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karahalloway · 9 months

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper greets the world as the new Duchess of Valtoria, but that is not the only newsworthy item that rocks the Apple Harvest Festival...

Word Count: 7,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Things are slowly coming to a head! Thanks for bearing with me on this series - I know I have a lot of other projects in the works, so I have not been updating as much as I probably should. But, we are finally getting to the exciting parts (as if what's happened until now hasn't been exciting 🤣) as after this chapter, we are into the meat of the engagement tour, and all the juicy plot changes that I have been wanting to write for over a year will finally come to a fore! *evil laugh*

A/N2: If you have not heard of TURN - the TV show from which I borrowed the chapter theme song - then, I can highly recommend it (especially if you like historical dramas, US history (specifically the Revolutionary War period), or just really good story-telling)!

A/N3: This is also much submission for @choicesjanuary2024 Day 12: Smiles / Secret

Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

"Are you sure I look okay?" I ask, nervously pulling at the high-necked strip of emerald lace that circles my throat.

"Stop fiddling!" Bertrand berates, slapping my hand away. "We are running late as it, and we cannot afford to lose any more time to last minute touch-ups!"

"Yeah, but—"

"You look great, Harper," Maxwell assures me with a beaming smile. "Marcie did a great job."

The petite make-up artist that the Beaumonts had procured out of thin air bobs a curtsy to my right. "It was my pleasure, Your Grace."

Her words hit me like a whiplash.

Your Grace.

My new form of address. One I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to. Lady Harper had been one thing, but that had always felt like a curtesy. A temporary formality that had been extended to me by virtue of my sponsorship by the Beaumonts during the social season.

But there is nothing temporary about my current situation. The weight of the ring on my hand — and its implications — bears down heavily on my finger... and my thoughts. Especially since I still haven't found a moment alone with Drake to finish our conversation from this morning... or bring him up to speed on my new status.

Because no sooner had my ennoblement been sealed with the very expensive — and very potent — champagne, than the Beaumonts had shown back up (somewhat mercifully) to crash Christian's surprise party.

And from there it had been a whirlwind of hair, makeup and outfitting for the all-important Apple Harvest Festival where I am due to make my grand debut as the new Duchess of Valtoria.

A position of some importance — Bertrand has stressed, multiple times — given that in addition to the impressive estate that I am now the official caretaker of, I also have a seat on the infamous Council, as well as a seat on the even more exclusive Privy Council. Not to mention my own fleet of staff, vehicles, bank accounts, and carefully curated online profiles.

Which is why — on top of everything — the ever-industrious press corps have worked at record speed to throw the fruits of yesterday's labours together into an exclusive, twelve-page spread as part of a special edition of Trend magazine, which dropped this morning.

And while I haven't actually had a chance to read through the copy that currently sits on the coffee table of my room (together with every other major national and international news publication), Maxwell has assured me that the social media reactions have — so far — been positive. The snaps of my stress-fuelled efforts at yesterday's apple pick have apparently helped.

Which means that Jonathan's PR gamble is starting to pay dividends, and I now have a public image to maintain. Not just for myself, but for Cordonia as well. Because when I step outside today, I'll be representing everything that the kingdom under Christian's burgeoning rule is striving to be — beauty, modernity, opportunity.

Definitely not the best day to wake up with a litany of awkwardly situated bruises!

Thankfully, both Maxwell and Bertrand seem to have had a chance to pull themselves together after this morning's surprising (and definitely explosive!) turn of events, and — after the initial shock — have set about covering for mine and Drake's mess with the same coordinated precision that they employed to pull the Beaumont Bash out of their butts.

With the result that they somehow managed to transform me from the black and blue disaster I woke up as, into the picture of a polished and refined lady.

I glance apprehensively out at the bright sunshine blanketing the hills. Hopefully, the carefully applied window-dressing survives the literal trial by fire it's about to be subjected to. Because just like yesterday, the temperature is set to climb into the mid-90's today as well, which means I'll most likely end up sweating buckets again, thanks to the Edwardian nature of my dress's neckline.

And what I definitely don't need today is for all the blush and cover-up getting smudged away so that everyone at the event can start speculating about the intimate placement of my of hickeys!

I close my eyes wearily. God, I can't wait for all this to be over...

"No catnaps!" snaps Bertrand, slapping a wide-brimmed hat onto my head. "The people are waiting on us!"

I barely have time to grab my matching clutch before the Beaumonts are whisking me out of my room and down the length of the corridor towards the manor's lawn.

"Surely the Festival can start without us...!" I gasp as I stumble after Bertrand in my heels.

"No, it cannot," he reprimands. "All members of the Council must be present for the ceremonial tree planting."

I frown. "Tree planting? Isn't that a little... agrarian for the aristos?"

"It is a time-honoured tradition!" corrects Bertrand. "Cordonia owes its existence and livelihood to the noble Ruby, so it is the duty of the Council to ensure that the fruits of our bounty are secured for future generations! Hence, the requirement to plant new saplings at the end of each harvest!"

"If you say so..." I concede as we pass through the back doors of the manor.

Based on what I saw at the apple pick, Bertrand's pronouncement seems optimistic at best, given that none of the aristos even bothered to lift a finger to a tree yesterday.

But, looks can always be deceiving, so maybe today is the day that the I am pleasantly surprised for once.

A deafening cheer erupts as the Beaumonts and I step out onto the manor's steps.

Snapping my head towards the source of the commotion, I see what appears to be thousands of people crammed behind velvet-lined cordons, screaming and jostling for position like they're in the front row of a Taylor Swift concert...

...and it takes me a second to realise that it's my name that they're shouting.

"Duchess!"

"Lady Harper, we love you!"

"You're the true Apple Queen, no matter what anyone says!"

"Wow..." I blink, taken aback by the fervency of the crowd's reaction. "I didn't realise I had such a rabid following..."

"Best wave to them," suggests Maxwell, leaning in as he raises his arm into the air with a wide smile.

"Okay..." I concede hesitantly, turning to the crowd to do the same.

The last time I experienced anything remotely like this had been on the red carpet at the Derby — my first public outing as a suitor. But even the bright flash of the cameras and the intrusive questions that the reporters had flung at me paled in comparison to the reaction I am receiving today.

Phones and cameras are thrust into the air as the Beaumonts and I descend the manor's stairs to the accompaniment of the increasingly frenzied cheers and shouts of encouragement. Even a few bouquets of flowers fly through the air, narrowly missing my hat.

And I can't help but smile in the face of the genuine outpouring of support from the crowd. Because it sure as heck feels good to be on top for once!

However, arriving at the edge of the orchard where the tree planting ceremony is due to take place, I am greeted by a very different type of welcome.

Snooty expressions drip down the ends of aristocratic noses as the members of the Council pass silent judgment on my somewhat bombastic entrance.

"They're just jealous," Maxwell whispers to me as we take up our spots at the edge of the gathering.

"Yeah..." I agree with a stilted voice. "That's what I'm worried about."

I know firsthand of the lengths that these people are willing to go to in order to exact vengeance for perceived slights. And I did not particularly feel like painting a target on my back a second time while I am still trying to recover from the hurt caused by the first.

Maybe this is a mistake...

But I don't have time to think on it long, because the public erupts into an even more deafening outburst as Christian appears with Madeleine on his arm.

"Look at her..." snips a voice from behind me. "Acting like she's Queen already."

I whip around in disbelief. "Olivia!"

The Duchess of Lythikos cuts her green eyes over at me with a derisive look. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Harper. Just because you are now a duchess, does not mean that the rest of us have taken early retirement."

"Trust me," I grumble under my breath, "this was not the plan."

"Opportunities multiply as they are seized," she replies sagely.

I quirk a brow at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," she expounds surly, "opportunity breeds opportunity. And only by exploiting every advantage will you uncover previously hidden gains. Do they not teach The Art of War inyour schools?"

"No..."

She scoffs under her breath. "Explains a lot."

I roll my eyes at her as Christian and Madeleine pause on the steps for photos and a couple of quick sound bites. "I guess this means your sabbatical was productive?"

"Exceedingly."

I heave a breath. "At least one of us is making progress..."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," she counters out of the corner of her mouth. "Your recent advancements have served as a welcome distraction..."

"Not sure if that’s a compliment, or not..." I admit sourly.

"You have more power than you realise," she insists quietly. "Make sure you use it."

"Wow..." I mutter, glancing over at her in genuine surprise. "Friendly advice from the Scarlet Duchess? What else have you learnt during your time away?"

"Our interests are temporarily aligned, nothing more," she replies, shooting daggers across the lawn towards Madeleine. "And I'll fill you in shortly."

"Well, it's good to have you back, regardless," I say with a dip of my head. "Your Grace."

Olivia shoots me a sidelong look. "Don't get sentimental on me, Duchess."

But I can see the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Christian and Madeleine arrive at the edge of the trees. Stepping up to the row of waiting saplings, Christian pulls a stack of notecards out of his pocket and delivers a short speech to the click of the cameras.

As the mandatory applause dies down, he slots the pieces of paper carefully away... and pulls off his jacket.

"What are you doing?" hisses Madeleine as the crowd descends into a hubbub of excited reactions.

"Taking a leaf out of the Duchess of Valtoria's book," he replies, handing his jacket off to the closest shocked Councillor as he sets about rolling up his sleeves.

"Out of—!" Madeleine bristles in indignation, while trying to maintain an outwardly calm composure. "The only thing you have taken is leave of your senses! Now get back here and—!"

Ignoring his fiancée's outburst, Christian grabs the ribbon-bedecked shovel out of the hands of the footman that was holding it, and steps up to a clear patch of grass. Adjusting his grip on the handle, he digs the metal blade decisively into the ground to the accompanying slew of clicking camera shutters.

"Shall we?" asks Olivia with a sly smirk as she pushes her way to the front of the line of gawping nobles.

"Let's," I agree, instantly catching onto her plan.

"Lady Harper!" hisses Bertrand from behind me. "What do you think you're—?"

"Lending a hand to the King," I throw back over my shoulder as I step to the front of the row of aristos who are looking mutely onto the sight of their monarch working up an actual sweat before them.

Grabbing another shovel from the pile in the corner — these ones obviously having seen some honest work already, judging by the dirt encrusted on their faces — I join the King of Cordonia in enlarging the hole in the ground.

Because regardless of Christian's underlying motives for ennobling me, and whatever his broader game may be, what he is doing right now is bigger than me, bigger than him, bigger than any of us. And that deserves recognition. Especially when he is taking such active — and public — strides towards being the change he wants to see unfurl during his rule. Where the ruling class doesn't just offer empty platitudes and hollow ceremony, but actually practices what it preaches. So, what better way to do that, than by planting the seeds of change in front of thousands of people in the literal heart of the kingdom?

Christian rewards my arrival with a nod and a smile as I take up position next to him.

Hefting my shovel, I slice it into the earth that he's already uncovered, using the somewhat flimsy sole of my heeled sandals to drive it deeper.

Scooping the blade back out, I suddenly feel a presence to my left. Looking up, I see that Maxwell has also joined our impromptu work crew.

Throwing me a wink, he drops his shovel in next to mine.

With the three of us working on tandem, it takes us almost no time at all to dig out a hole large enough to house the new apple tree.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead — the weatherman had not lied, that's for sure! — I see that Olivia, with some assistance from Hana, has already prepared the sapling by shunting it closer to the hole and removing the burlap covering from its roots.

Laying down our shovels, we help her manoeuvre the tree to the edge of the dint. Cheers and applause rise up from the onlookers as the sapling thuds into the earth. Olivia uses one of the knives from her hidden arsenal to slice off the twines holding the branches together, and the tree unfurls itself with a satisfied snap.

"Your Majesty!" shouts a reporter, who I recognise as Frederick Capone. "One for the Cordonian Times, if you please!"

"And for the CBS!" adds Donald Brine, muscling his way to the front.

"Certainly," accedes Christian graciously, holding his arm out. "It was a group effort, after all."

We all gather in — sweaty and dirty, but smiling — as the press corps immortalises the scene...

...and I innocuously sweep my hair over my shoulder in a vain effort to try and hide any bruises that may have become uncovered as a result of the unplanned exertion.

"Thank you for joining me in my moment of impulsivity," Christian acknowledges softly as the bulbs flash.

"Please," scoffs Olivia out of the side of her mouth. "It was coordinated from the start."

"The people don't seem to mind," counters Hana with a demure smile as she faces the cameras.

"With the exception of about half-dozen," I note, glancing back at the disgruntled looks of the Councillors from behind us, as they try to save face by applauding our efforts together with the rest of the crowd.

"They'll fall in line." Christian assures me as he lifts his hand with a wave.

I feel a prick between my shoulder blades. Turning my head, I catch sight of the cold fire radiating out of Madeleine's gaze from behind the mask of her perfect smile.

"Maybe not everyone..." I mutter under my breath as I turn back towards the paps.

I'm already on Madeleine's shit list for daring to return to court after my very public humiliation and banishment. On the night of her engagement tour launch party, no less! So, the fact that I ended up upstaging her — again — probably means that I've sunk even further down the ladder of her estimations.

To what end, I have no idea. But I'm going to have to start being more careful from here on out.

Once the press are finally placated, we disperse across the lawn in search of some much-needed refreshments.

"Harper!"

I swallow a groan as I'm brought up short, mere steps from the freshly squeezed, rosemary-infused lemonade that I desperately need after toiling away in this heat. "What now, Bertrand...?"

"I... uhm..." He clears his throat as I turn to face him. "I wanted to apologise for my earlier outburst. It was unseemly... and in retrospect, short-sighted."

"What do you mean?" I ask with a frown. Bertrand very rarely — if ever! — apologised.

"The public reaction to the tree planting has been overwhelming," he clarifies, pulling his phone out.

My eyes bulge as I take in the view count on the screen. "A hundred thousand views already!"

"And counting," Bertrand adds. "And that is only one website."

"And look at the comments!" I exclaim, scrolling through the feed. "They're loving Maxwell as well!"

"Yes, it appears that my brother has a keener instinct for media relations than I do..."

"You should tell him that," I say. "It would mean the world to him."

Bertrand looks momentarily taken aback. "I... Well..." He clears his throat again. "Yes. Maybe I will. He deserves some recognition for his efforts in diverting — at least temporarily — the negative attention away from our financial predicaments."

"A simple hug and a 'thank-you' will do," I tell him with a knowing look.

Bertrand reels back in abject horror. "I will not subject my brother to such a sordid display of affection! Especially in public!"

I heave a sigh. "And there's your problem, right th—"

I trail off as I spot a familiar figure signalling to me from over Bertrand's shoulders.

"Excuse me," I say, palming Bertrand's phone back to him as I move towards one of the marquees that had been set up at the edge of the lawn.

Slipping inside the flap of the tent, I come face-to-face with Ana de Luca.

"Your Grace," she nods, dipping into a curtesy, something she hasn't deigned to do before. "Thank you for making the time."

"Ana," I nod in return, wondering why the influential editor of Trend chose to pull me away for a private meeting. Especially after I cornered her so forcefully at Madeleine's garden party a few days ago.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she continues, straightening back up. "Since returning to court you have managed to elevate yourself not just in rank, but in the eyes of the public as well. Rolling your sleeves up in tandem with the King was a masterful piece of image enhancement."

"I didn't do it for myself," I reply evenly.

"Of course," she nods quickly. "We must all step in line with our new King. But your reputation is certainly reaping the benefits as well."

"As is your bottom line," I point out.

"Your initiative is markedly boosting sales of this month's special edition, as well as traffic to our website," she concedes. "For which Trend is very grateful. But that is not the reason I pulled you aside."

"What is it then?"

"I found out the name of the photographer," she replies, reaching into her handbag.

I feel my heart jump in my chest. "You're joking..."

She raises a brow at me from behind the lenses of her black-out Versace shades as she pulls a small flash-drive out. "I can assure you that I am not."

I quickly pull myself back together. "No. Of course not..."

Handing the drive over, she adds. "On there you will find all the pertinent information I was able to obtain through my own means."

"Thank you," I say sincerely, taking the piece of plastic from her. "I honestly was not expecting this..."

She shrugs an elegant shoulder. "I said I would look into it, so I did. It is not much, but I am sure you have people who can hopefully take it further."

"I do," I affirm, slotting the device into my clutch.

"After all," she adds with a knowing quirk to her lips. "You are not the only one with a vested interest in seeing your name cleared, Your Grace."

With another quick bob, she exits the marquee.

I let out a low exhale as the tent flap drops back into place in her wake. "Thank God..."

Some much-needed progress at last!

Hopefully, Drake can take the information from the drive and do a deep dive into the photographer to see if they ever crossed paths with whoever it is that has it in for me.

Which reminds me...

Opening my clutch up again, I pull my phone out and type up a quick message to my elusive boyfriend.

I haven't seen or heard from him since the event started. And now I have two pieces of critical information I need to share with him. So, rather than chasing after him like some damsel in distress, I'm going to make him come to me for a change. Because time is of the essence, and I don't want to wait.

Hitting send, I exit the tent and head back towards the orchard. I figure that since everyone is on the lawn, the secluded garden hidden amongst the trees will give me and Drake the best chance to meet in private, away from the prying eyes of the court and the press.

Slipping between the tree trunks, I try to make my way as casually as possible through the orchard, as if I am simply out for a walk, in order to ward off potential suspicion. But, as I drift further away from the Festival, I start to pick up the pace, mindful of the short timeframe I gave Drake... as well as the exposed roots on the ground.

Because as much as I might want to hurry, I definitely don't want — or need — a twisted ankle the day before we're due to start the international leg of the trip. As Mom was right — I should take advantage of the upcoming whirlwind tour of Europe to at least try and get some sightseeing in. As who knows when I'll get the chance to do this again...

...especially if I'm forced to become a hermit because we fail to expose the mastermind behind the press scandal.

I shake my head. No. I need to stay positive. It's the only way I'm going to get through—

"Competing with a herd of elephants, Gale?"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of Drake's voice... and nearly trip over a hidden apple lodged in the grass.

"You try sneaking ‘round in four-inch heels," I grumble back at him, while using the trunk of a nearby tree to steady myself.

He mutters something under his breath as he steps over to me with an outstretched hand. "Here."

Grabbing his hand, I navigate gingerly away from the tree, only to find that the slightly rotten fruit has become impaled on the end of my stiletto.

"Great..." I groan, trying to flick the stupid thing off... But it stays stubbornly stuck.

"You're a walking disaster, y'know that, right?" drawls Drake as he drops down in front of me.

"Ha-ha, funny," I snark back at him while trying to balance on one foot on the uneven ground.

He meets my eye with a wry look as he finally manages to pull the offending fruit off with a squelch. "You're only gripin' 'cause it's true."

"Yeah, well, not all of us have... reflexes... like Neo..." I reply sardonically as I save myself from tipping over by grabbing onto Drake's shoulder.

He stifles a scoff as he tosses the apple into the trees. "You good?"

"Yeah," I confirm, righting myself again and letting go of his shirt.

Drake regards me critically for a long moment — as if expecting me to keel over again at the drop of a hat — before pushing himself up.

"Thanks," I say, laying an appreciative hand on his arm.

The humour fades from his gaze at the contact.

"Drake..." I start...

...but he's already pulled away.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, not quite meeting my eyes as he slots his hands into his pockets, the momentary lightness of our previous interaction gone.

I heave a breath.

We really need to talk about what happened this morning. But his suddenly standoffish demeanour makes it clear that he's not quite ready for that yet.

So, I decide to start with something less contentious.

"We have a lead on the photographer," I tell him, reaching into my clutch.

His head perks up with interest. "That was fast."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I agree with a smile, pulling the flash drive back out and holding it out to him.

His posture suddenly stiffens. "The hell is that?"

I glance around me uncertainly. "What?"

"The fucking ring on your finger," he declares dispassionately, his accusatory gaze scorching into my outstretched hand.

My heart drops. Oh, no...

This is not how I wanted to break it to him. But unfortunately for both of us, the cat has now ripped itself out of the proverbial bag, so I'm just going to have to scamper after it.

Taking a steadying inhale, I look him square in the eye. "It's my new signet ring." I turn my hand over to show it to him.

His face darkens. "Fils de pute de—" he grits under his breath, snapping a hand out to grab my wrist.

My eyes widen. "Drake, what are y—?"

A storm is raging in his espresso gaze. "Signet rings go on the little finger. On the right hand."

"Oh," is all I can manage as he swipes the golden band off my left ring finger.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks softly, reaching for my other hand... more gently this time.

I shake my head with a constricted throat. "No, I—"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

My head jerks ‘round at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

"I see you couldn't resist a somewhat impulsive stroll through the orchards, either?" he asks, more rhetorically than anything else. "The scent of apples is truly luscious this time of year."

"Erm... yes...!" I manage to squeak out, shoving my right hand behind my back. "Smells like apple juice!"

Christian's brow quivers ever so slightly at my slightly random — and obviously unexpected — comparison.

But I'm too busy coordinating with Drake to get the signet ring shoved back onto my hand while trying to palm the flash drive off to him without dropping either in the process. As both outcomes would lead to some very awkward conversations!

I feel the warmth of the metal slide onto the index finger of my hand (Drake had probably ascertained that the circumference of the band was too large for my pinky), and I'm finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Embarrassing backpedaling, narrowly averted!

Drake uses the opportunity to extract the flash drive from my hand as well, dropping the device casually into his pocket as he moves beside me. "She ain't wrong."

"No," concedes Christian, eying the two of us for a second longer than strictly comfortable. "She rarely is."

"So, umm... Are you hiding from the paps as well?" I ask in a bid to diffuse the growing tension in the air.

"No, I came looking for you, actually," he corrects, taking a step forward. "I saw you slip into the orchard, and thought it prudent to follow you."

"Oh?" I say, feeling my stomach tighten again. "Worried I might get lost?"

"I was hoping to catch you alone," he corrects, coming to a stop in front of me.

I swallow tightly as I see him glance over at Drake.

Please don't fight... Please don't fight...

Christian's gaze reverts to me. "But I suppose it is convenient for Drake to happen to be here as well."

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat. "It is?"

"Yes," he affirms. "I have received some news that you'll both be interested in hearing."

"Well, don't keep us in damn suspense, then..." mutters Drake with a noticeable edge to his voice.

I try to reach discretely out to brush my fingers against his, to reassure him that come what may, we'll get through it together, that—

"We found Tariq."

Christian's words hit me like a kick to the chest. The breath explodes out of me so forcefully that I am actually forced to take a step back in a bid to maintain my balance as the apple trees descend into a spin around me.

No way...

"Where?"

Drake's voice floats across the edge of my awareness. And even in my spaced-out state, I can feel the weight of the cold, calculated fury infused into that single word.

No corner... No mercy.

"Dubai," replies Christian, who also sounds like he's miles away. "He—"

But Drake's already spun away. "Send me the coordinates."

"Harper?"

I blink up at Christian in a daze. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" he asks, laying a concerned hand on my cheek. "You... You looked as if you were about to faint..."

"I..." I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm okay."

"Are you certain?" he presses, peering down at me. "I could ring for a doctor, and—"

"No," I insist, pulling away from him. "I'm fine. I... I guess I just got caught off-guard..."

"It is an unexpected development, certainly," he concedes. "But hopefully still a welcome one?"

"Yes!" I blurt out. "Of course! I want to clear my name more than anyone, and Tariq is key to that! I just..." My voice trails uncertainly off.

Christian flashes me a knowing half-smile. "Feel some trepidation about the prospect...?"

"I guess so," I concede, my fingers moving unconsciously to the horseshoe charm at my wrist.

Because as much as I may want Tariq to pay for what he did from a rational point of view, from an emotional standpoint, I’m terrified.

As even though I know in the back of my mind that a lot of my trepidation has to do with the fact that I am still trying to recover from the psychological trauma that Tariq inflicted on me, a major part of me is also scared of what setting the record straight would entail in practice.

Christian had mentioned that there were 'methods of persuasion' that could be used to force a confession from Tariq. But then what? Would I be made to very publicly relive the entire horrible episode in the form of TV spots and interviews, or would we be able to get by with one official press release? And given my spotty history with the press, will people actually believe my side of the story...?

I mean, Meghan and Harry didn’t exactly fare well in the court of public opinion when they tried to counter the official royal narrative...

On top of all that, in light of my very visceral reactions to returning to Applewood, I have no idea how I'm going to react to seeing Tariq in person again. Would I burst into tears? Have a nervous breakdown? Dissolve into a panic attack? Stab him in the gut and then the nuts?

And (possibly worst of all) what if we discover that Tariq had been acting alone? And his attack on me — while traumatising — is in no way connected to the larger, and definitely more dangerous plot to remove me from the running for Queen? What then...?

"Your qualms are not as misplaced as you may initially think," Christian consoles. "It is a daunting prospect to face the person who actively sought to harm you."

Something in his tone catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

Christian heaves a sigh. "I do not know if you are aware of this, but several years ago, I was the target of an assassination attempt."

I nod tightly. "Yes. Drake told me."

"Then I presume he also told you how deeply the experience affected me," he says, catching my eye with an uncharacteristically guarded look.

"Yes," I affirm, thinking back to the conversation in Olivia's wine cellar that felt like years ago.

"What he probably didn't tell you, however," he continues, "is that I visited the perpetrator in prison."

My jaw drops. "You what!"

"Not publicly and certainly not in any official capacity." He shakes his head wryly. "I did not even talk to the man."

"Then why...?"

"I... I was having trouble reconciling with what had happened," he explains. "And moving past it. The trauma councillor that I was working with suggested that it was perhaps because I was subconsciously endowing the gunman with too much power, and thereby transmuting the man into something more akin to an evil monster."

A shiver runs down my spine at Christian's words. It's like he's talking about Tariq...

"So, to help break the negative emotional associations I had built up, my councillor arranged a clandestine meeting where I would have the opportunity to face the man."

"How... How did that go?" I ask nervously.

"I was terrified, of course," Christian admits. "I had no idea what to expect and each scenario I imagined in my head was worse than the last. But, when I finally got into room where the meeting was to take place, I was surprised by what I saw. As rather than some hulking, shadowy fiend, it was a pale, somewhat diminutive man sat across from me."

"So… what did you do?"

"We simply sat at a table and stared at each other," he recounts. "He with more than a bit of contemptuous malice, I have to admit, but in that moment, I realised that he was a flesh-and-blood person who had fallen prey to the same misguided emotions as I — anger, fear, resentment — just manifested differently. And that helped set me onto the path of true healing. As ultimately, I was able to forgive him."

"Forgive him?" I gasp disbelievingly. "For trying to murder you?"

"Nobody acts in isolation," Christian advises calmly. "Even the most unconscionable horrors perpetrated by the villains of humanity — torture, mass murder, genocide — sprout from the basis of an emotional or psychological motivator such as love, fear, greed, jealousy... to name but a few. So, while we may disagree with and condemn the action retrospectively from the safety of the moral high-ground, it is very possible that had we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would end up being just as guilty as the person we are looking to condemn."

"So, what?" I demand testily. "I should feel sorry for Tariq for what he did to me?"

"Showing empathy and compassion towards our counterparts does not mean forgetting or excusing the harm suffered," counsels Christian. "But it will certainly allow you to start on the path of true healing."

I shake my head as I turn away. "I'm not sure Tariq deserves that..."

"It is by no means an easy assignment," he admits, laying a hand on my shoulder. "But even if you cannot find it in your heart presently to forgive him, do at least try to keep yourself open to the possibility down the line. You may be surprised by the results."

Looking up, I can see that there is sincerity welling on his emerald gaze. And — for once — I don't doubt the true intent of his words. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

"As diplomatic as ever," he smiles, the tips of his fingers brushing down my back as he drops his hand. "And, regardless of what you choose to do, I'll be right by your side to support you."

"Thanks," I mutter with what I hope is a genuine smile, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Drake’s abrupt departure, it’s just me and Christian amongst the trees. Taking a step back towards the way I’d come, I ask, "So, umm... How did you end up finding him?"

"Instagram," replies Christian with a wry chuckle as he falls into step beside me.

My head snaps up in bewilderment. "He posted his whereabouts?"

"No," he laughs, looping my arm through his in reassurance. "Not intentionally, at any rate. He took shelter on his cousin's yacht docked off the coast of the Palm Jumeirah, and—"

"What's that?" I ask with a frown.

"One of a trio of artificially constructed archipelagos located off the coast of Dubai," he explains. "They are so called for their shape, which resemble stylised palm trees."

"Sounds... fancy," I admit, while trying to maintain some semblance of platonic distance between the two of us.

"They really are a sight to behold," he affirms, pulling me back to his side. "But it is part of the reason why we were not able to locate him initially — we knew he has family in the Emirates, of course, but—"

"He does?" I interject in surprise. This is certainly news to me...!

"Yes," he nods. "His father is a Cordonian nobleman, but his mother hails from the House of Al Falasi, the branch of the Bani Yas tribe that also produced Dubai's ruling family."

My eyes widen. "So, his mom is royalty?"

"No," chuckles Christian. "She is not directly connected to the Al Maktoum dynasty. But her family is nevertheless influential in the region. Which is why when we hit a roadblock with the French authorities, we decided to focus our efforts on countries where we knew he had familial or business connections. The Emirates, however, boast a multitude of private airfields, not to mention water-based ports of entry, so attempting to narrow down Tariq’s possible time and method of arrival and determining where he went from there was providing to be a complex undertaking. Especially since we had to ensure to conduct our enquiries outside of the official channels."

"Specifically, via social media," I supply dryly.

"Yes," confirms Christian, only half jokingly. "When we realised that Tariq must have switched off or changed out his phone, Drake suggested that we set up a facial recognition-based search algorithm that could scour the various social media and news portals in a bid to help us pinpoint his exact location."

"That sounds... technical," I admit.

"A few years ago, it would have been, But the technology is relatively commonplace now, thankfully."

"So, you managed to get a hit?"

"Yes," he affirms. "One of his cousins on his mother's side posted a selfie featuring his new yacht a couple of days ago... and someone who partially matched Tariq's features was visible on the edge of the frame. But it wasn't until this morning that our man on the ground was able to obtain independent confirmation that it really was him."

"Wow..." I manage. "Talk about blind, dumb luck."

"Never underestimate the awesome power of serendipity," counsels Christian with a smile as we reach the edge of the trees again. "It certainly played a hand in crossing our paths."

I swallow nervously. "Yeah, I—"

"You have some nerve!"

Before I have a chance to realise what is happening, Madeleine has swooped in from seemingly out of nowhere to intercept us with all the wrathful precision of a homing missile.

"Ow!" I hiss, feeling the ends of her manicured nails sink into my arm as she wrenches me off Christian like I'm some kind of plague.

"One would think you would be grateful to His Majesty for his benevolent generosity in elevating your previously non-existent status to that of a duchess," she spits with barely disguised contempt as she pulls me nose-to-nose with her.

"Get off me!" I grit, trying to shake her loose.

"Madeleine..." interjects Christian from behind me in a voice that I only heard him use once before... in the hallway at Ramsford when he realised that Drake had brought me back to Cordonia. "You overstep."

But the Countess of Fydelia seems to hear neither of us as she tightens her claw-like hold on me. "Yet instead, you repay him by not only by hijacking a royal event to serve your own shameless self-aggrandisement—"

I shake my head in disbelief. "Wait... Wh—?"

"—but then you have the unmitigated gall—"

"Madeleine," says Christian again, more forcefully this time. "That is enough."

But Madeleine is oblivious to the quiet threat suffused into the sound of her name, choosing to continue her tirade instead, "—to sneak off into the bushes with my fiancé in order to do God-knows-what when he should be—"

"I said, enough!" snaps Christian, coming suddenly between Madeleine and me with a face of thunder.

The force of his command is loud enough to cause a few heads on the edge of the lawn to turn curiously towards us.

Even Madeleine startles somewhat in response to the uncharacteristically vehement order. But not enough to let go of me.

"Can you not see what she is doing?" she demands indignantly as she turns to face Christian. "Or does she have you wrapped so tightly around her finger that you cannot even—?"

"How I choose to spend my time with the Duchess of Valtoria in private is of no concern to you, Countess," interjects Christian bluntly. "Or do I need to remind you of the conditions of our engagement?"

Madeleine's alabaster cheeks flush scarlet. "No..."

"Then I strongly suggest that you unhand Lady Harper, and ensure that this kind of juvenile outburst does not happen again."

Madeleine's eyes blaze with cold fury. But she relinquishes her hold on me, nevertheless. "My apologies, Duchess..." she snips, her voice dripping with insincerity.

I reach up to rub the spot where her nails had been on the verge of puncturing my skin.

Bitch...

Christian nods tersely in approval. "Now that that is sorted, I believe our guests are waiting. Lady Madeleine, if you'd be so kind..."

Madeleine takes his arm with a look that could've killed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Lady Harper," acknowledges Christian with a dip of his head as he starts to steer his seething fiancée away.

Knowing that all eyes are still on us, I drop into a quick curtesy as they walk past, on one hand grateful to Christian for shutting Madeleine down, but on the other hand wondering how badly we kicked into a nest of hornets in the process.

As it is clear that Madeleine is still raging with jealous insecurity... Perhaps even more so than she had been back at her manor when she cornered me in the bathroom. And the fact that — despite the massive diamond on her finger — I now technically outrank her is definitely not helping the situation!

So much for making allies at court…

Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of my face, I turn back towards the festivities…

…only to be greeted by a wall of judgemental eyes, and more than a few camera lenses.

"Great..." I mutter under my breath.

Whether catching me with Christian had been the genuine straw that snapped Madeleine's cool, or whether she deliberately fabricated the showdown to undermine the positive reactions I got from the press earlier, the end result is the same...

I'm going to be on the front page tomorrow. Again.

Exactly in what form, I have no idea. But I've been at court long enough now to know that the whole thing will be blown completely out of proportion, and the resulting story will generate even more press frenzy.

But if there’s one thing that Drake has taught me, it’s that I cannot allow myself to give the aristos the satisfaction of ever thinking that they’ve managed to squash me into the dirt. Because that would undermine the entire reason why I came back to court in the first place, and given how close we now are to claiming back the truth, it would be a massive and premature admission of defeat.

So, raising my chin defiantly, I make my way back across the lawn to rejoin the remainder of the Festival.

The story continues in Chapter 17 - News Flash

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

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romanoffsbish · 2 years

Text

Mind Games

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Darcy x F!R (if you squint)

Prompts

"Please...say something." (26)

Warnings: Gaslighting, Trauma, Jealousy, Fighting. (Happy ending tho)

18+ | Minors DNI | Alluded to SMUT

Natasha was pacing around the expanse of the common room, you'd just uttered the words that held the power necessary to break her. There was no denying Natasha and you were in love, but somehow it is all the woman ever did. After every hookup she'd reiterate that you and her were just helping one another manage your stress, but then she'd ask you in a whisper to stay, and you always did, because deep down this relationship meant more to both of you.

The team knew, and they were all actually rooting for you, Tony even called you his OTP. Natasha would roll her eyes, deny the claims, then fuck you so good that night you let it go. This went on for two years, the both of you were basically inseparable; until you were.

—————

This last month you'd mistakenly said it, those three words that she conveyed with a lingering kiss came out of your mouth like word vomit. Everything changed, she stopped answering your texts, switched out from being your mission partner, and even flirted with others on the team to make her point to you crystal clear that this whole shebang wasn't real.

Except it was real, that was the problem, the woman spent her whole life living in fables. Every night a new persona, a new mark to hit, nothing ever stayed the same for long with her. Change was ironically her only constant, so to suddenly have this beautiful, bubbly woman taking the space of the cobwebs in her heart was foreign. Not necessarily unwelcome, but for the time being it felt that way to her, and now her tactics to keep you at arms length worked, but fuck if she wasn't regretting it all now that you were willingly moving on.

Her eyes stung with the tears she'd been holding in since the night you walked out of her room, and she pushed you out of her life. She felt like she couldn't breathe, as if the walls were truly closing in on her, and trapping her in with her pain. As she'd watched you head off to get ready for your date, without even sparing her a glance, she knew she was losing you.

Fear still held her tightly in it's grasp, but you were more than worth the risk of venturing into the unknown, because truth be told she's already fallen, and she didn't take a parachute. Without you there to catch her, she'd likely crash and burn, as she honestly deserved. However, she wasn't one to give up easily; if this was truly her last chance she'd take it, and most importantly she wouldn't squander it.

"What are you waiting for?," Tony snapped at the still woman, and Natasha shook her head to bring herself back to the moment., "Go!," he instructed, then as if she were a mindless robot her legs moved her out of the room, and up many flights of stairs to get to you, arriving just in time as you exited your room in a stride.

The woman was already winded from the trek up, but once she saw you in that dress, you genuinely took her remaining breath away. She'd grown so used to seeing you in your mission suits, and lazy day sweats that she'd forgotten just how good you looked in a full on get up. Not that you were not pretty enough otherwise, because you were, but this specialty look really accentuated your natural beauty.

Natasha was so enamored by said beauty that she narrowly missed her window to stop you. The familiar dinging of the elevator pulled her from her stupor though, and with all the speed in the world she made it through the closing doors before you could safely descend in peace. The redhead cringed at your cold demeanor as she brought her eyes up to look into yours, but with the sudden drop of the machine she was aware she was on borrowed time., "Y/N..."

"Save it Natasha.," the bite in your tone was so out of character for you, it truly shattered her heart to know that she'd hurt you this badly., "Y/N, please..," she was desperate to explain herself, to tell you she was ready to love you how you truly deserved, but the valid anger was rolling right off you as you shouted., "No!"

"I fucking need you to listen to me, please!," Natasha yanked on the emergency button as she saw you staring in relief at the single digit numbers., "Natasha, what the actual fuck?!," she simply shrugged at your angered words, then she swiftly grabbed your outstretched hands, twisting you about until your arms were crossed over your body, and your back was slammed into the elevator wall., "Natasha..."

"Stop being so stubborn Y/N, and let me talk.," she shut your attempted warning down, and in a moment of calm before the storm you nod, far too curious to see where she's going with this elevator ambushing to not., "Thank you."

"I-.," she paused as she finally met your eyes, this is the closest she'd been to you in over a month, and that knowledge nearly causes her to crumble. The woodsy smell of your cologne, her favorite from your vast collection, hits her nostrils and tears brim in her eyes at all the associated memories that come with the scent., "Nat?," you were rightfully furious, but that didn't mean seeing her on the verge of tears didn't hurt you just the same., "What is it?"

"Please, don't go out with them...," her words are hardly even a whisper, but the closeness of her face to yours allows you audibility, and the settled anger brews with a renewed passion., "You can't be fucking serious right now Nat, you have no right to ask such a thing!," it hurt to see her flinch at your unfamiliar tone, but fuck if it didn't also feel good to air it all out.

"You're the one who ended this, actually no, you fucking iced me out like I was nothing to you, I was just a hole for you to fill until it got too fucking real for you.," your harsh words truly upset the redhead, because never in this entire time had she sought out to use you. Sure, she might've recently reacted adversely with all of her baseless flirting with others, but up until she got freaked out, she'd been only yours. She'd never even so much as looked at another person; how could she when you were always stood in the same room for her to gawk at?

Natasha watched with a blank stare as you suddenly made limited hand gestures before continuing on., "This was nothing, now move out of my way.," you attempted to shove her off, but she slammed you back into the cooled metal, causing you to involuntarily huff., "I said listen to me, not to speak out of turn.," you glared at her attempts at dominance, but you reluctantly gave into her as her hold tightened.

"This.," she dropped her hold on your hands to convey your message more clearly, her pointer finger pressing into your chest before her own., "Was far from nothing, and you know that!," she took in another shaky breath, hearing you say what you did really left her feeling broken. The anger you felt was valid, she even knew she deserved to be shamed, but that didn't stop the feelings of insecurity and pain from festering; holding onto her tattered heart without mercy.

"It was stupid, icing you out, but it happened. There's no undoing the past, no one knows that better than me Y/N, but fuck, hearing you talk about your date awoke something within me.," the truth in her gorgeous green eyes was far too overwhelming for you so you dropped her gaze, but she quickly remedied that by lifting your face back up so she could look into your eyes., "I already knew it was love when I couldn't fathom sleeping alone after having the pleasure of your warm body up against mine, and I can't go on another day pretending it's not all that I want or need, because I fucking need you Y/N."

The confession was all you'd ever wanted from her, the truth you'd always felt in her lingering touches, but were never likely going to hear. Finally hearing it though was bittersweet, to have needed some adverse cause to leave her lips made it hard to appreciate the sentiment. It left you at a loss for words, and Natasha even more desperate., "Please...say something."

"I-.," your lip began to tremble, the words you wanted to say hanging in the thick air as you lost all of your resolve. Crying for the first time really since that first night when you initially cried yourself to sleep; being angry was easier, but now, with her looking at you so tenderly, it was all you could do to breakdown before her., "I'm so sorry, I-I—fuck I can't believe I hurt you like this, please forgive me detka, please."

Natasha pulled your trembling body into her own, guiding your face into her neck, and she felt a bit better when you desperately wrapped your arms around her waist to pull her closer., "I'll do anything you need moya lyubov'.," she whispered, placing a shaky kiss to your temple, "I love you more than my access to words can explain, I need you more than Tony needs his Whiskey, or more than Steve needs an enema."

"Natasha, for the love of God.," you groaned at the mental image now flashing in your mind, but the lighthearted tone made her heart calm., "What? You always say he needs to pull the stick out of his pompous ass, I'm agreeing.," you giggled as she offered further explanation, then after a few short moments of that it was back to the tense silence, but she still felt relief as you hadn't shoved her away from you yet.

"Natasha?," she tensed at the use of her full name, but she pulled back slightly to face you, and the daunting symphony of her mistakes., "Yes detka?," you melted into her hands as they held your face so softly, even more so as she used the familiar Russian pet name for you., "What took you so damn long? Why couldn't you love me back then too? Why only now?"

The redhead sighed, but it didn't stop the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears., "I've never been good with consistency Y/N/N. All I've ever know was constant change, and how to hurt the people I was meant to love.," hearing her own words led to tears falling as she recalled Yelena, the first person who'd been broken by her selfishness, then she remembers her sisters forgiveness, and this all starts to feel a whole lot less intimidating for her.

"Please, do understand that just because I never said it before, that I've still loved you all along.," her rough thumb brushed away your steady stream of tears, while she continued telling you her truths., "I've needed you from the very beginning, it was an instantaneous feeling, I'd never experienced it before, and it scared me so much that it was now my truth."

"I've never needed anyone before, but when I lost you it was like everything around me was dulled.," her eyes matched her sentiment as you gazed into them, the light all but gone., "The warmth of the sun turned frigid with everyday I woke up without you by my side.," she shivered as if remembering the way it felt., "Coffee became bitter without your laughter filling the kitchen in the morning to sweeten it up as we ate our differing breakfast together.," you instantly smiled, remembering how she ate her boring toast and oatmeal with a black coffee, all while taunting you for using all the creamer in the place, essentially "tainting" the coffee, and your dental health as you usually coupled it with sugary cereals or confections.

"Nothing work's right without you Y/N, I'm bombing all my missions, I am not sleeping much or eating, I am unable to even think about anything else but how I hurt you.," she leaned her forehead to yours., "I'm in love with you, wholeheartedly so, and I will do whatever it takes to win you back Y/N. All I ask is that you don't see her tonight, cancel the date, and accompany me up to the rooftop instead."

Natasha pushed the emergency button back into the slot, falling into you briefly as the machine jolted, and in a moment of weakness both of your lips collided for a short embrace. Once the doors dinged the redhead pulled away from you, making quick steps to get to the exit., "Please consider it, I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but I'll be waiting up there until eight just in case Y/N.," and before you could even so much as think, let alone respond, she was gone, much like she'd been all month long.

The doors closed as your body didn't move to leave the elevator, instead you slid down the wall of it while tears fell down your cheeks., "Friday, take me back up to my room please.”

As soon as you entered your safe space you fell into the bed, screaming loudly as you thrashed. On the one hand, your heart only beat for that infuriating woman, but on the other hand you never know if it could beat for another if you had no choice but to move on. Except, you no longer found yourself forced to move on, all you’ve ever wanted was waiting on the rooftop, so you’re not sure why you couldn’t move.

The clock beside your bed read 7:45pm when you finally glanced on over at it, both of your offers for the night expired at 8pm, and so you got off the bed, fixed yourself up at the vanity, and once again entered the elevator, shakily telling Friday to take you to the desired floor.

When you made your way to the common room you saw Darcy looking a little hopeless, and it all faded away when she looked up at your face. A bright smile adorned her face now that you’d arrived, but she failed to see your sad gaze., “I’d thought we were going to miss the movie, but I think we’ll still make it if we leave now.,” her hand reached for yours, but when you were hesitant to grab hers she already knew., “Oh.”

“Darcy, I’m so sorry.,” she gently squeezed your hand while smiling at you., “Hey, don’t do that, I knew what I was up against when I asked you out, and I still tried because you’re worth it.,” she pulled you into her arms for a hug., “I’m just happy to know Romanoff finally figured that out, but don’t make it too easy for her either.,” she pulled away, chuckling along with you., “Wouldn’t dream of it.,” you two shared one more squeezing of your hands before she left out the door, and you made your way to the elevators to see about mending the past.

Natasha sat on the decorated floating bed with her head in her hands, the clock having already surpassed eight about fifteen minutes ago, and her body deflated with each minute that went. Pain began to gnaw at her chest once more, and the sobs she desperately tried to fight off came tumbling passed her trembling lips. It wasn’t anyone else’s fault but her own that you chose the likely safer bet of moving on, still she was cursing the gorgeous scientists name as her body shook so violently that the ding of the elevator went completely unnoticed by her.

Though she’s a spy, she failed to see you at all, so she gasped when two hands adorned with silver rings settled over her thighs, looking up with red eyes, and a torn up lip she saw you. Her hands reached out to ensure you were real, and not just her fucked up mind playing tricks on her, and when you settled your warms hands over her frigid ones she knew it was you., “Y-you came? What about Darcy?”

“Darcy’s amazing—truly, and she’s got never breaking my heart on her side.,” you noted the obvious and the woman bowed her head in shame., “But my God Nat, your touch alone ignites something within me that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find elsewhere.,” you took her hands off your face, maneuvering them until they were on your hips as you moved to straddle the woman on the floating bed.

“You’re like my soulmate or something Natty, I’d never believed in that kind of thing before this, but now I know it’s not only a fairytale.,” your fingers lifted her face up to meet yours, her emeralds glossed over in pain, but still as beautiful as ever as you gazed right into them., “I love you Natasha, with all my heart.,” her lip caught between her teeth to hold back a sob., “More importantly though, I forgive you.”

Natasha couldn’t bare it, your forgiveness was not deserved, but she was incredibly grateful. Her arms were tight as they wrapped around your waist to keep you close, and she began to whisper that same tired phrase., “I love you.,” over and over again. Increasingly afraid that if she didn’t say it, like all the times before, that you’d leave her alone in her deserved misery.

“Don’t say another word.,” you cut her off with your lips slamming to hers while you pushed her into the mattress., “Show me instead…,” Natasha wasted no time as she flipped you over, pressing you into the firm mattress, your reality soon began to blur as you were made to gaze up at the stars. The woman who owned your heart did as told, using her hands she loved you as she always should’ve, your mind slipping away from you as she never slowed down, you began to see beautiful constellations of your very own making as you closed your eyes, and gave Natasha all of you—for good.

———————————

3,063 Words

❤️ Kaitlyn 😳

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff pov #gxg #natasha x reader #natasha x fem!reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasharomanoffpov #black widow fluff #black widow angst #black widow x reader

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anonymous-hopeful · 4 months

Note

Gelato (Francis x Angus) is my TNMN otp. If I'm being honest I mostly just ship them because of aesthetics but I think Angus's shady extroverted nature contrasts well with Francis's overworked demeanor

Gelato is a super cute name- I didn't even know Francis x Angus had a ship name till now.

Headcanon below!

Angus is for sure a wildcard, but in a loveable kind of way- I'm sure that by the time Angus moved into the apartment, Francis was already dealing with enough as-is, and the last thing he needed was a very respectable and totally not shady businessman hanging around him while he just wanted to get a good night's sleep...

...or maybe he did need him. Despite being a couple of floors apart, Angus (or anyone with two eyes, really) could see that Francis is overworked and needs to take time to destress. Angus would absolutely take the time out of his day to go up to floor three and drop by to make sure that Francis has a little fun in his day, whether it be having a drink, taking him out on the town, or just taking to each other in their apartment until it's time to sleep.

At first, Francis was overwhelmed by the constant surprise visits and the thought of going outside of the apartments for something other than work, groceries, or paying bills was virtually nonexistent to him since the dopplegangers became a significant threat. The fact that Angus doesn't seem to care about the threat of dopplegangers confused the heck out of Francis, but he couldn't bring himself to not hang out with the most interesting person he's been around in a long time.

The longer they hung around each other, the more understanding Angus was of Francis' situation (working hard to support himself and make sure he's still in Anastacha's life) and Francis loosened up a bit so he wasn't just working and sleeping every day. In spite of his usual look of indifference, Francis genuinely can't wait until his dates with Angus.

...though asking about what kind of business Angus does still hasn't come up yet. If Angus smirks in the face of a doppleganger, Francis doesn't want to know what he does for a living.

#abomination was here #cutesycadaverask #anon answered #that's not my neighbor #that's not my neighbor headcanon #francis mosses #angus ciprianni #francis x angus #tnmn gelato #one of the cutest ship names I've heard in a long time #fire the headcanon

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deity-prompts · 2 years

Note

hi! happy new year idk if you have any neighbours to lovers kind of prompts and maybe boss and employee too? i hope it isn’t much to ask but i really love your prompts

I’m so sorry that this has been in my inbox for so long, but I gotta say I’m very very excited for these prompts. Im going to do neighbours to lovers so let me know if you still want boss and employee.

Neighbours to Lovers OTP Prompts

Prompts

A’s shower breaks so B let’s A use theirs until it gets fixed. B didn’t anticipate running into A, fresh out of the shower with wet hair ans a towel, and they are very okay with it.

Upon discovering that A hasn’t seen movies that B considers “absolute classics”, they start a routine of A coming over every week to watch one.

A drops by B’s house for a few minutes when a storm hits, trapping them both inside for as long as the storm lasts.

A takes pride in their garden, filling it with flowers and bushes. B, who is useless at gardening, asks A to teach them how to garden (mostly as an excuse to see A hot and sweaty in the sun).

A has taken up a new instrument and B can hear them practising. B is an expert at said instrument and texts A advice and feedback.

A’s appliances keep breaking so they keep asking B to fix them since “it’s cheaper than a handyman.”

A is a real estate agent who’s been trying to sell the house next to B’s for years.

One of the windows in A’s house faces into B’s house, so they use it as an excuse to eat meals together (if it faces into the kitchen) / watch TV together (if it faces into the living room).

Oneliners

“It’s not fair that your house has power and mine doesn’t.”

“The walls are thinner than you think.”

“Call it a belated house-warming present.”

“I’m sorry to call you so late but I’m in a bit of a . . . situation and you’re close enough to help me immediately.”

“I’m having an impromptu barbecue— wanna join?”

“The postman keeps sending your packages to my house.”

“My house isn’t on fire, I’m just bad at cooking.”

“Do you come here often?” “. . . I live here?”

“My downstairs neighbour has been blasting music all night, can I hang out here until they stop?”

“Your place is gorgeous. You have to help me decorate mine.”

Also see:

Reasons for your characters to be in close proximity

Person x Person prompts masterlist

Prompts masterlist

#writing prompts #otp prompts #neighbours to lovers #neighbors to lovers #neighbor prompts #neighbour prompts #writing oneliners #dialogue prompts #fluff prompts #angst prompts #brotp prompts #writing inspiration #fanfiction prompts

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stylespresleyhearted · 1 year

Text

CCG — THE PRESS RUN

Notes: It’s been a long time, baby. Life has been kicking my ass but I still think of this universe constantly. Adore you @blainesebastian <3

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enews Elvis star Austin Butler had his leading lady on his arm at Cannes Film Festival. The couple looked stunning and more in love than ever with Butler encouraging her to pose for some solo shots. More pics of the two of them in the link in our bio

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butlerbot SHE’S SO PRETTY IM JEALOUS

austinnb have you guys seen the video that dropped 😭 he couldn’t take his eyes off her as she posed !!!

y/naustin she was so shy and he still had her take some on her own jsgsh

sheilableu Everything I see about this couple I enjoy. Very in love and genuine I see them lasting.

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tmz The best girlfriend award goes to? Austin Butler’s lady has been sure to show her support for Butler through the release of the Elvis film. She as well as his sister accompanied the Elvis star to his debut interview with Jimmy Fallon. Fans were chanting her name as she entered. Pics and videos at the link in our bio

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paparazzi1 when the fans of heart throbs like you, you’re in it for the long run. was lucky enough to meet them and they were so kind and graceful

ccgfan her style is TO DIE FOR

butlerrr She looks like the star and Austin is the supportive boyfriend lmao

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hollywoodreporter A cute moment on the Golden Globes red carpet shared between Elvis star Austin Butler and his longtime girlfriend 💕 Butler spent a few seconds frantically looking around for his beautiful date but when he spotted her posing on the carpet he couldn’t help but erupt in joy and rush to plant a sweet kiss on her. Video on our TikTok and at the link in our bio

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louisemarie they called me single and said im gonna die alone i can’t handle their cuteness

butlerrr HE IS SO IN LOVE WITH HER 😭

butlerbot siri play ‘can’t keep my eyes off you’

presleyfan her little giggle 🥰 austin is so baby

rileykeuogh This is so real. One of the first things I noticed meeting them is how in love he is. 💗

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coffeegirl I’m so proud of you, babe. I witnessed you pour your heart and soul into this role and there’s no one more deserving. Love you so.

comments on this post have been limited

ashleytisdale THAT’S MY BEST FRIEND!!!

catherinemartindesigns All that coffee must have helped, darling 😉

bazluhrmann No words to express the pride I feel in this guy and the work he did. Unreal.

oliviadejonge 🌹🙌🏼

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ccgupdates Reaction during Austin’s BAFTA winning speech. “… to my girlfriend, the best partner, my best friend, I thank my lucky stars every day I have you by my side. If it wasn’t for your constant love and support, for all the coffee, most of which I only ordered to see you on long set days*laughs* for the oreos and ginger ale — you’re the best part of my dreams coming true. I love you, baby.”

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presleyfam They both got teary eyed and he choked up I can’t -

butlerbot HE LOVES HER SO MUCH LIKE HE IS SO IN LOVE ❤️❤️😭😭💗💗💗

mccall OTP. CRYING.

austinelvis Ok did anyone else also spot Brendan crying during Austin’s speech too? Austin had everyone teary eyed, he’s so genuine

ashleybee ❤️

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austinbnews Austin and his girlfriend leaving the Oscars before heading to the Variety after party.

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butlerbot It’s so good to see him smiling 😭 I know it’s because he has her with him thats why I love her she makes him so happy

austinfan the Oscars were rigged but I’m happy he has her!!!

sharonbleu True love ❤️

ccgupdates They are each other’s favorite win, as long as they have each other they will always be happy and smiling and in love.

#made by me*#a gift for mccall #its been a long time guys!!!#well to me it feels like it has #but between finals and work im drowing #this has been in my drafts a while tho #a thank you to miss mccall for creating this universe for us #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler social media au #austin butler instagram edit #austin butler x reader #ccg #*made by me

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some-pers0n · 9 months

Note

So about that ask game you reblogged abt an hour ago

Opinions on The Spy TF2?

Ah, lemme think.

Favourite thing

I am in love with how in-game his disguise is just a mask with the class he's disguised as. It's so stupid and dumb and funny. In the lore it's probably just him being disguised as the character regularly without any mask, but it's still so funny. I also adore every gag of him ever where he's disguised as an object and has the object on that mask. It's priceless.

Least favourite thing

I do wish we got more information about him. I get his whole appeal is that he's this mysterious guy and all, but I do wish we got to explore his past a little. I think there's a lot of potential for James Bond type stuff there.

Favourite line

"26 years ago, I dropped a 'sex bomb' on your mother." I love it both for the comedy of it and also because UAGHHUAHHH HE'S TELLING SCOUT HE'S HIS FATHERRRR WAILING

brOTP

I think Sniper and Spy are really great friends. They get along quite well, despite their occasional squabbles. I don't think of them in a romantic sense, even if they are quite intimate and close. Good friends. I also really like Spy and Pyro. They're cute buds.

OTP

Hm, it's a toss up between Freedom Fries (Soldier/Spy), Practical Espionage (Spy/Engie), and Spoovy (Spy/Heavy). I also like Spy/Sniper in a romantic sense, but personally I prefer it platonic. Spy is a very shipable character.

nOTP

Well there's the obvious forbidden ship, which is a clear and obvious pick-me answer. Normal people should hate that ship. Uhhh,,other than that? I dunno.

Random headcanon

Utter coffee snob. He's pretentious and has like $50,000 dollars worth of equipment to make his prissy little mocha fraps.

Unpopular opinion

Spy isn't a jerk. Snobby and pretentious? Absolutely. I wouldn't say he's particularly rude though. No more rude and antagonistic than the others during their voice lines. In fact, canon material goes against this. He tries to organize a little bucket list thing before they all die. He spends what he believes to be his last few days alive helping Scout try and get a date with Miss Pauling. He is willing to do a suicide pact with Pauling so that they get out of being tortured to death. He sticks around with Scout after they're all fired to keep him and his mother afloat. Hell, he gives Scout closure when he seems to be on the verge of death. I think people assume French = jackass which means he's constantly insulting people and rude. No, he's not.

Song I associate with them

OUghhHH,, that's a hard one to think. Something Stupid by Frank Sinatra. I associate a lot of 1950s songs with him, and Frank Sinatra is perfectly romantic for a guy like him. I also think that him and Scout's Ma hooking up came around from him developing feelings for somebody he shouldn't have, for their own sake. He loved her dearly. Still does even after all these years. But, he can't commit. He doesn't want to settle down. He wants that honeymoon phase to last forever.

Favourite picture

Something about this picture is just really sweet to me. I think a lot of people forget about this comic and how Spy interacts with the boy, which makes me sad since he's...not that bad with him, ya know?

#ask #Sp-rambles #tf2

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chenfordsbby · 1 year

Text

"The Pilot"

Welome to the very first drop of "Get in the Shop" !

Welcome to the start of “Get in The Shop!” The Rookie Re-Watch Blog! I am not sure how I plan on going about doing this blog, but there is no time like the present to start. I have to warn that this is one of those figure out as I go type of ordeals; I have never done this before and I did brief research about the “dos and donts” of blogging, especially one of a tv show recap so I truly am just going to go with the flow. I think I am going to post a new blog drop every Sunday and if I have any extra time during the week, maybe a Tuesday?!

If I try one thing and it doesn’t work, I will move and and try the next best thing with the end goal of having the best blogging/re-watch system that I can create for myself. I am not an expert in any way. This blog is solely a fan based one that I am choosing to do for my own mental health to get me, myself and I through whoever long this summer (plus) hiatus may last and if I happen to find friends along the way that will read my thoughts and interact with me then I couldn’t ask for anything better!

I think I will take notes as I watch the episode and then immediately following it, I will expand on those notes or should I watch the episode in its entirety in full and then type up everything I want to say about said episodes…

I want to preface the beginning of my re-watch by saying that I had no idea that this show even existed prior to me finding it on Tik Tok. I saw a #Chenford scene from Season 5 Episode ! That was blowing up on TikTok and I immediately started watching it so I can obsessed over a new OTP without realizing Tim & Lucy weren’t even a though until Season 5. So I did start it because of them but stayed because of how much I love this show.

I am going to try my best to do this re-watch as if I don’t know anything that is to come in later episodes/seasons but I make no definitely promises!!

Let’s get into it!!!

Season 1 Episode 1:

Title: “The Pilot” Original Air Date: October 15th, 2018

Synopsis: After a life altering incident, a small town guy (Nathan Fillion) peruses his dream of being a police officer.

First Impression of John Nolan: Eager

First Impression of Jackson West: Naive

First impression on Angela Lopez: Badass

First Impression on Talia Bishop: Out of Place

First Impression on Lucy Chen: Hotshot

First Impression on Tim Bradford: Hot! #IYKYK

First Impression on Wade Grey: Seasoned

First Impression on Zoe Anderson: Authoritative

The episode begins with a bank robbery. Which is fitting given there needs to be something to correlate this show with the premise of it: “A Silly Little Cop Show”. John Nolan was definitely at the right place at the right time. Without knowing he goes on to become a cop after the bank robbery- you can tell that John has a passion for helping people. You have to want to help people in some capacity in wanting to become a police officer right?

The very first showing of The Rookie theme song. It is a not even 10 second snippet of a full length song but man does it work. It works so good that I am glad they never got rid of it. There were shows that I watched in the past who had a whole opening credit scene/song which eventually faded out for it to just be a title card of the show (One Tree Hill I’m looking at you) so for The Rookie to have just ended its 5th season and to still have the little opening credit is cool!

After the cold open, the timeline jumps to “Nine Months Later”. The first day on the real job. No more training wheels, no more tests (so Lucy Chen thinks), no more papers and skills labs. The beginning of the rest of their lives.

The introduction of Lucy Chen. She isn’t even clocked in for her first day of work and she already makes an arrest. Way too cool for us or way too over eager to make a lasting first impression to everyone at the station? Only time will tell. But do you know what did make a great first impression? Her car! Let’s hope this isn’t the last we see of that thing!

I know we are focusing on the present but it doesn’t mean I can’t wish that we saw any kind of flashbacks of the time that not only John but Lucy and Jackson were in the academy. How did they get there? How did they excel or did they fail? What happened in the academy that John, Lucy and Jackson all became friends?! It would’ve been cool to see!

Enter the infamous roll call room and the immediate jokes of John Nolans’ age. I really have no background regarding anything police related but I am assuming that someone of John’s age normally isn’t a rookie cop. More so of the age of Lucy and Jackson. So I don’t think this will be the last we hear of any ageist jokes of John Nolan and being a Rookie. You can tell it is all in good fun and John takes it in stride. We all love our enemies to lovers storylines, but will there be an enemies to friendship between John and Wade Grey? This first episode shows no, but only time will tell. We all have to be forever grateful to Watch Commander Wade Grey for playing the “Training Officer Match Game” and matching up rookie Lucy Chen with Training Officer Tim Bradford. (Thank you writers!)

The very first day gets off to a start. The T.O’s teaching all of their boots the basics of the shop. The ins and outs of the shop, what to do every morning, before going out on patrol to start your shift. The basics and less than exciting aspect of being a cop.

Tim and Lucy. Or what we only knew then: Officer Bradford and Boot.” Lucy had no idea what to expect, not form her first day on the job and certainly not from her T.O. I think she immediately wanted to try to create some sort of bond/friendship with Tim but quickly realized that went out the window when he did his very first, what we all have come to learn and love, “Tim Test”. “I’ve been shot! Where are you boot? I’m bleeding to death and you have to call for help. Where are you?” We will get back to that later on..

Side Note: I am trying very hard to pretend I have never seen any other episode besides this first one. It is hard to compare Tim and Lucy then with what we know about their relationship now and just how their friendship progressed. I want to recap the episodes as if I was watching it for the ver first time. It is hard but I ma going to do it!!!

Food Trucks! I never eat at food trucks much but do they officers of Mid-Wilshire make me want too! The scene at the food truck was a nice way to show the two separate trios separately but together. You have the experienced, veteran officers: Tim, Talia and Angela and then you have the brand new rookie officers: John, Lucy and Jackson. It’s smart TV. Yes this show is about John Nolan but it’s also about so, so much more.

You quickly start to see how much John cares about wanting to be a cop but in hindsight really has no idea just how to be one. He thinks he does, mainly because of his age, but he doesn’t, not really. All he knows is the 9 months he was in the academy. That’s it and it is evident the amount of training that he does need. He hopes he’s doing all the right things in order to succeed but in reality he is not: Using the baton to try to break the car window repeatedly even though it didn’t work the first few times; not putting on his gloves when going to help the husband of the domestic violence call- Blood Bourne Pathogens anyone? Throughout this whole episode you quickly see how eager John is to be “a cop” but not HOW to be a cop. One thing is for sure is that John knows his way with words. The potential is there- it just needs to be taught.

The comedic relief of this show is introduced and it is much appreciated. “I just got a disturbing video. I’ve never seen anything so horrific..so prepare yourselves” said one Grey Wade and turns out it was the body cam footage of John trying to hop the fence. There needs to be some light hearted fun in a profession where it can be serious most of the time!

I am immediately intrigued by this already established friendship between Lucy Chen, Jackson West and John Nolan. We already saw them interact in their work life so now we see them interacting in their personal lives. It is a nice storytelling aspect of this episode. The premise of the show is about the lives of newbie police officers but what happens after they clock out for their shift? And now we get to see it! The karaoke bar cuts right into the morning after where they make us want to believe John called the badge bunny and they spent the night together but SURPRISE! John wakes up to Lucy Chen!

(Please don’t hate me for what I am about to say)

The first time I watched this- I have to say I wasn’t turned off entirely by the brief relationship of John and Lucy. (Considering at this time, the romantic side of Tim and Lucy wasn’t even a thought, to anyone and that John really had better chemistry with literally anyone else). I am not opposed to have seen this relationship continue for a bit longer, if this was the only romantic option for either Lucy or John, I think I would have been okay with this relationship, I think it had potential. John wants their relationship to become public and Lucy doesn’t. Lucy has every right to feel those feelings. Lucy knew from the start that no matter what she did in her career she would always have to fight for her place in the force where John would never be questioned twice for it and rightfully so: sexism. Talia seeing that little moment between Lucy and John at the end of the episode after the shoot out was on purpose. It just confirmed to Lucy that she was correct in her feelings and reasonings as to why she wanted her and Johns relationship to remain a secret.

It’s only the second day on the job and we already start to see Lucy’s frustration with Tim. She quickly sees that Tim’s training methods are not conventional. I don’t think we know that they are called Tim Tests yet, but outside of the liquor store, we witness Tim Test #2 and as Lucy is cuffing Ghost Head we meet an Isabel. The Tim we saw is gone. The second he lays eyes on Isabel he becomes a shell of a person. The tears well up in his eyes and his voice cracks. He is no longer Officer Bradford, he is just Tim Bradford; a man that is desperate for his wife who he hasn’t seen in over a year. That does something to a person and Tim hides it well. Does Isabel recognize him at first? It’s hard to say but what is clear is that Tim is helpless when it comes to her. I mean wouldn’t anyone who hasn’t seen their WIFE in over a year be, no matter what their profession is. He does exactly what she asked him to do: give her money even though its the last thing he wanted to do. The quick glance back to Lucy? What does that mean?

You can’t have a cop show without actual action scenes right?! And this one literally started with a bang!

I never expected Tim to get shot at in the very first episode but it was smart storytelling. Tim’s first “Tim Test” paid off well because there was zero hesitation when Lucy called in Tim being shot. She knew what to say and how to say it and she did it with fierce conviction. It’s only been two days but Tim knew what he was doing when that first test was executed.

We didn’t see much of Jackson or Angela this episode in the field until the very end. And what a way to end this episode for Jackson, which left us all scratching our heads at the cliffhanger question: Why did Jackson freeze up in the middle of the field? We can’t get all of the answers in the first episode and the confrontation between him and Angela in the locker room was a nice segue to what’s to come for them. Not only for them but for the rest of the ensemble! It was a stellar first episode of the start of an amazing series!

At the end of every recap I am going to do an honorable mention that I did not discuss at all in my above rant as well an episode “peak” the high point of the episode, what made the episode great among other things and a “pit” the low point of the episode, something we could’ve done without and just a few random thoughts I need to get off my chest!!

Honorable Mention: The long sleeve uniforms!

Episode Peak: The introduction of “Boot”

Episode Pit: John Nolan’s Hair

Episode Rating: 10/10 (It was the Pilot Episode I would be a troll if I rated it any less!)

Random Thoughts:

I have never heard of Melissa O'Neil until I watched this show and it's safe to say my life is changed for the better now that I know that precious of a human exists. She was made a lasting imprint on my life in the best way possible. I will be a forever fan of hers.

Eric Winter ages life fineeeeeee wineeeeeee

I would love for these posts to be an open dialogue! I want to connect with other fans and hear your thoughts and opinions! What do you agree with? What do you disagree with?! Is there anything I should change for my future blogs? I want this to be not only a fun hiatus but a fun thing for all of us to do together!

Until next time on “Get in The Shop”!

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cassieuncaged · 1 year

Text

Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing. Or what comes next. But I know that this? This is nice.

#baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #my tav #oc: ilwyn #otp: every last drop #ilwyn x astarion #ilstarion #gifs #my gifs

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crushbskn · 4 months

Text

- a taste;

summary: a first kiss in a back alley after a concert. pairing: this drabble is nonspecific enough to project any couple (i use her/him pronouns) > it is based on a specific otp though, and I kind of hope to tell more of their story. wc: 774 warnings: pg13, just a kiss. notes: I never wrote anything online like that, this is a big first for me. Also, this is not proofread.

They slip into the poorly lighted back-alley, the bass of the music drowning behind the closed door.

Leaning onto the brick wall, he sets a cig onto his lips, then rummages through his pockets for the lighter but before he could find it two fingers snatch the stick out.

"Don’t, she says, I don't like the taste of it."

He blinks.

"... the taste?"

There is an electrifying silence as the meaning sets in. She didn't mean to say it like that, to expose her hand so brazenly, but the flustered demeanor he offered in response gave her no reason to back down. The years of brushing past each other, just close enough to wonder, pulled away too fast to let regrets linger and pushed in the corner of a what if, it all felt suddenly palpable.

She takes a step forward. It was as if she could see all the perfectly fitted pieces of Tetris of his mind trying desperately to readjust themselves into a puzzle they couldn't figure out, and melt away in a sea of questions he wouldn't dare asking, or even admit having.

So, she cuts the ambiguity. Another step brings her on the border of him, and her stare falls downs on his lips, deliberately, making her intentions plain. And yet, she waits, their sporadic breathings tangling. She wants to give him a chance to slip away, if he wishes.

But he doesn't. Instead he stands, agape, and his own gaze falls down on the curves of her parted mouth. So slowly that every second become deliciously agonizing, her fingers slide along his jawline, imperceptibly guiding his face towards her.

Their noses graze first, he gasps lightly, she breathes in and breaches the last millimeters so their lips finally brush each other.

It begins as the most timid kiss, her dictating the slow pace like you would for the very first taste of a summer fruit, nearly overcame by the softness of him, holding back the instinct of ravaging her way through her desire, to savour every nerve electrified at the tantalizing touch.

But she can't bear it for long before she lets themselves melt into the kiss, her lids closing fully as the feeling overtakes her more than she had predicted.

She only realizes she had rose on tiptoe to reach him when her forces leave her and she plops back down, breaking the kiss inadvertently despite him following her down, but remaining close enough to feel the breath he had been holding against her skin, sending jolts down her spine.

If she had opened her eyes, maybe she would have noticed the total abandonment on his features, paired with the confusion of feeling both so intimate with her and yet so self-conscious of the placement of his hands on any parts of her and letting them hover aimlessly above her hips.

Moving with nothing but the intoxication of the moment held in time, they lock lips again, furtively, and again, with demands, and then again, generously. While her hand drops along his neck to his chest, his abandon their shyness and find their way up to cup her face. The kiss deepens, aflame by a newfound hunger and an endless thirst, now both equally leading, and begging, and reassuring at once.

The door slams open. They both jump out of the embrace to opposite sides of the alley, flooded by the loud music and a voice just as booming.

"I've been looking for you! Oh, hi, they soften at the sight of the man, then turns back to Her. We need to pack up, they say they need the stage cleaned in 10. I mean, you can finish your smoke but move your ass after, 'k?"

Her, bewildered, trying to not look like it, follows their gaze to her right hand and find the cigarette she had snatch away, still surviving the make out session.

Rising it to her band mate, she nods with a forced chuckle.

"Sure thing, be right there!"

Once they leave, yet keeping the door open, probably on purpose, She lets out a sigh and turns to face Him, which is when she notices he was standing in front of the brick wall, out of panic.

"I've got to-"

He jolts back around. "Oh yeah, yeah, of course."

She smiles, out of awkwardness mostly, and goes for the exit but, before even finishing that thought, she stops. "If you want, in 10, we could... I've got whiskey in the green room if you want ... a taste."

He holds her uncertain eyes, and a grin appears.

"I would love a taste."

#kiss prompt #fanfic #imagine the otp #otp prompts #fluff #kiss prompts #writting prompts #drabble #kiss drabble #if i ever decide to explore them again i'll tag it as:#fic: future’s gonna be ok #fgbo #ship #ship inspo #couple #romance #otp

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bcbdrums · 7 months

Text

Event Horizon

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

A/N: Monthly OTP prompt fills from this list for Spirit and Stein, because I cannot stop writing about them. I’m happy to hear recommendations each month for which prompt to write next. February’s chosen prompt is: 2. Fear Gas I had ideas for most of February's prompts in my head, but, this one grabbed my attention the most after chatting with some people and mulling over ideas. I took some extreme liberties on how it's interpreted, but gotta follow the muse. And, this fic is late because the muse has been drained. Too much has happened in the last month for me. But! Writing this story is seeming to revive me, so, we shall see what the future holds. Sometimes...the OTP goes through some...tough times... Spirit is 18 years old. Stein is 15. Maka is not yet one. Manga or anime canon, leaning heavily into my headcanons regardless. Also, this lovely art is referenced. And lastly, this is a gift for @cannibal-nightmares, whose art, kindness, and cleverness inspire me...constantly. Do check out their art! Uh...sorry for this one? I guess. Enjoy.

Event Horizon

Spirit stopped short as the book atop the stack in his arms began to slide away. He lifted his shoulder to adjust the balance of the stack, using gravity to shift the heavy volume back into position.

"Hurry up, Death Scythe."

"Y-Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir," Spirit said as he hefted the stack higher and hurried after Lord Death. He realized he probably could have checked out fewer books—especially with his propensity to speed through them—but every topic had him practically salivating with curiosity. From the history of demon weapon kind to the very first death scythe, Spirit's mind was alight with thoughts of battle and honing his skills.

They left the library and turned the first corner, Spirit still trailing a few paces behind as he bore the burden of too many books. But as academy students passed in the other direction Spirit held his head higher. He still felt a swelling of pride each time people paused to stare or whisper about him, the newest personal weapon of the Grim Reaper.

To that end, a couple of younger girls caught his attention by their giggling, and he wished he had a hand free to wave or make some other gesture of acknowledgement besides his million-dollar smile. But it wasn't needed as the two took a few hesitant steps in his direction, hands shyly lifted to wave.

"Hi Mr. Death Scythe!" one said too-loudly, and Spirit felt a flush of pride rise under his collar.

It would be too much to toss his hair, not to mention the risk in dropping the books, which would negate any air of prestige he was trying to effect. He merely met their eyes in response, held their gaze as he maintained his smile while he passed, and another thrill rose from somewhere in the pit of his belly as he listened to their giggles all the way around the corner.

"Spirit Albarn."

Spirit startled at Lord Death's address; he'd only called him by his title ever since becoming his weapon.

The reaper had stopped and turned slightly, and Spirit hurried to catch up. Lord Death didn't move again until Spirit had reached his side and then matched his pace as they continued down the hall. He felt rather than saw Lord Death's slight turn, the white mask looking down at him in a way that dampened Spirit's former rush of pride.

"You're a married man."

The last of the pride shriveled up until his throat felt tight, and his cheeks were flushing in embarrassment now. The reaper's discreet reprimand had been unexpected and brought every thought in Spirit's mind to a halt as he mechanically followed his newest meister through the twists and turns of the academy's halls.

He hadn't been thinking of his wife...which, was apparently the problem. He hadn't really been flirting with those girls...students...had he?

Spirit frowned as a gloom started to sink over him while he trailed after the reaper, through another set of heavy doors and down some stairs. Those girls were students. He was their superior. And he'd been thinking of them like classmates.

He was Death Scythe. He needed to get the real meaning of that into his oblivious skull, and not be worried about the attention he might get from girls.

That had been the start of his problems in the first place.

"Death Scythe, are you listening?"

"Wha? Oh... Sorry, Sir."

Spirit blinked into sudden awareness as he realized they had left the brightly painted academy halls and descended into a place more broad, dark, and foreboding. Lord Death had stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and Spirit continued his descent more slowly as he took better stock of his surroundings.

A chill in the air told him they had gone underground, and the architecture was similar to that above but looked as if it had been constructed in a past age. There was also stonework among the wood, and an eerie painting of an inverted trio of eyes on the floor at Lord Death's feet. The gloom he had been feeling turned to a sickness as he arrived at the landing and looked up to the black holes in the white mask that were studying him.

"Oh well. I suppose you can read about it in all of those books and then ask me questions later," the Grim Reaper stated, and shifted his gaze toward a door ahead of them.

Spirit looked at the door where the inverted eyes were painted again, just visible on the dark wood framed by a square of red stone. Two gray statues stood on each side the door, oddly shapen and with their arms raised as if holding up the ceiling. They each had one large eye, oriented properly this time, taking up the whole of their misshapen heads.

As Spirit stared at the strange artwork, he felt a sudden pressing of darkness against his soul. The sick feeling rose from his stomach up to his mind and swirled into fear that froze him in place as solidly as if he had fallen helpless in his weapon form. Blackness filled his vision, and with it came a sudden onslaught of thoughts, all crashing over his mind at once and twisting and overlapping and confusing him such that he was barely aware of his feet on the ground.

Who was this old deity telling him what to do anyway? He had never seen the masked figure so much as leave Death City let alone fight, so why should he feel guilt for whatever he might do that displeases him?

And why shouldn't he flirt with those girls, or anyone he wanted to? He was Death Scythe after all and could do anything he wanted. It wasn't like his wife ever stayed home at nights when he finally clocked out anyway.

They were supposed to be a happy family but she never acted like it. He should teach her a lesson for her taking off at every opportunity when they had a daughter to raise. Leaving him all alone to deal with bottle feeding and diapers and the crying and what had he wanted that baby for anyway?

Spirit gasped.

Shuddering breaths racked his frame as his eyes pierced the darkness swirling through his mind, fixing on the door in front of him as he tried to will away the sickness that had his legs shaking.

Was he standing still? Or was he moving? He couldn't tell for the way the room seemed to rise and fall on waves and his body with it. He was certain he would fall at any moment and that if he did he would never be able to get up again.

"Spirit."

A great hand, heavy on his shoulder, was turning him around carefully to face the stairs again. Spirit blinked repeatedly as the spinning of the room slowly began to subside. The darkness started to move away, touching only the corners of his eyes.

He sucked in air and fell to his hands and knees, and the impact of an elbow on stone stairs jarred him further into the present and out of the evil place his mind had been fast going.

"Spirit," Lord Death repeated gently, and the young weapon let the familiarity of the voice be an anchor, hearing it again and again in his mind until the darkness had faded from his vision and before his eyes was only dust-covered stone.

"M-Maka..."

He shivered as tears fell from his eyes and mingled with the dust.

He didn't mean it. He would never mean anything like that. Maka was the most important person in his life. He didn't want to breathe if her perfect face wasn't the first thing he saw each morning and the last thing he saw each night. He would do anything and everything for his daughter.

So where had that horrid thought come from?

He shivered again, more from the anxiety than the chill around him, and slowly started to right himself. Never-mind the books scattered on the floor behind him. He needed to get home to his daughter.

"Spirit?"

"Maka..." he repeated, his breaths quick.

He felt the hand squeeze his shoulder and he looked up. Worry exuded from the Grim Reaper, and it was a further anchor to reality bringing Spirit back from... From...?

"What...what was that?" he asked, his voice sounding small to his ears. As if Lord Death could somehow know what had happened that caused his mind to flood with more disturbing thoughts and feelings than he had ever experienced in his life.

"That...was the kishin's madness," Lord Death said gravely.

Spirit's eyes widened and he whirled around to face the door again. The trio of inverted eyes, a mere painting, seemed to stare through him, and he felt a fresh wave of fear penetrate him like daggers.

"Asura?"

Lord Death bent down to gather the dropped books.

"Yes. Through those doors is the path to where the kishin is imprisoned."

Spirit shuddered again as the sensations lingered in his mind and left his wavelength feeling ill and out of balance. Lord Death offered him the stack of books, and Spirit swallowed nervously as he took them, and then turned to follow the reaper back up the stairs.

"After you read about it in detail, we'll talk," Lord Death said.

Spirit looked down, and it took several attempts before his eyes would focus on the title of the book at the top of the stack. Kishin it read simply, with no author listed like a great many of the books on the fourth level of the library, and Spirit wondered if Lord Death himself had penned it.

"Ah... Lord Death, Sir?" Spirit ventured cautiously as they reached the landing.

"Yes?"

"Can...can I go home?"

Lord Death paused, but Spirit slowly released the breath he'd been holding as he felt the understanding and almost-warmth coming off of his new meister.

"Yes."

Spirit felt unsteady on his feet again despite the relief in his soul as he strode forward with single-minded purpose, hefting the books higher in his arms. He knew any fear was irrational, but he couldn't rest until he saw for himself that Maka was okay.

"See you tomorrow, Death Scythe," Lord Death called after him, and Spirit paused to turn and nod acknowledgement even as he sighed silently. He would make sure Maka was fine, but...he still had his new job to do.

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

Spirit opened his eyes to a blinding light that obscured his surroundings. When he tried to lift his hand to block it out, it wouldn't move, and testing each limb one at a time revealed the same immobility for each. His head felt as heavy as lead when he peered down to try to find the source of whatever was restricting him, but he was only able to move just enough to see a gray strap tight on his wrist, restraining him where he lie.

"Awake, I see," a familiar voice intoned flatly, and a shock of fear ran across Spirit's nervous system like electricity.

"S...Stein?" he said weakly, his mouth sluggish in response to his brain's command to speak. "What's...happening?"

"It's time for your punishment," the voice said from a distance. Spirit tried to look around for its source, but he was still being blinded by the overhead light.

"Punishment? Stein, what... What are you talking about? Where are we?"

Spirit pulled against the strap at one wrist, but it had no give whatsoever. He lifted his head to look around again and discovered he was without his shirt, wherever he was, and a large gray strap was around his waist as well as his ankles and wrists.

"For entertaining madness. It's the ultimate crime."

"What? But I... I didn't—"

"Evil desires entered your mind. And you...a death weapon. There's no coming back from that."

Stein's voice was growing nearer, but Spirit still couldn't see the teen. Cold fear swept him at the harsh edge of judgment in his former meister's voice, and he pulled at his wrists and ankles again but found the effort as futile as before.

"It wasn't my fault! I would never...I wouldn't act on those things!"

"But you've already flirted with other women," Stein reminded him.

Spirit choked, his next protest dying on his lips. It was true... And that had been before the encounter with the madness below the academy.

"But I... I didn't mean..."

"What you intended doesn't matter. Idle thoughts and mindless errors are as criminal as deliberate intent."

Spirit shook his head violently as finally, the familiar form of Stein appeared above him, blocking out some of the light.

"But that's not true! You don't believe that anymore than...than Lord Death does!"

Spirit ceased his useless thrashing when Stein didn't respond, and he blinked the dark silhouette above him into focus. The young eyes, so familiar to him, were now distant—sad and cold as he gazed down at the weapon with his mouth fixed into a frown.

"What matters is that you believe it," Stein said.

Something prickled at the back of Spirit's mind as he turned over the strange words. He had never believed any such thing. Stein had to know that. And why was he looking at him that way?

"So, it's time to cut out your soul."

A hoarse cry left Spirit's throat as Stein slowly lifted a massive cleaver, its sharp edge gleaming in the bright light.

"What!? No, what are you thinking!? Stein, stop!"

"Goodbye, Senpai."

The blade came down.

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

"Stein!"

Spirit sat up so fast his vision swam, the nightmare still vivid in his mind as the brightness of the laboratory contrasted the dark of his bedroom. He blinked repeatedly until the texture of the blanket came into focus in front of him, the way it sagged between his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

Finally, he groaned and fell back against sweat-stained sheets, letting the blanket fall away. He could hear the rapid pounding of his heart in the silence of his bedroom as he let the cool night air tend to the moisture on his chest, slowly wicking it away and soothing the tension that had coiled in his body.

After a moment he let his arm stretch out and feel in the empty space at his side, the sheets dry and crisp for their lack of any recent occupancy.

Spirit sighed through his nose and shifted to squint at his alarm clock. Nearly two-thirty in the morning and his wife wasn't home.

She'd not been home that afternoon either when he'd arrived back early from work. Finding his home empty had only increased his residual horror from the experience underground, and he was grateful that his first call to the academy had located his daughter, safe in their daycare. What had surprised Spirit was to learn that she had been there all day, and was there most days.

This had been the catalyst for the argument when his wife had arrived home that evening, already spitting fire due to Spirit's discovery of her ongoing deception. It wasn't fair, she had seethed, that she stayed at home all day every day with dirty diapers as her only company, unable to live her life, while he lived out his dream.

Spirit only grew more bewildered at these claims, as his dream was two honey-haired girls in the cheap apartment they shared together.

Perhaps due to the terrifying experience he'd had that afternoon he wasn't as discerning or eloquent in his choice of words as he could have been. Fear was speaking for him when he ordered his wife to stay at home where she belonged, caring for their daughter and not leaving her in the hands of academy students while she went gallivanting off to Death knows where.

Her response had been another departure. But at least this time...Spirit had Maka.

He slowly turned his silver wedding ring around his finger as he rolled over in the bed to face the crib. He could see Maka's sleeping form within, still snuggled beneath her blanket and with her stuffed puppy tucked in next to her.

He wanted to get up, gather her in his arms and hold her until every memory of madness left him. But it wouldn't be right to disturb her precious sleep. So instead he simply watched her. How her tiny, delicate eyelashes rested upon her face. How her impossibly soft hair fell over her forehead and atop her ears. How even at less than a year of age, she was starting to look like his wife.

He turned the ring one last time before moving his hand up under his pillow to be more comfortable. The day had taken a greater toll on him than he realized, for the way his eyes kept dropping closed. His breathing had calmed, and the fear of the nightmare had faded. But the images returned as he let himself attempt to return to sleep, and his brow pinched together as he tried to analyze them.

The bright light, the restraints, and even the cleaver were no doubt due to the horrors his wife had verbally painted for him so many months ago with the discovery of an unremembered scar as they lie in bed. But the look in Stein's eyes... That sadness wasn't anything Spirit ever remembered seeing from the meister in their five years as partners.

And, why had he dreamed of Stein at all?

Spirit's eyes opened as he tried to recall the last time he'd spoken with Stein, and he could feel an ache with the further creasing of his brow when he couldn't place a date.

He slowly sat back up as realization struck... When had he last seen Stein?

Between the busy hours of learning the ropes as Lord Death's personal weapon, the sleepless nights when Maka wouldn't keep a schedule, and the growing number of unresolved arguments with his wife... He simply hadn't had time.

In fact, the last time he could remember seeing Stein, the meister had come there to his apartment, and he'd fallen asleep with Maka on his chest after a round of complaints about his life. He couldn't remember what, if anything, the two of them had talked about. And Stein had been gone when he'd woken up.

Spirit rose from the bed and glanced in the crib once more before moving to his closet. Despite his wife's protests, next to his blazer hung a long white coat that had been cut apart and reassembled with stitches to match an aesthetic that Stein had started adopting heavily in their last year as partners.

That day when Spirit had woken with the sunset in his eyes and Stein gone, the coat remained, draped over he and Maka to keep them warm while they slept.

Spirit pulled the coat from the hanger that had been its home for months, remembering the repeated insistence to his wife that he was just keeping it for Stein and would give it back the next time he saw him.

That had been months ago.

Whether it was residual madness or something else, a sudden urgency had Spirit pulling his clothes from the day back over his limbs, moving quickly but quietly lest Maka wake.

He had been Stein's weapon partner for five years. Even after his sins caught up to him and his life started to shift drastically off the course the two of them had planned, they had still been inseparable.

How could he go months without speaking to him and not realize it?

Once his shoes were tied, he folded the white coat carefully and then stepped up to the large standing mirror on his wife's side of the bed, and with his finger, drew the familiar number into the glass.

"Death Scythe," was Lord Death's unsurprised greeting, but absent his usual flurry of cheerful pleasantries. "Any residual effects of the kishin's madness?"

Spirit blinked in surprise at the reaper's cutting right to the chase, but he supposed he shouldn't have. He knew that he had only been touched by the mere edge of that wavelength, but the impact it had had was profound. He was certain it was the ultimate cause of his nightmare too, even if the subject had been a surprise.

"Ah...about that. I was wondering if...you could send someone to watch Maka for me? For just...just an hour, maybe less. I need to do something."

"Shouldn't your wife watch her?"

Spirit looked down at the coat in his hands, tightened his fists into the fabric.

"I...don't know where she is right now."

Spirit was still looking down when he felt a sudden wave of power and then his bedroom was filled with the imposing presence of the Grim Reaper.

"L-Lord Death! Sir!" he stammered as he moved back until his legs hit the bed, and he fell back to sit on the pile of tangled blankets.

"I'll watch her for you," Lord Death said, and Spirit's eyes widened as the imposing form of the reaper glided over to the crib and reached a huge hand down inside. Spirit's breath caught as one massive fingertip that dwarfed Maka's tiny body tickled lightly at her shoulder. "Oochie-coochie coo!"

"Uhh..."

Lord Death turned back to peer at him through the dark of the room. "It's the least I can do, after exposing you to that. Although, you would have been more prepared had you been listening."

Spirit blushed, and then quickly rose to his feet and tried to throw the bed into a semblance of order. He was glad there was no dirty laundry lying around and that he had taken out the trash bag of dirty diapers earlier that evening.

"Madness is nothing to take lightly," Lord Death continued. Spirit finished arranging the blankets and looked up to see Lord Death nod at the folded white coat. "Just consider your former partner."

Spirit swallowed slowly as he picked up the coat again. He thought of the fear he'd felt, the invasion of thoughts not his own and yet that had seemed to come from someplace within his soul.

Was that what Stein struggled with every day?

He considered the times he had touched the madness in Stein's wavelength when they resonated, the fear and violent desires that while objectively worse than what he had experienced, hadn't remotely carried the terror or dark lust that the wavelength underground had momentarily instilled in him.

Stein had been shielding him all along, he realized, even when he couldn't hold it back entirely. He hadn't wanted Spirit to know the depths of what he battled against. Who would, after all?

And...this was what Stein went through all the time?

Spirit's heart had begun racing again. He clutched the white coat tight to his chest as he began backing toward the door.

"Thank you, Sir, for watching Maka. I, ah... I shouldn't be gone long. The apartment is close. And..."

"Spirit."

Spirit stopped mid-step and looked up at the impassive mask of the Grim Reaper.

"He isn't at your old apartment anymore."

"...What?"

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

Spirit's pace had been hurried the entire journey to the city's outskirts, but he slowed when he approached the old, abandoned warehouse that he had passed so many times before without taking any notice. It was the same as always from the outside, but knowing his former meister was within made it feel different somehow; no longer part of the scenery, but something living. And yet for some reason, Spirit felt a heavy foreboding as he approached.

Stein had asked for and been given the building as a home months ago, according to Lord Death, and had hardly been heard from since except to request and take missions. He only showed his face in classes to take tests, which he passed, and would then vanish again.

When Spirit asked why Lord Death had accommodated these eccentricities, the Grim Reaper had been silent. He also hadn't answered any of Spirit's questions about the missions Stein took, except to say that he had recently taken their friend Marie Mjolnir as his new weapon.

Spirit had bristled at the designation, even though he knew he shouldn't. He had left Stein, after all. How could the meister be expected to continue his studies without a weapon partner? And yet for some reason, Spirit had never conceived of Stein working with anyone but him.

This and other thoughts had his head swimming as he propelled his feet down the sidewalk toward the warehouse, his heart rate seeming to increase with each step. He clutched the folded coat tightly to his chest and tried to will away the strange dread that had arrested his mind ever since the realization he'd not seen Stein in months.

He tried to tell himself it was just a product of the residual madness, or something brought on by the bizarre nightmare. It would all go away once he saw Stein again. He would knock on the door, and Stein would answer because the younger teen kept atypical hours. Spirit would apologize for not having seen him in so long and plan a day, maybe two, for them to catch up very soon. Then everything could go back to the strange, evolving normal his life had become ever since the day he'd learned of the pregnancy.

He held his breath when he knocked on the large double doors and then fidgeted with the fabric of the folded coat as he waited. Stein would be glad to see him, surely? But, Spirit suddenly wondered... Why hadn't he come around in months?

Spirit knocked a second time, louder. Perhaps Stein really was asleep, if he was even there.

Spirit counted the seconds until another two minutes had passed, and then with a shaky breath fit his hand to the doorknob. It turned without resistance, and he paused. Perhaps he could just quietly leave the coat and a note for Stein to stop by or perhaps call him when he could.

He pushed the door open slowly, wincing at the way it creaked on its hinges, and stepped into a broad, dark hallway. The walls on either side of him were gray and nondescript, just like the building's exterior, and all was silent as he cautiously started forward.

His brow rose when he heard what sounded like a voice muttering somewhere ahead of him, beyond another set of doors. He strained to listen and soon felt the tension drain from his body when he recognized the voice. Stein was awake after all, probably busy with some experiment, and simply hadn't heard his knock.

A smile was on Spirit's face when he pulled open the next door and passed into a large room lit dimly from a single standing lamp and the light of a computer monitor. Then, he saw Stein. And his expression dropped into horror.

Stein was seated on a rolling chair pushed back from the computer desk, and the whole of his shirt that Spirit could see was stained with layered drippings of what could only be blood. On the desk on either side of the computer were two large mirrors, propped against stacks of books and angled to the forty-five, and atop the monitor was a cracked mirror that appeared to have been bolted to the monitor's plastic frame.

All around Stein on the desk and floor were scattered papers and open books, and the computer screen was displaying some lines of text too small for Spirit to read. But his attention was fixed on the blood, his gaze rising up past where it clung to Stein's neck and soaked his silver hair. Both of Stein's hands were raised and fidgeting with something just as bloody at the sides of his head, fingers slick with the bright red substance, and the cuffs of his sleeves were stained as well.

Spirit's eyes narrowed as he continued to stare, unable to process the sight before him. And that's when he saw the screw.

"S...Stein!?" Spirit gasped in disbelief, his voice shrill. He looked past what Stein was fidgeting with to his countenance reflected darkly in the mirrors. His pupils were mere pinpricks in his wide eyes, and his skin was paler than usual under the streams of blood that ran down his face, even over his lips and staining his teeth where he was smiling broadly between incoherent mutters and soft, manic laughter.

"Stein!" Spirit repeated, taking an instinctive step forward. The folded coat fell from shaking hands as he looked around, searching for some enemy or any explanation for the horror that sat before him other than his ex-partner's own nimble hands.

The second cry seemed to get the teen's attention, and his laughter halted abruptly as he looked in one angled mirror first, seeming to stare in confusion at something in the corner of the room before shifting his eyes to the mirror atop the monitor until his gaze rested upon Spirit.

"Spirit."

Spirit glanced at the corner that Stein had focused on and found it bare, and then took another hesitant step forward. The blood dripping from Stein's stilled hands had his heart racing in a panic, but not more than the long object with which Stein appeared to have just impaled his skull.

"Stein, what... What... What's going on? What are you doing!?"

Stein slowly spun around in the chair and stared blankly at Spirit until his brow knitted very slightly.

"Hm. There's not usually two of you. Are you going to play the angel on my other shoulder?"

"I... I don't... Stein," Spirit stammered breathlessly. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, harder than it even had when he and his wife had battled the witch.

The faint look of scorn slowly left Stein's face to be replaced by the glassy-eyed expression and toothy smile he'd worn when Spirit first entered. His bloody hands had fallen to his lap when he turned, but he slowly raised one again to left side of his head where the larger end of the object protruded from Stein's head just above his ear.

Spirit's initial, instinctive assessment of the object as a screw seemed to be confirmed as Stein set his fingers around the flat, round end of it, gripped firmly, and twisted it backwards. A ratcheting sound came from the object and Spirit flinched away at the same time he took another step forward, the desire to stop Stein, to help him, and to just understand what was happening at war with the horror that had him nearly paralyzed.

"Stop!" he cried. "What...what is that? What did you do!?"

Stein adjusted his grip and turned the object again rapidly. His face contorted in pain as the ratcheting sound echoed through the large room, and the young meister began to laugh. The sound started low in his chest and then rose higher than the usual timbre of his voice as he doubled over and turned the screw a third time.

Spirit didn't know when he'd started crying, but tears streamed down his face as he forced himself forward on legs that felt as stable as jelly. He fell to his knees in front of Stein and reached up, set trembling hands on his shoulders and gripped the blood-soaked shirt.

"Stein."

The action arrested Stein's attention, his laughter ending as suddenly as if a switch had been flipped. He looked down at Spirit as if seeing him for the first time, hand frozen on the screw. Then he looked over to the corner that had stolen his focus before. Spirit glanced over his shoulder; the corner was still bare.

"I don't know if it's working."

It was the closest to sane Stein had sounded since Spirit had entered, but the meister's eyes were still glazed and didn't seem to see him. Spirit watched his face as he continued staring at the corner, could almost see the calculations working behind his eyes.

"This... Stein... Can you fix this?" Spirit said desperately, finally daring to look at the screw that Stein still held onto almost protectively. He leaned left to peer at where the smaller end of the object was protruding above Stein's other ear. He couldn't tell if it was truly impaled through his friend's head, or if some other mechanism was at work; it was impossible to tell through the matted, bloody hair that fell over the dark metal.

Stein blinked, and Spirit's breath caught as the meister's gaze suddenly narrowed on him.

"Don't you see? I am. Fixing this," he hissed cruelly.

Spirit shook his head. "Stein."

"If this doesn't work..."

Spirit listened to the frightened words, low and hoarse as Stein adjusted his grip, turned his hand, and the ratcheting sound echoed through the room again.

"Why would you do this?" Spirit pleaded, still not believing what he was seeing. If it wasn't for his fingers digging tight into Stein's shoulders he would think it was another delusion of madness.

Suddenly, Stein's eyes truly focused on his for the first time, and his face fell into a terrifying frown. It was just enough warning, and Spirit was able to lean back fractionally as Stein's free arm swept up harshly into both of his, knocking him away and barely missing hitting his face.

Spirit fell back onto his rear, caught himself harshly on his already-sore elbow, and gazed up at Stein in disbelief. The action seemed to startle the meister as well, his anger fading as rapidly as it had come. He stared at Spirit with something of confusion, and then looked up at the corner again. A sound of surprise fell from his lips, and Spirit watched as his eyes darted around the room rapidly as if searching for something, until finally settling on Spirit with another frown.

Spirit was frozen by the bitter look of betrayal that suddenly filled his friends eyes, and all he could do was watch as Stein started to shift his hand upward again. But then, apparently catching sight of the blood on his hand, the meister refocused his attention and a placid smile replaced everything else that had been twisting his features into something beyond recognition.

Spirit's tears fell freely as he stared at his friend and the massive object protruding from his head, blood still dripping down the sides of his neck. His thoughts were finally catching up to his horror, and he knew he should probably call someone for help, get Stein medical attention before he lost too much blood, and see if anything could be done about the metal rod that was apparently set straight through his brain. It shouldn't even be possible, Spirit thought, as he felt he would choke for how his heart pounded in his throat. That he had found Stein alive after his self-mutilation was nothing short of miraculous.

"Stein," he began carefully, his voice broken apart for his fear. "You... We need to..."

Stein stared at him with an unsettling calm, and Spirit's mind recalled every time he had had seen that expression before—all the times he'd had to hold Stein back, either physically or mentally, from some terrible desire borne of madness.

Spirit bit down on his words as he felt bile begin to rise in his throat. He shifted to sit upright, but his muscles felt useless under the weight of guilt that was suddenly bearing down on him as heavily as had the darkness underground.

Who had Stein had, to help him fight his madness...in all those months Spirit had forgotten him?

"Stein..." he tried again. He reached up to his eyes, closed them as he wiped away tears that kept flowing. Stein lifted an eyebrow, and Spirit realized his face was likely now streaked with Stein's blood from his fingertips. "Please, I... I should have... I don't... Stein, why?"

He blinked in attempt to clear his vision, gazed pleadingly up at the meister who sat so calmly, as if half his body wasn't stained in red and the air around them didn't taste of iron.

"Senpai," Stein said, his voice finally something familiar. Spirit watched his friend's hand slowly fall, rest limply upon his knee. But the calm ended once more as a wild, toothy smile bisected the meister's face, and something like the distant sadness from the nightmare filled his eyes. "You know better than anyone that I have a screw loose."

Spirit choked on a sob, shook his head as Stein began to laugh. It started low as it had before, but rapidly rose into uncontrolled shrieks that tore from his throat and racked Stein's body in the chair, rolling it back and forth through the drippings of blood on the cement beneath.

Spirit wept.

It was his fault. If only he hadn't forgotten Stein... No, if he hadn't left him to begin with. Then he wouldn't be seated at his friend's feet, watching him possibly bleed to death and collapse fully into the madness he'd fought so hard for years to protect him from.

He let his tears fall freely as memories raced across his mind, questions and possibilities and denials he had replayed countless times before, and conclusions drawn from the voice he had chosen to believe. It was too much happening too fast, all over again. And as over a year's worth of confusion and fear joined with the present and tangled into an unsalvageable mess in his mind, two words slowly formed and found their way to Spirit's tongue.

"I'm sorry."

It was time to rise out of his denial. He needed to ask Stein... To hear everything from his lips, find out what was true and what wasn't... Learn his side of the story. And no matter what, Spirit realized he didn't care; that in his soul the decision had already been made, and all that was left was to come back. To offer to fix what he had broken. It was all his fault, and couldn't they just erase the past, and please...wouldn't Stein forgive him?

"Stein, I... I..."

The shifting of plastic wheels on the floor stopped, and the laughter faded to hiccuped chuckling. Spirit wiped his tears again with the sides of his thumbs, brushed his hair from his face, and looked up.

Stein appeared frozen above him, grin still manic and eyes not quite seeing him even as he stared straight at him.

Stein's shoes pushed on the floor and the chair slowly rolled back and hit the edge of the desk. His gaze remained on Spirit, unblinking. A bloody hand reached back, felt blindly on the desk and knocked a few previously unseen surgical instruments to the floor. And then Stein's hand returned, rose up between them, his fingers delicately holding a scalpel.

"It's about time I gave you some new parts as well."

Spirit's breath hitched. Stein's shoes pushed down, and the chair started rolling forward.

Spirit let out an involuntary cry as instinct had him roll backward and away, far out of Stein's reach, and then he was on his feet and backing toward the door.

"No! Stein, no, listen to me!"

"Hm, but Senpai... Don't you think you could do with a new liver? I have one in my freezer," Stein said, jerking his head toward another door that Spirit hadn't noticed.

The simple movement of his head seemed to cause him pain, and Spirit watched as Stein winced, his fingers tightening on the scalpel even as both his hands quickly raised to grip the ends of the screw.

"Stein, I... Don't... Stay here. I'm going to get help. I'll get..." he stammered as he continued backing toward the door.

Stein's face settled back into the mad grin, the hand holding the scalpel lowering as the other turned the screw.

Spirit flinched at the sound it made, at the tiny laughs that seemed to slip involuntarily from his friend's lips. He shook his head in terrified disbelief as he felt behind him blindly until he found the doorknob.

"I'll get help. Stay here! I... I'm so sorry, Stein."

Spirit turned, away from the horror and the sight and scent of blood, and the echoing crank of metal mixed with laughter as he fled the warehouse and ran as fast as he could ever remember moving. Maybe...maybe if only he could reach some help...there was still time.

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

In the warehouse, Stein blinked at the metal door until it drifted shut, closing into position with a soft click. Then, all was quiet.

He blinked, slowly turning and glancing all around the room, into every corner and next to every haphazard stack of books, seeking any movement or sign of life.

"Spirit?"

Stein waited. But silence was the only reply he received.

He slowly turned back toward the computer, the feeling of moving his feet foreign as if he hadn't walked in an age. He was going to attempt to analyze that sensation, and why his body suddenly felt as though it wasn't his, when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirrors.

He took a few steps forward, not quite believing he was looking at himself. He noted the blood, both the dried and the wet still seeping from his flesh. And then he studied the screw, tilting his head slowly to each side and evaluating its appearance and placement.

Then he glanced around the room again.

"Huh. I guess it works."

Stein reached up to the screw, turned it once. Hissed at the excruciating pain it caused. And then he laughed.

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

Spirit was breathless and his limbs ached as he sprinted down the sidewalk to his first-floor apartment. He was so panicked and intent on his goal that he didn't notice his wife approaching the door at the same time until he nearly crashed into her.

"Spirit?" she said in surprise. He stopped, doubled over to his knees for a moment, and then stood again as his entire frame shook from exertion. His wife had looked confused and deeply annoyed at first, but she must have noted the blood on his face, he realized, as her expression dropped to fear. "What's going on? Where's Maka? Where have you been?"

Spirit ignored her questions as he wrenched the doorknob open and darted through the familiar halls to his bedroom.

"Lord Death!" he gasped upon entering, and the Grim Reaper turned from his faithful vigil next to Maka's sleeping form and tilted his great, curious masked expression down to the weapon and took in his appearance.

"Oh, my. What's happened?"

Spirit sucked in air and looked over his shoulder as his wife followed him into the room. She looked properly shocked by the presence of the Grim Reaper in her home and quickly schooled her appearance into something of respect as she dropped her purse on the dresser, glanced at Maka in the crib, and then turned her wide eyes to Spirit and waited.

Spirit took a few more breaths, looked back to Lord Death, and wiped his eyes again. He forced his tears into compliance before launching into a hurried explanation of what he'd found at the warehouse—of the screw, of Stein's mad behavior, and of the supposed threat at the last when he'd made to leave. He stole glances at his wife throughout, noted her astonishment, suspicion, and ultimately, anger.

"Oh, my," Lord Death repeated when Spirit had finished, his words slow and grave. "You stay here and look after yourself. I'll see to Stein."

"Yes... Yes, Sir," Spirit breathed, his lungs still aching in pain for the sprint back through town.

With that, the reaper vanished, using his mirror as a portal in the same way he had entered, and left Spirit alone with Maka and his wife.

With the promise of the best help for his meister possible, Spirit collapsed. He sank heavily to the floor between the bed and crib and let his head fall back against the edge of the mattress, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to slow his breathing and bring his body back to some semblance of normalcy. But unbeckoned, the horrors from the warehouse flooded his vision behind his eyelids, and he blinked repeatedly to banish the experience worse than any nightmare he had ever had.

He lifted a shaking hand and tried to wipe the salt from his cheeks, feeling the flaky, dried residue of the blood that he knew he would need to wash before Maka woke up. And then he suddenly realized how overheated and sticky with sweat he was from the run, and achingly peeled himself out of his jacket.

"You...went to see Stein?" his wife's voice broke through his thoughts.

He rolled his head sideways on the edge of the mattress until her scowling face filled his vision.

"After everything he did to you!? I thought you were smarter than this!"

Spirit's brow furrowed. "I don't think—"

"You told Lord Death yourself, he threatened to cut you up again tonight! And he's gone totally mad! How could you do this to me? To Maka?"

Spirit shifted, started to push himself to his knees. "Angel, I—"

"Don't 'angel' me anything! What if he'd killed you? Your stupidity would have left me a widow and Maka fatherless!"

Spirit stared dumbly up into his wife's furious face. He wanted to argue that she'd hardly been a mother or wife, with her lying almost every day about where she was and leaving Maka in daycare, and then heading off again at nights when Spirit got home. But he was too exhausted, too overwhelmed by the horrors he'd experienced, and too worried about Stein to even begin to put any of those thoughts into useful words.

"He's my meister," was what finally escaped Spirit's lips, though he knew the argument was already lost. Even when he held the higher position, somehow with his wife, he always wrong.

Her eyes widened. "What?" she seethed.

Spirit realized his error as her face reddened further in anger, even though technically she couldn't claim to be his meister anymore either. Lord Death was the only one who would wield him now.

He was expecting an explosion, like usual. Words of censure and revulsion, to remind him that he was a dreadful husband and only Death's weapon because of her, and what thanks did she ever get for it?

But none of that came, as her feet padded softly between he and the crib, and then Spirit stumbled to his feet as he heard Maka's soft whimpers of distress as she was lifted out of her bed and into her mother's arms.

"What are you doing?" he said anxiously, a panic that was becoming too familiar racing across his nervous system.

"I'm going to Azusa's. Have your head on straight by tomorrow night, Death Scythe," she fairly spat, tucking Maka against her chest as she turned on her heel to leave.

"But... Kami!" he cried, stepping after her. But the door had already slammed shut.

He stumbled back against the bed, fell seated to the mattress as he heard Maka begin to cry from the sudden and startling sound. He listened to the second slam of the front door and Maka's cries growing distant as she was carried away from him, away from the home that suddenly didn't feel like it deserved the name.

Spirit's bloodied fingers found his wedding ring and twisted it slowly around his finger.

How, in just one day, had everything fallen apart so completely?

Spirit took a few breaths and then pushed himself to his feet. He walked on shaking legs into the bathroom, turned on the light and blinked against its harshness. His stomach turned as he stared at the red streaks on his face and that had matted some of his hair. He felt the prickling of tears in his eyes again, but with effort he swallowed them down.

His wife was right about at least one thing. He was Death Scythe. And he needed to be prepared for whatever he may need to face.

Maka would be fine, if they were going to be at Azusa's. Marie was still her roommate, unless something had changed, and often all the young weapon would talk about was the day she too had the privilege of being a wife and a mother. Maka was in good hands. And tomorrow, after some rest, he would deal with the issue of his wife's deception and leaving their daughter at daycare all the time.

That left the more urgent issue of Stein.

Spirit wanted to go back. He wanted to find out just what Lord Death would do to help his friend, to see for himself that Stein was going to survive the horrible self-mutilation, and could it even be undone? And, what of his madness?

Spirit thought again of what he'd experienced underground, the terror of those invasive thoughts, and how real and demanding they had been. Was that truly what it was like in Stein's mind? All those years that Spirit had felt the bristling, violent edge of his thoughts whenever he and Stein resonated... How Stein must have been holding it back, protecting him from the worst of it...preventing him from seeing the true depths of the madness.

Spirit took a slow, deep breath to hold the tears at bay again.

How could he have believed his wife? When she insisted Stein had been conducting illicit experiments on him, convinced him that the younger teen couldn't be trusted. Stein's refusal to offer either affirmation or denial was all the proof she had needed, and it had seemed the easiest way to ease hostilities to simply accept her word.

To abandon his partner.

And now, Stein may die because of him.

What kind of death weapon was he?

Spirit splashed water on his face and ran it through his hair, scrubbed at the blood until his skin felt raw and his scalp ached. Fresh tears mingled hot on his cheeks with the cool of the water, and when the only red left on his cheeks was the flush he felt from humiliation, he turned off the light and stumbled back into the bedroom.

He was no one anybody should be looking up to, or offering flirty waves in the academy's halls. He was an idiot and a failure, and everything his wife always accused him of being. He was probably a bad father, too.

He sniffled as his gaze locked onto the empty crib while he stumbled across the carpet, hoping that his wife would bring Maka back to him soon the next day. So focused was he, that his foot caught on something just under the bed and he tripped, falling so that his knee grazed the hard item when he hit the floor, and he hissed against the pain.

He felt in the dark for the offending object and soon pulled out a small, forgotten lock-box. His eyes widened on the sight, and familiar warnings rose in the back of his mind with too many words to form into coherent thought as he looked at the small, combination lock, the number sequence easily called into memory.

His thumb began turning the dials.

He had promised to stop drinking the day he found out about the pregnancy, and he had been true to his word. The box of expensive liquors was just for very special occasions, like the night after he and his wife had defeated the witch, and the day that Maka was born. And just a single shot those times, he had insisted, because it wasn't worth the risk to have more. Not when he was Death Scythe. Not when he was a father.

Stein's expression had been bittersweet when he told Spirit he was proud of him. Spirit had never understood that look.

He flipped the lid of the box open and lifted out one of the bottles, and his brow furrowed in confusion. It was nearly empty.

He considered for a moment, and then his eyes widened in understanding.

So, his wife had other secrets she had been keeping from him besides her daily excursions.

Spirit slowly turned the bottle over in his hand. He felt the warnings prickling all the way up his spine. He heard the echoes of his promises. He heard Stein's kind but melancholy praise.

And then he thought of his wife's lies. And the blood dripping down the sides of his friend's head. And the mad, defeated laughter as Stein had looked at him like he was a stranger.

Spirit replaced the nearly empty bottle, and then lifted a full one out of the box. He took a long, slow breath as he leaned back against the side of the bed. Felt every one of his nerve endings tingle in fierce opposition. And then he twisted open the cap.

He could keep some secrets, too.

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