeta stelenes. That’s, uh, that’s the name for Malachite butterflies. I love the patterns they have and the wing shape of their wings. I saw one the other day with a really pretty apple green color, and I was able to get pretty close to it before it flew away. I, uhm, I sketched it in one of my notebooks, but I can’t remember where I put it,” he rushed out. It was completely different from the Tamaki you met not even 12 minutes ago, but it was good to see him getting comfortable.

You two continued to talk about all kinds of butterflies and even inquired about where he bought all of his decor. You didn’t even notice you had both been standing for as long as you were until he offered to continue the conversation on the couch. You looked over to see Mirio entranced by the show that was currently playing and you laughed, accepting his offer and moving to a free space on the couch. He took a seat near you and continued talking all about his love for nature and all different types of animals.

The conversation carried on long into the evening. You didn’t even notice how late it had gotten until you looked over to see Mirio asleep on the couch. You apologized profusely, but Tamaki explained there was no need to apologize. Still, you stood up to wake Mirio, and you both deemed it too late and dangerous to travel back to your respective homes this late at night. Looking to Tamaki, he nervously offered for you both to stay the night. Mirio automatically agreed , but it took you a little convincing to fully accept.

You all ate dinner before you and Mirio took turns using the guest bathroom. to get ready. Since neither of you had any clothes prepared, Tamaki offered some of his. He scavenged through his baggiest clothing, not just for size, but for comfort. Seeing as how Mirio was nearly passed out, you let him have the guest bedroom while you offered to take the couch. Even though the couch was already comfortable as it was, it didn’t stop Tamaki from doing the most to make sure you were as comfortable as you could possibly be, bringing out blankets and fluffy pillows and handing you the remote for both the heater and the air conditioning. With one last reminder of where everything was in case you needed it, you greeted each other a good night before he headed off to his room. As you were about to shut your eyes, they immediately went wide with a troubling realization: you were starting to develop some feelings for Tamaki.

#bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #mirio togata #tamaki amajiki

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mcousland · 3 years

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nobody asked for this at all, the dummies have just become my comfort zone and i love them so a fool filled out a whole meme for them for the fun of it. dietrich belongs to @darlingicarus!

— SHIP QUESTIONS

PRE-RELATIONSHIP —

how did they first meet?

dietrich saved both maeve’s and carden’s lives while he was making a run in the city. saving carden was pure coincidence that came from killing a few of the dead that had been blocking his own path, but maeve was intended as he kept her from meeting a terrible end when one of the dead got hold of her skirt while she tried to run past. as everyone is prone to in those early days—dietrich was fine with protecting maeve and even bringing her back to whatever group there was at the time, but didn’t mind one bit if carden got bit somewhere along the way.

what was their first impression of each other?

maeve thought he was a bit too Blunt about everything that was going on and wished he would stop looking so damned serious all the time, it made her nervous about danger being around every corner and she was already scared enough. she also thought he was a bit handsome underneath that scowl

dietrich had a bit of a hard time seeing her past carden’s [annoyingly] large presence but thought she wasn’t taking things seriously enough, too many witty one-liners and worries about dirtying her hands and clothes. probably worried about the brightness of her clothes attracting too much attention too tbh

did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

family, that’s a good one. ohhhh, i’m sure a few of their friends wanted them to sort things out and just admit to themselves whatever was going on between them, because oh boy did they Ignore a Lot of things for quite a while but a good 80% of the group could spot how close they had grown through all of the things they endured together.

who felt romantic feelings first?

we already know that it was maeve!! we know this, how silly it is to even type it out!!! we know that she woke up one morning after an evening of fwb activities, spent a minute gazing at him while he remained asleep beside her and there was a frightening Oh No realization when she found herself reaching out to touch his cheek without thinking.

did either of them try to resist their feelings?

both of them! big time!! they were fucking terrified. on top of their own already established issues with Feelings, there are the obvious shared fears that come from the world they’re living in. it’s difficult to accept that you’re becoming attached to someone when you know that you could lose them at any moment with so much violence and darkness surrounding you at every turn, especially when you’ve already lost others along the way. (dietrich definitely held out his resistance for longer, though that's a given.)

if you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

would depend on the timing, i suppose. early days they’d probably both scoff at the thought, but later on maeve could be convinced. there’s that whole “soulmates can be made” belief and yes it may be cheesy, but maeve’s a romantic at heart and she’d like to think it’s true enough. soulmates are people who understand each other deeply, are connected at the mind, and know without doubt that the other will always be there at their side—consider maeve Convinced.

GENERAL —

who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

maeve did! technically twice if you count a difference between the beginning of their fwb agreement and then the relationship proper faaaar down the line. i believe the first hook-up came about from maeve making a Very convincing argument for them to find some pleasure and relief from their steadily growing stress while they were away from the group, given that they had become somewhat of a default duo for supply runs and spent so much quality~ alone time together. considering that you could hardcut to five minutes later and find maeve on her knees unbuckling dietrich’s belt, i’d say the proposition went pretty well 😌 the relationship itself came along quite some time down the line, when maeve accidentally slipped up mid-makeout and let the love she has for dietrich Shine through her eyes while looking at him. naturally his instinct was to book it out of there because Feelings Hard, but maeve decided to risk baring her fuckin' heart ((after some months of Pining and a particularly Traumatic series of events that led to them clinging tighter to each other than before)) by asking him simply to "stay" before he could get out the door. arguably that moment was scarier than most of the times they've gone out into the world beyond the safety of their group, but ultimately worth the leap of faith!! because he stayed, and though it was never explicitly stated, they both understood that that night spent together was them putting an end to the fight against the feelings they both knew were there and finally taking the next step in their relationship.

did they have an official first date? if so, what was it like?

they did, but it was purely because maeve labeled it as such and no other reason. a few weeks after their relationship was Confirmed, maeve up and decided that their run into the city would be their first proper Date because they hadn't had some actual alone time in a good while, and it sounded like harmless fun which they didn't get enough of. nothing really Changed from their routine of clearing and scavenging, she just changed up their usual dialogue to asking the "typical date questions. oh, you know! what's your favorite movie? your weirdest fear? the dumbest thing you spent far too much money on?" just a silly excuse to get to know some of the little, random things about each other that popped into their heads or that they'd been curious about for a while.

what was their first kiss like?

tentative and oddly gentle, maeve went for a slow approach in every aspect while testing the waters to see if her last few minutes of attempting to Seduce the bastard into a fwb arrangement had panned out. it was almost Immediately followed up by another kiss and some touching that bordered more along the lines of desperate and eager as they wanted to get to the fun bits, but it was still one of the first notable moments of maeve taking that first step for them and waiting to see if he’d follow suit.

were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

probably first relationship after the world went to shit, but in general nah they’ve both got some prior experiences.

what’s their height difference? age difference?

dietrich’s 5′10″ and maeve’s 5′0″. he’s in his early-to-mid 30s, she’s probably at the end of her 20s?? somewhere around there. who needs solid numbers anyway

what’s their relationship with each other’s families?

😔✌️ new fam found in the group, who dis??

who takes the lead in social situations?

100% maeve baybee. whether she’s talking circles around somebody to keep them distracted, trying to diffuse a situation or just comforting somebody through a difficult moment, we all been knew that maeve’s better suited for almost every kind of social situation. she’ll let him handle any of the ones that rely on intimidation tho, that’s all leitner right there

who gets jealous easier?

ohhhh, that’s another maeve claim. she has Zero reason to worry because dietrich is oblivious to so many attempts at flirtation from others, but it’s still a gut instinct in her to get a little ticked off seeing some rando trying to make moves on him. that’s Her bastard that she spent untold months charming the defenses away from, take a step back and show some respect.

LOVE —

who said “i love you” first?

everybody knows it was maeve, i hardly need to say it. we know she was the one brave enough to say it first, even if it Did take a scare of losing dietrich to tell him. they both already Knew, in that ways of theirs that they have where things are simply Understood between them without having to be mentioned aloud, but she needed him to hear it from her lips at least once. just in case

what are their primary love languages?

i’d say they’re both pretty big on quality time because of them both being naturally inclined to it and how they drifted into becoming partners for supply runs and other action, they spend so much time together it’d be Wild for it not to be their shared #1. not a single doubt in my mind that acts of service is dietrich’s other big one, while maeve’s kinda 50/50 on words of affirmation and physical touch being her runner-up.

how often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

i’ll out them on main for being cuddlers in bed or just generally when they’re Alone. they’re not very big on PDA as a result of dietrich’s whole “if there’s affection exchanged in public i Will learn how to teleport myself halfway across the planet to escape the embarrassment” deal and maeve respecting that. HOWEVER. it’s still maeve and she sneaks in little things when she can, like hand-holding or winding an arm around his waist while they walk. has been known to sneak in a quick kiss to the cheek if he’s sitting down and she can snatch it while he’s not anticipating it. i think hugs are The Most affection that people would frequently see from them in public ((aside from the soft expressions as they watch each other but those don’t count, don’t @ them about it)). the amount of times people in the group have seen them kiss in public can be counted on Maybe one hand if they’re lucky lmfao they keep that shit locked down

what are their favorite things to do together?

this question deserves to be banned from memes because it immediately erases all creative braincells from your mind. dietrich likes to watch maeve tell stories and she loves to ramble those stories, so that’s a win/win for them. sitting on rooftops to watch the sunrise/sunset together. going out of their way to look through any abandoned antique stores or book shops because they’re both Nerds and willing to put in the work of clearing them out so that they can browse. i imagine their favorite is reading together in some comfortable silence, whether that’s separately or with her curled up into him on a couch so they can read the same book. wait also i think maeve thoroughly enjoys any time they’re on watch together because it gives her the opportunity to freely Tease him (and also Gaze at him while he’s focused on the perimeter but that’s entirely too soft so don’t talk about that)

who’s better at comforting the other?

i don’t think either of them are particularly Better at it than the other?? purely because in the beginning, there’s a balance there between dietrich being reluctant to accept maeve’s comfort when she offers it & her taking a hot minute to understand his attempts at comfort. but then they reach that point where dietrich doesn’t tense up when she pulls him into a hug, and maeve finds the consolation she needs in his quiet assurances. on the surface it’d appear that maeve’s better at comforting dietrich purely because she’s more openly physical with her attempts, but the amount of security and solace that she finds in his words or touch means just as much.

who’s more protective?

dietrich takes it with this one. on top of his already there inclination to protect someone if they manage to get close with him, dietrich’s simply the one with better combat skills. maeve can? kinda?? handle herself, if the danger isn’t too pressing and she can find an opening to take advantage of, and she Does have some very strong protective instincts when it comes to dietrich, but he for sure comes out on top for this one. he has the stronger drive and better skills to back the protectiveness up.

do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

physical for both of them! a lot of their communication lies in the unspoken anyhow, it’s no surprise that most of their affection is expressed physically instead of verbally. dietrich’s preference coming from the fact that he might just actually implode on the spot if maeve showered him in too many compliments and expressions of love through words, and maeve’s from learning to appreciate and bask in the meaning and emotion behind the physical affection that he does engage in. also she’s just,, a slut for any kind of affection to begin with, but it’s definitely a whole Thing with being touched when there’s genuine care and love behind it instead of some other ulterior motive.

what are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

[sweats in Having An Entire Playlist Dedicated To Dummies In This AU]

sunlight by hozier — (video essayist voice) the conclusion: maeve is the sunlight to dietrich’s raincloud, thank you. the vibes for this one are just off the charts, lads. it’s about finding Warmth and Light in this love amidst the horrors of the world and in spite of the initial reluctance to let each other get close.

safe & sound by taylor swift — another one with vibes out of this world, this song is Top Tier for a big part of their dynamic in this verse, which is them finding safety and comfort in each other while the rest of the world goes to shit around them. everything may be going up in flames outside, but they know that they have each other and they’re not Alone in anything they do.

what kind of nicknames do they call each other?

maeve’s the queen of petnames, unfortunately for the easily flustered bastard. her favorites are naturally dear and darling, but she also enjoys an occasional use of lover. has called him baby once or twice just to get the reaction out of him. oh wait she also likes calling him an old man when he’s Like That and doesn’t get her references or grumbles too much.

i mean,, it’s dietrich, he uses Sommers more often than her fuckin’ first name and i don’t think he’s out here using petnames/nicknames on the reg At All, they’re opposite ends of the spectrum with this one. he called her sweetheart once to throw her off and it sent her out of wack for at least the entire rest of the day. so good on him, mission accomplished.

DOMESTIC LIFE —

if they get married, who proposes?

no marriage! dietrich’s not quite keen on it and maeve’s not the type to push him into anything he’s not comfortable with. if anything she might?? bring up the idea of rings if they ever come by some while out and about and they’ve been together for a hot minute, for the sentimental and sappy reason of having little reminders of each other to keep on their persons, but she’s not Insistent about it and is content with what they have.

how many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

no kids! world too scary, no thank you!! they’re also just Not in dietrich’s wheelhouse, which may have been a Problem for them if they weren’t in the midst of an actual fuckin’ apocalypse where nearly every day is a fight for survival and maeve can Clearly see every downside of bringing a baby into that.

do they have any pets?

don’t think so, but maeve’s probably made a whole Deal once or twice about leaving a little food for any dogs or cats they see along their treks because she has a soft heart.

who kills the bugs in the house?

dietrich!! he’s in charge of doing away with those Creatures because maeve will most certainly not be going anywhere near them if she can help it. which is,, pretty funny. you know considering their Big Picture circumstances. zombies? she’s fine with them after a point, only truly terrifying in medium-to-large numbers. a spider or cockroach skittering across the kitchen counter?? Horrifying! leitner do your job and protect your woman from the hellspawn

how do they celebrate holidays?

generally just by,, Acknowledging them?? at the very least. maeve has her entire Thing that is keeping track of the date with a day planner that she has had with her from the very beginning (though it’s been lost once or twice, always found its way back), but she doesn’t demand anything happen on holidays because they’re usually a bit Busy making sure they aren’t Dying to whatever’s threatening them that day. on the occasions where they have the free time, maeve insists they spend quiet time together without having to worry about any of their daily responsibilities and that’s holiday enough. maybe slips in a small tradition if applicable and not too over the top

who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

maeve is a very ;) persuasive woman ;)) it was more difficult and had a less frequent success rate back during the fwb days, but he’s completely fucked after they’ve been #confirmed. stands not a single chance to resist those eyes and the idea of lying in her arms for just a little while longer before they have to start their day.

who’s the better cook?

😔😔 dietrich by far. maeve couldn’t cook for shit before the apocalypse began when she had access to all sorts of appliances, recipes and helpful tutorials, there ain’t no way in hell she stands a chance at beating him Now. she’ll gladly take up other duties, but he’s their chef unless somebody else in the group has made a big dinner for everyone to share.

#not me constantly yelling from the rooftops about how much i love theym #i had half a braincell while writing most of this but consider: i don't care bc i fuckin adore them and the rambling is on brand #sometimes the romance is stored in the growing and learning from each other until you mirror & perfectly understand each other y'know #witcher au: apocalypse #maeve & dietrich

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toysoldiers-rwby · 4 years

Text

Countdown till Vol 8: 36 Days!

Drawing and Writing Request are open!

Characters: Fiona Thyme (POV), Robyn Hill, Winter Schnee, May Marigold, Joanna Greenleaf

Rating: Teen

Summary: Bad first impressions, sharing a bed with your not-crush teammates, and saving a Thief from a Huntress?

Word count: 3k

A/N Another scrapped piece (ch 3) from my Show Your Teeth story. I scrapped it because it took too long to get to the plot but i do love the character interaction.

Dinner was… odd. For one they weren’t up in Atlas Academy, eating a care package Klein and Weiss sent or causing trouble in the mess hall. They were on the floor of Robyn’s apartment, surrounding a stained and uneven coffee table.

Eating food that was dropped off by a mysterious Thief capable of hacking into Atlas’ network.

And it was peaceful.

With two of the hottest heads in Atlas Academy.

For a moment Fiona wondered if Elm’s rocket launcher knocked her out and this was all a dream. But Robyn dived in and soften her crash. She frowned looking at the Mantle women. She expected bragging or teasing but Robyn made sure she was okay then went back to the Grimm. It was beyond professional, even Winter liked joke around but this was serious for Robyn.

And her elites? In her head she could hear Winter huff and puff about eating evidence. While Winter wasn’t as by-the-book as Vine this was the only clue they had to find the Thief that hacked into Atlas. And as a daughter of one of the richest families she could be poisoned or drugged. May would normally be barking over every little thing, such as Robyn sitting too close or staring too long at Fiona. The little lamb gave her elites worried glances. They were… docile and guilt ridden.

They lived up in Atlas all their lives. Everything they wanted was at their fingertips while Mantle had to scavenge for their scraps. Including the military’s attention. The Thief had to trick them into killing a Grimm!

Fiona sighed and slipped another piece of stuff chicken into her mouth. She kept her worried glances on her teammates and listened to the only conversation. Robyn and Joanna was talking about logistics and timing, the planning it would have taken the Thief to make the food and deliver it.

“They has to be working with someone,” Joanna argued.

“They aren’t,” Robyn and Fiona said at the same time. Robyn blinked surprised. Then a grin spread a crossed her face and she leaned forward. “I knew great minds think alike.” Fiona rolled her eyes at the arrogance but ended up smiling a little at the playfulness. “Do you want to explain it or shall I?”

“You can have the honors. Winter and May respect smart asses that has more smarts than ass.” Fiona said. Joanna covered her mouth, trying not to giggle or choke on her food. The elites sneered and rolled their eyes.

"I like to think I’m well rounded," Robyn said, playfully glaring Fiona. Winter tried to cower that arrogance with a glare but even with May fuming at her side Robyn didn’t back down. She seemed to preen under it, “Snowflake said she’s there was enough Dust to blow the block-”

“False, I said the Dust is potent enough to destroy the block,” Winter said. She held the spool of fire Dust, her Aura causing it to glow bright. “This… is potent enough to heat this building for an entire month. Understand the difference?”

“Several questions, we’ll get back to that,” Robyn said. “The Thief has super Dust,” Fiona noticed Winter frowned at the word but didn’t interrupted, “Strong enough to kill the Grimm but they tricked you three into coming down instead. Someone with that much firepower and skill doesn’t need help.”

“… They needed a distraction but we were too close,” May mumbled under her breath. Then she turned to her partner, “That isn’t SDC Dust is it?”

“No,” Winter said. “It’s far to pure to be from my father’s poisonous company.” She spat, anger raw in her voice. She took a deep breath, she held it out for anyone else to inspect but no one grabbed it. Fiona even saw Robyn and Joanna lean away a bit. Winter licked her lips, trying to frown instead of smile. “It’s not gonna combust. Wrong Dust for that.”

“I don’t wanna burn myself! Scars are hot an all but their still painful,” Robyn said.

Fiona laughed and took it from her leader’s hand, “Good manufactures have a type of stabilizer or… or a sponge,” Her Aura flared bright, trying to pour into the spool. It bright red but didn’t burn to the point where Fiona had to drop it. “Point is there’s other materials to keep handle the excess Aura so people won’t hurt themselves.”

“So it’s safe? Even for the Dust inept?” Joanna asked. The trio from Atlas nodded and Joanna tried it. It was a dull glow. Winter tried to hide the smile but Fiona saw it anyway. Robyn pulled out her Scroll, typing a few things.

“Solo, Dust, Tech, possibly from Mistral,” Robyn listed, “Cook, highly likely a neighbor of mine.”

“How is cooking important?” Winter asked.

Robyn paused and looked at her. “Can you elites cook?” Winter frowned, the light glare trying to hide the blush. Robyn smiled a little but Fiona recognize the bitterness in her eyes. Fiona was the same way when she first met them. “Cooking is a very… independent skill,” Robyn said. Fiona would have used the word survivalist. “It’s also a compassionate and communal skill,” Robyn explained, adding those words to her notes.

Winter paused looking down at the food they were eating. Fiona hoped she was smart enough to link everything together. She wasn’t blind to the horrors her father was committing but she was still Atlesian. Did Winter understand how expensive food was here, that sharing it was putting another life before your own?

Winter grit her teeth, “They’re still a criminal.” Fiona’s heart sank a little. Atlesians…

“Not all crimes are severe-”

“Hacking into Atlas’ network makes them threat!”

Fiona heard the sharp whine before everyone else. Her ears immediately pointed at May as she twitched a little. The noise completely caught Winter off guard, head jerking to look at May. The usually angry women whined again, pitching low into a groan as her eyes tried to fluttered open. She was awake long enough to snuggle into Winter’s shoulder and immediately fell back asleep, mouth open and soft snores coming from her. Fiona grinned and giggled behind her hand. For such an elite she was wore herself on her sleeves.

“I guess we’re finishing this in the morning,” Robyn said with a soft sigh.

She looked conflicted, wanting to relax but her guarded blue eyes wouldn’t stray from the Mantle pair for long.

“You three can take my bed, I’ll crash with Robyn for the night.” Joanna said.

“Three?” Fiona asked slowly.

“These idiots are the most overprotective people we’ve met,” Robyn added with her arms crossed. Fiona nodded in agreement before she could stop and stuck her tongue out when Winter frowned at her. “Would you really let Fiona sleep in the living room in a stranger’s apartment?”

Winter blinked. Fiona could sense the tension fading from the Schnee’s body. Winter ate one last stuffed mushroom. “Huh,” She said. Robyn and Joanna waited for more acknowledgment or appreciation but Winter only closed her eyes. Signaling the end of that conversation.

Robyn scowled and Fiona stepped in to try and pacify her, “Thanks. It’s… it’s been tough but I’m sure it’ll better now that we have a fourth member, right?” She looked at her teammates.

May was drifting into deep sleep and Winter was softly glaring at her partner.

“Ideally,” Winter replied only after Fiona cleared her throat. Winter picked up May and Joanna guided the trio to her room. Fiona tried not to imagine all the hard muscles in Winter’s back and arms as she set May on the bed. She just moved her partner around so effortlessly

“Sorry we don’t have any extra clothes or toothbrushes for you,” Joanna mumbled.

“Oh, I think I have some actually,” Fiona said. She concentrated and flexed her hand, recalling the memories associated with the object.

It was a conversation after a surprise trip out of the Kingdom when a Search and Destroy suddenly became a Search and Rescue. Thankfully it was a success but the elites would not stop complaining about their hair. Or maybe it was a break in the usual routine that pissed them off?

Fiona manage to exude two toothbrushes and… a hair brush with long blue hair. “Damn it, May,” Fiona sighed. “I guess it’s a good thing she’s asleep.”

“She usually doesn’t tire so easily…” Winter said softly. Fiona leaned to the side to see her hand linger through May’s hair as she brushed it out of her face. Fiona started her suspicion count then, even if she had several ones before it. “Maybe Weiss and Klein are right. We need a break.”

“Or a date,” Joanna mumbled too softly for the humans to hear. Fiona’s ears perked up. She silently gasped up at Joanna who tried not to blush and fidget. Joanna cleared her throat, “Maybe you three can go shopping tomorrow? To blend in better.”

“That’s a good idea,” Robyn said walking up, “Every time you three are in Mantle the Thief’s gone out of their way to mess with you.”

“I suppose we can be bait,” Winter said with a nod. She slipped her usual tie loose and undid a few buttons on her shirt and cuffs. Obviously undressing for bed.

Robyn smirked. Fiona could tell another sly remark was on her lips but Joanna quickly shoved her friend out of the room, “Goodnight! Bathroom is on at the end of the hall!” Winter sneered watching the pair retreat to Robyn’s room and quietly closed the door behind them.

Fiona closed her eyes, ears wiggling in their direction, “I wasn’t going to insult them,” she could hear Robyn pout. “In fact I had very nice things to say.”

“Do you really want to get between whatever those elites have-” Joanna cut herself off with a sigh. If Fiona’s answer was ‘Yes, I’d love to get between the pair of sexy elites’ Robyn was probably in the same boat. She could imagine Robyn’s smug face and Joanna’s tired exhaustion. “I will kick you out of your own bed if you don’t behave.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Robyn said with a laugh. The sound made Fiona’s ears flutter and her eyes slowly opened. It was… soft and gentle in a way she didn’t expect for such an arrogant women.

Fiona finally closed the door and when she turned to the bed she saw a nearly nude Winter hovering over May. This time Fiona treated herself to Winter’s sculpted muscles, the old light catching her pale skin and highlighting all the right planes as she breathed and shifted. Fiona only wished she was in her usual night lace. Maybe had her hair down completely down but it gave Fiona odd butterflies knowing it was done by May.

Hearing the door clicked close Winter glanced over her shoulder, revealing a frown, “May still has dirt and rubble on her clothes.” Fiona walked over and May’s shirt and pants. She concentrated. Separating closely touching objects was always harder. She focused on the coat and shirt, the little bits of rocks and dirt. She imagined May out of the designer cloths- standing nude in their dorms.

Her semblance activated, clothes absorbing into her and leaving… May in her a simple bra and boyshorts. Fiona exuded May’s clothes with a relieved sigh. She was never doing that again… not while she was pent up. Fiona tried shaking out all the small rocks before folding them neatly next to Winter’s cloths and finally slipping out of her own thick clothing. Feeling the difference Fiona made a quick list of what shops to drag the pair to in the morning. Hopefully Robyn would have some proper coats for the pair. She closed the lights and finally got in bed.

Fiona didn’t realize she was in the middle of her two elites until she was already settled in. She was sure Winter had a crush on May… if that was true wouldn’t she want to sleep next to her? Winter caught her confused frown through her Scroll, "I’ll be up a little longer. You two can cuddle each other to death.

Fiona smiled and rolled her eyes. May has a bad habit of crushing anything in bed with her to her chest. There was a brief light and the sound of a Glyph being summoned. That finally stirred May enough, but only to turn away from it and drape an arm on Fiona. Winter smiled. A lot more open than usual in the dark and obscured through the hard-light screen. She always looked better when she wasn’t acting like the perfect soldier. The thought stunned the little sheep long enough for Winter to wrap the scarf loosely around her neck.

Fiona closed her eyes and took a deep breath. May always smelled like flowers for some reason, fresh snow. Her ears wiggled happily. “Goodnight, Win. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Goodnight. Don’t let May drool all over the scarf.” Winter said. Fiona giggled and nodded.

She fell asleep quickly, nestling into the stranger’s blankets and pillows with a warm and familiar arm comforting her. Fiona remembers blue eyes watching them and maybe a cool arm drapped over her in the middle of the night.

Then she heard a rush of noise under May’s soft snoring and Winter’s heavy breathing. The brush of thick clothes and solid leather boots. Fiona opened her eyes only to blink them close. May’s warmth and Winter’s cool embrace oddly nice, the smell of fresh snow and flowers nearly lulled her back to sleep.

Then something her ears honed in on. The slow soft creaking of a string and the sudden click of a crossbow woke her up. Her ears straighten, pointing to the door.

“We should wake them up!”

“You heard the Schnee!” Robyn whispered back. “They’ll turn the Thief in!”

“With your help and ta da your in Atlas Academy!” Joanna whispered. Fiona slipped out of her teammate’s arms and crawled over May. Winter flinched and grumbled as May snuggled closer to her but neither of them woke up.

Fiona’s hand hovered over her teammates for a second but… She hadn’t seen May look this peaceful in a long time. She missed the goofy idiot that was excited to enjoy life. And their Aura did take a beating with Elm’s rocket launcher. The little lamb turned away from the pair and quickly threw on her clothes while listen to their host.

Joanna was still trying to talk some sense into Robyn, "They’re being chased by Glynda Goodwitch!" Fiona nearly tripped pulling up her pants. “What makes you think we can help them escape that?”

“She’s Vale’s best Huntress but she’s not a god though… I’d worship her if that’s what it takes.”

“Robyn…” Joanna said with a frustrated sigh. Fiona heard the front door open and the light shined bright under the door for a moment. “I hope you know what your doing.” And then it clicked closed, the light gone with it.

Fiona rushed out through the window, taking the fire escape two steps at a time as she raced for the top. The plan was to follow them on the rooftops but when she finally got to the top, Joanna was frowning down at her but Robyn smirked.

“Great minds-”

“Shut up,” Fiona sighed. Robyn didn’t say another word but Fiona didn’t know if that smug grin and offer to help her up was worse… She did deal with Winter and May. Fiona took the hand and gasped at the strength behind it. She was effortlessly pulled to her feet but Robyn didn’t let go. Instead her Aura flared, engulfing Fiona’s arm. “What’s…”

“How much did you hear. lambchop?”

"I know your trying to save the THief from Glynda fucking Goodwitch," Fiona hissed. It glowed green. Robyn’s grip didn’t let up so Fiona matched it, squeezing tight and that was barely half her strength. She let herself enjoy Robyn’s surprise for a moment. “And are you dumb?! They’ll charge you as an accomplice!”

Robyn sneered and rolled her eyes, “I’m a cop.” Red. Robyn sputtered, blushing hard while Joanna laughed softly. Fiona squeezed harder making it clear Robyn trapped herself with her own game. “Kinda! Mostly… We’re on out two weeks notice!” Green. Fiona relaxed a little. “Stupid semblance… My turn, are you going to stop us?”

“I… I don’t know,” Fiona mumbled. She was half surprised when the Aura let up green. But Robyn wasn’t and her grip finally relaxed so Fiona let hers slacken too. “Yes, having access to the network makes the Thief is dangerous but I think it puts them in danger. Especially if they are alone.”

“Alright. We find them, help them escape then figure things out from there,” Robyn said. She looked at Joanna who nodded then down at Fiona who also agreed. Robyn smiled, “You can let go y’know.”

“Ugh,” Fiona rolled her eyes and pulled her hand free. She didn’t comment on how Robyn’s fingers lingered on her palm and she definitely did not feel a rush of heat flutter in her chest.

Robyn pulled out her Scroll lowering it so Fiona could see it. It was a broadcast from an airship. Goodwitch walked down the street while the Thief tried to dart away. Every time they got close to an alley, dumpsters would move, blocking their path or a car was lifted off the ground. With Goodwitch’s Telekinesis it even slammed into the Thief, forcing them to grab their hood and hold it down to hide their face. Whenever Goodwitch got too close, a wall of fire erupted from the Minstral robes and the Thief was able to put some distance until their dance started again.

“Goodwitch is waiting for our little Thief to tire out,” Robyn said.

“They’re near the street you blew up,” Joanna informed. She smiled at the blush and nervous twitch of Fiona’s ears. She easily jumped across the alley and started running. Robyn flashed a two finger salute and smile before following. Fiona frowned, watching their long ass legs easily make the gap. Fiona stepped back a little, getting a running start and leaping across.

When Robyn saw that she cleared the gap with ease she smirked and sped up. Fiona rolled her eyes. She wasn’t going to be baited into a childish and unfair race. Fiona glanced around for a better path, she saw it in the form of a heating vent and Joanna’s broad shoulders.

“Sorry!” Fiona said with a laugh, vaulting off some random piping and onto the giant’s shoulder. Then onto the vent and finally to the next building. The fall was short, the impact of the metal roof was barely familiar but her body tucked and rolled like she never left Mantle. Fiona took several dashing low strides sliding under some pipes and kicking off of them. Despire Robyn’s long strides Fiona kept pace.

“You should slow down, save your energy for Goodwitch,” Fiona said with a smirk. This time Robyn was the one that rolled her eyes but took the suggestion seriously. The pair did tease Joanna a little, keeping one building a head of her.

“I’m letting Goodwitch whip you with that riding crop,” Joanna mumbled a little winded.

Fiona tried to frown through the blush rising to her cheeks. She was successful for the most part, but the twitching ears gave it away, “Does she really?”

“Your eyes are sharper in the dark. You tell us,” Robyn said waving the pair to the ledge she was on. Robyn handed Fiona a pair of binoculars. The little lamb noticed the police logo and the worn spots. Fiona saw the bright purple darting around a few streets down, then a surge of fire.

Through the binoculars she saw the Thief almost stumble to the ground, the gravity Dust in their robes flickering. This time Goodwitch tore up the road, shards of debris making a wall. They tried dashing up it, gravity leveling their legs against the uneven vertical surface but it was a Telekinetic surface. It moved under Goodwitch’s command, trying to wrap around them but it was like grasping water. The Thief was always slipping out and moving, but the Dust was either running out or their Aura was finally reaching its limit.

“This would be a lot easier with May,” Fiona said. Robyn nodded, silently offering Fiona a vaulting point. Fiona gave her a light frown but used it to get to the next building, they’ll be time to argue later.

#fiona thyme #Robyn Hill #robyn x fiona #springthyme #joanna greenleaf #may marigold #winter schnee #very happy huntresses #happy huntresses #very seasoned huntresses #fic

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professorspork · 3 years

Text

ANOTHER BUSY DAY IN THE ANDROMEDA GALAXY

I started the day running errands on Havarl, culminating with finishing off Jaal’s loyalty mission! I took Vetra with us thinking ‘hey, if anyone knows sibling dynamics...’ but then she factored into all of that absolutely 0%, lol @ me. but no matter! Jaal was super flirty as we made our way to the Forge, and it was adorable when he was like “HERE MEET MY FRIEND SO YOU CAN SEE AKKSUL IS WRONG” and bodily dragged me toward his siblings. their fight was absorbing and intense; I LEGIT GASPED WHEN HIS SISTER SHOT HIS BROTHER. LIKE!! the whole confrontation with Akksul felt super weighty and I really enjoyed it-- keeping my trigger discipline to not shoot that dude was really hard! there was a split second there where his bolt was headed toward Jaal’s face and I was like “if I kill off Jaal in his loyalty mission I’ll be so upset” but nope it all worked out, he has a bitchin cheek scar now, and the respect of his people, and I got a forehead touch so y’know. i melted. GOSH. then I died laughing at Akksul’s not-apology email.

now Jaal wants me to meet his mom(s) but Helen said that’ll lock in the romance, so I’ll probably wait just a little longer so I can uh keep having FWB sex with Peebee and ?maybe??? flirt with Vetra at some point? altho I teasingly called her MOM last time we were in Kadara Port so maybe not. (Jaal still hates it there, he’s so grumpy and it’s cute, but I digress)

this one got even longer than usual so doing a cut

one thing that I really like, that the game navigates in interesting ways, is that to the angara, we’re all just “Milky Way people.” like. so much of the original trilogy is about navigating the differences between all these aliens, and like, some of that is here too, esp with the krogan, but it’s actually really neat the way we’ve flattened out. and even with the krogan it’s still night and day-- like. comparing what Tuchanka is like in ME2 when Wrex is still solidifying his status as warlord is miles away from what it’s like for me to wander around New Tuchanka or, especially, just run into random krogan out and about (like the nice water scouts. WHY COULDN’T I JUST GIVE THEM THE WATER? but I’m getting ahead of myself). I know some of it has the Watsonian explanation of, like, only forward-thinking, open-minded krogan would be interested in the Initiative in the first place, and some of it is the Doylist explanation of ‘well people really liked that Charr/Ereba romance so let’s have more sweetie pie krogan’ but like. overall. it’s interesting, and I’m sure there’s more angles I haven’t considered.

I traced more of those comm buoys for Addison and learned that the doctor she’s obsessed with ran away to get pregnant! I definitely read that whole situation as Addison being in love with this lady and tbh it still doesn’t refute it? but I won’t get any more progress until I make a new outpost. the whole idea of ‘the first human baby born in Heleus’ thing is really cool, though, and I’m invested.

then I went to Elaaden! I feel some kind of way about Lexi diagnosing all of these scavengers with Brain Disease, but I can’t put my finger on it exactly-- other than, I guess, my general discomfort with pathologizing criminality. I was glad she said we couldn’t vaccinate people without their consent, but the whole thing smacks as very... self-conscious on the part of the game creators? like they thought people would say “hey it’s a huge plot hole that the Initiative screened every person before putting them on the arks and yet so many of them do crimes, explain that to me” and they were like “oh yeah shit that makes no sense, it’s not like people faced with the existential crisis of being in a brand new place 600 years away from everything they’ve ever known with no way back and not enough resources and multiple things wanting to kill them might just make desperate, risky choices, that’s not good enough, obviously we need to explain it with BRAIN DISEASE.” come on.

I made it to New Tuchanka, where the postings on the terminals are literally my favorite part of this whole game. THE ONE KROGAN WHO WANTS GINGERBREAD. THE ONE WHO DOESN’T WANT TO FOCUS ON CONS AND SUGGESTS A “PRO-VERSATION.” THE ONE ABOUT THE “PROBLETUNITY” OF MATING SUGGESTING WATCHING KRANTT HARDLY WAIT. THE ONE WHO INVENTED BLOOD RAGE FOR GUN TURRETS. but also, the best one, my favorite one of all: KRANTT THE RAGENING LARP. there is nothing I would not give to play Krantt: The Ragening.

I sort of tripped and fell and decided to finish Drack’s loyalty mission even though I intended to do more Elaaden things first, and that was a blast. Vorn is so presh! and also Drack is my dad so there’s that. I loved that Vorn helped save the day with a poison vegetable, and I love that Kesh pretended not to like the flower he got her. it was like-- okay. real talk, I just spent like 20 minutes trying to find proof that there is, in fact, a scene in parks and rec where someone gives April a friendship bracelet and she pretended to hate it until they threatened to take it back and could not find it ANYWHERE and felt so gaslit until I realized that that scene was not about April at all but Louise Belcher so. GOOD JOB ME. anyway. it was like that. kesh pretending her comm was broken when Tann tried to talk to her is the oldest joke in the book but I laughed anyway.

and then I TOOK SPENDER DOWN FOR GOOD. I’m a little miffed that neither Kesh nor Tann got to be in on that discussion; like, I recognize he was Addison’s underling but given all the bullshit he pulled with the krogan I especially felt Kesh deserved to be there? at one point there was a dialogue tree where I could either say it was Addison’s fault or Spender’s fault, and I picked the latter because I think they both such but Spender sucks worse, but in hindsight I wish I’d stuck it to Addison more because my dialogue was way too nice. when faced with the choice of jailing or exiling Spender, I picked jail despite my desire to defund Nexus Militia because I was scared if I exiled him he’d just come back as a worse enemy because of all his off-station contacts. when reviewing the choice in the codex, though, it narrativized my choice by saying I imprisoned him knowing he “would never survive life on the run from his former associates.” that wasn’t my assumption at all! quite the opposite! I jailed him thinking he’d start a coup from without if I didn’t, and it’s really interesting to me that the game isn’t framing that as a concern Ryder would have reasonably had. anyway, now Brecka has his job, which is good because Brecka is the best.

before leaving I unlocked my last memory, and SURPRISE MY MOM IS ALIVE. WELL. FOR A GIVEN DEFINITION OF ALIVE. i don’t know why I’m surprised; of course my dad sucked that much. but also, the fact that all of that got nestled in with the reaper ‘reveal’ (if you can call it that) felt... very strange? like. this is such a personal, emotional thing for Ryder. obviously for the player harkening back to the trilogy is supposed to be a gut wrench, and objectively, yes, I can see how the knowledge that they might have narrowly escaped certain death is a big deal, but like. the reapers aren’t HERE. they aren’t relevant. my MOM, on the other hand, is and is, apparently! it’s occurring to me I didn’t even try to find her mis-labeled pod, I was so turned around by all the benefactor stuff after the fact. anyway.

swung by Kadara to get drinks with Drack and had an epic bar fight, and then Lexi p much lectured us both abt it because Drack is like 90% spit and duct tape at this point. him talking about raising Kesh giving him a new lease on life was VERY sweet, tho, and his line about how parents aren’t the finish line, they’re the starting line was very good.

went back to Elaaden, which Jaal called “a big planet” while discussing hunting someone down and AU CONTRAIRE, JAAL, IT IS A MOON. wish I’d had Drack with me when I found Annea’s water because I bet he would have had better dialogue than Cora, but alas. felt very weird giving control of the reservoir to the Nexus, but like. Annea being like “you can’t, this is my emotional support monopoly on a vital natural resource” just wasn’t gonna fly with how I’m playing Ryder. I was gratified to hear the Nexus guy at Paradise say we were giving the water to everyone, including krogan and scavengers, because I 100% did not trust Tann not to overrule him with some shitty call.

then I went to the Remnant ship to stop Morda from making a bomb out of the drive core, and it was all going swimmingly until I traced the signal to that cave inside the flophouse and suddenly my triangle button stopped working, making me unable to activate the console. YIKES. a quick google of the issue tells me that this mission is buggy for a lot of people and reloading from an earlier save tends to help, but I tried that and the issue persisted so I gave up for the evening. hopefully a fresh start tomorrow and time for the ps4 to cool off is all that is required.

#leah plays mass effect andromeda

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 4 years

Text

[checkmate] [3]

Summary: After ten years of fighting and surviving their way through the apocalypse in search of their son, Hugo and Isabel Sulieman finally find Ericson’s Boarding School for Troubled Youth and are ready to reunite with Louis.

Notes: After many hours of writing and rewriting this story, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s going to be way longer than I anticipated [what else is new]. I want to keep the all chapters around the same length [about 5k] so there’s a lot of splitting being done. I think it’s safe to say that there will be more than four parts to this like I had originally planned.

Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy it! Thank you for reading and for all the positive feedback!

As I’ve said before, this is a part of the contest prize story for @bluebutterfly1!

Read on AO3

---

Through the crack of the walker’s skull, blood oozes dark, dripping down the handle of the hatchet and onto his hand. Cold, clotted, and disgusting.

Hugo pushes the dead walker down with a huff just as Isabel finishes off the last one a few steps away.

They’re repulsive, the walkers. Even now, Hugo can’t over their decaying stench and peeling flesh. These walkers, in particular, are more disgusting- fresher walkers usually are.

Older walkers- years and years older- are slower, nothing but leathery skin and bone, weak from muscle deterioration and perhaps even hunger.

Newer walkers are what scare Hugo. Not only are the remains of a humane appearance more present, but they’re stronger, quicker, hungrier.

Killing them is such a normal thing now, he thinks. It’s easier when he considers it as a prevention of more chaos with every walker he kills. One less fresh walker. One less to wander around and devour innocent, unsuspecting survivors. There’s been too much of that.

“All clear,” Isabel says, wiping her knife off on the dirty rag attached to her belt. “Can we make this quick?”

Up close on the pier, the boat is an absolute wreck. Stray pieces of wood jut out of the water, metal stuck swaying with the waves, knocking into the boat. From what he can see, there isn’t a safe enough way for him to climb inside.

“Yep, it’s terrible. A real mess,” Isabel says. “Worst boat I’ve ever stood before in my life.”

Hugo raises a brow, elbowing her with a smirk.

“Worse than The Nauti Buoy?”

Isabel wrinkles her nose. “Ugh. I hated that damn thing.”

The Nauti Buoy was the clever name of his brother’s boat, one Stephen prided himself on, even though he stole the name from another boat he came across in his travels to pass off as his own.

Hugo used to say, “You know how people end up looking like their animals? Well, Stephen looks like his boat.”

Gaudy decor inside and out, painted a terrible antique gold color, much bigger than necessary.

Well, he thought so at the time. After Stephen’s second divorce, he ended up living in the damn thing. Oh, how proud their mother was. At least he was able to keep his prized watch collection safe and secure, because that’s all that really mattered.

Hugo only ever brought his family onto that boat once. Isabel grew so sick an hour in that they had to turn the damn thing around and head back to shore.

Not Louis, though.

Louis loved being on that boat. Not once did he ever get sick, except Hugo had to warn him about leaning too far over the railing to get a better look at the dolphins he spotted. Nearly fell overboard and gave Hugo a heart attack.

Seeing Louis’ glowing face as he marveled at the waves and salty air was what inspired Hugo to invest in a boat of his own.

Louis named it Gus.

Didn’t really have a reason, he just thought the boat looked like a Gus.

Hugo smiles.

“It wasn’t that bad, just ugly,” he says. “What do you think happened?.”

“I told you, someone blew it to shit,” Isabel says. “What exactly are you expecting to find?”

“Something useful,” Hugo kneels down, pressing a hand against the boat to steady himself as he leans in through a gaping hole. “Clothes, weapons, maybe food.”

“Hey, careful-”

“Look, through there? I can see a couple of crates floating inside. Worth checking out. Here, why don't you go check along the shore, I’ll see if I can grab one.”

“How about I stay right here and help you? I know you’re gonna fall in and I’ll have to fish you out.”

“I’m not gonna fall in,” Hugo rolls his eyes. “Have some faith in me.”

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, Hugh,” Isabel frowns. “I’d just rather prevent a disaster than try and fix one. Who knows what’s lurking around in these waters.”

“What, you think a shark’s going to gobble me up?”

“No, a walker,” Isabel kneels down beside him. “They can move under there much better than we can, and they don’t gotta breathe. If this ship crashed, odds are there were people on it who were thrown into the water. Hence, walkers.”

Well, damn, he hadn’t thought of that. Leaning over the edge, Hugo squints. The water’s pretty mucky, so he can’t tell how deep it is or what the bottom holds.

“I could out swim a walker, but to put your mind at ease-,” Isabel scoffs “-I’ll look around here some more and see if I can find something to pull the crates closer while you go search the shore, then we can pull the crates out together.”

“Y’know there’s probably nothing in them but useless, sodden supplies, right?” Isabel says, “I mean, I doubt this was some sort of battleship that carried weapons and first aid. Hell, it probably carried toy cars or something.”

“Toy cars?” Hugo laughs. “If that’s the case, then your little friend won’t need to ride around in your bag anymore. He can drive right beside us.”

“You’re not funny.”

“No?” Hugo smirks. “I’m a little funny, c’mon. Geoff driving around in a little car? Honking at the squirrels? Flippin’ me the bird every chance he gets? Hilarious.”

With an exasperated shake of her head, Isabel turns on her heels towards the shoreline, saying, “Fine, I’ll walk around. Don’t touch those crates until I get back because I swear if you fall in-”

“I’m not going to fall in,” Hugo calls after her. “I’m as coordinated as the most athletic breed of... cat!” Cats are coordinated, right?

He wouldn’t know, he never owned one.

He wishes he owned a cat, but Louis insisted on a damn turtle.

Isabel snorts a chuckle. “Yeah, okay!”

“You doubt me?”

“I doubt you.”

“Madam, now you’ve wounded me!”

“You’ll live.”

“Hey, while you’re over there, let Geoff go for a swim, too! He hasn’t done that in a while. He can scout for water walkers.”

That earns him Isabel’s lovely middle finger. He presses a hand against his chest, pushing his lip out in a pretend pout.

“Once again, she chooses the turtle over me.”

That makes Isabel laugh, shaking her head and giving a dismissive wave. “We meet back in five!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Hugo watches her briefly, taking in the sight of her walking along the shore, stepping over pieces of broken wood and rocks. Her loose top flutters with the rustling wind against the curve of her waist and a strange tingle of emotion cause him to pause.

A lifetime ago, Hugo and Isabel walked along a beach.

Much cleaner than this one with a much prettier sight. Along the shores of Makena Beach, they walked together barefoot. Isabel wore a dress she bought in one of the shops, one that fluttered in the wind the same exact way her shirt does now.

She was young, her hair long, curls big and windblown.

Pregnant, about seven weeks along.

“Shit,” Hugo mumbles.

He wonders what the state of Hawaii is, if their walker population is great or not.

Not that it matters.

There’s no way he’ll make it to those shores ever again, much less walk along them with Isabel and Louis.

He always thought about bringing Louis back there, too.

After he graduated high school, Hugo wanted to bring him to look at the colleges. He’d get into the best school they had to offer, of course, because Louis was a straight A student- when properly motivated- and there he’d get his degree while studying the culture and history of Hawaii and its people, land a damn good job and make a name for himself.

He can just see his boy now. Tall and handsome with his mother’s eyes and a beautiful smile... happy and satisfied with his life.

Louis would fall in love with a pretty girl, propose to her, and have a gorgeous wedding on the beach. They’d have a handful of kids, too. Hugo would be more than happy to become a grandfather.

A grandfather... babysitting Louis’ children while he and his lovely wife went out on date nights...

Hugo rubs his eyes along the sleeve of his shirt, sighing.

Nostalgic for what never was, he supposes.

They need to find that school, Hugo thinks. No matter what, once they’re done here- after they’ve scavenged some useful supplies- they’ll head back to the train station to look for a map.

They couldn't find one earlier, but maybe they didn’t look hard enough. They only really looked around to make sure it wasn’t someone else’s home, then headed back this way to check out the wreckage Hugo spotted.

They have to be close, closer than they’ve ever been. From the faintest part of his memory, he remembers the road being long and yet hard to find. He had to pay attention to the road signs, but his concentration was more than unfocused with Louis silently fuming in the backseat.

“You’re only staying for a year, or until we can... until we can sort some things out.”

“...”

“You’ll have a dorm with a roommate. Mr. Davidson told me he’s a good kid, he just... fell down a wrong path, so I don’t want to get any calls about you mistreating him.”

“...”

“This isn’t going to be like your other school. You will be respectful to your roommate, your classmates, and your teachers. No excuses, no exceptions. Understand?”

“...”

“Louis, answer me when I’m talking to you.”

“...”

Hugo glances back at the boat.

He hopes there’s something to gain from doing this, but at the very least, he got to see an old-timey riverboat like this up close. Little things..

Hugo pays another look to Isabel as she inspects a piece of soggy wood before pushing away from the boat to move along the pier. Over the edge, the corner of what looks to be a crate sticks up. Dropping down to his knees with a slight wince- damn leg!- Hugo rolls up his sleeves, sinking his hands in the chilled water.

Thoughts of the cool waves crashing against the shores of Makena Beach haunt him, memories of swimming and laughing and kissing-

“Shit,” Hugo finds a good grip on the crate and yanks. “Knock it off-”

It barely budges, caught on something.

He tries again, grunting at the horrible pull in his back. A shock jolts through his bad leg, making him bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from yelping. Letting go, he adjusts his position.

“There’s nothing over here!” Isabel calls. “Just garbage!”

With a better, firmer grip, Hugo pulls. The crate loosens, lifting up out of the water.

“Damn it…” Hugo gives an exasperated sigh.

It’s empty and broken, it’s bottom missing. Whatever goods filled it are nowhere to be found.

“Damn, damn, damn,” he mutters, standing to rub his dripping hands along his pants, kicking the useless crate back into the water. “Double damn.”

He opens his mouth to shout out a complain, but sees Isabel down closer to the water, her open bag beside her. Grinning to herself, she holds onto Geoff as he moves through the water.

Hugo thinks to make a joke both to tease her and make himself feel better about his lack of findings, but decides against it. Instead, he soaks in the sight of her content smile.

Moving along the pier, he calls out, “Hey, got a question for you!”

“No!”

Hugo laughs.

“You ever think about growing your hair out again?”

Isabel’s face scrunches up in a way that tells Hugo that’s a dumb question, nearly losing her grip on Geoff.

“You seriously asking me that?” she shakes her head. “Hair like that is nothing but a death trap! Remember back in Peach Creek? Damn walker nearly took a chunk out of my neck! Not only that, but it got its nasty fingers all stuck in it and there was skin and puss and-ugh!”

“Oh shit, that’s right,” Hugo grunts, bending back down along the hardwood to fish out a piece of clothing- a sleeve of a denim jacket. “That was a nice place.”

A nice place, indeed, but one of many that almost killed them.

One of the worst moments in their lives happened while staying with the group at the Peach Creek Clinic.

The people there were sympathetic to their dire situation. After losing their vehicle to a bunch of selfish assholes, barely having anything to their names aside from pictures of Louis and his clothes, the group took them in.

It seemed secure at the time, with a small group and plenty of medical supplies. Scarce food, though. Hugo and Isabel might’ve stayed there longer but anxiousness about getting to West Virginia sent them back on the road after another incident with walkers breaking in.

Half the group perished during that attack. They’re both lucky Hugo was there to take care of the walker before it got to her, but he couldn’t stop it from getting it’s fingers stuck and tangled in Isabel’s curls.

She was hysterical, tears dripping down her bruised cheeks as Hugo cut out chunks of hair to get the damn hand out. Bodies of their fallen friends surrounded them, and he thought they both might pass out.

When he tried to pick out the remaining pieces of rotten flesh and bone all while attempting to comfort her, Isabel insisted that they just cut it all off.

One of the survivors- shit, what was her name? Yolanda, maybe? Rhonda?- did a nice, clean shave of her head. Short and close to her scalp, nothing for anyone to grab.

They left the next morning. The survivors at the clinic were understanding and kind enough to send them with a bag of medical supplies they were able to spare, and fish food for Geoff, since all the fish within the lobby tank was no longer around.

Through the shallow water closer to shore, the falling sunlight gleams off of something stuck in the sand.

“Ah-ha!” Hugo grins, ignoring the pain in his knee as he shifts into a better position. Rolling up his sleeve, he reaches in to dig through the mushy sand. His thumb brushes something firm.

“Why?” Isabel asks, kicking at another piece of wood on her way back towards the pier. Geoff drips in her hands, merry after spending time in the water. “What brought that on?”

“Was thinking about Hawaii,” Hugo winces, leaning further down into the water, fully submerging his arm.

“Hawa- Hey! What are you doing-?”

“Ah!” Hugo flings himself back, victorious with a muddy knife in his hand. “Ah-ha! Got it!”

“Huh, look at that,” Isabel says.

“Told’ja we’d find something useful. You can never have too many knives,” Hugo grins, pulling a rag from his pocket to wipe the mud away. With a dull, scratched to hell blade, the knife will be just as effective in killing walkers as any other weapon.

“Well, I’ll give it to you,” Isabel says, “a knife is much more than what I found over there.”

“Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough,” Hugo smirks, which dies when he notices Geoff's perpetual glare fixated on him. A childish impulse to stick his tongue out at the damned creature overwhelms him. He bites it back and returns the glare.

“That’s not long enough to help us grab the crates.”

“There wasn’t anything over there?”

"A couple planks of wood,” Isabel shrugs.

“We don’t need anything fancy, just something long enough to push the crates towards us.”

Isabel looks to the bright sky, searching for any sign of evening coming upon them. They have plenty of daylight left, but Isabel’s patience is running out, replaced with anxiety. She sets Geoff down on the ground.

“Watch him, I’ll grab the one I was looking at.”

“Watch him?” Hugo frowns, pointing at Geoff with his brand new knife. “Where’s he gonna go?”

Geoff glowers up at him, beady black eyes slitted and neck extended up towards him.

Hugo leans down, whispering, “Hey buddy, have you ever heard of caouane, by chance?”

---

They’re a cheery duo, ain’t they?

Thomas smirks.

Hidden among the greens with a shoulder leaning against the sticky bark of a tree, Thomas listens to their bickering. Can’t make out much, unfortunately, but he’s got the gist. Almost reminds him of how he and Julie would talk long ago. Julie was meaner than the girl- what the hell is that she’s carrying?- but that don’t matter now.

Julie’s dead and it’s just Thomas and the beauty in his hand, fully loaded and itchin’ to be fired.

Not that he’s going to go up and shoot the strangers.

They ain’t dangerous from what he can tell- the girl’s got a fire in her but the man’s got a limp.

He don’t know what they’re looking for in the wreckage. Maybe they’re hoping to find some of the kids, but there’s no way this is where they’d hide. No, those kids got ‘em selves a school around here somewhere, even if he and these two don’t know where it is.

But, from the sounds of it, they got an idea and sometimes, that’s enough.

Thomas knows that if he scours these woods long enough, he’ll find the school. The problem is would he find it before these two did? He don’t know how many kids there’ll be, but he knows that if they got two capable adults on their side, then things won’t go as smoothly.

Especially if these two actually find their kid.

Thomas scoffs.

Bunch of twits.

What makes ‘em think they got a chance of seeing their kid again? He’d bet his lucky dollar that their kid is roaming around here as one of the dead if he’s not already in a shallow grave.

Hell, maybe they will find him. Their little baby boy, gaunt, rotten insides with hollow eyes and a hunger for flesh… charging at them with not an ounce of recognition… and even as they’re begging him to stop, screaming, “Stop, it’s us! It’s your mommy and daddy, son! Remember us? Remember us-”

No, he don’t remember nothing. The dead don’t remember.

The kid’ll just keep scurrying towards ‘em… arms held out and jaw slack.

Maybe they’ll be so distraught that they just let their kid chew ‘em both up.

Together. Undead.

The gun is heavy in his hand.

Quiet laughter.

Thomas, fingers wrapped painfully tight around his gun, squints back over at the pier.

They’re trying to get something out of the wreckage, using a long chunk of wood to do so. Thomas leans up, attempting to get a better look at ‘em. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out an old pair of glasses. Not his prescription, but he ain’t the picky type. Though they’ll bring on a mean headache later, they help him get a better look at the couple still struggling to get something out of the boat.

Down on their hands and knees, they work together to fish out whatever’s in there all while engaging in jovial chatter.

Pretty girl, Thomas thinks. Real nice shape.

Times like these he wishes he’d find himself a pair of binoculars.

Raspy groans emit from his right. A pair of walkers trod along, interested in all the commotion being made along the shore.

Just in time.

More’ll be coming here pretty quick- he saw a whole handful of them about a mile away, mingling together in search of something to tear their teeth into. He whistled at ‘em, then took off back to where he is now. He’s lucky these two ain’t quick in their accomplishments.

A walker- male, wearing a heavy coat and missing his left eye- hisses through his unhinged jaw as he crawls closer to where Thomas hides.

He ain’t worried about it. The more walkers that come, the better.

Ducking down lower, ignoring the age-old ache forever lining his back, he moves closer. Already the strain of his sight through the glasses brings on a fuzzy twinge behind his right eye.

“I got it, just need to-”

“Careful-”

Behind this tree, he can actually make out most of what they’re saying now.

“On three, alright?” the man says.

Together, they grunt out, “One… two… three!”

Thomas almost applauds. They managed to find something in the wreckage, and from the looks of it, that something is a crate. Well, he’ll be darned.

What else could be floating around in that thing? Thomas never paid it much mind upon first discovery- he wasn’t ever going to explore it. Not worth getting his boots wet, that’s for damn sure.

Also, he ain’t the best swimmer.

Let ‘em do the grunt work. He can come back and look through it later.

“See?” The man says, resting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Fully intact.”

“Don’t celebrate until we get it open.”

“Really eager to see these toy cars, huh?”

“If there are actually toy cars in here, I’m going to strangle you.”

The man laughs, throwing a playful elbow towards the girl’s shoulder.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Thomas raises an interested brow.

“Don’t be gross,” the girl laughs.

“You’re right, sorry. I wouldn’t want to talk dirty in front of Geoff.”

Geoff? There ain’t no one else around...

“As if we haven’t scarred him enough in the past,” the man adds.

“Just shut up and open the damn thing so we can go.”

Another gurgle, this time closer. Thomas slinks back further into the bushes, breathing slowly, silently. He’s confident none of the walkers’ll find him. They’re as stupid as dirt with no actual hunting skills, thankfully.

Thomas can’t imagine anyone would’ve made it as far as they have if the damned dead were smarter than the living.

Then again, lots of folks are dead.

Grabbing a heavy-duty rock from beside his foot, Thomas eyes the walkers moving past him. They’re foul, both in appearance and odor. Looks like they got torn apart real good when alive, too, given their shredded clothes and chunks of flesh torn from their arms and waist.

The one-eyed walker crawls past.

What a way to go, Thomas thinks as he chucks the rock towards the shore, sending it crashing into one of the larger boulders with an echoing crack.

It draws everyone's attention, the walkers practically wheezing with glee- well, Thomas likes to imagine they’re gleeful to have something to sniff out.

The couple jumping to their feet.

“Ah, fuck!”

“What the hell was- Oh shit-!”

The walkers approach the shore, quicker now that they have a meal to pursue.

Thomas checks the chamber of his fully loaded gun.

---

Hugo almost had it.

With his knife jammed along the side of the lid, he was ready to pop it off victoriously.

A startling crack broke his concentration, causing him to lose his grip. The knife slips from the crack and jerks, slicing into the muscle below his thumb.

“Ah, fuck!” Hugo cries out, dropping the knife to cradle his bleeding hand. Blistering pain shocks through his fingers and up his arm.

“What the hell was- Oh shit-” Isabel reaches out for his arm, holding on with a death grip. “Walkers!”

“What?”

The crate before him forgotten, Hugo whips around.

A group of walkers head down the shore, each groaning and moving as fast as their decaying bodies can carry them.

What?

Where the hell did they come from? They made sure to scour the woods from the train station to the boat and take care of any straggling walkers that stood in their way. There weren’t that many. The most they had to deal with were along the shores.

“There wasn’t a single walker for miles,” Hugo exclaims. “Where the hell did they come from?”

“Don’t know,” Isabel says, staring up at him with wide eyes. She does a double-take when she notices the blood dripping from his hand. “Oh my god, Hugh, what the hell?”

“I’m fine, I slipped. It's just a scratch-”

“A scratch? Seriously?” She grabs his hand, inspecting the wound with wide eyes. "Bullshit, a scratch!"

“Forget it,” Hugo grabs the rag from his belt and ties it around his hand. “There’s only five of them. Nothing we can’t handle-”

“There isn’t only five, look!”

She’s not wrong- on their right, more come hobbling out of the woods.

Hugo looks from the approaching walkers, down to the unopened crate, down to his bleeding hand. He winces, picking his knife back up.

“We can handle them.”

“We could handle them if they didn’t already see us!”

“I’ll take the ones on the left-”

“Hugh, we gotta go! Forget the damn crates, they’re not worth dying for. Not now!”

Damn it...

"We're not risking everything!"

She pulls him forward with her down the pier, their boots clanking loudly against the worn wood, making the walkers perk up more.

Isabel jumps over the side, splashing in the shallow water in hopes of cutting across the shore and into the woods before the walkers get any closer. An easy plan Hugo could follow if it weren’t for the three walkers emerging from their intended destination, blocking their path.

A nasty growl from his right sent Hugo whipping around. A walker- a woman with an exposed neck and chest cavity, missing clumps of hair from beneath her hat- hurries towards him.

Fuck it.

Hugo surges forward, grabbing the sticky bones of the walker's throat. The knife plunges through the side of its head with ease, and the walker falls to the ground. Hugo lets out a shaky breath, grunting out at the searing pain throbbing in his hand, painful enough to cause spots in his vision.

“Hugo, I swear to Christ- don’t you dare get that hand-” Isabel kicks the shin of another walker. It falls to its knees, the perfect height for her to stab it through the head before sending the limp body crashing into yet another walker. A chain reaction of the force causes three of the walkers to fall back.

“Use your gun,” Isabel tells him, attacking those fallen monsters as fast as she can.

“That’ll just attract more!”

“So what? Kill these bastards so we can make a run for it!”

That’s assuming that he can successfully kill all of them, which he can’t with his last five bullets.

There’s more than five left.

More than ten, maybe.

He can’t count.

Where the fuck did they come from? He knows they weren't loud enough to attract this many.

A walker with one eye crawls along the sand, grabbing at his ankle to gnaw on his boot. This knife breaks its skull with a sickening crack, the odor enough to churn his stomach.

“Hugo, now!” Isabel shouts, stabbing another walker and pushing through.

Hugo tries to follow.

Even in its final death, the walker's grip remains strong on his ankle. He stumbles right into the grip of a heavyset walker, this one much younger, fresher compared to the decaying monsters- stronger.

A full set of rotten teeth snap at him. With his forearm pressed firmly against the chest of the monster, Hugo reaches back to grab his gun from its holster.

The shot rings in his ears, rattling his brain as gore explodes through the back of the walkers head. The earth swerves beneath his feet, acids in his stomach rise into his throat. He coughs, spitting into the dirt.

Through nausea, Hugo aims.

Another two shots- two walkers fall to the ground, motionless.

A third.

A fourth- fuck.

Hugo lets off his final shot, hitting a walker struggling with Isabel. Seeing it’s no longer a threat, Isabel grabs onto it, heaving it towards another and sending them crashing. She’s by his side again, huffing, “Let’s go!”

Hugo nods.

He has no idea where the fuck these things came from, or how they showed up so suddenly, but he knows she’s right- whatever the hell is in that crate isn’t worth there lives, not when they’re so close-

“Shit!”

A hand grabs his backpack, jerking him backward. The foul stench of the walker's breath warms his ear and everything within Hugo runs cold. He throws an elbow, twisting himself around in the walker's embrace.

He doesn’t see the fallen walker behind him.

They both tumble to the ground. The gun slips out of his grip.

“Hugo!”

A sixth shot.

The walker's blood splatters across Hugo’s face, and for a moment, he thinks he’s dead. The body slouches over him, unmoving.

A seventh shot- an eighth-

Isabel grabs the walker by its shirt, hauling it off of him before dropping to her knees. Her hands move all over him as she gasps out, “Holy shit, please, oh please, tell me you’re okay!”

Several more shots fire, and one by one, the remaining walkers fall.

Then there’s silence.

Hugo reaches for his gun, scooping it up from the dirt before Isabel helps him up. He falls forward onto his bad knee.

“Augh!”

“Sorry- c’mon-!”

Finally on his feet, Hugo surveys the area.

All the dead are just that- fallen on the ground.

“Are-” Hugo coughs “-are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Isabel shakes her head, narrowed eyes darting all around the forest. “Pissed off, but fine.” Without taking her sight off the forest, she slips her backpack off to glance inside. “Geoff’s okay, too.”

Terrific.

Because Hugo was so worried.

Isabel leans down, whispering, “Hugh… someone’s here.”

He assumed so.

The walkers didn’t shoot themselves.

“Give me your gun.”

Hugo cocks his head to murmur in her ear, “We’re out of bullets.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

The snapping of wood and rubber against rocks turns their attention back to the woods where a man walks out, waving over at them with a grin.

“Howdy!” he calls out, voice gruff and accent thick.

Isabel snatches the gun from his hand before Hugo has a chance to protest, pointing it and stopping the man in his tracks.

“That’s close enough!”

“Woah, woah,” the man holds his hands up in surrender, though keeps his grip on his gun just as tight.

“Belle-” Hugo warns, but the man chuckles lightly.

“Didn’t mean to scare ya. I mean no harm! Heard the gunshots and saw y’all were havin’ some trouble, thought I’d lend a helpin’ hand. You folks alright?”

Isabel doesn’t lower the gun, keeping her eyes fixated on the man as he cautiously continues to walk over.

“We’re fine,” Hugo answers. “Fine, no bites, just a little startled. Thanks for the help.”

“We could’ve handled it,” Isabel adds. “Thanks.”

The man nods, saying, “No, you look plenty capable, didn’t mean to say ya don’t. Just didn’t want to see any more folks die, y’know? Not when I could do the decent thing and help.”

He’s close now, close enough for Hugo to better make out the details of his graying, ginger beard and bald head. He pulls his glasses off and pockets them with his free hand, blinking rapidly as he grins.

“Name’s Thomas,” he greets. “Nice to meet’cha.”

#[checkmate]#twdg louis #twdg clementine #twdg clouis #clouis #twdg louisentine #louisentine #twdg hugo #twdg isabel #twdg tenn #twdg geoff

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avengers1shots · 4 years

Text

The Pen Dare #2

Pietro x Reader

Three weeks after your pen shenanigans, you were a full-fledged Avengers’ trainee. You hadn’t contacted your “friends” that got you into this mess since then, ‘cause you were a freaking superhero now. You had trained every single day, and could pretty much hold your own in a battle now (unless Pietro was near, damn was he distracting). Tony had warmed up to you a little, but your relationship was more or less sarcastic comments thrown back and forth, and he still hadn’t lived down your comment on his pajamas - the team actually held secret scavenger hunts to find them because they hadn’t made an appearance since you arrived, and everyone was always hungry for stuff to tease Tony about. Steve had made sure you were settled into life at the tower, and he was like a big brother to you. Natasha had respect for you, as it turns out you’re pretty good at coming up with creative solutions to complications in simulated mission scenarios. You had pretty much become friends with everyone besides the only one you were desperate to: Pietro.

He hadn’t really talked to you since that day, and you were wondering why. You had been amazingly witty and charming, or at least you thought so, compared to your usual self. But nevertheless, he only offered you suggestive quips at compromising times while you were training. It was getting on your nerves. Cute guys at school were hard enough to deal with, let alone super ones. Maybe it ran in the family, as Wanda didn’t seem to like you either. You often caught her glaring at you, which you thought was weird. Last time you checked, you hadn’t done anything to piss her off.

Anyway, it was a lovely evening and you had just finished your post-training shower and were about to have your post-training snack when you were smacked into by a certain someone. A certain super fast, super hot, sokovian someone. Of course in the heat of the moment you were tired and annoyed from your training, so you shot out a “Watch it, asshole.” God, you’re just so smooth.

“Jesus, Y/N. Sorry.” He said in his glorious accent before running off again. Fucking fantastic. No wonder he hates you. Your default must be bitch mode.

You yelled after him, “Wait!” but he was already long gone. You had lost your appetite. Sighing in defeat, you headed back to your room.

“Y/N.” someone said as they grabbed your arm, stopping you. “Can I talk with you?” Wanda asked as you turned to face her.

“Yeah. What’s up?” You asked as you shook free of her gasp and crossed your arms.

“You like my brother.”

“And that’s going swimmingly, amirite?”

She smirked at you, “Not as of late, but I think I can help.”

“Why do you want to help me? You haven’t really been amicable so far.”

“I don’t like you. But Pietro’s really upset that you’re being such a dick, and your thoughts show that you don’t mean what you say. You’re just painfully socially inept.”

“Thanks,” you fake smile at her.

“Of course,” she shoots back. “Now stop being sarcastic for once in your life, and let me explain my plan.”

“Oh god.” She glared at you. “Fine, fine. I’m listening.”

“So the last time you two were able to flirt was in the wake of you doing something incredibly stupid, yes?”

“I guess so?”

“So all you have to do is something incredibly stupid. Shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll call my friends.”

After Wanda gave you the initial ideas, your friends created a perfect plan. In the middle of the night you ran into every single room and stole every single fucking pen in the entire tower and dumped them all in Pietro’s room. When you had finished you went back to your bed, put on your cutest pjs, and went back to sleep as if nothing had happened.

An hour or so later, Pietro came banging on your door.

“Y/N! What the fuck did you do to my room?”

You opened your door with the most innocent smile you could manage. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a million pens in my room!”

“I doubt a million,” you said as you backed up to let him into your room, closing the door behind him. “It’s only like every pen in the tower.”

“So you did do it!”

“I never said that. And what reason would I have for doing such a thing?”

“I don’t know! You are unpredictable!”

“Nope, try again.”

“Did I piss you off?” He asked as he rubbed his neck, and worriedly looked back at you.

“No… Look, you’re obviously not getting it, but if I did it, I did it to get your attention.”

“And why is that?” He asked flirtatiously as he moved closer to you.

“Maybe I like you, and the last time we talked was when I did something stupid, so… Other than me yelling at you in the hallways, of course,” you added with a smirk.

“Maybe I like you too,” he whispered before closing the space between you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing you passionately. Eventually you both pulled back for air, resting your foreheads against each other’s.

“What is it with you and pens?” He laughed under his breath, before pulling you in for another kiss.

- Mod Mainframe

#Avengers #avengersxreader #avengers ships #avengers x reader #avengersimagines #pietro x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #avengers1shots

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lousylark · 4 years

Text

blue lace

(Part 8. Ready the previous part here, read the next part here (coming soon), check out chapter summaries and masterpost here (coming soon). Check my “blue lace” archive for chapters/updates. Enjoy! <3)

Spring 8th. Early morning. The Goddess Spring.

Once a week, Minori wakes up extra early so she can pay a little visit to Dessie and Witchie.

She used to go midday after she finished her chores, but occasionally she’d get strange looks from other villagers who happened to see her scaling the lily pads in the Spring. After all, as far as she knows, Minori is the only one who can see the deities’ shared abode, so it must look rather odd indeed to see a farmer sitting on a giant lily pad talking to no one in particular.

So now she goes early in the morning to avoid as much awkwardness as possible. This particular morning begins like any other: she brings a basket packed with fruit, cheeses, and flowers, and finds Dessie and Witchie outside playfully squabbling and practicing their respective magics.

“Good morning, Minori!” Dessie chirps, seeing her approach. “How are you?”

Minori plops down on the giant lily pad. “Oh, I’m alright. How are you two?”

“Practicing,” Witchie replies. She snaps, and a frog appears in her hands, which she presents to Minori. “Look at my new trick!”

Minori giggles, taking the frog in her hands briefly before it disappears into a cloud of glitter-magic again. “How useful.” She turns to Dessie. “What about you? Any new tricks to show me?”

Dessie’s face falls a little. It’s unusual to see the tiny Harvest Goddess frown in such a way, so Minori is taken aback.

“I’m trying to practice controlling the weather,” she explains, crossing her arms over her chest. “I dunno if you noticed, but this winter got a little out of hand.”

Minori scoffs. “Yeah, just a little.” Seeing Dessie’s eyes flash with hurt, she adds, “But surely that isn’t totally your fault, Dessie.”

Witchie snaps her fingers. More frogs appear. One boldly hops into Minori’s lap, causing her to jump.

“The Harvest Goddess is supposed to maintain the balance of the weather,” Dessie explains. “I don’t make the weather, I just nudge it in the right direction.” She sighs, hanging her head. “But I had a really hard time pushing winter away this year. I don’t know why.”

“So we’ve been practicing making thunderstorms,” Witchie cuts in. With a rare bubbliness, she adds, “You wanna see?”

“Maybe not right at this moment,” Minori replies, smiling. “If you conjure a thunderstorm now, we’ll get rained on. Plus, I already watered my crops this morning.”

To stop Witchie from being too disappointed, Minori starts unpacking her little picnic basket. Dessie conjures a pink teapot from thin air while Witchie provides some black cups and saucers. Within moments, they’ve started their weekly girls’ brunch.

“So I heard you’re planning a White Day festival!” Dessie says, her mouth half-full of cheese. “That’s so cute! I wanna go.”

“A White Day festival? Blegh,” Witchie says. She takes a sip of tea. “That’s so mushy.”

Dessie frowns at her friend. “It’s not mushy! Plus, there’ll be lots of food.”

“Oh, well then count me in, too.” Witchie replies.

Minori grins. “Thanks, guys. I’ll be sure to add an extra two when Veronica takes attendance.”

“Why’re you making a White Day festival, anyway?” Witchie asks, munching on a bagel. “Doesn’t this town have enough festivals?”

Minori explains her role in the New Leaf competition to them, starting all the way back from the New Year’s Festival and working through the conquest with Elise, the incident with her wine shed, and the conception of the White Day festival.

“Wow,” Dessie breathes when she’s finished. “It’s been a busy week for you, huh?”

“Got that right,” she replies. Then, a thought occurs to her. “Hey, since you guys are divine beings and all, you wouldn’t happen to know what actually happened with my wine shed, right? I’m pretty sure it was just an animal that broke in, but Elise thinks it might’ve been, like, a person.”

“Definitely a person,” Witchie replies.

Dessie stares at her with wide eyes. “What! How do you know?”

Witchie shrugs. “Oh, I dunno. It’s just more spooky that way.”

“Oh, so you don’t actually know,” Dessie says, relieved. She turns to Minori. “Sorry, Nori — I might be divine, but I’m still working on the whole ‘omniscience’ thing.”

“Yeah, after all, she can barely control the weather,” Wichie teases. Dessie gives her a sour look in response.

Despite their light-heartedness, Minori just sighs. “That’s too bad. Elise sent over her locksmith, and that helped my peace of mind a little, but, like you said,” she says, looking toward Witchie, “it’s spooky.”

A crow caws somewhere in the distance, as if supporting Minori’s statement. She stares into her cup of tea. Could it really have been a person who destroyed her stock of orange wine? But who in Oak Tree Town despises her so much that they would do such a thing? Unless it wasn’t a move against her so much as it was a move to support Elise? If that’s the case, then it would have to be someone who really likes Elise.

She frowns — as terrible as it is, she can’t think of a single person in town who might like Elise enough to destroy her wine shed over it.

“Don’t worry, Nori,” Dessie replies, putting her hands on her hips. “We’ll keep a close eye out for any sketchy people.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” she says, suddenly. “Where are the Nature Sprites? I’ve got a job for them.”

“I’ll summon them. They’ll want some of the flour you brought, anyway.”

She whistles a four-note tune, sounding almost identical to a sparrow as she does so. Within moments, little sparkly puffs of air appear around them, each a different color of the rainbow. From them, the Nature Sprites emerge.

“Minori!” Pepita cries, scurrying toward her. “Hi hi!”

“Didja bring any flour?” Gusto asks. “I’m so hungry!”

Each sprite approaches her in turn, asking what feels like hundreds of questions: where she’s been, how the winter treated her, why is there a new patch in the knee of her jeans —

“Now, now,” Dessie begins, calming the flurrying sprites. “Minori has a job for you all. Perhaps if you do it well, she’ll give you some flour.”

“A job?” Flik asks, his curiosity piqued.

Minori nods. “Yeah. I need you guys to help me find something.”

Torque pushes her tiny glasses up further on her nose. “Like a scavenger hunt?”

“Uh, yeah, actually, kind of like that.” She crosses her arms over her chest, shivering just a little. Though the worst of the winter has passed, the early morning spring air is awfully chilly. “We’re looking for some of Mistel’s blueprints. Someone took them, but I’m hoping it was an accident or that they’re at least still in town.”

“Oooh, yay!” Pepita squeals. “I love scavenger hunts!”

“But we can’t read,” Torque points out sullenly. “How do we know when we’ve found the right blueprints?”

Minori purses her lips. Truthfully, she hadn’t really thought of that. For all of their magic powers, the Nature Sprites are illiterate when it comes to human languages.

“Well, it’ll look kind of like a grocery list,” she finally says, “with a picture drawn at the bottom that has really straight lines. And it’ll probably be written on fancy, thick paper.”

“And the reward?” Gusto asks.

Dessie tuts a bit. “Gusto, you can’t just —“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Minori says, smiling. “If one of you finds the blueprints, I’ll give you an extra-large bag of flour all to yourself.”

At the mention of the prize, the Nature Sprites completely lose it. They clamor over each other, Mora starts to drool, and Gusto immediately disappears into a puff of glitter with only the phrase, “I’m on it!”

Minori mouths the word “sorry” to Dessie, who just giggles at her.

“Hey,” Witchie says as the Nature Sprites bombard her with more questions, her mouth half-full of bagel, “You did this to yourself.”

“But at least now you’ll probably find those blueprints!” Dessie adds, gently corralling the sprites back toward her.

“Thanks, everyone,” Minori says, fixing her hair after having received some tugs from Pepita. As the sprites finally calm down, she starts again. “Alright. So what other questions can I answer?”

Elise’s Manor. Mid-Morning.

By the time Elise manages to drag her hungover self out of bed, the sun has risen fairly high into the sky. It’s at least three hours later than she would normally get up, but with the incessant pounding in her head and the dryness of her throat, she finds she doesn’t mind the late start.

When Jenny comes in to take her dirty laundry, she asks in a groggy voice, “And how is Madame this morning?”

Her servant just shrugs. “Her door is locked and I haven’t heard a word from her since last night.”

A tiny smile plays on Elise’s lips. “Well, no point trying to slip a coin from the dragon’s horde. We ought to let her rest.”

Jenny nods understandingly. “Yes, miss.”

Her eyes flicker to where minou snoozes in a patch of sunlight on the bed. The kitten looks terribly cute; despite the hanging memory of her drunk episode last night, she can’t bring herself to regret adopting the creature.

“Will she be staying in the house?” Jenny asks. “I can ask Gilbert to bring a litter box from the pet house.”

Elise hums. “Yes, that would be ideal. Thank you, Jenny.”

And thus, the morning proceeds. Elise slinks down to the kitchen in her pajamas, sneaking past Cookie and grabbing a muffin to hold her over until lunch. She guzzles down two glasses of water whilst staring out the parlor window, thinking. Planning. Then, with a somewhat lazy resolution, she starts toward her office to finally get to work.

When she unlocks and opens the door, however, she finds none other than Nadi seated at her desk. Chaton slips through her legs into the room, stalking up to Nadi and rubbing against his legs.

“Ugh,” Nadi says, not even bothering with a greeting. “Cats.”

“Oh, hush,” Elise chides, walking toward him so she can scoop up the kitten. “She’s a darling creature.”

“I don’t like cat hair on my clothes,” he says, brushing off his pant leg.

“And I don’t like squatters in my office,” she counters, crossing to sit in her big leather chair. “How did you even get in here?”

He shrugs. “Jenny let me in.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Don’t blame her, though,” he continues, not looking up from what looks like a landscape draft. “I told her you had given me permission to get some parchment from in here.”

“Ah. Well, you have your paper,” she says, looking pointedly at the scroll he’s writing on. “So why do you remain?”

He shrugs. “Haven’t really moved my stuff back to the Inn yet. Plus, this room has the best natural lighting in the house.”

She can’t argue with him there. The office faces an ideal direction for reading, writing, drawing — any sort of activity for which one might prefer natural light to fluorescent. It had been one of the only things she’d liked about the mansion when she first moved here.

“I can leave, if you want,” he says, sighing. Finally looking up at her. She suddenly notices that he, too, is still in pajamas — though his hair is tied away from his face, a little differently than it usually is. Messier than usual.

She just shrugs. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t stay, if it helps you to work better — as long as you don’t disturb my work, seeing as this is indeed my office.”

He smirks. “Of course, your highness.”

A scowl tugs on the corner of her mouth. She vaguely remembers Nadi giving her that epitaph last night, too. While only some years ago she had dreamed of nothing more than marrying into a noble family, she finds her adulthood goals have changed rather drastically. The nickname is a sharp reminder of her own child-like foolishness.

Perhaps Nadi detects her sudden sourness, because his tone softens when he asks, “How are you feeling this morning?”

She opens a desk drawer. Scoffs. “You mean besides my raging hangover?”

“Besides that, yes.”

She sighs. Sinks back into her chair with a pair of scissors in hand. “Fine, I suppose.”

“Do you, uh, remember what happened last night?”

She looks up at him, but he’s still staring down at his landscape designs. Still, from the way his knuckles are lighter in color from clenching his pen so hard, she can tell he feels nervous asking the question. It’s funny, she thinks, a tiny smile wiling its way onto her lips. He asks the question like he’s a lovestruck man wondering if his partner remembers their drunken affair.

“Well, let’s see,” she says, folding her hands. “Are you asking if I remember Madame’s French temper tantrum, being threatened with the shard of a vase, or adopting a kitten?”

“You forgot throwing up on the floor.”

She glares at him. “You know, you’d be much more charming if you weren’t quite so blunt.”

He kicks his feet up and rests them on the corner of her desk. “And you say you’re self-aware.”

She rolls up a nearby piece of paper and swats his feet with it. “Not on my desk, thank you very much.”

Nadi grins but removes his feet from the desk, moving forward so that he’s leaning over his work again. Though she wouldn’t dare show it, she’s glad that he seems to have let the topic of last night go, for the time being. The episode isn’t exactly what she’d call one of her finest moments.

A soft mew comes from the window sill, and then minou has leapt up onto the desk, taking a particular interest in the bookmark tassel sticking out from one of her farming anthologies.

“So you’re keeping the cat?” Nadi asks.

“Kitten — and yes.” She moves a finger to try and tempt minou to play. “It would be terribly unfair to just return her to Agate. Besides,” she pauses, a smirk tugging at her lips, “Madame is allergic.”

He scoffs. “You’re asking for another fight.”

“Indeed,” she muses, trailing her finger on the edge of the desk for the kitten to bat at. “Perhaps if I pick enough fights, she’ll decide to stay at the Inn.”

“With me for company? I doubt it.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t dare expose you to such torture. If she were to move to the inn, you would continue staying here as my guest.”

He shrugs, but she doesn’t miss the blatant pleased surprise in his eyes. “I have to admit, the natural lighting is a lot better here.”

As if on cue, a beam of sunlight streams in from the window. The white-light lands on a strip of Nadi’s hair, making it glow like snow on a winter morning.

She shakes her head, scooping up her kitten and standing from the chair. “Come, minou. Let’s pick out a fabric for this dress.”

“Is that its name? Minou?” Nadi asks.

“You know, we did have an agreement that you could work here only if you were quiet.”

“I’m just trying to defend your kitten’s honor.”

She clicks her tongue. “Fair.” Keeping minou in one hand, she uses the other to open up her office closet, which has shelves upon shelves of fabric organized by color, material, and weight. “Minou isn’t really a name — it just means kitten in French.”

She doesn’t turn to look at him, but she can hear the smugness in his voice when he responds, “That’s not a name — that’s like if I called Minori farmer, or you self-righteous princess-wannabe.”

“Very funny.” She touches a few different breeds of silky red fabric, and then decides on the ruby tone, pulling the bolt out of the stack. “Why don’t you give her a name, then, if you’re such a master of epitaphs?”

She watches him shrug as she moves back toward the desk. “Whenever I’ve had pets, I name them after flowers.”

“How utterly predictable.” She sets the bolt of fabric — and minou — down on the surface, and then opens one of the long drawers to find a cutting mat.

They fall into an easy silence, Nadi suddenly taken with an aspect of his landscaping design and Elise gathering the supplies to start on Lillie’s dress. Every so often she looks up at minou and wonders about names. Everything she tries in her mind — Blossom, Princess, Victoria — none of the names fit, and she would hate to give the darling kitten an ill-fitting name.

As she starts to cut the fabric, she finally asks, “What flower would you name the kitten after, then?”

He doesn’t look up from his paper. “I dunno. I’m partial to roses.”

She pauses in her cutting. Smiles.

“Rose.” Looks toward minou, and tries the name again. “Rose. I like it.”

He raises an eyebrow. Stares at her, incredulous. “You do?”

She nods. “It has a double meaning — I drank far too much of the rosé that Minori brought to the party last night. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to adopting her.”

“Huh.” He raises his pen, as if in toast. “To rosé, then.”

“And to Rose,” she adds, putting down her scissors so that she can rub Rose’s soft little cheek.

Another lull as Nadi returns to his work, and Elise to her dress-making. The design that the girls made for Lillie’s modeling escapade is terribly simple, but, if she succeeds in making the dress correctly — which she no doubt will — it should achieve the goal of making Lillie look rather sumptuous for their humble fashion show. Hopefully, Raeger won’t be able to deny that she’s a catch.

She bites her tongue in guilt, remembering how Lillie’s fascination with Raeger wasn’t the only girlish crush to come to light the night before. Her revealing of Licorice’s feelings for Kamil had — thankfully — only ratcheted up the awkwardness in the room for just a few minutes. When Licorice had come out of the bathroom, she’d avoided eye contact with Elise, but she engaged in conversation with the other girls. Elise didn’t mind taking the brunt of her feelings — and if she’d felt a little bad about the ordeal, she’d drowned her feelings in rosé.

There’s a knock at the door. Elise stiffens.

“Yes?” she asks, careful not to reveal her slight spike in anxiety.

The wooden door opens. Jenny pops her head in. She barely manages to hold in a sigh of relief.

“Miss Elise,” Jenny starts, “Madame Dupont requests your presence in the parlor.”

Elise shakes her head, pretending to be preoccupied with her fabric cutting. “I’m rather busy. If Madame truly wishes to speak, she’s welcome to come here to my office.”

Jenny shifts from one foot to the other. “Um, she insists, Miss Elise.”

Her mouth curls into a wily smile. “As do I — and you may tell her so.”

Jenny nods her head, pursing her lips with a braveness that Elise recognizes all too well. “Insisting” anything to Madame is a task only for the stone-faced.

When the door closes, Nadi asks, “Should I leave?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” she replies, standing so that she can reach across the large desk to grab a ruler. “It will infuriate her that you’re here.”

“Which is exactly why I think I should leave, Elise —“

“Stay, or I’ll fire you.”

He looks like he’s got a biting response ready to fire, but the door to the office swings open with an aggressive creaking sound.

Madame stands in the doorway, terse, poised to pounce. She holds a large stack of papers blackened with typeface. Elise watches as her gaze moves from Rose to Nadi and then finally rests on herself, becoming more pointed.

“P’tite.” The greeting is neutral, except for her eyes, which reveal that she hasn’t forgotten last night’s humiliation.

“Madame,” she replies, setting down her scissors. “Whatever is so urgent that you insist on interrupting my important work?”

She sticks her nose up a little. “If it were truly so important, you wouldn’t still be in your nightwear.”

Elise grins. “It’s a Sunday morning and I have absolutely no plans. Do live a little, Madame.” She looks briefly down at her t-shirt and sweatpants and adds, “Also, in the twenty-first century we call these pajamas, not nightwear.”

Nadi snorts — and then covers it up as a cough. Elise sits back down in her desk chair, kicking him under the table as she does so.

“Pourquoi est-ce qu’il est encore là?” Madame asks without looking at Nadi.

“English please, Madame, or else little Rose here won’t be able to understand you,” she replies, scratching Rose’s chin.

Madame huffs. “I refuse to share the house with that beast for three seasons. You will return it from wherever it came from immediately.”

“Oh, but look at her darling little face,” she says, scooping up the kitten and standing from her desk. “Would you like to hold her?”

Madame’s nose crinkles. “Keep that thing away from me.”

“Gladly,” Elise murmurs, holding Rose against her a little tighter. “Now,” she starts again, mockingly bright, “I suppose you’re going to tell me about that loomingly large stack of papers there?”

Madame puts her weight on one side so that her hip juts out of her pencil skirt, making her upper half look like the Tower of Pisa. “Indeed.”

She strolls into the office and lumps the stack of papers right on top of Elise’s project. It’s at least two feet high, all on standard letter paper. The font is so small she has to squint to read it.

“I’ve decided to be merciful,” Madame begins, crossing her arms in a way that suggests she’s decided to be anything but. “If you’re so insistent on being allowed to participate in the board meetings, the least you could do is some clerical work. Complete these documents by sunset, and I’ll consider allowing you to attend our meeting tonight.”

Elise purses her lips. This is a test, and she knows it — the stack of papers is probably mostly busy work that Madame has concocted for the sole purpose of making her life miserable for a few hours. She’s testing Elise’s resolve.

“Very well,” she says, not uttering a single word about the impossibility of the task considering she also needs to finish Lillie’s dress. “But I request that you leave me alone for the afternoon so I can work.”

Madame’s lips curl into a smirk. “Gladly, p’tite.”

When she leaves the room, the door creaking shut behind her, Elise folds in on herself like a deflating balloon.

“Ouch,” Nadi says, seemingly reading her thoughts as his eyes move to the giant stack of documents. “Is this really worth it?”

“Oh, this is nothing,” she replies, kicking her feet up on her desk in precisely the way she had told Nadi not to do only minutes ago. “When I was thirteen, she locked me in the mansion cellar for a whole day because I wanted to eat pumpkin pie at the harvest festival the next day.” A pause, as she remembers the dampness of that cellar and wonders why she would reveal this particular vulnerability to Nadi. “She, um, said that the hunger I felt would make me appreciate the pie more, but looking back I guess it was a little much.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And your father just let that happen?”

She scoffs. “My father never knew, nor cared. My sister would’ve tried to fight her, I think, but she’d been tasked with giving a handsome ambassador from Silk Country a tour of the city that weekend.”

“What about your mother?”

For an instant, there’s a fire that flashes in her chest at the question. But she sucks a breath in and then forces it out until the flames go up in smoke.

“I need to get started on these documents.”

She removes her feet from the desk and stands to grab the stack of papers.

“But what about your dress?” Nadi asks — thankfully not pushing the topic of her mother again.

“Not my dress — Lillie’s.” She grazes the soft ruby-tone fabric with her fingers, frowning.

Nadi cocks his head to one side like a confused puppy. “Lillie? You mean the weather reporter? Raeger’s girlfriend?”

“They’re actually not dating, believe it or not — yet. Hence the dress.”

“I don’t understand.”

She blows out another big breath, exasperated. “Really, Nadi, you’ll need to be a little quicker if you want to work in this office. Obviously the dress is for Lillie to wear as my model in the fashion festival so that she can use her womanly wiles to win Raeger’s heart. Do keep up.”

Nadi’s brow furrows. “But isn’t the fashion contest in, like, two days?”

“Yes, which is precisely why I need to get started on these finances —“

“Why don’t you let me help?”

Now it’s her turn to look like a confused puppy. “You can sew?”

He barks out a laugh. “No, idiot. The treasury stuff.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, prepped to give a cutting response — but bites her tongue, deciding against it. Scanning the stack of papers again, and then looking down at Lillie’s dress, she realizes he’s right: she doesn’t have time to do both, and she doesn’t really want to choose between the two of them, either.

“Normally,” she begins, slowly, “I would be a fool to allow my landscaper to come within nine feet of important financial documents —“

“Ouch.”

“I’m not finished. However, I do seem to be in a bit of a pickle.” She pulls out one of her desk drawers. “You know how to operate a calculator?”

He rolls his eyes, to which she can’t help revealing a tiny smile. “Yes, Elise. Believe it or not, I had a really great maths tutor when I was growing up. And I do all my own financial work for landscaping, as you know.”

A spark in her eyes. She almost feels embarrassed at selling him so short — not that she’d ever tell him that. “Indeed, I suppose you do.” She covers her feelings by brusquely grabbing the calculator and holding it out to him across the desk. He doesn’t take it.

“Just answer me one thing,” he says, carefully.

“Questions about my mother are off-limits.”

“Yeah, I figured that out a while ago. It’s not about your mother.”

She eyes him carefully. Lowers the calculator. “Continue.”

“Why are you helping Lillie?” he asks, carefully. “You never help anyone.”

The observation should hurt, but it doesn’t. Coming from Nadi, who also isn’t the most socially blessed person in Oak Tree Town, the comment holds little sting. Instead, she sees genuine curiosity in his eyes — and perhaps a touch of pride, too, which for whatever reason makes her cheeks feel suddenly warm.

“I may be cold, but I’m not heartless,” she responds simply. “It’s beating somewhere in there.”

“Deep down,” Nadi agrees, but with a small, contagious smile that makes her stomach flop.

“Oh, stop looking at me like that,” she snaps, shoving the calculator toward him. “You’ve got a lot of work to do if you’re going to finish this clerical work by sunset.”

“We’ve got a lot of work to do.” He takes the calculator. “As soon as you’re done with the dress, you’re helping me.”

“We shall see.”

Nadi chuckles, and perhaps she smiles a little, too, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Watching him reach for the first paper on the stack, his question turns over in her mind: when did she start doing favors for others? And, perhaps more importantly, when did she start becoming a person others do favors for?

Mid-afternoon. Norchester; the Buchanan Estate.

The Buchanan Estate, with its spire-pointed iron gates and perfectly trimmed shrubbery, sits at the top of a hill in Norchester’s oldest quarter, overlooking dozens of other large mansions that dot the hillside. But none are quite so intricately beautiful in design — nor quite so simultaneously leering — as that of the Buchanan family.

Klaus fiddles with his tie as the limousine driver enters the code at the security gate. He hasn’t seen Todd Buchanan in person in several weeks, likely because he’s been so preoccupied with his campaign. Elections are in the fall, and he has two seasons to win over the majority of the district populace — many of whom are farmers and small town folks, much like the residents of Oak Tree Town.

In his own personal opinion, Buchanan’s superficiality and penchant for greed has no chance with his constituents when compared to his much more humble opponent — but seeing as Buchanan is his employer, he wouldn’t ever dare to say such a thing aloud, especially given his acute aversion to any and all counsel, however well-intended.

When they arrive at the front porch, Buchanan’s butler, a short, stout old man by the name of Baxter, stands at the steps holding two umbrellas: one for himself and the other, presumably, for Klaus. From what Klaus can tell, Baxter is a good and honest man, if a bit bumbling at times.

The chauffeur opens Klaus’ door, and Baxter holds the second umbrella out for him. Shifting his briefcase to his other hand, he grabs the handle and stands from the car, tipping his hat to the chauffeur as he does so.

“Mr. Schulz,” Baxter greets over the symphony of rainfall. “How are you on this fine day?”

“A little damp, I must admit,” Klaus replies, following him up the long train of marble stairs leading to the estate. “And yourself?”

“Oh, chipper as always.” His bushy gray mustache quivers above his smile. “You’re in luck; Mr. Buchanan is in fine spirits today.”

“Is he?”

“Indeed. Not sure why, though.”

As they reach the mansion overhang, Klaus closes his umbrella. Baxter follows suit, wrapping his up and then reaching to open the door for Klaus.

The first time Klaus ever entered the Buchanan mansion — which must’ve been at least fifteen years ago now, he realizes with a slight pang of existential dread — he had been amazed at the majesty of the grand entry hall, with its two spiraling marble staircases and hallways leading off in every direction. A huge iron clock hangs from the wall in the center of the room; underneath it is a portrait of Buchanan’s family: himself in the middle, accompanied by his oldest daughter, Chloe, and of course Elise, who could’ve only been sixteen or seventeen when the photo was taken.

Many years ago, another portrait hung in its place — one where Mrs. Buchanan stood next to her husband, gazing adoringly in his eyes. But that particular painting had long since been taken down — and now, no traces of Elise’s mother remain in the house, as if she’d never existed in the first place.

Klaus can’t help his sadness every time he sees the new painting. Mrs. Buchanan used to decorate the entry hall with giant vases of flowers. Now, the marble floors are barren; the stairway railings are gleamingly clean but no garlands of white lilies adorn them. The hall smells like dusting spray rather than roses.

“Shall I accompany you to Mr. Buchanan’s office, Mr. Schulz?” Baxter asks like he does every visit, taking his coat to hang on the rack.

And, like every time, he responds, “No, that won’t be necessary — thank you, Baxter.”

Buchanan’s office is on the second floor of the mansion, nestled all the way at the back of the house so that it overlooks downtown Norchester. On most days, the office is host to a beautiful view of the city — of course, Klaus has always thought that it’s easy to think Norchester is beautiful when one looks at it from so far away. Being in the thick of it is another matter, but, to the current government’s credit, they’d come a long way in the last fifteen years preventing further crime in the marginalized and impoverished neighborhoods.

When he reaches Buchanan’s door, he sucks in a breath and then forces himself to release it slowly. Buchanan’s vampire-like countenance doesn’t scare him — not a lot scares him anymore, other than his nightmares. But there is a certain dark-Victorian-poet-meets-modern-technology quality to the office that makes Klaus want to spend as little time in there as possible.

Finally, he raises a hand to knock on the door. A moment passes, and then another. And then the unmistakable bass timbre of Todd’s voice from the other side of the door: “Come in.”

When Klaus opens the door, he’s surprised to find that the office has been completely redecorated — rather than being crammed with old oak bookshelves and looming portraits of old relatives, the space has been transformed to emit a much more minimalistic ambience. Gone are the plush red velvet armchairs, replaced with small, black leather stools surrounding a solid white coffee table.

Buchanan’s desk appears to be the only thing that remains the same — as well as the thick plum-colored curtains, saturated with dust, that frame the window at the south end of the room.

“You’ll pardon the dust, please, Klaus,” Buchanan says, folding his arms over his chest. “I recently had an associate over for tea and she was rather insistent that, given my current political state, my office décor be up-to-date.”

“No, it’s, er, very nice,” Klaus says. He can’t decide if he likes the barrenness of the new look any more than he liked the crypt-like qualities of the old one. “Very chic, I think.”

He smiles coolly. “Your pleasantries don’t fool me.” Gesturing to one of the blacks tools, he adds, “Sit.”

Klaus obeys, trying as hard as he can to perch comfortably on such an uncomfortable chair. He settles with keeping one foot on the ground and crossing the other over his knee.

Buchanan pulls a file out of one of his desk drawers. Klaus recognizes the handwriting in the upper-right corner of the manilla folder — Marian’s notes on his physical state, no doubt.

“So, is there anything of interest going on in Oak Tree Town?” Buchanan asks, hardly bothering to glance over the papers before splaying them out on his desk.

“I thought you’d know, sir,” Klaus replies casually. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Elise’s involvement in the Green Leaf competition?”

Buchanan’s tongue clicks. “Ah, but surely you know my daughter has no official involvement in that affair.”

Klaus hums. He’s known Buchanan long enough to understand that comment. Indeed, Minori won the conquest competition — but how much of that was orchestrated by Buchanan’s desire to keep his daughter out of the Green Leaf competition for his own political gain, he wonders?

“I may be mistaken,” Klaus starts, then, “but the town’s Business Mentor for the competition is Elise’s childhood nanny, yes?”

Buchanan, surprisingly enough, lets out an uncharacteristic snort. “Angélique, yes. I received an especially interesting phone call from her last night.” He smirks. “It seems my Elise has been giving her quite a lot of lip.”

“Respectfully, sir, Elise gives everyone quite a lot of lip,” he replies. A few years ago, he would’ve been afraid to let such a comment leave his mouth. But after so many meetings with Mr. Buchanan, the two have become quite candid with each other — or, as candid as someone like Todd Buchanan can be with his glorified freelance spy.

As he suspected, Buchanan finds this comment worthy of a curt grin. “As she learned from her father, no doubt.”

“Likely,” Klaus agrees.

“In case you’re wondering — which I have no doubt you are,” Buchanan begins, pointedly looking toward him, “it was not my choice to have Angélique installed as the Business Mentor for the town.”

“But it was your choice to install Minori as the agricultural representative.”

He shrugs. “Oh, I rather don’t care who took the title in the end, so long as it wasn’t my Elise.”

And thus Klaus’ suspicions are confirmed. The affirmation leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he decides immediately that he won’t ever tell Minori. Not that he would break the confidentiality of these meetings to begin with, but in a theoretical world where he could tell her everything, he still wouldn’t tell her. He isn’t sure how she would react to knowing that Elise was forced to let her win.

“Well, your marks are above average as usual, Klaus,” Todd says, replacing the contents of the manilla folder and sliding it back into his desk drawer. “I see no reason to keep you any longer than necessary on this dreary day.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow. Usually their meetings go a lot longer. He can’t help but feel like there’s something Buchanan —

“Unless…” he begins, stretching the word and its consequent pause like a piece of bubble gum.

— Ah. There it is.

“Unless?” he prompts.

Buchanan leans forward a bit so that his elbows rest on his desk, perched like a cat waiting to pounce.

“There is a more…delicate matter,” he says, his voice accessing that higher register that he sometimes uses when speaking of such ‘delicate’ matters — usually highly political and questionable in moral nature. “If you’re interested.”

“As long as it’s within my contract.”

He rubs one temple with two fingers. “While the Green Leaf competition is charming in its intentions, Oak Tree Town’s involvement is proving to be something of a wrinkle in my campaign plans. Even though Elise isn’t publicly involved in the competition, Angélique tells me that she wishes to have a private input in their little meetings.”

“Sounds like Elise,” Klaus says, careful to keep his face straight. He remembers Minori saying something about how Elise’s presence at the first meeting had actually been helpful, and not a hinderance, but he decides he’s better off keeping that from Buchanan.

“In any case,” Buchanan continues, removing his glasses and folding them. “If Oak Tree Town wins the competition, it will reflect badly on myself and the town: people will think my connection to Elise is interference, regardless of whether or not she’s publicly involved.” He removes a handkerchief from his coat pocket. “However, if the town comes in last, that would also reflect poorly on me — and on my daughter’s capabilities, as well.”

“What are you proposing, sir?”

“Straight to the point, as always,” Buchanan says, wiping his glasses with the handkerchief. “That’s what I like about you, Klaus — you’re not afraid of being candid. Amidst my war in the Great Game, it’s remarkably…” He takes a deep breath through the nose, then finishes with another cool smile, “Refreshing.”

Klaus decides not to point out that, in complimenting his behavior, Buchanan is once again dancing around the subject of conversation. It’s a game he used to enjoy, but now rather detests — unless, of course, the subject is coquettish in nature. But talking politics with Buchanan isn’t exactly what he might call flirtatious subject matter.

“Well, Klaus, I’m prepared to offer you a generous bonus,” Buchanan says, replacing his glasses on his nose, “if you find a way to have Oak Tree Town place between fourth and sixth in the competition.”

Klaus snorts. “Sir, you know I gave up sabotage long ago.”

“Oh, but my friend, it’s possible you might not have to do much at all,” he says. Brushes a nonexistent bit of dust from his desk. “Tell me: how competent is the Agricultural Representative?”

“Minori? She’s, er…” he struggles to find the right word. If he tells Buchanan his honest opinion — which would be that, given her simultaneous stubborn tenacity and social charm, Minori will likely leave her opponents in the dust — he risks making her specifically out to be a threat to Buchanan. But if he undersells her, he does a disservice to her talents. “She’s, er, capable.”

“Capable, you say?” Buchanan rubs his beard, one corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Do you know her well?”

“Well, I would consider us acquaintances, surely,” Klaus replies. “Perhaps friends.”

“And is she pretty, too?”

“Sir?”

Buchanan raises a newspaper that’s sitting on his desk just enough so that Klaus can see the cover page — the headline reads, Green Leaf Ag-Reps Announced! In the top left corner in tacky font is a column labeled, “ones to watch” — with a candid photo of Minori plastered in the number one spot, beaming as she accepts the blue ribbon at some contest.

Buchanan tosses the paper toward Klaus, who fumbles only slightly before catching it in both hands. He doesn’t have to even glance at the article to know what it says — that Minori far out-ranks his description of “capable.”

“I thought,” Buchanan begins, his voice low, “I was doing myself a favor by denying my daughter entry in the contest. But it turns out I’ve put a far worse beast in her place — a girl who genuinely wants to do ‘good.’” He rolls his eyes. “Do you know how hard it is to buy over those kinds of girls with money or fame?”

“I can only imagine,” Klaus says dryly.

“Thus, my friend, here is my proposal,” Buchanan begins again, lacing his fingers together on the desk. “There’s two ways you can go about this: first, you sabotage the Oak Tree Town team’s efforts just enough for them to come in, at the very maximum, fourth out of tenth place — it’s possible, indeed, that you won’t have to do any sabotaging at all, should this Minori prove a disappointment.”

Klaus frowns disapprovingly. “You know I swore off sabotage a long time ago, Buchanan. I already said I didn’t want to breach my contract.”

“Consider the second choice, then.” He signals for Klaus to return the newspaper, which he does — standing to pass it to him instead of throwing it across the desk. “You court this Minori Awald until she’s so enamored with you that she can’t help but focus on you rather than the competition.”

At this, Klaus can’t help but let out a snort. “Oh, I think you’ll find it would take a lot more than the likes of me to distract Minori from something she’s got her heart so set on.”

“But who can resist a tall and brooding man such as yourself, my dear boy?”

“She’s good at multitasking.” He uncrosses his legs, thinking. “Perhaps the plan backfires. What if she not only wins the competition, but she falls for me in my efforts to court her, as well?” As the words leave his lips, his chest feels warm — a lovely, though fantastical, scenario that would be, indeed. “What would you do then?”

Buchanan smirks. Klaus’ stomach drops. He has a feeling he doesn’t want to hear what’s next.

“Well, I was rather hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but I had Baxter read up on Miss Awald’s background — she has a degree in design from L’Universitaire de Beauchamp, does she not?”

Klaus frowns. “She does.”

“You know, Angélique has some very famous fashion designers in her circle who are looking for new assistants,” Buchanan says casually. He turns his chair just a little more toward the window, so that a quarter of his face is hidden in shadow. “It would be so unfortunate if she were to receive a job offer that begins before the end of the competition — wouldn’t it? Then she’d have to choose between a tiny town in the middle of nowhere and her lifelong dream of being a big-time designer.”

Klaus purses his lips. “Tough choice,” he says, with a hint of bitterness.

“And then this whole town, who seems to rather adore her from what Baxter gathered,” Buchanan continues, “would resent her for disqualifying them from the competition by leaving. Wouldn’t that be a pity?”

There’s a rather interesting spot in the new area rug, Klaus finds, where the pattern seems to have a flaw in it. He tries to focus on that for a moment, ignoring the way he’s gritting his teeth so hard his head might explode.

Buchanan sighs. “The choice is rather simple, Klaus. Find a way to ensure that Oak Tree Town places fourth at the very highest, or I’ll draw Minori Awald away and disqualify them from the competition altogether.” He turns his chair away from the window. “What’s your choice?”

A long pause. The seconds seem to stretch out before him as he considers his options. Would it be kinder, he wonders, to give Minori the option to accept a position as a fashion designer, to give her the option of abandoning Oak Tree Town in favor of her “lifelong dream,” as Buchanan calls it?

But then he remembers their conversation only yesterday — about how she was unsure if she truly ever wanted to leave Oak Tree Town, or if she even wanted to be a fashion designer, or what her future held. Is it wrong for him to not give her the option, or is he saving her the struggle of making such a monumental decision when she is on the cusp of what is sure to be a very important two months of her life?

And what about Elise’s involvement, and the rest of the town’s investment in the competition? Is it fair of him to make the decision for them?

He sighs. He needs to buy himself time. He also needs to talk to Marian about it — the only person with whom he ever considers breaking his confidentiality clause. Only one of the two options Buchanan has given him will buy him any guaranteed amount of time.

“I’ll do it myself, on one condition,” Klaus says, keeping his tone even so as not to betray his intentions.

“Which is?”

“You allow them to place third — not fourth,” Klaus replies. “They deserve a spot on the podium, at the very least.”

Buchanan’s mouth curves into a wily smile.

“Fair enough. I’ll cede that point. Anything else?”

He’s about to deny the question — but then a thought occurs to him.

“Actually, yes,” Klaus says. “I need a cotton candy machine.”

Buchanan’s gaze flickers. Klaus can only see the confusion in his eyes after years of practice. “A…cotton candy machine?”

“By tomorrow, yes. Delivered to Oak Tree Town. Specifically one that looks like it might belong in a 1950’s ice cream social — you know, vintage style.”

Buchanan looks like he might ask questions, but then decides better of it, resting his forehead in his hand with a resigned sigh. “Very well, Klaus. I’ll have Baxter look into it today. Do we have an agreement?”

Klaus nods. “We do.”

They shake hands, and the gears in his mind are already turning.

Oak Tree Town; Trade Depot. Early Evening.

“You know, I don’t understand why you wore that big heavy coat when it’s finally gotten warm outside.” Lillie stares at her with a suspicious gaze. “Wait…where’d you even get that coat, anyway? I don’t recognize it.”

The Trade Depot bustles with activity. It hasn’t been this busy so close to closing time in weeks — Minori would know, since she comes here usually twice a day, once when the vendors open to stock up on what she needs before the stock runs out and once near closing time to sell all she’s ready to part with. Now that the weather has finally warmed up, she figures that a lot more people are willing to make the hike even though the sun is close to setting.

“Minori?”

“Huh? Oh, the jacket.” She shoves her hands into the pockets defensively. “I’ve had this forever.” Lies. It’s Klaus’ jacket. “I just haven’t worn it this winter.”

Lillie isn’t fooled. Her suspicious stare grows into a big, goofy grin. “Uh huh. Did you buy it when you were two feet taller?” she asks, gesturing to how the hem of the coat brushes against her calves.

“Something like that,” Minori replies, and if she blushes she hides it in the woolen collar of the jacket. “Now come on — you’re only allowed to help me sell stuff if you aren’t gonna ask me weird questions about my wardrobe choices.”

Lillie grins. “What, so you can drag me into being the model for Elise’s fashion show, but I can’t tease you about this jacket that you definitely stole from Klaus?”

“Exactly. And it was borrowed, not stolen, I’ll have you know.”

They’re all giggles as Lillie starts to help unload Minori’s wagon next to Marielle’s stall — and Minori is glad. She was a little worried that after the girl’s gathering the night before Lillie would be feeling nervous, or even betrayed. But if anything, she seems to be looking forward to the fashion festival.

She has to hand it to Elise — it’s a pretty solid plan. There aren’t a lot of ways it can go wrong, even if it doesn’t go right.

“I wonder how Elise is getting on with the dress,” Lillie muses then, setting several bottles of milk down on the ground.

“Hopefully pretty well, though I’m sure she had a rotten hangover this morning,” Minori replies, grinning. “I can’t believe she agreed to take that kitten home.”

“And that she drank so much rosé!” Lillie agrees. “We should’ve invited her sooner.”

“We’ll make up for it — we could make her throw the next get-together, actually. If the eclairs from last night were any indication, I’m sure she’d supply lovely snacks.”

As Minori is dragging some bolts of fabric from the wagon, Lillie says, “Oh, but isn’t that creepy French lady staying with her? I’d hate to have a party with her watching over us.”

“Ugh. True.”

At that moment, Marielle starts to make her way over. She, too, has followed Lillie’s lead and dropped her heavy fur coats for a more Spring-ish outfit, complete with a straw hat.

“Small load today, Nor,” she comments, observing the wagon. “The farm doing okay? You need any discounts on feed?”

Minori giggles. “No, I’m good — but thank you, Marielle. I’m building my stockpile back up after the conquest with Elise.”

“Oh, ‘course. My bad.” She pulls out her purse and starts to count up some bills. “You know, we’re all really glad you won that. You’ll let us know if there’s anything you need, won’t ya?”

Minori takes the money, pulling out her wallet to organize the change. “Definitely. Thanks Marielle, you’re a gem.”

Marielle winks before turning away, her blue eyes dazzling in the setting sun. “My pleasure, love.”

Just as she’s about to put away her wallet, Lillie grips her arm.

“Ooh, Minori, what is that?” She squeaks, pointing at —

— pointing at none other than the tiny portrait Klaus had drawn of her yesterday, which she had forgotten to take out of her wallet and hide in her nightstand drawer, as intended.

“Oh, uh, just a self-portrait,” she replies, hurriedly zipping up the wallet and stuffing it back in the oversized pocket of Klaus’ coat.

Lillie crosses her arms over her chest. “Nori.”

“Lillie?”

“Why are you so intent on hiding stuff from me?” she asks, still gripping her arm. “We’re best friends. I told you about Raeger!”

“Look, Lillie, if there were anything to say about Klaus, I’d tell you.”

“Ha!” She points a finger at Minori’s face, grinning. “So it does have to do with Klaus! Did he draw it? Ohmigoddess, how romantic!” She puts a hand against her own cheek. “I’m blushing! I’m literally blushing, Nori.”

Minori just shakes her head, grabbing the handle of her red wagon again. “Fine, Lil. Klaus stopped by for a chat in the West Town Park yesterday and he drew a little picture of me while we were talking. But that’s it, I swear.”

Lillie grabs the handle and helps her pull. There really isn’t enough room for two hands, but Minori appreciates the sweetness of the gesture nonetheless.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” Lillie cries. “Nori, you do realize —“

“Keep your voice down!”

“Sorry.” Quieter, so that not every person in the Trade Depot can easily listen in on their conversation, Lillie continues, “You do realize that for him to draw a picture of you, he had to stare at your face for, what, ten minutes? Twenty?”

“Half an hour,” she admits, digging the toe of her boot into the cobblestone.

“Goddess,” Lillie breathes. “Nori, he’s into you. There’s no way he isn’t.”

Just in front of the welcome desk of the Depot, Minori pulls the wagon to a stop. “Well it doesn’t matter how he feels about me, ‘cause I don’t feel anything for him.”

Lillie smiles. “Liar.”

But Minori doesn’t let up. She keeps her gaze even. So even, in fact, that Lillie’s face falls a little.

“Wait, really?” she asks, her voice lower in pitch. “I could have sworn —“

She sighs. “He’s got a lot of secrets, Lillie. It’s complicated. And with Iris —“

“Iris wouldn’t care, and you know that,” Lillie objects. “She’s not like that. Besides, didn’t you notice the way she was looking at Agate last night? She’s way over Klaus.”

“I know she isn’t, but —“ she cuts off abruptly. “Wait, what? Iris and Agate?”

Lillie looks at her strangely. “I mean — what, do you think I’m wrong?”

Minori tries to remember to the night before. Sure, they were cuddling on the sofa, and Iris kissed Agate’s forehead a few times, and they went downstairs together once or twice, and Iris’ eyes sort of went soft whenever she looked at Agate, like she was looking at the moon —

“Oh,” she breathes. “Wow. You’re so right. How did I not notice? We even had a whole conversation together after you all left!”

“Probably because you drank all that pinot noir,” Lillie teases, bumping her shoulder.

“I had, like, two glasses.”

“Okay, Nori, I counted, like, four, but if that’s the story you wanna tell —“

Their banter is interrupted by a loud call from her left.

“Minori!”

She turns toward the voice — it’s Kenneth, who’s waving her down from his stall. She looks from Kenneth, to Lillie, and then back again.

“Well, go on,” Lillie says, waving her away. “I’ve gotta get home so I can help dad with dinner anyway. But I’m not letting the Klaus thing go — okay?”

Minori grins. Backstepping toward Kenneth’s stall — and taking the wagon with her — she replies, “Wouldn’t dream of letting you forget, Lillie.”

She waves as she leaves. “See you tomorrow!”

“No doubt!” she says, returning the gesture.

Kenneth’s stall is furthest from the Trade Depot entrance, so it’s a bit of a jaunt to get there with the wagon. She probably should’ve brought her horse, she thinks, but she was so eager to finally get some travel on foot now that most of the snow has melted.

“Hi Kenneth,” she greets when she arrives, just a tad breathless from dragging the wagon with her.

“You’re so bundled up underneath all that jacket I almost didn’t recognize you,” Kenneth says, smiling widely. “Why’re you wearing that when the weather’s so nice?”

“Sentimental value, and it smells nice,” she replies. Quickly to cover her candor, she continues, “Um, anyway. Sorry. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m in a pickle,” he starts. “My wife’s and my anniversary is coming up next week, and I’d really like to get her this all-natural vanilla-scented perfume she likes to wear, but the farmer I usually get it from passed on recently.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “How horrible.”

“Indeed,” Kenneth says, taking off his hat. “I was wondering if you sell any perfume at your farm? I’d be willing to part with a whole lot of lumber for it.”

She purses her lips. “No, I don’t. I’m —“ She pauses. Mind racing. “Wait. Uh, how much lumber are we talking?”

“Uh, probably eighty logs or so?”

She lets out a long whistle. That would certainly be a huge help in upgrading the safari.

“Okay, Kenneth. We’ve got a perfumist here in town — I’ll touch base with him tonight and see what I can do.” She takes out the mini notepad and pencil she keeps on her for reminders and to-do lists. “When’s the absolute latest I can get you the perfume?”

“A week from today.”

“And you want it all-natural, totally organic?”

“Yep,” he replies. “And just vanilla. None of that fancy flowery stuff.”

She flips the notepad shut and shoves it in her pocket. “Perfect. I’ll figure it out, okay?”

Kenneth beams. “Thanks, Minori. You’re a real lifesaver.”

“No problem!”

As she starts to lug her red wagon to the exit of the Trade Depot, she can’t help smiling just a bit. As much as she was being honest with Lillie — that she really shouldn’t have feelings for Klaus, given his penchant for taking mysterious inexplicable trips to the city — there’s a small part of her that is happy to have an excuse to see him again.

Norchester; The Angèle Hotel; Night.

By the time Klaus returns from the rest of his errands in Norchester, the sun has sunk well below the horizon line. As his taxi pulls up next to the hotel, he can’t help but sigh in relief.

He tips the driver generously, says a quick word of thanks, and then ducks out of the car. A bellhop is already grabbing his bags from the trunk; he nods his thanks and hands them a small tip, as well.

He makes his way into the lobby, pulling out the key access card that sits in the furthest back pocket of his wallet. The little light above the automatic sliding door turns green, granting him entry.

Karen, the night-shift worker, stands behind the desk. When she sees him, her cherry-painted lips part to reveal a perfect white smile. Karen only started working at the hotel two years ago — two years, he realizes with dread; he’s getting old — but he’s always thought she’d be better suited to a more adventurous job.

“And so he returns,” she says, lounging over the counter in a sultry way he’s more than used to by now. “My dark and handsome Silver Suite chevalier. I was starting to wonder if you’d ever grace us with your presence again.”

He smiles, not quite flattered by her flirtatious remarks — mostly just amused. Karen has always been forthcoming in her desires — perhaps too much so for his tastes, if he could be cited as having any specific tastes to begin with.

“I’ve been doing mostly day trips the past couple weeks,” he replies, handing her his access card.

She scans it into the system, as is protocol. With shining eyes, she asks, “No top-secret missions to warrant an overnight stay?”

He scoffs. “Not lately, no.”

Returning the card, she says, “How disappointing. If only you’d come around just three weeks ago; I’d just about worked up the courage to sneak up to your room and propose some midnight lovemaking.”

He clears his throat. “Ah.”

But Karen just giggles. “Oh, don’t look so worried, love. I’ve started seeing someone — you know Angie, the day receptionist?”

“I thought Yolanda was the day receptionist?”

She shook her head. “Retired a few weeks ago, thank goodness, else I’d never have met Ange. She’s a sweetheart — and blonde.” Flipping her long brown ponytail over her shoulder, she continues, “Always wished I were blonde, but I’m alright dating one, too.” With a bit of a softer look in her eyes, she adds, “Ange is gorgeous, and sweeter than anything. I’m really lucky.”

Klaus smiles — genuinely, this time. “I’m happy for you, Karen.”

She sighs, leaning back in the black leather chair that’s far too big for her thin frame. “Yeah, yeah, don’t tell anybody I got starry-eyed, though. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Of course,” he replies.

The bellhop has long since sent his bags up to the thirtieth floor — they all know where Klaus lives. It’s not like the silver suite ever gets rented to anyone else.

“Well, I’ll let you go,” Karen says finally, smiling at him. “But just because I’m with Ange now doesn’t mean I’m not still dying to know all your dark secrets. Do ring the phone if you feel like sharing, okay?” She leans back even further into the chair, blowing air through her lips like a horse. “Gets boring down here ‘round one AM.”

“Well, I suppose one secret can’t hurt.”

“What, really?”

Leaning closer to her, he says in a low voice, “During the day, I’m a perfumist in a tiny town not too far from here.”

She scoffs. “Ugh. Quit lying.”

He shrugs, smiling good-naturedly at her but starting to collect his wallet from the counter. “I only ever tell the truth, Karen.”

“Only ever tell the truth my ass,” she replies as he starts walking away. “Sleep well, Bruce Wayne.”

He chuckles. “Have a good shift, Karen.”

The elevator up to the thirtieth floor is made of glass. Just like Buchanan’s office, there’s a built-in window all the way up so that one can overlook the entirety of Norchester as they make the climb. Klaus wonders if Buchanan considered this when he was approving the designs of the hotel or if it was pure coincidence.

The ride takes about a minute, accompanied by soft jazz music. Klaus sighs. As physically tired as he is, he rather loathes the idea of going to sleep. The apartment always feels so empty when he arrives, which just makes his nightmares worse.

The elevator dings, signaling that he’s arrived. He grabs his briefcase and exits into the hallway.

The silver suite is the only suite on the thirtieth floor. It’s not the best suite in the hotel — there’s still five more floors of single suites — but it’s certainly lightyears nicer than anything he could have imagined himself staying in when he was a child. Sometimes he’s still astonished at the grandeur of it all when he walks in the lobby of the hotel.

“Alright,” he says to himself, pulling out his card again. The door clicks unlocked as he holds it up next to the card reader.

Sure enough, the apartment feels as cold as it always does. His little suitcase is just inside the entry. There’s a sticky note from the cleaning staff accompanied by two chocolates on the kitchen bar to his left; he pockets the chocolates and lays a twenty dollar bill next to the note, as he always does.

The air conditioner hums, the surfaces are spotless, the curtains are open to reveal the shining city of Norchester. Everything is as it always is — except —

— except for the landline phone on the coffee table. The answering machine light is blinking green at him.

He raises an eyebrow. Breathes to himself, “What?” Sets down his briefcase, moves toward the phone. No one has ever left a message before. He’s pretty sure the only people who have the number are Buchanan, himself, and Marian — and Marian would certainly call him on his cell phone before calling him here.

Half-cautiously and half-eagerly, he picks up the telephone and holds it to his ear.

“Please enter voicemail password.”

He stops. Checks the little piece of paper taped to the answering machine for a voicemail password. Nothing there.

Sighs. Punches in the numbers: 3-4-7-8. Buchanan’s security gate number.

It works.

“You have one new message.”

There’s a bit of rustling on the other end. Klaus holds the phone closer to his ear, barely breathing as he waits with anticipation to hear who somehow got a hold of this number.

Then:

“Hi, Klaus! It’s Minori. Minori Awald. You know. From Oak Tree Town.”

He smiles. He does indeed know Minori Awald from Oak Tree Town.

“Uh, I tried stopping by your house but you weren’t there — but Marian was on a round nearby and gave me this number to call you at. Sorry if I’m intruding. I know you’re in the city — and you’re probably coming back tomorrow, so I don’t know why I didn’t just wait until then to tell you, but, whatever, here I am.”

His knees feel a little shaky, so he decides to sit on the couch behind him. There’s a warmth blossoming in his chest that he doesn’t even try to withhold.

“Anyway, okay, so I’m just calling because one of the Trade Depot vendors needs some vanilla perfume — and I was wondering if maybe you could help me with that? We can talk about it in more detail when you get back, but I thought, like, I’d give you a heads up in case you need to buy some supplies while you’re in the city.”

A good call, he thinks — he’s out of vanilla extract, but he’ll be able to pick some up before his return to Oak Tree Town the next day.

“Well, um, anyway. I started thinking about what I might put in my White Day picnic basket — if you find me a cotton candy machine, I guess I could be persuaded to throw some bouillabaisse into the mix.”

His stomach growls at the thought. Minori made him bouillabaisse once, for his birthday the year before. It had been absolutely delicious, but he hasn’t dared to ask her for some again out of fear of seeming desperate.

“Well yep. That’s, um, that’s everything! I’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully, unless you get back late — then maybe not, because I go to sleep, like, super early. Who’s the old geezer now? Anyway. Yup. Well, bye!”

The line clicks.

“End of new message. To delete this message, press seven. To hear this message again, press star.”

And despite what transpired in his meeting with Buchanan earlier in the day, despite the gnawing feeling in the back of his mind that falling further for Minori Awald will only lead to complications — he presses star.

#don't forget to leave a nice note if you feel so inclined #sorry I'm the WORST updater ever LMAO #minori #klaus #story of seasons #elise #nadi #lillie #sos #fanfic #blue lace #lousylarksings #long post

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naplunamod · 4 years

Text

Christmas wishes

From the moment they started dating Sakura always knew that Shisui wanted to be a father. It was never in anything he said...well maybe a bit after all there was only so many times one person could drop a hint before it became creepy but that was besides the point...rather it was in his actions. How his nearly but not quite black, really they were more of a seal brown or a reddish black, eyes would soften as one of the multitudes of uchiha children would run by playing some sort of game usually ninja. How he would smile softly when he thought no one was looking at Sasuke being annoyed at Itachi for something or another. But she noticed he wasn't as discrete as he'd like to think. How when she'd end up staying late at the hospital she could always find him in the nursery singing softly or reading to the newborns, holding them with the utmost gentleness that many covet but few possess. It's those moments that the true Shisui shines through. Those soft moments that made her fall for him in the first place. Those soft rare smiles that strengthened her resolve to give him the child he so desperately wanted no matter the cost. Steps one and two weren't too hard to pull off. Starting and stopping contraceptive jutsus were basic kunochi knowledge. Most kunochi, herself included, could do it without the uses of hand signs. A few changes in her chakra flows and boom she was now more fertile and had a longer ovulation period. If she were a normal kunochi she had no doubt Shisui would pick up on her plan as perceptive as he his however, with her perfect chakra control Sakura had no doubt that she could keep him in the dark until the time was right. The next step would be a bit harder as they both had a tendency to be workaholics. But even that was fairly easily solved by calling in a few favors to Shikamaru to aid Tsunade-shisho in the hokage's office and finally cashing in on her vacation time that had been steadily building at the hospital. Getting time off for Shisui was much easier as the head medic all she had to do was demand time off for his health (which wouldn't be a total like because kami knows he'd work himself into the ground if it meant everyone was safe). With everything in place the stage was set.

Shisui had the sneaky suspicion that his girlfriend was up to something and had been for a while now. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly but his gut feeling told him that something was slightly off. Perhaps it was in the way she seemed to smile a little brighter. Or perhaps it was how her laugh seemed to be a bit more joyous as though all was right with the world. Or maybe (and he swears he's not crazy but surely others have to see it too) just maybe it was how she seemed to be positively glowing. Everything about her from the way her hair shone just a bit differently from before to the sparkle in her seemingly much greener eyes (if that were even possible) practically sparkled. At first he thought maybe he had been placed under some sort of genjutsu especially when no one else around him seemed to be seeing what he saw. But the idea was merely giggled at (or out right snorted at in the case of his dear little cousin) but that didn't stop him from muttering a small kai from time to time or checking her out with his sharigan. When his subtle pursuits turned up nothing he became suspicious. Highly suspicious. After all Sakura never giggled unless she was up to something. But of course any inquires made into the subject matter was met with blank unknowing stares or assurances that nothing was wrong and honestly it was starting to drive him a bit crazy. Heaving a heavy sigh he looked up at the clock on the wall in the police station. Almost quitting time same for Saku as well. Good he nodded gathering his things together. It was about time he got to the bottom of this fiasco and he would even if it meant dragging it out of her.

“Tadaima!” Shisui called out as he entered their small apartment on the shinobi side of town. While unusual it was not unheard of for branch members of the Uchiha clan to move out of the Uchiha compound and well Shisui wasn't one of the more usual Uchihas. As for how Sakura ended up living with him well when your girlfriend lives right upstairs but spends more time in your apartment (and wearing your clothes) it was inevitable. Speaking of said girlfriend the place was pretty quiet giving what today was. Even if she wasn't here with it being Christmas Eve she would have at least forgotton to turn off the radio ( the only person who he'd ever seen love Chirstmas more than Sakura was his Aunt Mito so he had gotten used to the season being non stop Christmas from an early age).

“Sakura?” he called out suddenly feeling on edge in his own home. What if something happened to her. If it were a mission or she had to stay late at the hospital she would have sent him a summon telling him not to worry. Sliding a kunai out he crept through the too quiet apartment towards their room where he could feel a faint chakra signature. Counting to three he bust open the door only to find Katsuyu sitting on the vanity.

“Welcome home Shisui-san” It dipped it's eyes slightly in respectful greeting.

“Er...Thank you Katsuyu-sama. Is everything alright? Where's Sakura?”

The slug summon chuckled “Yes everything is fine. Actually Sakura left me here to personally give you a message to find her whereabouts. She has left a number of me in different places throughout Konoha. Each of me will have a different clue on where to go next. Once you've found all the clues you'll know exactly where to find her. Her only rule is that you don't use chakra to track her down as that would ruin the game.”

Shisui nodded “So a scavenger hunt. Got it. What's the first clue Katsuyu-sama.”

“Back to the beginning we all must go.

Old ninja, new ninja friend and foe.

Knowledge is the key to your first clue.

A special surprise waits for when you are through.

And now Shisui-san I bid you adieu.”

Shisui got the feeling that if slugs could smile it would be wearing a mischivous one as it poofed away. Pondering what the first clue meant he changed out of his uniform into something more suitable for his new task. Just as he was pulling his shirt over his head it hit him. Old ninja, new ninja friend and foe. Knowledge is the key to your first clue. She must have meant the Academy. All ninjas go there to get knowledge whether it's new ninjas going to learn the basics or older ninjas going there to get their assignments. Opening the window and taking to the roof to avoid the steadily growing crowd on the streets he made his way to the Academy where he was greeted by another Katsuyu.

“Sharpening the mind is no easy task.

Sharpen the tool to make it last.

Brave the elements, strengthen the skills

both just as important as the battle of wills.

Teams formed in bonds of three

that's where your next clue will be.”

Shisui narrowed his eyes in thought, not even noticing when Katsuya dissipated. Usually shinobi sharpen their own tools at home but it wouldn't make any sense to be sent back there. Aside from a shinobi's weapons the only other tools they wielded were their bodies themselves. So the next clue had to do with their bodies and team bonds...Of course! Training! And the only training ground that was easily assessable day or night was training ground 3. Confident in his answer he sped over to the training ground. Landing at the gate another Katsuyu greeted him.

“Tired and dirty. Put through the paces.

Confidence blooms with grins on their faces.

But not all times come to good ends.

And that's where my work begins

broken bones and wounds to mend.”

Shisui nearly rolled his eyes at how absurdly easy that clue was and in no time at all was at the hospital.

“All patched up and ready to flee pause for a moment sheepish as can be.

Thankful to the beautiful medic within” ( this time he did roll his eyes)

“confident her heart he was sure to win.

Lines so cheesy but did their job great.

A laugh a blush but it was a date.”

Shisui crossed his arms concentrating hard. This clue was obviously referring to when he asked her out on their first date. He remembered his awesome and not at all cheesy way of asking her out to which she said yes but where was it that he took her. It couldn't have been somewhere too terribly fancy because they went right after her shift at 8 so where was it they went. Smells from the evening vendors setting up shop wafted through the air though one particular scent stood out about the rest in that instant. The scent of ramen. That's where they had gone Ramen Ichiraku. Or rather that's where Sakura had dragged him off to saying that it was the best place to get a meal after her shift. Landing in font of Ichiraku Ayame was outside waiting and pointed him to the slug that she had shooed to the side of the building stating that ninja summon or not having slugs hanging around was bad for business. Shisui chuckled at the annoyed huff Katsuyu gave grumbling about no respect as it gave Shisui the next clue.

“ Four clues down two left to go.

This next clue is somewhere you ought to know.

Violets are blue and roses are red.

This family really knows how to get in your head.

Some flowers are deadly this fact is true.

But sometimes just something pretty will do.”

Again another easy clue Shisui thought to himself as he quickly shushined to the Yamanaka Flower shop. Outside waiting for him this time to his suprise was not Katsuyu but Ino herself holding a bouquet of cosmos flowers. “Sakura's favorite.” she said as she handed him the flowers.

“Where's Katsuyu?”

Ino waved her hand “I sent it back. I had nothing else to do this evening since...well nevermind that. What matters is that I give you the last clue. And if I know forehead she went through a lot of trouble to set this up so make sure you give her those flowers.”

“The last clue is finally here.

Each of these places held something dear.

Special to us one in way or another.

One last special place to discover.

From someone as close to me as my own mother.

Now you may use chakra to find me.

A picnic for us between the trees.

And when you arrive one last riddle for you.

To accept it I hope you say I do.”

Ino grinned giving him a little shove “Well hop to it. No telling how long she's been waiting for you to get there. The faster the better.”

Shisui chuckled closing his eyes and feeling out her chakra “Alright I get it...” With the expert skill of a shinobi of his calibur without a sound he was gone appearing moments later on a blanket deep within the Senju Park. Gasping softly he dropped the flowers in his hand as his eyes filled with tears. Before him bathed in the silvery moonlight of the full moon was Sakura down on one knee. If he thought she was beautiful before now she was breathtaking. Her hair was a softer pink than usual with the moonlight giving her soft silver highlights. Her deep green eyes danced in happiness and something else. Something he knew he was sure to find out. Her lips were pulled back into a sweet yet nervous smile and was framed on each side by rosy cheeks alight with a blush that he could easily make out. In her hands she held an oddly long box with a bow on top.

“Shisui Uchiha...Will you do us the honor of marrying us?” Green eyes stared up at him hopefully as the box was held out to him.

“U...us?” Shisui's brain stuttered to a stop as with shaking hands he took the box and opened it. Instead of a wedding ring there was something even more valuable. A little plastic tube with two red lines running across it. It explained so much about everything as of late.

“You mean we...We're...” he looked back to her in shock tears finally spilling over.

“If you'll have us...” Sakura stood taking his hands.

“ What do you mean If I'll have you? I'd be crazy not to!! Of course I will!” He picked her up swinging her around before pulling her close and ending the night with a kiss.

#naruto #Sakura Haruno #shisui uchiha #shisaku #christmas kiss #fanfic #romance #fluff #drabble #first fic in a long time

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bluewatsons · 4 years

Text

Laura Miller, Sleazy, bloody and surprisingly smart: In defense of true crime, Salon (May 30, 2014)

This stigmatized genre has much to teach us about the way crime and justice really work

Give me a book that begins with a time and a date and a boring address, something along the lines of "At 9:36 on March 24, 1982, Dep. Frank McGruff of the Huntington County Sheriff's Department was dispatched to 234 Maple Street in Pleasantville, North Carolina, a quiet, suburb 10 miles west of Raleigh, to follow up on reports of gunshots and screams."

There is nothing more generic than this sort of sentence -- which is why I was easily able to make one up on the fly -- and yet there's nothing more seductive, either. In it is promised: the regular-guy lawman (who always seems to have a new baby at home), the horrific crime scene (there is always more blood than anyone expects), the enigmatic object found lying in the foyer (marked with an X in the helpfully provided floor plan), the minute-by-minute timeline of that fatal half-hour, the witness reports that don't add up, the fractal-like multiplication of scenarios and theories and complications.

I've always felt somewhat sheepish about my appetite for true crime narratives, associated as they are with fat, flimsy paperbacks scavenged from the 25-cent box at garage sales, their battered covers branded with screaming two-word titles stamped in silver foil, blood dripping luridly from the last letter. The most famous practitioners of this louche genre -- Joe McGinniss, Ann Rule, Vincent Bugliosi -- come coated with a thin, greasy film of dubious repute and poor taste. (Can there ever be a valid reason to title a book "A Rose for Her Grave"?) True crime is also the mother's milk of risible tabloid journalism, of endless trashy news cycles in which the same photo of a wide-eyed innocent bride (where is she?); a gap-toothed kindergarten student (who killed him?); a bleary-eyed, stubbled suspect (why did he do it?) appear over and over and over again.

Occasionally, true crime is where literary writers go to slum and, not coincidentally, make some real money: Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood," Norman Mailer's "The Executioner's Song." It's not the Great American Novel, yet somehow such books have a tendency to end up the most admired works of a celebrated author's career. Is it because better writers tease something out of the genre that pulp peddlers can't, or is it just that their blue-chip names give readers a free pass to indulge a guilty pleasure?

By contrast, crime fiction has a better rep. It is the most respectable form of genre fiction, the one that even the snootiest literary critics will admit to enjoying now and then. They justly praise the innovative prose styles of Raymond Chandler or Elmore Leonard as vehicles for a distinctively American voice. And crime -- transgression of the social and moral order -- is one of literature's central themes, after all. Isn't one of the greatest novels of all time called "Crime and Punishment"? Plus, from Cormac McCarthy's "No Country for Old Men" to Toni Morrison's "Beloved," many novels by literary titans are crime fiction by another name.

True crime, however, labors always under the stigma of voyeurism, or worse. It's not just unseemly to linger over the bloodied bodies of the dead and the hideous sufferings inflicted upon them in their final hours, it's also kind of sick. Gillian Flynn's second novel, "Dark Places," describes the wincing interactions between its narrator -- survivor of a notorious multiple murder like the Clutter killings of "In Cold Blood" -- and a creepy subculture of murder "fans" and collectors; when she's hard up for cash, she's forced to auction off family memorabilia at their conventions. Yuck.

The very thing that makes true crime compelling -- this really happened -- also makes it distasteful: the use of human agony for the purposes of entertainment. Of course, what is the novel if not a voyeuristic enterprise, an attempt to glimpse inside the minds and hearts of other people? But with fiction, no actual people are exploited in the making.

I love crime fiction, too, but lately I've come to appreciate true crime more, specifically for its lack of certain features that crime fiction nearly always supplies: solutions, explanations, answers. Even if the culprit isn't always caught and brought to justice in a detective novel, we expect to find out whodunit, and that expectation had better be satisfied. A novelist who dares to build her narrative around a murder and then refuses to collar the perp by the last chapter -- as Donna Tartt did in her sumptuous, underappreciated second novel, "The Little Friend" -- will never hear the end of it. Readers of books and viewers of television and film demand not only to know who did it but why, preferably with a tidy little back story about a molesting uncle, bullying schoolmates or a mom who tricked with sailors in the next room. We believe in evil, but we also want pop psychology to explain it away.

Crime fiction reassures us that for every murder there is a sleuth as obsessed as we are with getting to the bottom of the puzzle. There are the formulaic clashes between the committed police detective and the self-serving brass, the feds who interfere with the locals (or vice versa) for purely territorial reasons, the nagging spouse and the occasional sloppy, time-serving colleague who just wants to wrap this thing up before he's set to retire with a full pension. But there's also always someone, the hero -- whether public officer or private dick -- who really, really wants to find out the truth and has the brains (and sometimes the brawn) required to do it.

Because most of us have a lot more experience with crime fiction -- TV and movies, but also books -- than we do with actual crime, our sense of how law enforcement works has been distorted by the imperatives of entertainment. Forensic scientists often complain that the public expects them to possess and deploy the wizardly high-tech tools they see every week on "CSI." Because the "CSI" team's gear is presented as omniscient and infallible, legal professionals must contend with jurors' overinflated confidence in forensic evidence. Even the most appalling news stories of incompetent or corrupt lab workers will never register as deeply as watching Gil Grissom and his earnest sidekicks stay up all night and ruin their marriages for the sake of seeing justice done.

For all their lingering shots of mangled bodies and gooey, maggot-ridden corpses, these TV procedurals paint a too-pretty picture. If Jack Nicholson were a true-crime author, he'd be telling the audience for such pseudo-gritty shows that they can't handle the truth. Finding myself seated next to a criminal prosecutor-turned-defense attorney at a wedding several years ago, I asked him what pop culture gets the most wrong about crime and punishment in America. After a long pause, he said, "I'm torn between two answers: How much police care about getting it right and how competent they are to do it."

True crime is not above trafficking in misleading clichés -- because, let's face it, there's not much that true crime is above. The majority of the genre is cheap sensationalism, deploying the most shopworn clichés: tragic maidens; idyllic small towns; smiling devils; winsome, doomed tots. Much true crime has achieved its goals if it gives its readers something to shiver over late at night or to whisper about at school. (Most of my early knowledge of true crime classics like "Helter Skelter" came from other girls who got ahold of the books while baby sitting and recounted the most horrific details to a breathless audience on the playground the next day.) Plenty of it offers a comforting message similar to that of crime fiction: that, for all the bewildering and seemingly random violence of this world, it is usually possible for us to know what really happened and who's responsible.

But we also live in a golden age when it comes to a more challenging vein of true crime. These books include Robert Kolker's "Lost Girls," about 14 unsolved murders in Long Island; Raymond Bonner's "Anatomy of Injustice," about the wrongful capital conviction of a black handyman for the rape and murder of an elderly white widow in South Carolina; Janet Malcolm's "Iphigenia in Forest Hills," about the celebrated journalist's inability to accept the guilty verdict against a young mother accused of hiring a man to murder her ex-husband; and Errol Morris' "A Wilderness of Error," which is in part a challenge to another milestone in the genre, Joe McGinniss' "Fatal Vision." Coming up next month is another landmark, "The Wrong Carlos," by James Liebman and the Columbia DeLuna Project, an exhaustively researched consideration of a 1980s case in which the state of Texas most likely executed the wrong man.

Even true crime books in which the identity of the killer is uncontested can open up welcome vistas of uncertainty. Recently, Anand Giridharadas' "The True American" examines the lives of two men: the sole survivor of a hate-crime spree, who forgave and tried to save his would-be killer, and the killer himself, who seems to have become a different man before his 2011 execution; who was he, really? Dave Cullen's masterful "Columbine," published in 2009, offers the most definitive account of the infamous school shooting and clears up many misperceptions, but still leaves the reader with a sense that the reasons for such acts may be fundamentally unknowable. Several years ago, when I was interviewing Margaret Atwood about "Alias Grace," her novel about a maid convicted of killing her master in 19th-century Canada, she remarked that murderers themselves often don't seem to understand their own crimes. They describe the acts as something that "just happened" or as if they were committed by someone else even as they acknowledge they did it. The true crime accounts I've read confirm what Atwood said.

Most important of all, true crime reminds its readers over and over again that most detectives aren't fantastically clever, that most investigations make dozens of significant mistakes and that even the most seemingly hard evidence can become as indeterminate as a quantum particle under sustained study. Sometimes the confusion is understandable. Jeff Guinn's "Manson," a biography of the murderous cult leader published last year, recounts how long the LAPD spent pursuing a bogus scenario in investigating the massacre at Sharon Tate's home.

Investigators assumed that because drugs were found on the premises, the motive was probably a drug deal or connection gone bad. Manson had his followers plant "clues," in the form of weird words written on the wall in blood, with the bizarre idea that the police would instantly link these words to the Black Panthers. (They instead assumed it was just crazy druggie writing, which of course it was.) Much time was lost before the cops were put on the right track by an informant. This, incidentally, is how most real-life whodunits, such as the Unabomber attacks, seem to be solved. There's nothing like true crime to dispel the notion that criminals get caught because of a detective's brilliant reading of the clues. Rather, they get caught because someone rats them out.

Nowhere is the danger of investigators' tendency to settle too early on a theory of the crime more evident than in stories of wrongful conviction. As "Anatomy of Injustice" tells it, police decided that Edward Lee Elmore, the simple-minded African-American man who had mowed neighborhood lawns for years, suddenly turned violent. Under the influence of a suspiciously meddlesome neighbor, a local city councilman, they ignored significant evidence contradicting this theory, and eventually resorted to falsifying evidence, while Elmore's own lawyers barely bothered to defend him at all. Finally, thanks to the efforts of an attorney working for South Carolina's Center for Capital Litigation, the conviction was overturned. The actual murderer has never been identified, but at least an innocent man has escaped death row.

Investigations aren't always led astray by deliberate manipulation, however. In "The Wrong Carlos," confused and inept handling of the crime scene, witnesses and hunt for the man who stabbed a convenience store clerk in Corpus Christi combined with coincidence and bad luck to lead to the unjust execution of Carlos DeLuna. He was the spitting image of the likely culprit to the degree that even people who knew either of the men quite well couldn't tell photos of them apart. Under the aegis of Liebman, 12 Columbia Law School students pored over the records of the case, producing a meticulous and highly detailed report on the crime investigation and trial -- which, while sobering, is also catnip for the amateur detective. It strongly suggests DeLuna was innocent and it's so convincing that even the victim's brother agrees.

Robert Kolker's "Lost Girls" and Errol Morris' "A Wilderness of Error" may be the most accomplished true crime narratives I've read in recent years. The killer or killers responsible for dumping bodies along a lonely Long Island road have yet to be identified. The investigation appears to be stalled for a variety of reasons having to do with the personalities and ambitions of local officials. So Kolker's "Lost Girls" focuses instead on the lives and families of the dead, young women who drifted into the world of prostitution and could not succeed at pulling themselves out again. It's a portrait of underclass life, frayed by substance abuse, domestic violence, crime and fecklessness, and it asks not what circumstances create a monster but which ones forge his victims.

"A Wilderness of Error" is remarkable not just for questioning a murder investigation and conviction but also for condemning the famous true-crime narrative written about them. Morris is a master of the genre, albeit in a different medium (documentary film) and can even claim to have gotten an innocent man out of jail by making "The Thin Blue Line" in 1988. Above all, he is preoccupied with how we establish what's true. His first book, "Believing Is Seeing: Observations on the Mysteries of Photography," dismantles our faith in the facticity of photographed images. "A Wilderness of Error," his second, concerns the case of Jeffrey MacDonald, convicted of murdering his wife and two small children in 1970. The crimes were the center of a bestselling book, "Fatal Vision" by Joe McGinniss, later made into a TV movie, that pressed home McGinniss' theory that MacDonald was a psychopath.

The writing of "Fatal Vision" was the subject of yet another book, Janet Malcolm's "The Journalist and the Murderer," devoted to probing the moral soft spots in all journalists' relationships to their subjects, but Morris believes these murders were insufficiently investigated and that MacDonald did not get a fair trial. Many aficionados of the trial find Morris' arguments unconvincing, but that is partly Morris' point. Just like the cops, outside observers settle on a story about what happened and become invested in it. They then ignore or dismiss any evidence that undermines that story, often with a vehemence that increases as the counter-evidence mounts. Certainty, an emotional state all too common today, is less a testament to the merits of a belief than a measure of how much we want to go on believing it.

At the very least, Morris presents a convincing case that an uncertain McGinniss was pushed into endorsing MacDonald's guilt by his publisher because offering a conclusion would make for a more satisfying book. Later, of course, the author had no choice but to double down on that conclusion, and whether or not he believed it before his editor urged him to declare the case solved in his own mind, he seems to have fully believed it in the end. All this would be meat for an interesting consideration of the nature of truth and whether it can ever be meaningfully detached from desire, but as Morris keeps pointing out, when it comes to true crime, real lives and real justice are at stake. Crime fiction can afford to go on telling us what we want to hear, but at its best true crime insists on telling us what we can't afford to forget.

#media #true crime #ethics #errol morris #crime fiction #crime #society #detective fiction #television procedurals #Joe McGinniss

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holylangdon · 6 years

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Little Hell (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Request: “Hey! I wanted to ask if you could write some smut for Michael Langdon. Maybe he is with his lover and she’s riding him. I am so weak for him.” - Anon

Warnings: Fem!Reader, actual sin, so much sexual tension, slight choking, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected sex, rough-ish sex, dominant Michael but willing to be a little submissive, hair pulling, reader on top, Michael calls the reader babe a few times, maybe OOC Michael

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: Shoutout to the BDA groupchat for putting up with me while I wrote this. Also I ran out of steam at the end but let’s pretend its good pls and thanks

(I love my friends so I gotta tag em real quick: @cupkayyyke @jana-banana-fana @binxee @cherryruin @justanotherfandomjunkie)

“I’ll tell you how this process works.” The taller man began, letting his sinister blue eyes roam over you. “You’re tell me the truth. Not the truth you think I want to hear, not the truth you might have deceived yourself into believing, but the complete honesty that we both know you’re capable of telling.”

He gave you a second to process his lengthy explanation. Langdon was relaxed in his seat across the desk, one knee crossed over the other. He had a lurking aura of authority that loomed over the room. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find the long-haired man attractive as you watched his every move in anticipation.

“Things you may feel will be helpful might be hurtful. Things you may feel will compel rejection may be exactly what I’m looking for, your saving grace. If you omit any detail, no matter how small, I’ll know. If you lie to me, I’ll know. If you try to deceive me, this interview will be over and you will die here painfully. And make no mistake, if you expect to walk out of this room thinking you’ve got me right where you want me, you will be punished.

“I will do my best to deduct whether or not you will leave this Outpost alive or be eaten by the scavengers. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir.”

You tried to hide all signs of nervousness, but you were almost certain he could see through the poised exterior. A soft smile crossed Langdon’s lips as you leaned back, crossing your legs underneath the long purple dress you were wearing. It was one of the most simple ones you had in your provided wardrobe, but it still seemed to suffocate you in the warm room.

“What are you most afraid of?”

Honestly? In this very moment, it was him. Your fate rested in his hands. “The hell that waits beyond the gates.” You said lightly. The lie came with its risks, but you decided to jump the gun and say it. He didn’t seem like he cared as he skipped to the next question.

“How do you feel about your current... Predicament? How did you end up here?” He asked.

You continued to watch the man across from you as he spoke. He seemed odd, almost, but you weren't sure why. Everything about him demanded respect, but he cloaked himself in a vaguely sexual, familiar aura. His outfit was dark black, his eyelids painted bright red. You wondered if that was the Cooperative’s work or his own, the eyeshadow. Ultimately you decided it was his own doing.

That was, by far, the most difficult part of being here at the Outpost. It was so different from any part of the outside that you’d ever known. A closely monitored closet of pre-Victorian dresses and undergarments, candles being the only source of light, a single jelly-like cube for breakfast and lunch. A class system of greys and blacks and purples. A leader who’s darkness you could feel from a mile away, and her perfect little followers who obeyed every single one of her orders, no matter how disruptive to the society.

But you still missed the old world. The 2018 America you had finally gotten on decent terms with until you were rudely yanked from your and your boyfriend’s apartment at three in the morning. The two armored people offered no explanation other than you having “perfect DNA.” They told you that you and a select few were chosen via various tests that you were the most genetically fit to survive the oncoming apocalypse. But truth be told, you weren't sure if living through it was even truly worth what it would take to get there. The thought was depressing, but it was the truth, and that’s what you told Langdon. Albeit in a far more condensed form.

"You don’t sound grateful.” He observed. His long brown hair fell to the side as he tilted his head, bringing his hands together to rest it on. “You, Y/N, are here, safe and sound from what killed more than seven billion people. You didn’t die by the blast, you’re not poisoned by the radiation, you aren’t being eaten by cannibals. You’re being fed and dressed with a roof over your head. This would’ve cost one hundred million dollars for anyone else.”

“Oh, I’m thankful.” You said, licking your lips. You knew your tone sounded a bit sassy, maybe sarcastic, but you didn’t care. “I got a free ticket to survival of the fittest. I’m just not sure I deserve it.”

“Why do you say that? I mean, you’re surrounded by people who paid their way in. Look at the Saint Pierre girl and her friends. Does that bother you?” He stood from his seat slowly, walking to the other side of the room. He admired the small fireplace beside him for a moment before coming back to you, taking a seat on top of the wooden desk. “Surely you’ve thought about it.”

“I haven’t.”

He went quiet as he thought for a moment before leaning forward, mere centimeters away from your face. You felt his icy hand on your cheek, his rings resting against the soft skin. You expected to feel his lips pressed against yours, but instead, you felt his cold breath as he whispered into your ear.

“I don’t think I believe you.”

It felt like some primal urge to break the connection he had to you. To stand up and be released from his grasp. But when his hand slipped down your cheek and to your neck, ghosting over your pulse, you melted underneath him. He locked his hand around your throat as he hummed quietly, simply watching your face. Your eyes were closed and your eyebrows lightly furrowed together as you tried not to show pleasure at the sexual touch. But God, it felt good.

When he pulled away, you finally opened your eyes again only to see his. They stared over you once more, but this time, his gaze was different. Something fiery burned behind the bright blue. “I like you. You’re different.” The light in the room went dark, only a few lit candles still remaining. For some reason, that didn’t even faze you as he stood before you, your heart beating a mile minute.

"It’s getting late. We can pick this up in the morning.”

And with that, he released you from the room.

Later that night, you were laying in bed as you replayed the scene in your head. Was he intentionally toying with you like that? Surely so. He was so certain of himself and his actions as he watched you squirm. He loved it. He found his pleasure in being able to manipulate you so easily.

It was only an unexpected, quiet knock at the door that interrupted your thoughts. Was it Venable? Were you being taken somewhere else again? Had the Cooperative selected you? Had you done something wrong? Your mind raced with the possibilities as you crept over to the door. What stood behind it shocked you.

Langdon.

He was dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was vastly different than what you had previously seen him in, and suited him a bit more than his usual formal wear, if you were honest. His reddish hair was tucked behind his ears, and he wore a blank expression on his face.

He wasted no time before snaking his hand around your waist, pulling you in for a deep kiss. He walked the two of you backwards as he kicked the door shut, letting it fall closed with a small ‘thud.’ Quickly, he leaned backwards to lock it.

The kiss was hungry. Passionate. Lustful. Slowly, he began to play with the hem of your nightgown, carefully moving closer and closer to the heat that pooled between your legs. You couldn’t help but moan against his lips as his thumb gliding over your panties, letting him break the kiss only to lift your nightgown above your head, letting it fall on the floor.

“That’s one way to make an entrance.” You mumbled, helping him strip his own shirt off. He smiled, letting you look him in the eye. The beautiful blues sent a chill down your spine while he just admired you. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Michael.” He muttered. It wasn’t angry, or hesitant as you’d expected. He seemed glad, almost, to let you know his name. For you to call him something other than ‘sir’ or by his last name. “Michael Langdon.”

It was a blur how you ended up on your bed, Michael hovering over you. He planted a soft kiss to your collarbone, your breast, your stomach... Meanwhile his hand played with the waistband of your panties, pulling them down, down down, and tossing them away. You moaned softly as he rubbed your clit with his finger, a small swear falling from your mouth.

Suddenly, he removed his hand, and moments later he comfortably rested between your thighs. He reached for your hand, sliding his rings onto your smaller fingers with ease. You didn't know why, but that simple action was so, so sexy to you. Maybe it was because he trusted you to keep them for him, a simple show of affection to you.

Recently, you had learned that Michael didn’t like to waste his valuable time. That was during the interview, and it was happening now. He liked things to be fast-paced, very straight to the point. He was confident about it, almost as if he had been used to doing it his whole life.

He licked and sucked for a moment before stopping, presumably to gauge your reaction. That annoyed you. Gently, you grabbed a fistful of his hair, keeping him in place. You felt him groan lightly in pleasure. Had you just discovered his kink?

Michael continued to lick between your folds, slicking his fingers over you. You moaned loudly when he pushed two digits into you, letting you shiver with anticipation. The two of you were perfect together, with you tugging and pulling on his long, silken hair, guiding him easily. He followed your gestures like a lost puppy, focusing his attention wherever you directed him to. It seemed like the harder you pulled, the more submissive he became, melting under your fingertips. He held back small moans each time your grip tightened, his pace not slowing.

It wasn't much longer before pleasure washed over you as you came on his tongue, which he didn’t mind at all. In fact, the eager-to-please expression on his face told you that he enjoyed it.

When he finally pulled away, your eyes locked on his swollen lips and wet chin, which were dripping with your juices. Pulling him up your body, you hesitantly pressed your lips to his to taste yourself. You felt his excitement growing against you. That drove him wild in ways you could never understand.

You pulled away from him a few moments later. “You’re so impatient. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that patience is a virtue?”

“Do you think I would’ve helped you if it wasn’t?” He cooed, meeting your lips with another kiss. “What are you going to do about it, babe? Hm?”

You gave him a look as he rolled onto the bed, letting you climb on top of him. A newfound surge of confidence pulsed through your body as you untied his sweatpants, sliding them down his leg. You were in charge now, and Michael knew it. The way you kissed him as you guided his long cock into you only confirmed his suspicions.

He gave your ass a small squeeze when you took him in, a small groan exiting his lips as he felt your warmth clasp around him. With a small thrust, you adjusted to his size quickly, leading to harder, deeper ones. The two of you fell into a nice rhythm soon, your hands resting on his bare chest. Every time you slid down, he'd buck his hips to meet you, eliciting a small moan from you every time. God, how he wished he could let you scream his name. If you wouldn’t be punished, even the corpses outside would know who was fucking you.

Neither of you lasted too much longer before you both reached your orgasms. His name and a string of curses fell from your lips as you came for the second time, and not but seconds later, light moans escaped the man in front of you as he finally, finally got his release. The two of you were both pleased as you sat on the now-messy bed together in silence, each of you trying to comprehend what had just now happened.

Did you really just have late-night sex with a member of the Cooperative? Yes, yes you did.

You could tell that Michael wasn’t the type to stick around after he got what he wanted. He preferred to sleep on his own in his bed, his previous lover nowhere in sight. But somehow, some way, he couldn’t say no when you asked him to stay just long enough for you to fall asleep. That turned into “just a little while longer” and “I don’t want to wake her up,” which, in turn, resulted in the two of you being curled up together in the dark until morning came.

And that was good enough for you.

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ythmir-writes · 5 years

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Tiptoes

fandom: Ikemen Vampire character: Leonardo da Vinci

A/N: Yes, I know IkeVamp is approximately a week old BUT there’s a lot of hmmmm regrets, you might say, when IkeSen started and i was having a lot of feels and not acting on them. So, I’m turning that around and writing this even though i barely know anything about the vamps as they are in the japanese version or the little tidbits that come with. This is 97% mostly headcanons. You’ve been appropriately appraised. And if it helps, it started as something angsty and then turned into well, you have to see for yourself ☆=(ゝω･)/

and also, with this, 182 series part 1 is c o m p l e t e !!

Evelyn was carrying an empty teapot and half-eaten croissants from the Comte’s room when she passed the library. The door had been ajar, enough space for her to see that there were unattended candles. Again.

She sighed, frustrated.

The beings inhabiting the mansion might be geniuses but for all that they were brilliant, sometimes they forget things. Pens. Paintbrushes. Coats left on tables or chairs. The occasional coffee gone cold. A sock – hanging on a tree branch of all places. And Evelyn had enough experience with Leonardo to know just how a mess things could get when vampires sincerely believed they have literally forever to clean up.

But in all seriousness, candles in the library was such a sin. Vast academic secrets were at the tips of their tongues, sure; they were the masters of their field and Evelyn knew for a fact the library had been read through. Twice. But could they please spare some thought for the mortals who at least wanted to scratch that knowledge?

Huffing to herself, she entered the library and promptly capped the candles, wondering who among the eleven residents (minus, Sebastian of course bless him) needed to feel like they were living before electricity was even invented.

She took note of the books. The topics ranged from natural sciences to literature to religion to certain things she did not even want to dabble in, and she felt no closer into guessing who had the gall to leave fire beside precious papers and –

Movement. To her right. She turned slowly. No use in startling vampires when it was pitch dark. But there was no one there. Or even at the far end of the library.

But there was a shadow. By the third window.

Had it been the first week from her arrival, Evelyn would have fled, would have desisted from associating with any of the mansion’s residents save for Sebastian and the Comte. But it was her final week. She was as much a resident now as the rest of them and had learned a lot of things during her stay in this miracle of a mansion.

And she was proud to say that now she had eleven vampire friends who would miss her if she went back. And if fortune favored them, eleven vampire friends to visit in the future.

If they didn’t burnt down the mansion first.

So no, Evelyn Castle did not run from the shadow she saw. Instead, she needed to have a word with him. Gods know they could blow the place up if she was no longer around.

“I believe candles were made strictly off-limits last week - !”

The rest of her reprimand died in her throat at the sight of the vampire – Leonardo, of course it had to be him – who was looking up at the night sky.

She had expected him to at least be napping. He had made no move to tease her when she had arrived, and it was no secret that vampires could feel the beating of a human heart even standing twelve feet away. Leonardo would have known she entered, would have known it was her even while she was walking down the halls.

So she had not expected his silence to mean that he had been looking so pensive. Even when she stood beside him.

“Really.” She huffed, trying not to let the fact that Leonardo was not teasing to get the better of her. It could be a tactic. “You know better than to light a flame in this place.”

It was only then that Leonardo looked at her, a bit startled to see her there. Then he smiled. “Ah, cara mia.”

“Candles.” She waved at the extinguished candles behind her, ignored the flutter of his eyelids as he looked where she pointed. “In the library. Again, Leonardo. Can you not?”

“Old habits remain sewn in my veins.” He gave her a rueful smile, patted the spot beside him as an invitation.

She shook her head. “I have to clean the rest of the dishes. Then Sebastian and I have to make a listing of the vegetables we need to stock up on before I leave and then there’s –”

It happened too quickly. A frown. A movement of his shoulders. But instead of going for her neck – out of reflex, her right hand shot up to cover it – he went for her other hand.

Held it in his.

Ran a calloused thumb over it.

“Leonardo.” Her voice, even to her ears, sounded ready to fight. One never survived a vampire mansion relying on the kindness of the host. Vampire or no, she could still feel Arthur’s jaw on her knuckles, could remember the shock on his face when she had managed to sock him when he tried to bite her for a joke.

That had been a lucky hit. She knew it would never happen again. But it had been the icebreaker. And perhaps, the display of her feistiness somehow allowed them to relax around her, allowed them to know that she was no porcelain doll.

Leonardo was the second to learn that. Circumstances led to their being in a fake relationship (what a trope!) and it had proven convenient. He had been an awful tease at the beginning and she had thought his attitude was as irredeemable as the mess he made of his things.

She had lifted a box full of his books and maps, threatened to dump them in the pond if he did not take her seriously.

He did.

After he had laughed for a good twenty minutes.

It had been a bit embarrassing to be the subject of Leonardo da Vinci’s amusement but at least they had established friendly relations after that. The fact that he was a polymath had always intrigued her, and she had grilled him whenever they posed as lovers. That he was the Leonardo da Vinci, however never did impress her. Instead, that had always made her laugh.

No, Leonardo cannot be the kind of man who napped the moment his head fell on something solid. No, Leonardo cannot be the kind of man who had a cat and who would feed it bits of his fish when Sebastian wasn’t looking.

He was historical. He was the Renaissance man. He painted the Mona Lisa, the Last Supper – his name was on the front pages of history books. He was revered and studied; his name inspired people to do greater things and –

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“What?” She asked, focusing on Leonardo again, and that his hand was still connected to hers.

“You going away.” He answered, golden eyes focused on her. “I don’t want to hear it. It makes me a little bit…” He angled his head. Shrugged. But it was stiff. As if he was unsure of what he wanted to do.

“Well.” Evelyn wondered why she was not tugging her hand to signal him to let go. “I’m happy to hear that at least one of you lot is actually worried for me.”

Leonardo furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

Where to begin? “Arthur’s already named a minor character after me and told me I’m not really main character material. Ass. Isaac said he’ll leave me a note in one of his books. Vincent convinced Theo to give me one of his paintings in their family vault. Dazai and Shakespeare are still pretty much unsure of what to gift me in the future. Jean on the other hand wants to – ”

Leonardo waved his other hand to make her stop. “They’re what?”

“Giving me gifts” Evelyn said. “Okay, so not exactly a straight up standard gift but more of like a scavenger hunt – it’s Comte’s idea because apparently there’s no fun if they just drop it in my apartment. So they – ”

Leonardo blew out a sigh.

“I know!” Evelyn echoed. “I mean I’m happy we’re all friends now after that little scare you all gave me my first night. Vampires and blood. Pfft. You’re all softies is what –”

“Cara mia…”

Evelyn talked over him. “ – but could anyone take my time-travelling a little bit more seriously because that first time was not exactly pleasant.”

“I will miss you. I don’t want you to go.”

That stopped her. She must have misheard him. “What?”

Leonardo looked pained, as if it physically hurt him to repeat what he had just said. “I will miss you. I don’t want you to go.” He wrapped both of his hands over hers now. “Already, I feel as if you’ve already gone. And my heart aches for it.”

How was she to respond to that? She looked at him. Really looked at him and whatever joke she wanted to say, whatever comment she desperately wanted to use to douse the heat of her cheeks, felt inappropriate.

Not when Leonardo looked as if he meant it. Not when Leonardo looked as if he would crumble if she took her hand away.

Evelyn Castle had learned a lot of things during her stay. She had learned of the residents’ nuances and piques, their different personalities, their favorite dishes and preferred past times, and more importantly, how to manage them like the cats they were, if necessary.

But she also learned that for all that they needed blood for sustenance, they were not as dangerous as they had first seemed. She learned that they thirsted for life and experience. Learned that they continued to be driven, continued to hope and dream and wonder and hold things in awe and respect and reverence.

She learned that they loved life so much, loved living so dearly that when it was time to make a choice, they found it hard to let go.

Like how Leonardo was finding it hard to let her hand go.

Leonardo, who was supposed to be a storm, who was supposed to be the strongest, the wiliest, the most cunning and charming and vicious in the mansion. Leonardo, whom she learned could give even the Comte doubts on his abilities.

Before Evelyn could stop herself, she placed her free hand on Leonardo’s head. Found his hair soft, smooth, as she ran her fingers through it.

Leonardo drew in a sharp breath, and perhaps it was the surprise in his eyes that coaxed the words to come out of her mouth before she could consider them for the occasion.

“I’m jumping through time. I’m not dying.” She said.

Leonardo closed his eyes again but at least, Evelyn saw the briefest hints of a smile. “Mia preziosa, I don’t think – ”

“A few hundred years.” She continued. “That’s nothing for an old vampire, right?”

“It will be a brief flash for you. One moment you are walking and then next you are in the future again, yes. But to us. To me...”

Leonardo did not finish. The way his hands shook slightly told her he could not.

Evelyn had learned many things, from each of the residents and most of all from Leonardo. But what to say to a vampire’s ailing heart. What to say to soothe him? What to say to make her absence a little less bleak? A little more hopeful? A little more like a brief trip down to the markets? More of a chapter to look forward to, and never like she felt her insides were being crushed at the thought of farewell.

Because there was no guarantee. That was what the Comte had said. That was what was in the back of everyone’s minds. She was going back, safe and whole and human.

But the vampires who stayed? The vampires who had to live through the ages to see her again? There was nothing to guarantee that nothing could go wrong. That the hunters would stay away for good. That was why they wanted to give their gifts, their little trinkets. Why it would take so long for her to find them so that just in case the worst did happen.

She could not bear to think of it. And Leonardo looked as if he could not bear it too.

“How about this, then.” Evelyn said, slipping out of Leonardo’s grip to stand akimbo in front of him. “Everyone in this mansion has planned to give me a gift, even the Comte. Except for you.”

Leonardo opened his mouth to protest but she raised a hand to stop him. “Listen to me. Maybe you’re having a hard time deciding an awesome gift for me, I can understand that. No, wait.” She pressed, as Leonardo stood now. “What I’m saying is – you don’t have to. Because this will be the gift.”

Evelyn had consumed her fair share of fiction about fake relationships. TV, books, music, podcasts – hell, she’s done enough digging through the internet to know the beginnings of the trope.

She had been adamant that her and Leonardo’s arrangement would be nothing but platonic business, nothing but an excuse, convenience, protection. She’d jotted down the words in her diary. Listed them through her veins. Nearly carved them in her bones. They would act as lovers and then part.

But what could she do?

Try as she might, there was no end to the depth she continued to discover in him. Not when Leonardo, who among the vampires she had found to be the one she could laugh with best, the one who would see to her, who would listen, who would hold her when she missed home, when the worst of her melancholia came and went, whom she had tried her very best to not look at again but felt compelled to.

What could she not do? When he, who was the storm who swept her off her feet, looked so loney? She could never bear to see him so loney.

So she kissed him, the briefest of pecks to the cheek. And before Leonardo could even register what had happened, before Evelyn’s courage could flee, she took her tray and her empty teapot and stood what she estimated was thirteen feet away from Leonardo, so he would not feel the rapid beating of her poor human heart.

“Survive the centuries, Leonardo da Vinci.” She declared. “So that next we meet, you could give me a proper kiss.”

30/182

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp leonardo #indulge me with any mistakes im on leonardo's route and i have no idea what im doing #i keep cackling because theyre historical figures and then not #im hearing the assassinscreed version of leonardo if anyone was wondering #i keep expecting him to say ezio in the game hah #ythmir writes #ythmir fanfics #30/182 #182 #and yusssss finished part one wooh

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