#perhaps I should add some more tags! oops!

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Call Forth Love- Chapter 4

So I planned for this chapter and the next to originally be one but as I started writing it, the words kept flowing and oops....now its really long. So I decided to split it. This means that I’m pretty much done with the next chapter so I’ll be able to get it out in a few days! Yay!

Also, Ivar is pretty manipulative in this chapter. Someone made a comment in the last chapter that I want to acknowledge. Going forward this is kind of a theme but I just want to put that warning statement- if this is triggering for you, please read with caution. There is nothing explicit or graphic but its still manipulation. 

Words:4000

Warnings: swearing, manipulation

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​

Series Masterlist

Sitting in the office at work, Kari sipped on her smoothie as she plugged in numbers for an inventory order. She had just finished teaching one of her morning classes and was now doing some paperwork for Lydia while on her "lunch break". 

 She jumped when her phone suddenly buzzed- a text alert. Surprised and curious as to who would be texting her at this time, she unlocked her phone to see the text from an unknown number. 

 Unknown: hey u busy 2nite?

 Kari: who is this?

 Unknown: u fav person

 Kari: OMG! Ed Sheeran?!

 She giggled quietly to herself, returning back to the laptop screen. Normally she ignored any calls or texts from unknown numbers, but it had been a good morning and she was feeling playful. When there was no return text, she shrugged the conversation off and returned to the order. Apparently, the unknown number did not get the reaction they were hoping for or realized they text the wrong person. Either way, she did not care. 

 A couple minutes later, her phone started to vibrate repeatedly. Looking down, she saw she was getting a call from the unknown number. She hesitated to answer, but by the third ring her curiosity got the better of her and she answered it. 

 "Hello?"

 "FUCKING ED SHEERAN? REALLY?"

 She sat there stunned. "Ivar?"

 "Of course, it's me. Who the fuck were you expecting?" He asked, angrily. 

 "How did you get my number?"

 He ignored her question, his voice suddenly sounding muffled. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be a second…. damn it. I know!"

 "Who is that?" 

 "My brother.” He scoffed, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, before speaking to her again. “I have to head back into a meeting now."

 "Oh, ok?"

 "You didn't answer my question."

 Her mind was still reeling from the fact that Ivar Lothbrok had her number and was calling her out of the blue. "What question?"

 He huffed, exasperation evident in his tone. "Are you busy tonight?"

 "Why?"

 "I want to take you out."

 "Ivar," she sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead, "I told you, I can't."

 "Yeah and I don't believe you, so…."

 "No. I'm sorry but the answer is still no."

 "Fine. I have to go." He snapped then abruptly ended the call.  

 Slowly, she pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. What just happened? Before she forgot, she added his number to her contacts since she had the distinct feeling this would not be the last time he contacted her. Once done, she set her phone down and dropped her head into her hands. 

 It had been two days since he drove her home and she said they could be friends. In those two days, this was the first contact they had. She had hoped he grew bored with her since she was not playing his game, that she refused to go out with him. Maybe he finally decided she was not worth his time and moved on? Which was for the best. She could never fit into his world, there was no space for her there. Nor did she want to. She was happy, content with her life. 

 It was better for her to not allow Ivar into her life. That's what she repeated to herself as she tried to focus on the inventory order. 

 *****

 "Just put the bags right there, thank you." Kari said, placing the grocery bags, one in each hand, onto the tiled floor. The kitchen in her townhouse was small, two people could barely move around in it without bumping into one another. Thankfully, she did not spend much time in the kitchen. Cooking had never been her forte. 

 "Do you need anything else? I don't mind staying to help." The dirty-blond haired man asked, setting the two bags he carried down onto the floor. He started to shuffle forward but seemed to think better of it and leaned against the half-wall separating the kitchen from the short hallway. 

 "Erik, it's fine. If anything, I owe you. You never let me pay for gas money."

 He shrugged, and tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "It's not a big deal. I needed to shop too."

 "Still, it's not fair to you." She turned around from placing the milk in the fridge to look at him. 

 "If I think of something you can do to repay me, I'll let you know. Deal?"

 "Perfect."

 "Do you still want a ride to work tomorrow?"

 She shut the door and jokingly waved a hand at him. "See! You're too nice."

 "I'd be ‘too nice’ if I also showed up with coffee for you."

 She laughed, moving some frozen fruit into the freezer. "You're too perfect to not have a girlfriend." 

 He rubbed the back of his neck, a flush growing on his cheeks and drawing out a boyish smile. "I don't know if I'd say that. I'll let you get to it. I'll meet you outside at nine?"

 "Thank you, Erik."

 "Of course." He popped his head around the wall to look into the living room. "See you, Alana!"

 "Bye, Erik!" The response came from the living room. 

 Kari continued to put her groceries away as she heard the front door click shut behind him. Somehow, she needed to figure out a way to pay him back. 

 Erik lived in the townhouse next door alone. When he learned that Kari did not own a car, he offered to give her rides whenever it worked out for both of their schedules. At first, she had been hesitant, still not having lived in the townhouse for long but eventually gave in because he always acted like such a gentleman. Every time he saw her, he made sure to greet her and ask about her day. He always held the door open for her and anybody else close by. A negative word never passed his lips, rather choosing to focus on the positive in life. A routine soon started to form and every two weeks they would meet up outside of their townhouses and go grocery shopping together. When she did not have to work early, he would occasionally give her rides to work since the bank he worked at was only a couple blocks away. That was the extent of their interactions though. She wondered about inviting him over for dinner as to thank him but she always chickened out in asking him. Perhaps that was what she needed to do after all.  

 Once all her groceries were put away, she headed into the living room, seeing her roommate and friend sitting on the couch with the TV on to the Great British Bake-off but looking down at her phone. 

 The brunette asked, dropping onto the second couch. "How was work?"

 "Good. You?" Alana looked up, her make-up flawless like usual on her delicate features. 

 "Nothing too exciting."

 "You know, if you'd waited two hours I could have taken you to the store."

 Kari nodded, fiddling with her diamond stud earring. "I know, but you're so busy with work and school. I know you like relaxing when you come home and Erik said he was free today."

 "Did he now?" Alana asked with a smug look.

 Kari tossed a throw pillow at her. "Don't start this again."

 The blonde caught the pillow, still grinning like the Cheshire cat. "You know he likes you. He's just too shy to ask you out."

 "He's a friend, it's been like seven months, I think if he was going to ask me out, he would have done it by now."

 "He. Is. Shy." Alana enunciated, as if talking to a child. She rolled her blue eyes, leaning back against the couch. "Shit, he only started to actually talk to me this summer."

 "Cause you are intimidating."

 Alana threw the pillow back at Kari. "Bitch, it's cause I radiate sexiness and he can't handle it."

 "That is most definitely it." 

 "Well the guy I hooked up with last weekend said I radiated sexiness."

 Kari wrinkled her nose, looking over at her roommate. "I don't want to hear that. It's bad enough when you bring them here."

 "You know, it wouldn't be the worst thing for you to actually go out with Erik. He's…. sweet." She quietly stated, eyes back on the TV. 

 "Yeah."

 "I'm fairly sure he'd treat you better than that fucker of ex."

 Kari picked invisible lint off her black leggings, apprehensive about where the topic was going. Her love life, and lack of it, was something Alana liked to remind her of frequently as of late. "Honestly, I'm even sure anymore he should count as an ex."

 "Well you were supposed to be exclusive, right? And then you find out he's been fucking other girls the whole time. That counts as a shitty ex."

 She winced at the reminder of her one attempt at dating. "I don't…. I don't think I'm ready."

 The blonde pointed a finger at her roommate without turning her eyes away from the TV. "Well don't wait around forever, you'll miss out."

 "Says the woman who hooks up with a different guy almost every other weekend."

 "And I'm not missing out!"

 Kari laughed. Feeling her phone vibrate, she pulled it out of her pocket and checked it to see a new text from Ivar. 

 Ivar: hell no, if we r gng 2 see the Northern Lights thn we're gng 2 Iceland or Norway.

 She smiled at the text, quickly typing in a reply. 

 Kari: fine, we'll add that to the list. Can I please put South Africa back on the list?

 She fiddled with her diamond stud earrings, looking back at their conversation throughout the day. Just looking at all the texts, she bit her lip to try and contain the smile. 

 Ivar had texted her in the late morning, asking her out again. To which she just texted back a one-word answer- "no". Apparently undeterred, he ignored her 'no', saying how he wanted to take her to this popular restaurant. Somehow the conversation spiraled into creating overly outrageous "dates" he would take her on, each one more fantastic than the last, with her encouraging and creating her own ideas. Their texting had lasted all day, and she found herself actually looking forward to his responses. Something she never would have expected, especially after how rudely he hung up on her the prior day. 

 So far her favorite "date" involved him renting out the entire Roman Colosseum in Rome and having a candlelight dinner in the middle of the arena. The most amusing one was when she suggested they go skydiving. He shut down that idea saying they would have to be strapped to instructors and the only man she should ever be strapped to was him. 

 Her phone vibrated in her hand, alerting her to his response. 

 Ivar: u r not swimming w/ sharks 

 She giggled, trying to imagine his facial expression. She actually had no desire to do half of the stuff she suggested but it was funny to get a rise out of him. 

 Kari: African safari?

 "What are you giggling at?" Alana questioned, giving her the side-eye. 

 The smile dropped from her face. "Nothing."

 "That doesn't sound like nothing."

 "Just a funny meme." She deflected, getting to her feet. There was no way she could tell Alana she had been texting Ivar all day. "I'm going to shower."

 As she headed upstairs to her room, her phone vibrated again. 

 Ivar: do u jus luv danger?

 Kari: I'm talking to you, aren't I? 

 She headed to her bathroom, turning the shower on and checking the temperature. In a spur of the moment decision, she tossed in a eucalyptus shower bomb. 

 Just before she jumped in, she looked at her phone one last time to find his response.  

 Ivar: touche, kitten, touche 😘

 *****

 The soothing soundtrack of nature played over the speakers in the yoga studio room. A few women were already in the studio with their yoga mats out, either stretching or quietly conversing as they waited. Depending on the day, the ten am morning class could be busy but typically it averaged about fifteen to twenty women.

 Kari bent over, touching her palms to the floor. Even though she would not be continuously doing the routine along with those in her class, she still liked to be limber and have her muscles warmed up. This was a beginner class, where she spent a good portion of the time either correcting people's forms or showing how to do a certain pose. A few of her coworkers complained about teaching beginner classes since when the participants walked through the door, you never really knew what level they were at. 

 Checking the clock hanging over the door, she saw she had five minutes before her class started. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the pull of her muscles. The door to the studio room opened but Kari continued to stretch, shifting to a downward facing dog pose, holding it. She could hear some people moving around but she focused on her breathing.  

 "Mmm, I could get used to seeing this."

 The familiar voice behind her, caused Kari to try and whip around in startled surprise, only to end up crashing onto her ass. 

 Above her stood Ivar with a devilish smile. "Hello, kitten." He softly said with smolder that instantly made her flush and a tendril of warmth curl in her belly. Standing there in his jeans and red shirt with his hair pulled back in a man bun, it was unfair how striking he looked. Even the braces over his legs did nothing to deter from his attractiveness. 

 She rose quickly to her feet, wiping her hands over her leggings and peeking at the others in the room. Most were curiously watching their interaction but remained where they were. 

 "What are you doing here?" She hissed, turning her gaze back up to meet his. "How did you find me?"

 He rolled his eyes. "You were wearing a Whole Wellness Yoga Studio shirt when I drove you home last week. Plus, hearing from Gyda that you work here…. You're not that hard to find."

 That made sense, even if she disliked the logic. "Ok, fine. Why are you here though?"

 "I want to take you out tonight."

 "Oh gods." She could not believe what she was hearing. The prior day they had spent most of the day texting and sure it was fun, but her answer had not changed. When he had not text her this morning, she assumed that was the last she had heard from him. Apparently, he decided to ask her out in person instead of over the phone like the past two times. "Ivar… No."

 "Why? You keep saying you can't but never why."

 "It's just…. look, I don't want to date."

 He took a step closer, face inches above hers. His voice dropped low, an underlying current of anger in his tone. Those piercing blue eyes challenged her. "You say that but I don't think that's the real reason. So, until you tell me the truth, your 'no' means fucking nothing. Friends tell each other things, right?"

 "You know, I don't think we should be friends anymore."

 He chuckled, still standing too close for a normal conversation. "Too late. I like you."

 "I'm still not going out with you." She placed her hands on her hips, trying to appear confident, hoping desperately he did not hear the wavering in her voice. 'This was for the best, it was best for both of them' she repeated in her mind. 

 "Fine. I'll wait for you to change your mind." He winked and stepped back. To her horror, she watched as he walked over to the side of the room where she kept her water bottle and light jacket. He grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it over before dropping down with his legs in a manspread, that stupid smirk still on his face. 

 She stomped over to him, whisper-shouting at him. "What are you doing?"

 "I'm waiting."

 "What?"

 "I'm not leaving until you agree to go on a date with me."

 "You can't...no…. Ivar." She whined. 

 "I walked all the way here to see you, even though my legs are quite painful today…. you wouldn't kick a cripple out when they just need to rest, would you?" He asked, eyes widened in mock innocence. One of his hands rubbed at his knee in exaggerated fashion as if to prove the discomfort he was in. 

 She groaned. "I hate you."

 "No, you don't." He gloated, then nodded towards the clock. "It's ten o'clock, it's time to start your class, I believe."

 Without another word, she moved to the front of the room. She refused to play this game. Her answer was 'no' and no matter what he said or did, her answer would not change. The whole time she could feel his rakish gaze on her, reminding her how tight her leggings and purple tank top were. She tried to focus on her class, smiling at the women she recognized and the ones that she assumed was new. "Let's begin. Everyone start in mountain pose. Take deep breaths, let's center ourselves."

 "Kari!" 

 She looked over at the older woman, Ingrid, who called out. The woman was easily one of Kari's favorites, doting upon those who worked at the yoga studio, and becoming the unofficial grandmother of them. Ingrid had been coming to the yoga studio for years but was forced to only take beginner level classes after a bad fall the prior year. She loudly complained about her doctor being an idiot and how she felt fine, but Lydia refused to let her attend any other class than beginner classes until otherwise said by her doctor. 

 "Yes?"

 Ingrid's hazel eyes twinkled with mischief from the front row where she stood. "You planning on introducing that handsome young man you've got over there?"

 "No, we are going to ignore his presence. He's going to be leaving soon." Kari flatly stated with a polite smile.

 "Hi! I'm Ivar!" He announced with a charming smile, his bright blue eyes alluring under the dim lights. Giving a little wave with his fingers, he continued, "I hope my presence doesn't bother all you lovely women, I just came to see my girlfriend and ask her on a date tonight."

 A chorus of "awwwws" filled the room. 

 Kari wanted nothing more than to bang her head against a wall. Or preferably, Ivar's head. She could not believe the audacity of him.

 "Where are you taking her?" One of the newer women asked in a flirty tone, pulling her shoulders back to emphasize her ample chest. 

 Ivar barely glanced at her, keeping his focus on Kari. "It's a surprise. I wanted to do something special."

 "Young man, if I were a few years younger, I would fight Kari here so you could take me on a date." Ingrid said with a laugh. 

 "I would be honored to take a lovely woman like you on a date." He sent a playful wink to Ingrid. 

 "Alright, let's get back to yoga." Kari tried to redirect the attention. Annoyed and upset did not even begin to describe how she felt. 

 "Well it was lovely to meet you, young man. Kari should have told us her boyfriend was so handsome. We might have convinced her to bring you in sooner for some eye candy." Ingrid teased. 

 "He's not my boyfriend." Kari retorted, shooting a glare at the smug raven-haired man. 

 "And that is why I'm trying to take her on a date." He placed a hand dramatically over his heart, eyes staring at her beseechingly. "Just for her to give me a chance."

 "Get her some tulips. Those are her favorite flowers." Karina called out from the back of the room. 

 "Can't go wrong with chocolate!"

 "Oh! Read her a sonnet and dance under the stars together!"

 "This is so romantic…. like something out of a movie." Someone loudly whispered, making a few others laugh. 

 Kari dropped her chin to her chest. Tears welled in her eyes. She knew those in the class meant well, that they were really just trying to help. But they were helping the wrong person. Why would Ivar not leave her alone? She told him 'no' multiple times, that should have been enough. Her tolerance for his behavior was waning rapidly and honesty she was not sure if she would fight back…. or surrender. 

 The chair scratched faintly on the floor followed by his footsteps landing audibly as he crossed the room to reach her. She refused to lift her head, her eyes squeezed shut. Not just to pretend she could not feel him standing so close to her, but to try and hide the single tear that rolled down her cheek. 

 "Kari." He whispered, the sound a caress of her name. 

 Still she did not move. 

 Gently, he tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. His thumb wiped away the evidence of her tear. It was those captivating eyes, the ones that could both scorch everything in view but also send flames of desire dancing across her skin, that met hers. To her surprise, there was a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability, that was reminiscent of the few times they were alone. As if with just her, for a brief moment, he let his guard down and she could glimpse the real Ivar. 

 "Go out with me." He murmured faintly, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Standing in front of her, his broad back to the class gave them a semblance of privacy. "Please."

 "Why can't you let this go?" She begged quietly, staring up at him. 

 "I told you, I'm persistent." He smiled, almost shyly. 

 In his words, it felt like there was such a depth to them she was unaware of. That he was confessing something to her in which she did not have the key to fully understand. 

 She sighed softly, closing her eyes for a moment before looking at him again. "Fine. I'll go…. But it's only as friends, ok? This isn't…. Romantic. Just…. Just friends."

 "Sure, just friends." He leaned forward and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to her cheek. "I'll pick you up at seven."

 She nodded, feeling torn apart inside. 

 After a lingering look that breathed a flame into her belly, he spun on his heel to face the women. "She said yes!"

 A few cheers and clapping reverberated in the small yoga studio room. 

 "I graciously thank you all for your sound advice and encouragement with helping me to woo the beautiful Kari. Wish me luck as I plan to thoroughly spoil her tonight." Ivar dramatically bowed, shooting a quick wink at Kari as she watched him. 

 She desperately tried to fight the small smile off her lips. No one could say that Ivar was not charming or charismatic when it suited him. 

 As he finally made his way to the door, he turned around just before pushing it open. "Wear something nice." He said, pointing a finger at Kari and then walked out like a dream where one cannot decide if it was a nightmare or not. 

 The brunette ran a hand down her face before shoving aside her emotions and plastering a customer smile on. "I'm so sorry about all of this. Let's get back to it. I promise it won't happen again, ladies."

 "Kari, dear, you have fun with that boy tonight." Ingrid spoke up, eyes darting to the now closed door and back to the yoga instructor. "And if you don't want him, let me know. I'd still jump on him in a heartbeat. That boy has the prettiest eyes, I swear."

 A few sounds of agreement echoed in the room. 

 Kari could not stop her smile from turning genuine at Ingrid. No matter the situation, the feisty, older woman always knew how to make her laugh. "I promise I'll let you know. Now, back to mountain pose please."

 Silently, she hoped tonight was not a mistake.

[mooswords]

Know him when you see him

Pairing: miya atsumu x reader

Word count: 1.5k

Tags: spy au, atsumu is attractive and he knows it

Ramblings: this was meant to be a short piece to practice writing metaphores and then somehow it ended up a full fic? and i lowkey love it? oops

---

They don’t realize how much of an art it is - concealing the everything of what you are and becoming something, someone completely new. 

You can paint over an image a hundred times, but the original will always poke through. Somehow, somewhere, if you don’t handle yourself with care, chips of vermillion and kohl will fall away to reveal the canvas underneath. 

And the only way to stop your carefully crafted picture from fading is to add more layers, so you thicken the colour of your accent, add an extra layer of velvet under your words, spread a bright shade of allure onto your lips. Because to walk into the White Eagle anything less than a perfectly crafted masterpiece is asking for trouble.

Not to say you weren’t looking for a specific kind of trouble tonight.

(“Oh, you’ll know him when you see him,” Osamu said, lazy eyes glinting with amusement. You had turned to eye Kita, questioning if you really had to take vague orders from the cook of all people.

He has the decency to look apologetic. “Standard protocol for contacting deep cover agents. You know we can’t give you a specific description.”)

The bar is hazy; lavish and warm, the very picture of elegance. Sharply dressed people duck into curtained alcoves, ice clinks in nursed drinks. The woman in the corner of the room curls around a microphone, her low crooning innocently covering the casual threats slipped between wisps of smoke. Someday you'll come back for the blood money being exchanged under the table, but tonight you start your search where every good mission starts. 

The ashy haired bartender leans across the bar towards you, resting casually on his elbows. “What’s your poison, sweetheart?”

“Hmmm...” You tuck a carefully manicured hand under your chin. “Something sweet tonight, I think.”

It’s strange, watching this lethal man pour your drink with such delicate care. Idly, you wonder if his work with a sniper rifle is just as captivating. There is a hint of flair in his fluid movements that is entrancing, a performance you can well appreciate. Your own art is similar, a careful dance between too many bold strokes and too little detail - adding enough colour to leave an impression, to draw the eye, but never letting yourself come too sharply into focus. 

When he sets the glass on the bar, you create a tantalizing moment of brushing fingers, dusting rose pink over your cheeks. He grins across at you, and you swivel on the stool before he gets too close.

Quietly, you survey the gallery of men laid before you. There’s a solemn man in the corner, his dark quietness offset by the bright splash next to him who lounges with feet propped on a lacquered table; a quiet, dispassionate-looking boy with a fresh scar tearing through his face and hair hanging over his eyes. All eye-catching for sure, but they don’t quite fit the description. And the-

Your eyes meet across the smoky room and oh, this is what they meant by you’ll know him when you see him. You had expected trouble. You hadn’t prepared for bleach-blond hair and a lazy, all too familiar glint in all too familiar eyes.

He meanders over, brazenly eyeing you up and down. You entered tonight with a full coat of armour, but you can feel his raking gaze stripping the paint back, layer by layer.

A hand is presented to you. Arching an eyebrow, all you offer him in return is an amused look.

“C’mon.” His grin is roguish. “What’s the point of lookin’ that good if you can’t be shown off?”

(The true masters know how to blur the line between realism and fantasy; you wonder how many layers deep he had to thicken that smile to make it bleed such confidence. You wonder if he even remembers what his canvas looks like, untouched by false colour.)

“And what makes you think you’re the right person to do so?” You ask coyly, even as you slip your hand into his.

He winks. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

The dance floor is empty as you sculpt yourself against him, following the line of his shoulder a shade tighter than you may have otherwise. Draping an arm around his shoulders, you sweep a soft exhale across the juncture of his neck; just to see what he’ll do. 

The arm on your waist tightens, and you smother your smile into his chest.

“Careful, doll. I might think you’re only here for my good looks.” 

“Perhaps I am.” Carefully, you lay the first stroke of ink that only he should recognise. “Though, I have to admit - I’m not sure about the blonde.”

“What you got against my hair, huh?”

“Not really your colour,” you tell him, streaking a dusky look up at him through your lashes. “Dye your hair grey and maybe we can talk.” 

He returns the look, a hint of reproach and his own shade of intelligence mixed in. “Ahh, and here I was thinking you were a woman of taste.”

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong,” you ask in mock-reproach, tapping a finger against his shoulder, “but it's the other one that knows about taste, right?” 

You both take a moment to inspect the recognition, checking the authenticity of the piece before you. There’s mutual acknowledgement in the press of your cheek against his dark suit, in the squeeze of his hand around yours as he dips his head next to yours.

Enamoured as you are by the graze of lips against your ear, you almost miss the first number he murmurs. But you are a professional, so you brush black over the sensation and print the digits into your memory. If you were to hazard a guess, they’re probably coordinates and a time, but Kita never specified and you never asked. 

Really, you’re more intrigued by the man in front of you. He’s a mess of clashing colours seamlessly blended into a living sculpture of sly charm and sharp eyes. A different breed to the Shiratorizawa strength to be sure, but he weaves his contrast in among them like his organic nature has always matched with their regimented style. 

And then, cold against your back, the barrel of a gun. 

“Turn around. Slowly,” the measured voice behind you instructs.

His eyes are wiped spotless in a heartbeat, a perfectly depicted image of shock. A little too perfect if you were going to be critical, but you have a feeling that’s his style - perfection that demands to be admired.

His eyes duck down, barely a flicker, and you almost laugh. It’s cute that he thinks you needed a hint to where his gun is, like you didn’t know the moment you laid hands on him.

All it takes is one clean movement to rip away your carefully crafted layers of guile. You sweep the gun from inside his jacket and whirl around with it pressed to his head. He stiffens against you, and you wonder if he really is surprised this time or just playing the part.

“No-one move,” you tell the room cooly.

“What makes you think he can get you out of here alive?” Mr dark-and-quiet asks.

“Well, you haven’t shot me yet,” you drawl, beginning to back away towards the door with him still pressed into your arms. “So I’m just gonna assume he isn’t disposable.”

You leave a trail of narrowed eyes and pressed lips in your wake. The red head looks especially antsy, you note with a touch of satisfaction, though at this point it doesn't seem like you're going to live to tell the tale. 

You are all too aware that your control of the room is fraying at the edges, unravelling with every move you make in their sights. There is a certain thrill that comes in these moments, in finding a way to twist the loose ends back into an advantage, but-

A bullet zips past your cheek. 

-rope burn is always an occupational hazard.

The room shatters, and you dive out the door with a snap of silk skirts. He is right there by you, pulling you up by the elbow as the night explodes with revving cars and blinding sparks that skitter across black tar.

You can't find it in yourself to be too disappointed. You may be a master of your performance, a flawlessly choreographed ballet, but you can't deny that improvising is so much more fun. The addition of him - cut from the same cloth as you were, the same medium just in a different colour - only expands your canvas of possibilities. 

"What’s the plan?” he calls, nothing more than a blur in your periphery as you streak along the street. His gold frame may be gone, unnecessary now the audience refuses to be blinded by his glitter, but you admire how he still moves in the same perfect lines.

“Don’t know yet," you yell back. He scoffs, and you flick him a grin drenched in adrenaline. 

"Don't worry, sweetheart" you tell him, watching your glee splatter against his unconvinced look. "I’ll know it when I see it."

[hopelikethemoon]

Massage (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Massage Rating: PG-13 Length: 2000 Warnings: Fluff Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. And release order here. Set in January 1998. Summary: Reader gives Javier a massage.

Taglist:  @grapemama​  @seawhisperer​ @huliabitch​ @pedropascalito​ @rogrsnbarnes​ @thewallpapergoesorido​ @twomoonstwosuns​ @gooddaykate​ @livasaurasrex​ @ham4arrow​ @hiscyarika​ @plexflexico​ @readsalot73​ @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted​ @randomness501​ @fioccodineveautunnale​  @roxypeanut​ @just-add-butter​ @snivellusim​ @amarvelousmandalorian​ @lukesrighthand​ @historynerd04​ @mrsparknuts​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited​ @ah-callie​ @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​ @beskar-droids​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​ @longitud-de-onda​ @cool-ultra-nerd​ @himbopoes​ @findhimfives​ @pedrosdoll​ @seeking-a-great--perhaps​ @frietiemeloen​ @arrowswithwifi​​ @random066​​ @uncomicalhumour​​ @heather-lynn​​ @domino-oh-damn​​ @cyarikaaa​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​ (if I forget to tag you, I’m sorry)

Javier peeled himself out of the armchair with a grimace, his hand going to his lower back as he all but limped his way towards the kitchen. You frowned as your eyes followed him until he was out of the family room. 

“Are you going to let me give you a massage?” You called out, moving onto your knees and looking over the back of the sofa as you waited for him to re-emerge from the kitchen.

“My back’s fine, baby.” Javier assured you unconvincingly, returning with two bottles of beer. 

“You tossed and turned all night.” You reminded him, “You couldn’t get comfortable. Because your back hurts.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t uncomfortable, I just had a lot on my mind.” Javier sat a bottle down on the coffee table in front of you, before moving back towards the armchair. He tried to mask his pained expression as he sat down, sitting stiffly in the chair. “Might have to replan the entire schedule with all this Clinton bullshit going on.” 

“If your back’s fine then why are you over there? Hmm?” Your brows rose upwards, gesturing to the sofa beside you. “Already bored with me?”

He narrowed his eyes, “Can’t a man just sit in a chair?”

You shook your head. God, he was impossible sometimes. “Javier you have never chosen to sit in that chair over curling up on the sofa with me. Have you been abducted by the Pod People? Is there someone else?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He took a swig of beer before he hauled himself back out of the chair and moved towards the sofa. “Move your feet.”

You reeled them in beneath you, giving him an expectant look as he sank down beside you. You could see the strain in his neck as he slumped back against the soft cushions. “Javier, just admit you’re in pain!” 

“No.” He huffed, arching his back as he tried to alleviate the pressure he was feeling in his lower back. “Son of a bitch.” 

“Alright, we’re going to bed.” You said as you reached over and took the bottle out of his hand. “Come on. Up.” You clapped your hands together as you rose to your feet. 

“Baby.” Javier refused to get up, patting the sofa beside him. “C’mere.” 

You put your hands on your hips, staring down at him. “Don’t make me start counting like I do with Josie.” You warned him. “Come on, Javi. I promise you’ll feel better once I’m done with you.” 

He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Fine.” Javier relented as he shifted to the edge of the sofa, reaching for his beer again. “I don’t wanna waste these.” 

You picked up your own bottle, taking a drink. “As soon as they’re finished, you’re letting me massage your back.” 

Javier shook his head slowly, “It’s not that bad, baby. I’m just stiff from sitting through student meetings.” 

“And why couldn’t you sleep last night?” You questioned as you took another sip, sitting down beside him.

“Because my back hurt.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You gave him a look, before you shifted closer to him and rested your cheek against his shoulder. “Just tell me, Javier. Please?”

“I know, baby.” He reached over and gave your leg a squeeze, rubbing his thumb against your skin. “I just fucking hate this.” 

You tilted your head and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw, the stubble there tickling your lips. “I know, but I’d much rather know when you’re hurting. I don’t need this macho shit.”

“It’s not macho shit,” He insisted. “I just hate having limits. You know? I don’t wanna worry about throwing my back out because Josie wants a piggyback ride.” 

A soft laugh escaped you, “She loved riding around on your back when she was younger.” You mused, recalling the numerous times you’d come home to him walking around the condo on his hands and knees. As much as he loved working at the university and making a change in his student’s lives, you had never seen him more happy than he was in that two-year period that he stayed home with Josie. 

“Hey,” You started, fingers ghosting over his jaw as you turned his face towards yours. “You always take care of me and the girls, let me take care of you Javi.” 

Javier leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours. “Alright, baby.” 

“Thank you,” You kissed him softly, before taking his hand into yours as you started to get up. He reached for the remote and shut off the TV, before he followed you back towards the bedroom. The girls were both out cold, fortunately. Sofía was getting better about sleeping through the night.

“Strip.” You told him, before you vanished into the bathroom to get the small bottle of massage oil from under the counter. Javier had been good about giving you massages when you were trapped in bed during those final months of your pregnancy with Sofía. 

When you returned, Javier had stripped down to his boxers and was laying on his stomach in the middle of the bed. “You think this is going to help my back?” He questioned, folding his arms beneath his head. 

“If it doesn’t,” You whistled quietly as you moved to join him on the bed. “I’m sure Connie can help us find a nice chiropractor for you.” 

“We really going to let everyone know I’m falling apart?”

“They already know it, old man.” You teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the spot between his shoulders. “Where does it hurt the most?” 

“Lower back.” Javier informed you, reaching behind him to show you the spot. 

“I’m getting you a lumbar support for your office chair.” You told him firmly, popping open the bottle of oil and pouring some into the center of your palm. 

“The only person with a lumbar support on their chair is eighty.” 

You rolled your eyes, “And did the eighty year old spend the better part of his youth doing what you did?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.” You rubbed your hands together before you smeared the oil over his skin, spreading it down the length of his spine. “Not to mention, I’ve seen the work you and Chucho did at the ranch. You grew up putting a hell of a lot of pressure and weight on your body.” 

“Pops gets around just fine.” 

You snorted, “Your pops also smokes weed.”

“What?” 

“Oops.” You pressed the heels of your palms against his shoulder blades, rubbing them in tight circles as you worked them down his back. “You can’t blame him for not telling you.” 

“What the fuck?” Javier started to laugh, but the sound shifted into a groan as your fingers found a particularly stiff part of his back. You worked on that spot, digging your thumbs in as you worked the oil into his skin. “When did that start?”

“Javier!” You laughed, shaking your head. “You really didn’t know? What sort of DEA agent are you?”

“A bad one, clearly.” He shifted beneath your touch, stretching out a little more comfortably. “How did you figure it out?”

“He offered me a joint after Danny’s wedding.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“There’s a reason your father is one of my favorite people.” You grinned as he turned his head to look at you. “For the record, I said no… Seeing as I was breastfeeding still. Don’t be deceived, he’s got plenty of old man pain too.” You teased, working your fingers against the spot he’d pointed out to you.

Javier’s lips parted to respond to you, but instead of words another groan escaped from him. “Holy shit.” 

“I told you it would feel good.” You shook your head, reaching for the bottle of oil and adding a little more to your fingers. You spread it over his lower back, working your knuckles against the tense muscles. “But you have to stop making those sounds.” 

He opened his eyes and peered back at you. “That right there was nearly as good as sex.” 

“And yet you have balked every day about letting me give you a massage.” You pressed your thumb into the same knot again, biting down on your bottom lip as he let out another sound of pleasure. “Do you not remember how much I enjoyed your massages when I was pregnant?” 

“I do.”

“Mostly because it was the only way I could get you to touch me when I was pregnant with Sofía, but…” You shrugged your shoulders. “They feel really good.” 

“I’m coming around to them.” He remarked, shifting again beneath your touch. “I might be a new man tomorrow.” 

“Slow down there, babe.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Just because I work the kinks out, does not mean you should get yourself back into this same position in a day. Otherwise, you’ll be getting nothing but Bengay by the time it’s your fiftieth birthday.” 

Javier grumbled, “Let’s rewind to this revelation about Chucho.” 

You moved to straddle the backs of his upper thighs, giving yourself more leverage to work on his lower back. “What’s there to say? Your father knows how to manage his pain. It’s natural and it works.”

“It’s illegal.” 

“So is a lot of other fun things.” You reminded him, “If you want to follow the law here in Florida, I hate to break it to you babe, but we’ll only be having sex in missionary from here on out.”

Another groan escaped Javier as you pressed your fingers into a sore spot just above his left hip. “Really?” He managed, his fingers tightening in the sheets beside his head. 

“No more toys and our mouths must only be used for kissing.” You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, your breath making the hairs at his nape move. “That doesn’t sound fun, now does it babe?” You questioned. 

Javier reached behind him, his fingers playing through your hair where he could reach. “That doesn’t sound fun at all.” He agreed, “I just can’t believe my father was smoking dope right under my nose.” 

You shrugged, “And to think, you’re the one of us that’s heralded for helping take down Escobar.” You sat back, dragging your hands down the length of his back, before you moved to get off of him. “How’s that feel?”

He stretched his arms out above his head, his forehead pressed to the mattress for a moment. “Remarkably better.” Javier answered as he turned to look at you. “Holy shit.” 

You grinned at him. “I told you. Massages are magic.” You wiggled your fingers at him, “I’m gonna go clean my hands off.” 

“Don’t be gone too long,” Javier quipped, rolling onto his back. 

Your tongue darted out over your bottom lip as your eyes raked over his bare chest. You followed the line of dark hair as it dipped beneath his boxers ⁠— which showed off the outline of his hardened cock. “Oh, you really enjoyed that massage, huh?” You grinned, your gaze flickering between his cock and his face. “I’ll be right back.”

Javier nodded his head, his hand slipping down to cup himself through the thin fabric of his boxers. “I’ll be here.”

Watching him palm his cock sent a throb of want straight through you. “Don’t have too much fun without me.” You told him, shooting a finger gun at him before you grabbed the bottle of oil off the bed and headed into the bathroom. 

You didn’t even bother putting the bottle back where it belonged, far too focused on cleaning your hands off as quickly as possible so you could get back to Javier. But even with your haste, by the time you made your way back into the bedroom, he’d moved further up the bed and rolled onto his side.

You couldn’t even be mad. He’d been holding all that tension in his back and you’d clearly done good with your work. And he hadn’t slept at all last night.

Carefully you slid into bed beside him and curled your arm around him from behind. 

“Baby?” He mumbled.

“You’re good, Javi. Go to sleep.” You whispered, running your hand over his bare chest as you pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Mhm.” Javier sighed happily. “Love you too.”

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good Fun Facts and Self Assesment (spoilers)

Long Post

What worked and what didn’t:

I think the overall structure worked pretty well. The most difficult part was, with the plot and subplot already created, scattering all those ideas throughout the text in such a way that at least made some sense. I regret not writing more about Mer Yankelevich, I feel like the crumbs I left on the way were not enough; in my attempt to make it subtle it lacked information about her. The key piece was of course her sister, and I should have introduced her sooner.

MC’s evolution. I feel like Kate’s learnt a lot with this experience (I’m not only referring to the Deathly Hallows or Grindelwald) When it started, she was very discreet and kept a low profile, not knowing what to do really, not taking more risks than necessary. And then she ended poisoned and splinching just to protect a document she thought was important. I hope her evolution is noticeable for the reader.

Worldbuilding. Grabbing HP concepts that were forgotten and full of potential, plus a dash of original ideas from me and blending them with muggle features was my absolute favourite part of the process.

On that note, I dont own these concepts: Durmstrang, Igor Karkarov, Nerida Vulchanova, umbrella flowers, fanged geraniums, billywigs, Appare Vestigium, glow-worms, trick wand, chamaleon ghouls, 

If you’ve read the fic and thought: “everything happened so fast” or got a general odd feeling about the timeline it's because I made a series of  monumental mistakes: setting a chapter limit, telling you about it and then tried to stick to it.  At first the idea sounded nice: this is my first “big” story  with complicated components. I should (and I did) do an outline of what I want to happen in each chapter and stick to it methodically so I don't forget what's happening or lose track of the plot. Well...it kind of backfired. So I wrote the first 3 chapters and at that point I thought “okay everything is going as planned, I’m going to put it out there”, bam, instantly cursed. After that it got ridiculously difficult to make the story that I wanted. Why? I needed chapter space that I convinced myself I couldn’t add. Dumb.

The major consequence of this was the lack of character backgrounds. It started out good, but as I kept writing and publishing I realised that I missed some great opportunities to make amazing ocs. That’s Corentin’s fault in a way: he wasn't going to be a major character, really, just a piece to help Kate a bit. But we all fell in love with him so what was I supposed to do? Also, Sheyi Mawut owns my heart and he got just a bit of spotlight. A shame.

I wish I had written more about them, but I think I wasn’t ready just yet to make it even more complicated.I just wanted to prove I could concoct a mystery plot and now that I know I can manage a fair amount of information I think I can take it a step further and deepen new ocs a little bit more.

I’m thinking about the datura series and I know why I got blocked and tired of writing it; it wasnt going anywhere because I wasnt prepared, and I didn’t do the months of outlines and planning that I did with this one. I’ll come back to the datura story one day, subjecting it to a sever rewrite. The ideas are there, I just need to be organised.

Although the chapter limit was problematic it was also a good exercise of managing space and deciding which things were unnecessary for the story. I dont think there’s any filler chapters, perhaps the last ones, but there is important information there too so... However this sentence  from the blog  wordsandstuff reassured me (and I think I did a good job at that?)

If you set out to write 10 parts and you write a fantastic story in 8, you haven’t failed and it’s not too rushed. Concise writing is an underrated talent. Focus on how effectively you engage the reader, not for how long.

I spent more than year writing this! When I started, I had a lot of ideas, I wrote the last two chapters then the first 3 and I really thought it was going to be that way with the rest of the story... okay... lesson learnt. #humbled

Other thoughts:

I received a couple of comments on ao3 that said that they were pleasantly surprised. Maybe I should change the tags because they are misleading? Clearly this wasnt what people were looking for lol.

One particular comment stood out to me and quoting it said:  “You did not choose the easy way with a fiction with so few characters from the fandom.”  And I’ve been thinking about this since I read it. It didn’t occur to me that there were few mystery fics (maybe I should write more things like that? Maybe throwing some power couple detective work 👀 ) In any case, I’m glad  I contributed with something different to the fandom, and the fact that the Charlie bits are very scarce but people who read it still liked it is really flattering.

I wanted to make sure that all the characters had strengths and flaws, I didnt want to severus-snape them so maybe I overdid it with that bit of introspection kate does at the end...

Also, I did the kiss and fade thing twice to mention sex. I know some people dont like that but since it wasnt the point of the story and I havent done research on how to write sex scenes I didnt include them. I have that on my “to learn” list.

Conclusions:

Writing the whole thing was incredible. It's my first ‘big’ project and its not a great work (there are some things I wish I did better, thats what you get when you are an agatha christie wannabe) and not writing more character backgrounds will haunt me to this day,  but I think it's at least good for a first series and I’m proud of it. I loved spending hours doing research and trying to piece together this puzzle. And of course I’m not an expert and I dont want to sound pretentious (like this is my first story) but if you are planning to write this type of genre I can be another source of tips and tricks for you.

If I read the story after a while and I dont cringe, I would call that a success.

FUN? FACTS!

Bakunawa really belongs to Filippines mythology

Snapdragons have different meanings, one of them being: “grace under pressure or inner strength in trying circumstances”

The entrance to Grindelwald’s room was going to be in the duelling classroom, strangely shaped as a triangle. I had this system where one of the round candle lamps descended and lined up with a line on the floor (serving as separation for duels) it created the Deathly Hallows symbol. I couldn’t make that work because it wouldn't make any sense for Nerida Vulchanova to shape a room like that.  Here are some sketches:

Lucius Malfoy was going to appear as the Ministry employee that goes to Durmstrang, but after revising the events of the OoP I realised it was impossible.

Kent Jorgensen was going to be around Kate’s age and the charms teacher and he would have a small crush on her. After seeing some pics of Pen Medina, I rewrote the character completely.

The series was going to be 6 chapters long (I’m glad I decided not to) one for each month. The chapter names were ridiculous: January of Beginnings, February of reputation, March of Students, April of Discoveries, May I? and June of Endings. #tragic

The Dolohov family was going to be a part of the plot but I had to erase that part because it was unlocking another layer of complexity that I just couldnt handle.

I dont remember exactly the chapter but I got really confused with the names Rhode and Hodges and there’s one chapter where I accidentally mixed them (I corrected it I think), but for a while I could stop calling Rhode, Hodges, and vice versa lmao

Here are some sketches that helped me describe and imagine things

Thank you for accompany me in this journey, especially if you endured the process with me lmao. You’ve been here for over A YEAR! <3 Mindblowing

Also I’d love to know your opinions about the way you read the story, I mean, I know some people read it as I published, and some other readers found the story already finished, what are the differences? Should I stop the updating system and drop a story all at once? I know it is difficult to keep up with a complex story if there’s a lot of weekly or monthly gaps between the chapters, so I wanted to know.

Sending you a virtual hug 💜💜

[skeeter-110]

A Twist in the Tale (That’s Old as Time)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. As punishment for his actions, the young prince is transformed into a monstrous beast by a mysterious enchantress. Only condition is if he can learn to love someone and earn their love in return, the curse will be lifted. The prince - now turned Beast - felt doomed for eternity; until he met a little boy with a heart of gold.

AKA: a Beauty and the Beast Irondad AU

Read on AO3

|| Chapter One || || Chapter Two ||

Chapter Three: Dinnertime Disaster

Peter's sob-fest was quickly interrupted a few minutes later by knocking on the door. Peter only stopped crying long enough to sniffle and wipe some of the tears off of his face.

"Who is it?" Peter quietly asks, his voice sounding rough from all of the crying he's been doing.

"Mrs. Potts, dear." A female voice responds making Peter wipe his face a bit more and run to open the door. "I thought you might like a spot of tea." The voice says again, Peter opening the door only to be pushed back by a teapot, and a couple of tea and sugar cups hopping into the room.

"But you're... you're a..." Peter tries to stammer out through his shock, only succeeding in backing up into a wardrobe.

"Oh! Careful." The wardrobe warns, Peter spinning around as soon as he heard the voice and come face to face - literally - with the wardrobe.

"This is impossible." Peter marvels out loud as he plops back down on the bed, the wardrobe tipping over to land on the bed next to him.

"I know it is, but here we are." The wardrobe responds.

"I told you he looked sweet, Mama, didn't I?" The teacup says.

"All right, Morgan, now, that'll do." The teapot - Mrs. Potts, Peter's mind supplies - says, getting the teacup - Morgan - to stop talking so the sugar bowl could pour some sugar into the tea.

"Slowly now. Don't spill." Mrs. Potts instructs as Morgan begins to hop closer to the bed. Peter took his cue, getting down on the floor and picking Morgan up. He also tried not to think about how weird it was that he was about to drink out of a sentient thing that had a name as he did so.

"Thank you." Peter thanks.

"Wanna see me do a trick?" Morgan asks as soon as Peter took a sip, making him pull her away from his lips. Peter watched in surprise as Morgan began to blow bubbles out of the top.

"Morgan!" Mrs. Potts scolds as Morgan and Peter both giggle at the popping bubbles of tea.

"Oops. Sorry." Morgan sheepishly apologizes.

"That was a very brave thing you did, my dear." Mrs. Potts praises.

"We all think so." The wardrobe adds right after.

"But I've lost my Aunt, my dreams, everything." Peter sadly says, looking away from all of them in an attempt to hide and get rid of the tears that were forming once again.

"Cheer up, Child. It'll turn out all right in the end. You'll see." Mrs. Potts tries to soothe before giggling at herself. "Oh, listen to me jabbering on while there's a supper to get on the table. Morgan?" Mrs. Potts says as she began hopping out of the room.

"Bye." Morgan bid farewell as she hops after her mother.

"Well, now, what shall we dress you in for dinner?" The wardrobe asks once it was just her and Peter in the room. "Oh, let's see what I got in my drawers." The wardrobe says, already beginning to rummage through her drawers and pulling out a bunch of evening clothes.

"That's very kind of you, but I'm not going to dinner." Peter stops her, making her gasp.

"Oh, but you must." She says, both of them looking towards the door when they heard Happy enter the bedroom.

"Dinner is served."

*   *   *

The Beast was pacing back in forth in front of the fireplace they had in the dining room as he waited for Peter to join him.

"What's taking so long? I told him to come down. Why isn't he here yet?" The Beast impatiently asks.

"Try to be patient, Sir. The boy has lost his Aunt and his freedom all in one day." Ms. Potts tries to placate.

"Master, have you thought that perhaps this boy could be the one to break the spell?" Rhodey chimes in, causing the Beast to whirl on him.

"Of course I have! I'm not a fool." The Beast snaps.

"Good! So, you learn to love and care for him, he comes to love you, and poof! The spell is broken. We'll be human again by midnight." Rhodey continues.

"Oh, it's not that easy, Rhodey. These things take time." Ms. Potts reminds, making sure Rhodey didn't get too ahead of himself and created false hope.

"But the rose has already begun to wilt."

"Oh, it's no use. He's a child and I'm - well - look at me! I'm something he'd see in his nightmares." The Beast grumbles, making both Ms. Potts and Rhodey sigh at his self-depreciation.

"You must help him to see past all that." Ms. Potts gently coaches.

"I don't know how." The Beast grumpily admits, causing Ms. Potts to furrow her brows in determination before hopping down towards him.

"Well, you can start by making yourself more presentable. Straighten up. Try to act like a gentleman." Ms. Potts commands, The Beast being quick to stop slouching and obey her.

"Yes. When he comes in, give him a dashing, debonair smile. Come, come, show me the smile." Rhodey is next to order, the Beast attempting to give a charming smile, which just turned into him showing off all of his razor-sharp teeth.

"But don't frighten the poor boy." Ms. Potts says, both her and Rhodey taking turns trying to explain what Beast should do to make Peter feel more welcomes.

"Impress him with your rapier wit."

"But be gentle."

"Shower him with compliments."

"But be sincere."

"And above all-"

"-you must control your temper!" Both Rhodey and Ms. Potts finish at the same time, the handle to the door jiggling right after.

"Here he is!" Rhodey excitedly says, making the Beast put on a smile as the door swings open. Only, Happy was the one to poke his head around the door, and he appeared to be there alone.

"Good evening." Happy nervously greets, causing the Beast's smile to fall.

"Well, where is he?" The Beast questions.

"Who? Oh," Happy begins, nervously laughing when he realized that playing dumb was getting him nowhere, "the boy, yes. The... boy. Well, actually, he's in the process of... uh... circumstances being what they are... oh... he's not coming." Happy stutters about before finally spitting it out.

"WHAT?" The Beast screams, instantly bursting out of the dining hall and running up towards the room Peter was staying in.

"Oh, dear. Your Grace! Your Eminence! Let's not be hasty!" Happy yells at the Beast as all three of them run after him.

As soon as the Beast slid over to Peter's door, he began banging on it as hard as he could, practically shaking the walls as he did so.

"I thought I told you to come down to dinner!" The beast screams through the door at Peter, everyone behind him shaking their heads at his harsh tone.

"I'm not hungry." Peter's small voice reaches out the hall, making Beast's hair stand up on his back due to how angry he was.

"You'll come out or I'll-I'll... I'll break down the door!"

"Master, I could be wrong, but that may not be the best way to win the boy's affections." Rhodey hesitantly chimes in.

"Please attempt to be a gentleman." Happy practically begs.

"But he is being so difficult." Beast points out as if that was going to excuse his behavior.

"Gently, gently." Ms. Potts coaxes, the Beast giving her an unimpressed look before turning back towards the door.

"Will you come down to dinner?" The Beast asks in a quiet and bored voice.

"No!" Peter still denies, the Beast turning towards everyone and giving them an, "I told you so" look.

"Ah-Ah," Happy tuts before coaching, "suave, genteel."

"It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner." The Beast says with fake enthusiasm, Happy cutting in right after.

"And we say 'please'."

"Please." The Beast grits through his teeth, only to get the same answer in return.

"No, thank you."

"You can't stay in there forever!" Beast angrily yells at the boy.

"Yes, I can." Peter argues back, clearly dead set on being as stubborn as possible.

"Fine! Then go ahead and starve!" The Beast screams once again, turning the end of his sentence into a roar. "If he doesn't eat with me, then he doesn't eat at all!" Beast tells the gang behind him before angrily storming off down the hall and slamming the door after him.

"Oh, dear. That didn't go very well at all, did it?" Ms. Potts comments as Happy turns towards Rhodey.

"Rhodey, stand watch at the door and inform me at once if there is the slightest change." Happy commands, Rhodey walking right in front of Peter's door and getting ready to stand guard.

"You can count on me, mon Capitaine." Rhodey salutes.

"Well, we might as well go downstairs and start cleaning up." Happy sighs prompting both him and Ms. Potts to start heading back downstairs.

Meanwhile, the Beast was running down the hall in the west wing, slamming open a pair of doors at the end of the hall.

"I ask nicely, but he refuses," Beast grumbles, taking a broken chair that was sitting in front of the doors and throwing it clear across the room. "what does he want me to do, beg?" Beast angrily asks the air, stomping over to a table that held only two things; a  rose glowing brightly inside a large glass bell and an enchanted mirror.

"Show me the boy." Beast growls as he swipes the mirror off the table, the last thing he saw was his own reflection before the magic of the mirror took over and showed him the image of Peter sitting on his bed next to the wardrobe.

'But the master's really not so bad, once you get to know him. Why don't you give him a chance?' The wardrobe tries to cajole.

'I don't want to get to know him. I don't want to have anything to do with him. He's mean and scary.' Peter tells the wardrobe, making the Beast wince and look away from the mirror.

"I'm just fooling myself. He'll never see me as anything, but a monster." Beast sighs, gently placing the mirror face down on the table, right next to the wilting rose that was already losing another petal.

"It's hopeless."

Tag List: @joyful-soul-collector​ @lost-lunar-wolf​ @spideyspeaches​ @hatakehikari​ @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm​

[bimboamyrose]

Unfamiliar - A Metamy Fanfic (Ch. 6)

Ch. 6: Instinct

First two chapters

Previous (Ch.5) CW: (mild) blood

NOTES: I posted this earlier but the tags were screwed up? Sorry if this is the second time you see this. More notes in the tags.

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“Okay, now add the eggs and vanilla,” Amy instructed. She was sitting at her kitchen counter watching her guests attempt to make chocolate chip cookies. Cream insisted that Amy just read out the ingredients and relax.

Cream reached for the amber bottle of vanilla extract. “How much is it again?”

“Two teaspoons.”

“Yes, captain!” Cream saluted Amy, cracking two eggs into the mixing bowl and splashing a little too much vanilla over them. “Oops…”

Amy chuckled, “It’s okay, just mix it.”

“You heard the lady. Let’s mix!” Cream pointed at Metal Sonic, who was reluctantly standing to the side gripping an electric hand mixer. He emitted a low chime and made a salute- this was also at the young girl’s behest.

Amy couldn’t keep herself from cackling at the sight of a sweet child ordering around a tall, formidable machine. It was the last sight she expected to see in her kitchen. Metal shot daggers at her as he mixed but it didn’t deter her laughter.

It was always easy for Amy to become comfortable with people, and having someone stay at her place for a week straight didn’t give her a choice anyway. She and Metal spent the last few days idling around, doing whatever Amy normally did on her time off- watching movies, sewing her spring garden, painting (or at least watching Metal attempt to delicately hold a brush). Not knowing how long her plan would take to pan out, Amy pushed the thought of explaining it to Sonic far back into her mind. He’d left town the day she and Metal visited Tails and was planning to be away for a couple more days, but Amy still hadn’t found the words to put together a convincing argument. They would have to cross that bridge when they got there.

Metal thought after his initial repairs that he should address his memory loss with Amy. He didn’t have any choice but to wait for the possibility that Tails could restore it, but he had known Amy in the past and wanted to understand how. Then he found himself enjoying his time with her. Another unfamiliar feeling. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to simply wait a while.

“Stop! It’s smooth,” Cream directed. The loud whizzing of the electric mixer died down and she turned back to Amy. “What’s next?”

Amy got out the last of her giggles and brought the recipe card to her eye level. “Sift in the dry ingredients.”

Cream dumped the pre-measured flour and baking powder into the sifter and carefully shook the airy powder into the rest of the mix. Amy was about to open her mouth to read the next step but was cut off by Cream shouting “Mix it!”

“No wait-” Amy pleaded too late.

Metal had turned the mixer up on high, sending most of the flour flying up out of the bowl. It caked all their faces and most of the counter before he realized his mistake and hastily pulled the mixer out. Then he frantically waved a hand in front of his face, blinded.

Amy rubbed the flour out of her eyes. “You’re supposed to go slowly,” she wheezed. The first thing she saw was Metal groping around the kitchen counter blindly. Cream burst into laughter a second later.  “I don’t know what you think is so funny- You’re the one who had to clean this mess!” Amy glowered.

“W-what?” Cream’s hooting was cut short. “But Metal’s the one who did it!”

“You’re the one forcing him! He can’t even eat cookies, why are you making him hold the hand mixer?”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t do it together,” Cream scoffed.

The aluminum measuring spoons clattered to the ground. Metal had continued fumbling around for something to clean his face off with, knocking them over by accident. Amy clicked her tongue and made her way around the counter, pulling a kitchen towel out of a drawer. “Hold still before you break something!” she clamored, reaching up to taking hold of Metal’s face in order to wipe the thick layer of flour off his eyes. “Don’t you remember where the towels are?”

He chimed indignantly in response. He was never in the kitchen, why would he bother learning where she kept the rags? When the layer of dust had been cleared out of his vision, he felt something akin to embarrassment at suddenly being face-to-face with Amy. She must have felt similarly because she turned away from him in a huff. There was color in her cheeks.

Amy’s communicator could be heard ringing from her bedroom. She turned to answer it. “We’ll clean it together, just get a head start while I answer this.” She could hear Cream sigh as she began wiping the counter.

Amy clicked the button on the large tablet-like device. Tails could be seen on the other side, waving. He looked nervous. “Hey, Tails. What’s up? Feeling okay?”

“I’m alright,” he shrugged. “Sonic wants to say hi…”

A knot suddenly tied in Amy’s gut. “Sonic? He’s back already?”

“Hey Ames!” the view suddenly shifted to the blue hedgehog. He was all smiles as he waved to her. “Sure am! How’s it goin’?”

Amy forced a smile. “Great! Just hanging out! Where were you?”

“Did a little scouting. I think Egghead is up to something as usual. We should all get together and see what we can do about it.”

“Oh, really? I’m a little busy-”

“And Tails said you wanted to talk to me about something! Just letting you know I’ll be right over. See ya!” he winked and the screen went blank.

Amy began to panic. For a moment, she was frozen. The tablet rang once more and Tails was on screen again. “Sorry! I was calling to warn you. He’s about to leave-”

“What did you tell him?” Amy interrupted.

“Nothing! Just that you wanted to talk to him.” Tails turned his head. “Uh, he just left-”

Amy hung up before Tails could finish. Sonic would be there in seconds. She ran back into the kitchen, startling her guests. “Cream, you have to go now. Metal, can you walk her out the back?”

Cream looked up from her cleaning. “Huh? But we’re not done baking these yet-”

“Go. Now!” Amy pointed to the back door. “I’ll explain later.”

The panic in her voice was obvious. Metal took Cream by the hand gently, nudging her out of the kitchen just as Amy whipped her head around. A loud knock came from the door. She wasn’t expecting to have this confrontation today.

Amy started toward the door. “I’ll call you later, Cream.”

“O-Okay…” the girl was led out through the back door by Metal. He was on high alert. Amy’s sudden change in demeanor was alarming, to say the least. He waved to Cream as she threw her jacket on and scuttled off the beach, shooting him back a worried look as she left. Amy wasn’t in the house when Metal re-entered.

She had stepped out the front door the moment she opened it, greeting Sonic outside. Neither of them was wearing jackets. Sonic rarely did, but Amy immediately felt the air nipping at her. “Hey! I wasn’t expecting company today…” Amy leaned back against the door, making sure it was shut behind her.

Sonic was usually greeted with a begrudging hug, but immediately noticed his friend’s anxiety instead. “Hey, Ames. Everything okay? What did you wanna talk about?”

“Um…” she avoided his gaze. “Never mind that, let’s talk about what you found while scouting.”

He stood with his fists against his hips impatiently. “We can talk about that with the team tomorrow. What’s up? Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” she shrugged.

“Then how come we’re still standing out here?”

Amy was out of answers. She stalled by taking a deep breath, as if she was preparing to say something, but she didn’t know what that something would be.

Inside, Metal made his way across the house to listen at the front door. He heard a male voice that he instinctively recognized as threatening. He couldn’t explain why, but the voice outside sounded like his opponent. Was Amy in danger? The words weren’t menacing, but that voice…

Metal pulled the door open hastily. Amy struggled with the doorknob momentarily, but it was no use- the door opened inward and Metal was capable of pulling it with enough force to take it off its hinges. She stumbled backward, bumping into him from behind.

Metal’s eyes met Sonic’s. Enemy. Nothing about the blue hedgehog’s appearance immediately screamed “dangerous” or “threatening” but that was the only word that came to Metal’s mind. Enemy. He reflexively slipped an arm around Amy’s waist, pulling her back.

“Metal- wait!” she gasped. Sonic had seen him do this before. The context was different then, but neither of them knew that.

The shock that came across Sonic was enough to give him a rare, brief moment of pause. But the second Metal Sonic dragged Amy away, he knew he was in for a battle. “I don’t know how you got in here, but if you don’t let her go-”

“Sonic, stop!” Amy pleaded, still in the robot’s grasp.

Sonic. Metal heard her say his name when they’d met some days earlier. He recalled the search he’d made into his memory. The corrupt file. The one thing he could associate with Sonic was enemy. His only instincts now were to fight and protect.

Metal leaped backward toward the sliding door with Amy in his grasp. He slammed it open and pulled her out the back; it was a miracle the glass didn’t shatter. She was pleading with him to stop. “Please! Let me explain!” But he wanted to get her far away from the approaching battle. Amy knew that if she struggled and managed to escape, there would be nothing stopping Sonic from attacking. Metal took her in his arms and accelerated toward the sky.

Amy didn’t know what to do.  The cold wind stung her eyes and she held onto Metal tightly, dizzy from the sudden altitude. They flew up the hillside that formed a semi-circle behind the beach, landing on a grassy cliff that was wet from the melting frost. As Metal tried to put her down she folded her arms around him to prevent him from flying away. His engine whirred loudly and he reverberated a low note. He wasn’t going to let her prevent him from doing what he needed. He grabbed her arms and tried to force her off, sharp fingers digging into her delicate skin. Amy grimaced in pain but refused to let go. Realizing this, Metal softened his grip and tried his best to convey his confusion in his mechanical language. It stalled him long enough for Sonic to come running up the hillside and onto the same cliff.

“Get your hands off her!” Sonic looked for an opening to strike.

“Stop!” Amy held a hand out in front of her. “You need to listen to me, both of you-”

Metal slipped away from her, pushing her out of the way harshly. She lost her balance on the slippery grass and landed on her knees. He hadn’t meant to push her over, but Metal would have to find the time to apologize later. His long legs stepped around her coldly, approaching his opponent. They both stood offensively, each glaring at the other, unblinking. Metal was getting ready to take off into the air again to move the fight when they were interrupted.

Amy’s oversized mallet came down hard between them, ending their staring contest. The ground seemed to move beneath the three of them at the strike. Her scowl met Sonic first. “I said stop! Why don’t you ever listen?” she roared. Her eyes were twin volcanoes. “And you,” she whipped her head around to come face-to-face with Metal. “You idiot! You don’t even know why you’re fighting!” Amy’s shrieks echoed through the valley as she panted from the sudden exertion. Her throat felt as if she’d been breathing fire.

The other two seemed to realize at once that it was pointless to fight. Whatever instincts regularly guided them had failed in the wake of Amy’s intervention. Sonic knew better than to disregard Amy when she was fueled with this much rage. This wasn’t just her regular temper getting the better of her. The sudden charge frightened even Metal.

“Amy,” Sonic began.

“Shut up,” she shot back coldly. “You need to listen-”

“Amy, you’re bleeding.” he retorted, gesturing to her arm.

She looked at her right upper arm, where Metal had taken hold of her a few moments earlier. A small gash was beginning to send blood running down onto her forearm. She hurriedly covered it with her other hand and stood upright. “It’s just a scratch.” The chilly air, fierce anger, and shock of blood were enough to jerk Amy out of her adrenaline rush. She was shaking now.

Metal brought his rigid hands up to examine them. Blood capped the tips of the fingers on his left hand. Guilt came over him as he watched Amy’s white gloves turn pink.

Sonic took a step toward her. “Amy, just tell me what’s going on.”

“I will. Can we go home? I’m so cold.”

Sonic nodded, outstretching his arms to her. Metal put out his own hand but quickly stopped himself. He feared he would hurt her again. Amy turned back to him and nodded, as if to convince him that she was okay. Her pale face and shivering form were not so reassuring. “Meet us down there,” she told Metal as she took a seat in Sonic’s arms. Sonic knit his brow.

They sped down the cliffside and onto the beach. He slowed to a walk on the damp sand. “You can put me down,” Amy requested.

“Don’t be stubborn, we’re almost there. What’s gotten into you?”

Sonic carried her through the back door. Chilly air entered the house with them as it had been left open for the past several minutes. Amy was doing her best to ignore the mess in her kitchen and pulling a small first aid kit from her pantry when Metal lumbered in. He slid the door closed as slowly as he could control.

“Sit. Both of you.” It was like deja-vu. She wondered if this would end as well as it did with Cream.

The three sat at Amy’s dining table. Metal watched her silently clean the cut and running blood and stick a strip of bandage over top. It was more than a scratch but the wound wasn’t deep, Amy had stopped bleeding by the time she crumpled up the packaging from the bandage. Sonic didn’t take his eyes off the robot.

Amy held a hand out toward Metal. “Give me your hand,” she instructed plainly. He looked down toward his lap guiltily. “Hey, it’s okay.” She beckoned for his hand once again and he reluctantly lifted it over the table. Amy grabbed it and wiped the partially dried blood from his fingers with some cotton dipped in alcohol, all the while Sonic stared on tensely in confusion. “You’ll end up staining something if you don’t clean your hands…” she mumbled. Metal didn’t have a response but to watch. He wanted to be grateful that she wasn’t seriously hurt or angry, but the only thing he felt was remorse. There must have been a reason he was built this way, all sharp and armed. What was he still here for? He thought it was probably time he stopped loitering around her.

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[rainandhotchocolate]

Tension - Part 9

A/N JUST TO CONFUSE Y’ALL here is tension part 9 instead of Blackout part 10 - oops. Blackout will be out in two days though so don’t give up on me yet <3 Enjoy!

Also sorry if you’ve not been tagged! I had my taglist go haywire so I don’t think it saved some of the newer requests that I put in - hit me up if this is the case.

~~~~~

The next day passed slowly. Y/N felt like she was seeing Sirius everywhere, his curly dark hair sitting in every class, a cool, unfazed look boring into her every time she caught his eye. Remus was getting excited, talking in hushed tones all day about the changes they could do to the map. 

“What if we add all of the secret passageways out of the castle?”

“But we’ll need to figure out how to get into them all first.”

“We know enough for the moment – I’m sure we could add instructions or something.”

“Well if we are tracking everyone, would we be tracking ourselves anyw-“

“Lupin, Y/L/N, anything you are hoping to share with us all?” McGonagall’s eyes pierced into their own, making them both bob their heads down. 

“No.”

“Then please pay attention.”

“Sorry Professor.” Lupin smiled up at her. Y/N rolled her eyes as Professor McGonagall huffed but softened her eyes. Suck up.

Remus continued to write notes all throughout class, muttering to himself softly as he began drawing little caricatures of people and stairwells that moved around his parchment. 

They traipsed back to the dungeons after dinner, settling in front of the fire to start on their Transfiguration homework and wait for 11pm to strike. Slowly but surely the common room emptied, students moving back to their dorm rooms and leaving a soft silence in the room that was unnerving Y/N greatly. The emptier the room became the more she began to think about certain boys and not how to transfigure moving objects into other moving objects. 

The two of them had already given up on the essay by the time 11pm hit and were pulling on their cloaks by the entrance when the clock chimed loudly in the common room. 

“Let’s go.” Remus grinned. Y/N hadn’t seen him this excited in forever and smiled back at him as they pulled their hoods up and exited the common room, keeping to the shadows of the hallways and using the walls to guide them instead of lighting their wands. They made their way to the Great Hall, the meeting spot Y/N had presumed, but as they moved closer she felt her stomach curdle. What if this was the wrong spot? What if it’s all just a big trap? Trap for what, don’t be stupid. 

They hovered around the edge of the entrance to the Great Hall, wanting an easy access point to the stairwell so they could make a run for it if Filch or Mrs Norris came prowling. 

Suddenly, two large hands seemed to come out of nowhere and place themselves hard on Remus and Y/N’s shoulders. 

“FUCK,” Y/N hissed jumping backwards and pulling out her wand and pointing it towards the hands that were now hovering in midair. 

“Man, that’s never not fun.” The voice of James Potter came from the empty space around the hands, and a cloak seemed to pull off and reveal both James and Sirius, the former grinning whilst Sirius’s face remained neutral. 

“Merlin’s beard, what is that?” Y/N croaked, feeling her heart still pounding loudly in her chest. 

“That’s an invisibility cloak,” Remus replied for James, looking in awe a the cloak, “Can I feel it?”

“Yeah, of course, why do you think I brought it,” James grinned and passed it over for Remus to feel, the cloak now visible in his hands. 

“To show off,” Y/N retorted, hoping her face looked calm. Sirius smirked but remained motionless behind James, not moving to greet them. Y/N noticed that he was still wearing long sleeves down to his fingertips.

“Come on, we want to show you guys something.”

“We?” Y/N muttered to Remus who snorted but signalled for James to go ahead. 

“Do you want to go under the cloak? Unsure if we’ll all fit but we can give it a go.”

“Yes!”

“I don’t know.”

Remus and Y/N replied at the same time, Remus grinning and Y/N looking nervously towards Sirius. He turned to her, eyes wide and exasperated.

“Come on, this is so exciting,” And then in a lower voice, “And you’ll get to squeeze right up nex-”

“OK OK, let’s go.” Y/N plastered on a smile and followed as Remus began asking questions about the cloak as he stepped under it. Y/N grabbed an edge at the same time as Sirius and watched as he jumped back slightly, hiding his hand again. Y/N narrowed her eyes, steeling herself. 

“Come on,” She pulled the cloak up and over the two of them, stepping forward so she could lean on Remus in front of her and try to avoid pressing herself against Sirius. They walked awkwardly together up the stairs, James hissing at Sirius every few minutes to stop falling out of step. 

They climbed up to the fourth floor, pausing every few moments to listen for anyone moving in the staircases around them or along the corridors now almost completely in darkness. 

“Stop stepping on my heels!”

“You’re taking tiny steps I can’t not hit you.”

“Would you two shut it before we all get put into detention?” James whispered towards Sirius and Y/N who had been stumbling on each other after the last flight of steps. “We’re here anyway.”

James pulled the cloak off all four of them, edging towards the wall on the far side of the fourth floor near the main flight of stairs. There was a large painting of an old woman with a large bowl of fruit on her head and several large pear trees covering the painting hanging beside a large mirror that was rusted over. 

“Are you ready for your minds to be blown,” Sirius stepped forwards, grinning at the mirror, and turning to face the three of them. 

“You’re really hyping this up.” Remus laughed but stepped forwards with him and crossed his arms. “Let’s see this miracle then.”

James joined Sirius at the mirror and held out his wand. He tapped the edge of the mirror four times, one on each of the top two corners and the other two in the middle left and right. Then, he muttered something and a light shone around the mirror, travelling from the top peak around to the bottom before clicking open and swinging forward. 

“Ta da!” James turned to them with jazz hands, Sirius leaning against the door in an apparent attempt to cool at ease whilst still pulling his sleeves down over his fingertips. 

“Holy shit,” Y/N gaped, “Where does it lead?”

“Is it out of the castle?” Remus was gazing at the edges of the mirror, reaching out to touch it. 

“Yep, right out into Hogsmeade.” James nodded towards it, “Want to check it out?”

“How long does it take to get there?” 

“An hour, maybe…?” Sirius grimaced, “Maybe we should try this on a weekend. 

“Yeah a two hour trek there and back is already going to be close to 2am.” 

“Who knew you two would be the party poopers,” Remus pouted but sighed, “But they are right, even though I’m very impressed you found out how to open it.”

“Believe me, it took more than a few goes.”

“Do you know more?” Y/N asked curiously, now peering down the passageway. James and Sirius looked at each other with mischievous grins.

“There are six others,” James leaned across from Sirius. They looked even more ridiculous.

“All over the castle,” Sirius continued. Remus held back a laugh. 

“They all leave the castle, but only one goes to Hogsmeade.”

“Two,” Y/N corrected. 

“Two?” Sirius turned to her, narrowing his eyes. 

“Well yeah… the shrieking shack?” Y/N laughed, “You know, where you tried to kill Remus.”

“Ahh, of course! Water under the bridge, no?” James winked at Remus and pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket. 

“We got Peter to do some of the design on the front - don’t worry he’s cool.” James reassured Remus when he suddenly looked nervous. 

James handed over the parchment they had copied over, and opened it up. A swirling designed crept along the edges of the parchment, filling the whole page as Y/N opened up the folds as it revealed more and more of the castle until she could see half the castle and the grounds curling around the pages of the parchment. 

“This…” Y/N stammered, not believing what she was seeing. “How long did this take you?”

“Sirius, Peter, and I were building it out all holidays, Sirius and I most days and then Peter came and made it pretty.”

“Don’t you and Sirius live super far away?” Y/N queried, still looking at the map, tracing the figurines of the areas across the school. When no one answered, she looked up to see Sirius glaring at a very guilty looking James. 

“What?” Remus looked between the two of them suspiciously. James sighed loudly, still grimacing. 

“Sorry dude.” James hit Sirius on the shoulder, “Not my story to tell.”

Sirius rolled his eyes at him. 

“I don’t want to get into this.” Sirius looked down then back up and towards the map. “It’s still a work in progress, but we were thinking we’d pass it off to you to work your… magic.” 

Sirius grimaced at his choice of words, looking up at Y/N. It caught her off guard, her heart pounding uncomfortably at his stare. 

“Sounds good,” Y/N smiled at him, don’t you dare betray me face, stop it. She felt a blush creep up and onto her cheeks so she turned to Remus. “Here, you’re better keep hold of this, I’ll definitely lose it.”

“Unfortunately true.” Remus grabbed the map and folded it until it could fit into his pocket. “So was this midnight rendezvous just for this?”

James gasped, looking mock-hurt, “This wasn’t good enough for ol’ moon-boy?”

Remus turned to glare at Y/N. 

“You told him?”

“No, of course not!” Y/N hesitated, “I told Sirius.”

“You’re the worst friend ever.”

“Or perhaps Sirius is the worst secret keeper ever,” Y/N teased, seeing if Sirius would engage with her again but he just avoided her gaze. She frowned but tried to ignore it. 

“We should probably getting back, I do want to be awake in class tomorrow.” Remus looked expectantly at Y/N. 

“Easy Mcpeasy Moon-boy,” James dodged out of the way of Remus’s arm, grinning, “Come on Sirius, let's leave these two slytherins to their evening business.”

“You go on ahead, give me a sec,” Sirius nudged James who quickly eyed Remus and turned away. Y/N turned to Remus to ask what was going on but he had already begun waving at the two of them and skulking into the dark of the corridor. 

“Meet you in the Great Hall!” Y/N heard him say quietly before she turned back to Sirius who was rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. 

“I just wanted, uh, to say sorry,” Sirius started, still picking at his sleeves awkwardly. 

“That’s ok… I think,” Y/N laughed lightly, “I’m not really sure what your apologising for.”

“For being a bit out of it lately.”

“You mean ignoring me?”

“So you do know,” Sirius pointed out. Y/N sighed. 

“Sorry I just, I'm confused. I know you’re apologising but I don’t really know what’s going on.”

“Can’t you just, accept, you know, that I’m sorry?” He smiled sheepishly at her. She watched him closely. Y/N wasn’t sure if she had ever seen him this nervous before. Well not at least before he’d asked her to their Christmas Party. 

“Well yes, but-”

“See now lets have no buts alright? Clean and simple, I’ll stop being a dickhead, you forgive me, easy peasy.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him but couldn’t help smiling a little. 

“Look, I just need to know if I  did something wrong. I mean I thought we had a good time at Christmas? I’m just confused is all.” Y/N sighed, feeling very exposed in the moonlit hallway around her. Sirius looked up at her quickly. 

“No, Merlin no you didn’t do anything! Fuck I’m sorry I’m a bloody mess it’s really and truly not because of you…”

“But…?” Y/N smiled. She could sense it in his tone. You’re fine it’s just -

“It’s your family,” He said softly. your family. Classic.

“Oh,” Y/N took a step back. She hadn’t heard this in years, not since she’d stopped trying to make friends in other houses. But it still didn’t feel like a shock to her, it was something she’d wondered about ever since she heard stories of him rebelling against the Black family clan. He’d finally cut ties. 

“Congratulations,” Y/N muttered again, stepping back further from him. 

“No, Y/N, come on -” Sirius tried to reach her shoulder but she dodged out of his way. 

“I need to go meet Remus, I’ll see you… soon.” Y/N turned on her heel, ignoring his call out to her as she made her way quickly down the stairs and into the Great Hall. 

“Remus you are not going to belie-” Y/N froze as she took in the sight ahead of her. Remus, eyes wide and nervous, staring at her, Professor McGonagall by his side looking like she might kill someone in her nightgown and cap. 

“Ah, nice of you to join us Ms. Y/L/N.” She smiled tightly at him. “Remus was just telling me that he was alone. Perhaps we can rehash this story to your head of house.”

“I-we- “

“Please save the excuses for someone else, come with me please, now.”

Taglist:  @AVERYTRUERAYOFSUNSHINE @SIRIUSLYJANHVI

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[kunoichi-ume]

Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad

Characters: Torian Cadera, Noara Starspark, Balic Cormac and Elara Dorne-Cormac (I have no idea if she will ever take his name, but they are totally married so that’s how I am writing it haha) Story: Jedi Sitters Word Count: 3458

Note: This fic was inspired by this piece of art by @jemichiart, and the name for the little Rishii baby totally taken from @outcastcommander’s suggestion. This also ended up much longer than I expected, but I enjoyed writing this so I am not sorry. EDIT: I am however sorry I forgot to add the tags and link to the picture. Oops.

The sharp tang of blood filled the air as Torian made his way through the Rishi jungle, rifle held ready in case he needed it. He had set off that morning to go hunting but, apparently, he wasn’t the only being on the prowl for a challenge. Whatever had spilled the blood tainting the air had apparently already found it’s prey. He followed the scent, giving in to his curiosity that soon turned into alarm when he identified where the smell of blood came from. Not further into the forest, where wild beasts were known to roam, but into a small clearing he was familiar with. A clearing that housed several huts belonging to a small tribe of locals.

Blood spilled there couldn’t bode well at all.

They were a peaceful sort, the Rishii, despite being natural born predators. Despite their sharp claws and beaks, and ever sharper eyes, Torian ahd always found them to be a kind and welcoming bunch every time he visited their home world. Now that he called the tropical world home as well, Torian had hopes of befriending one or two of them. While he had never heard of a Rishii Mandalorian, the idea of one excited him and he’d welcome any of their number into his hunting party.

Stopped at the edge of the clearing, Torian observed the carnage with a keen eye. Several structures were only partially standing, walls and roofs caved in. Not a single dwelling was left as adequate shelter from the elements. Bodies, all belonging to the feathered locals, laid out across the ground. Claws, far larger than any he had ever seen a Rishii possess, had carved up the bodies the same way they had destroyed the buildings, gouging the ground to leave long, deep grooves in the packed dirt.

Torian sighed heavily, he was no stranger to death but there was always something tragic about the loss of innocent lives. These people were not warriors, not soldiers. They were families, with elderly and young among them. Now he was grateful Noara had not joined him this morning, she was not a hunter but enjoyed exploring the wilds at his side. Death, especially senseless deaths like these, always weighed heavily on her. Where Torian observed the carnage with a sense of sadness at the loss of life she would feel the full weight of grief bearing down on her chest. He loved the former Jedi with all his heart, but her upbringing in the Order still influenced her to behave in ways he didn’t always understand. It kept life interesting.

The sound of something hitting the ground pulled Torian's attention away from the bodies laid out across the clearing. Keeping very still, he strained to hear any other signs of life. Perhaps something in the damaged huts had shifted he wondered. But then a second, clearer sound filled the air. Cracking.

Moving quietly, careful to step around the bodies and blood, Torian entered the clearing and looked for the source of the sound. Nothing was out of place in the first partially standing hut he investigated, nor the second.

At the threshold of the third Torian froze in place, shocked still by what he found as his heart pounded loudly in his ears.

Sprawled out on the dusty floor was a small creature and, though he had never seen one before, it was obvious to Torian it was a newborn Rishii ik'aad. A baby. Something thick and shiny soaked the ik'aad's feathers, pieces of shell caught in the viscous liquid and littering the area almost like shrapnel from an explosion. It looked as though the egg that little thing once resided in had been stashed into the cabinet above where it sat, the door hanging open on a crooked hinge.

It wasn't hard to make the assumption that someone, possibly one of the child's parents, had stashed the egg away in hopes of safety. Luckily the door had held after the damage to the walls had displaced it until the danger had passed. And, equally lucky, was that the ik'aad had been ready to hatch.

Stepping into the destroyed hut, eyes far too large for the small ik'aad's face, lit up in delight when he came into view. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Torian couldn't resist carefully scooping the ik'aad up into his arms. The little thing barely weighed anything at all and his chest tightened at the idea that it was made an orphan the same day it was born. Torian was still a baby when he lost his parents, but at least it hadn’t been the exact same day. A foundling before even getting a name. Brushing some of the shell pieces off soggy feathers, he did his best to check if the child was healthy but truthfully didn't know what he was looking for.

The question of what to do never entered Torian’s mind, there was no debate to be had. Until he could find the ik’aad’s family, if any lived, the foundling was his responsibility. First thing first, he needed to make sure the newborn was healthy. Glancing around the hut, Torian grabbed a large red cloth and shook the dust off before wrapping it around the child. It was a warm day, as was the usual on Rishi, but he didn't want to chance the child catching a chill from it's soaked feathers. Once satisfied that the makeshift birikad would hold the ik'aad securely against his chest, he was quick to leave the destroyed village behind and head back into the forest.

Head turning all around so much Torian was concerned the ik'aad would injure it, the infant cooed excitedly while taking in the world for the first time. It was all Torian could do to keep from laughing, the pure joy of seeing the world with new eyes was infectious. When he reached the rough path he had taken into the jungle, no longer having to duck under branches, Torian switched from a quick pace to a jog. He wanted to get the ik'aad home as soon as possible, not only did the newborn need to be examined by a trained medic but he also had no idea what kind of food to provide. Luckily, when he had left, Noara had said she expected her brother and his wife to come by soon.

Balic Cormac, a giant of a man, wasn't Noara’s sibling by blood, but by choice which meant more to Torian in the long run. He had grown up without his blood around and Noara's had given her away. Better to rely on the family that chose to love you when you needed someone. As luck would have it, Balic's wife Elara was one of the most widely versed medics Torian had ever met. She should be more than capable of giving the little Rishii a proper checkup.

The ik'aad made an odd huffy noise, one that sounded almost put out and made Torian grin widely. "Don't worry ad'ika, you'll get a better look later," he said, smoothing his hand over the ruffled feathers slowly drying on the child's head. He'd make sure the kid got an eyeful before they decided what to do with him.

Walking into the Clan Compound Torian was struck with the still unfamiliar feeling of being home, a warm sense of contentment and belonging that he savored. It wasn't something he had experienced often in his life, having an actual home instead of just a temporary accommodation. When Noara had started talking about wanting to settle down, leaving the saving of the galaxy to others while they moved on with their lives, he hadn't been too particular about where they ended up. As long as he could hunt, house his clan and be with his wife he was happy.

Settling on a tropical world, one with plenty of beaches and ocean to keep Noara happy and thick forests and plentiful fauna for hunting had turned out perfect. Even the base they found was exactly what they needed, large enough to house everyone and any new members the clan might welcome in the years to come and all the animals Noara had taken to rescuing, while being secure enough to defend if they ever needed to.

They even had enough space to put in their own little medical center, which was where Torian headed first. With the Cormac's visiting, it was fairly likely they would either be checking the set up of the new infirmary equipment as Elara had been their main consultant on what they needed, or up in the cliff-side apartment he shared with Noara. Elara was a very driven, serious woman and he would be surprised if she didn’t want to get straight to work. Also the infirmary was closer to where he exited the jungle.

Barely inside the door Torian knew he had made the right choice. The murmur of voices drifted down the corridor toward him and he smiled. He had no idea how Noara would react to him coming home with an ik'aad strapped to his chest and, honestly, he was looking forward to finding out. She found far too much amusement in surprising him with the newest beastie she had decided to take into their home, it was only fair to turn the tables on her.

Several people were gathered inside the infirmary. Balic was leaning against the wall, not far from where his wife worked and even slumped down slightly he was still head and shoulders over everyone else. Several of the younger clan members, all in varying colors of armor, watched the blonde woman with rapt attention as she gave them a rundown of how to use a new scanning device. Noara was lying on the hospital table, obviously playing the lab wamp rat, and doing a good impression of an injured patient until she looked toward the door.

Sneaking up on Noara was almost impossible for Torian, she claimed to be able to feel him with the Force. He believed her, but it was still a hard sell. She claimed it wasn’t the same as how she felt another Force user, but something special because of their connection. She could feel him when he was near, even sense a bit of his moods if she tried.

Of course that didn’t mean he wasn’t determined to try, and someday he was going to manage it.

Instead of pretending to be hurt, Noara smiled brightly when he stepped into view and he could see the moment she noticed the ik'aad. Her eyes widened in surprise and she jolted up off the medical bed, head almost colliding with Elara's who had leaned over during her lecture. Only Balic's large hand yanking his wife backward saved them both from having their bells rung.

"Cyare," Noara said, pushing off the bed and hurrying toward him. "Meg vaar gar ganar?"

Muffled laughter broke out among the younger vod in the room. Noara had been working on learning Mando'a for a few years now, but like now still managed to get some words mixed up much to the younger generation's amusement. Instead of asking what he had, she instead spoke a gibberish phrase about what he had undeveloped. Or half grown, vaar, could mean either.

Cheeks flushing, Noara knew what the laughter meant but instead of reacting further she peered curiously at the ik'aad. "Who is this?"

Torian leaned his head down to brush his lips against her forehead, eyes fixed on the vod still smiling about her slip up. It was of course a message, to remind them she was their alor's riduur. Noara was more Mando than he could have ever imagined a Jedi turning, but part of him still worried about her being accepted by his peers. He knew first hand that it was possible to be Mando and still be treated like an aruetii. He'd be damned if he would let anyone make Noara feel like she wasn't enough.

Turning their head, the ik'aad looked up at Noara with wide yellow eyes. Noara returned the interested stare, reaching out to run her fingers through the matted feathers. "Poor little guy needs a bath," she said, raising her eyes to frown at him. "Are you babysitting or something?"

"Or something," Torian laughed before giving a quick explanation of his day. His story had the attention of everyone in the room and Elara was at his side before he had even finished.

"You should have said it was a newborn sooner," Elara chided him, holding her hands out. "Let me take a look."

Nodding, Torian braced one hand on the ik'aad's bottom before untying the birikad. Once it was loose Elara had the little one in her arms and was making her way back to the exam table.

There was perhaps a split second between her stepping away from him and the loudest shrieking he had ever heard come from a sentient being's lungs. Noara gasped as Torian darted around her, beelining for the table.

"What did you do?" he demanded, leaning over the table to see the small Rishii ik'aad lying on the bed and looking completely fine. Even the squalling had stopped, the moment he leaned over the table. Confused, he looked at the former Havoc Squad medic.

Humming thoughtfully, Elara shifted to block Torian from view. Again the ik'aad started crying loudly. Moving back, the cries stopped the moment golden eyes met Torian's. "Stay right there, where the child can see you."

Noara stepped up beside Torian, pulling a stool over for him to sit on and stayed by his side as Elara examined her new patient. This time the instruction she gave the watching vod was more hands on than the lecture she had given over Noara's 'pretend' ailment. Torian didn't pay much attention to the words she was saying, explaining everything she did, instead he was drawn to the small Rishii's eyes that seemed glued to his face.

Finally Elara set her instruments away, lifting the ik'aad and passing him over for Torian to hold. She delivered her prognosis with a bright smile. "That is one perfectly healthy Rishii baby boy you have there Torian."

"He is such a cutie," Noara said, perched on the edge of the table behind him and leaning over his shoulder to run her fingers through the boy's feathers again. "If his parents are dead, what do we do with him?"

Torian frowned, he hadn't thought that far and now that he was holding the small boy in his arms it just felt... right. Like he was meant to take in this foundling as his own, as his son. They had talked a little about children, though nothing in certain terms and had never discussed adoption. It was as much a part of Mandalorian culture as armor and fighting, they even had a set phrase for it.

How was he going to tell his wife he wanted to make them parents without even discussing it? Watching her smile as the boy gurgled happily at her touch, he had a feeling it wouldn't be too hard to convince her.

Before he could work up an idea of how to start that conversation, Elara cleared her throat to get their attention. "Actually, you should know that Rishii infants are known to imprint on the first person they see."

"Imprint?" Noara asked, frowning in confusion and the words sunk in for Torian. He knew what it meant, but never imagined a sentient species did it. By being the one to find the boy he had all but sealed the question of their future.

"It's a long lasting attachment to the first individual or object a creature sees after hatching. It's common in avian species," Elara explained in her serious manner before smiling. "Based on the child's reaction to being separated I can only assume he has imprinted on Torian."

"So that means..." Noara's voice trailed off as she looked between the boy and her husband. "Are you a dad now?"

Torian pulled his son closer at the hitch in her voice, "I guess, I mean I want to know how you feel about it before deciding anything."

Noara watched him carefully for a long moment before looking up at the crowded room. "Could we have some privacy please?"

"Of course Noara-doll," Balic said before pushing off the wall where he was leaning. He started herding the training medics out of the room before dropping a kiss on the top of Noara's head and leaving with his wife tucked tight against his side. On the way out the door Elara called back that she would arrange for some proper food to be up in their apartment for the boy.

Once they were finally alone Noara shifted closer on the bed to wrap her arms around Torian's shoulders, her chest pressed up against his back. She laid her hands on top of his, helping cradle the child against his chest. When she spoke her voice was steady, though little more than a whisper in his ear. "Are you ready to be a father Torian? I know we've talked a bit about it, but this would be starting now. No time to come to terms with it or get cold feet you know?"

"As sudden as it may feel, I think I am." Torian turned on his stool, dislodging her arms so he could watch her face carefully, "what about you? Are you ready to be a mother?"

"To be honest, no. I don't feel ready at all," Noara said, sighing sadly. "I still don't really know what a mother is? How to do it, you know?"

Holding the child with one hand, Torian cupped her cheek with his other one. "I don't know what being a father is like either but together I have no doubts we will figure it out."

"He'd need a name," she said after a tense moment, leaning her face into his cheek with a smile, "if we can't even manage that what kind of parents would we be?"

Torian laughed, the anxious worry he hadn’t really noticed in his chest relaxing at her smile. "Fair enough. Any ideas?"

“Not sure, never named anyone before.” Noara looked down at the boy tucked against his chest. "His eyes look like little suns don’t they? So bright and full of life."

"What about Tranyc?"

She frowned, "that's Mando'a right? Star... something?"

Torian nodded, impressed that she caught the unfamiliar word. "Star-burned, but that's the literal translation. 'Sunny' is a more true meaning."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, I love you Torian," Noara said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders again and kissing him. "And loving this little guy will be no burden I’m sure."

“No I don’t imagine it will be,” Torian said, standing and taking one of Noara’s hands to draw her off the table to stand in front of him. Adjusting his hold on Tranyc, he situated them so Noara was helping hold his son between them. “We should make it official, well as official as Mandalorians ever are.”

“I take it there is a set way to do this?” Noara’s eyes had a teasing gleam in them as she smiled up at him, “so tell me, how do we make Tranyc our son?”

Torian’s heart felt like it could burst, gratitude and admiration for Noara’s easy acceptance of their son almost overwhelming him. He had to clear his throat before being able to speak the adoption vow. “Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad.”

“What does that mean?” she didn’t look up as she asked, her eyes fixed on Tranyc’s bright smile.

“I know your name as my child.”

“Very Mandalorian, direct and to the point. I like it.” Noara placed her hand on Tranyc;s head and repeated the vow. Like when they had spoken their marriage vows months before, it took her a few times so get the pronunciation exactly right. When she finished, she gathered their son in her arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek before laughing. “We really need to bathe our son,” she said, “and Elara should have an idea of what to feed him by now.”

Torian wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding Noara out of the infirmary. “Let’s take our son home,” he said, the words making him feel like he could fly. His entire life Torian had wanted a family, one that he could do right by. The way his father hadn’t. The way Noara’s parents hadn’t. They had both grown up without a family but together they had made one all their own. And, other than perhaps the day Noara agreed to marry him, Torian had never been happier than this moment.

Translations

Ik'aad - baby; child under 3 Birikad - baby carrying harness Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad - adoption vow - lit. I know your name as my child.

[gvf-imagine]

Greta Van Fleet Preferences

HOW YOU MEET

——————————

Danny:

How you meet

“Ill be out here when you're ready to show me” your friend calls , knocking on your dressing room door. You give a simple “ok” as a reply and begin to undress. You're going to a wedding this weekend and your friend is helping you find something to wear, she found her dress weeks ago, you struggled in the fashion department. 

Your eyes fell on the dress your friend had picked out for you. It was a very gentle pink color and came down to your mid thigh, it was tight not flowy which was far from your normal attire. It looked nice enough but the price tag frightened you. You pulled it off the hanger and shimmied into it. Honestly, you thought you looked great, perhaps you should step outside your comfort zone more often when it came to clothing. The dress hugged your curves , which made you feel insecure but it's a wedding so no one will be looking at you, all eyes on the bride, hopefully. You fix your hair and pose for yourself, it was comfortable, surprisingly.  Ok time to show her. 

“So what do you think of this one? I kinda like it!” you say as you swing the changing room door open, your gaze looking down at the dress. 

“Yeah you look great” a man's voice responds, your heart jumps and you lift your head quickly. Your face burns red as your friend is nowhere in sight. In her place is a tall dark haired man casually looking through some belts. Your shoulders drop as you curse yourself. Idiot. 

“Oh i'm sorry! My friend said she'd be waiting out here for me” you reply with a smile, trying to pretend like you didnt feel like throwing yourself off a bridge. The man chuckles “oh yeah she left , said there was a cute guy that walked by” he answered looking towards the front of the store. God that is just like her, chasing after some dude. 

“It really does look nice on you” the man says again. You smile and look down at yourself “you think so? I usually don't wear this sort of thing, but i'm going to a wedding”  you explain with a chuckle. He nods, his eyes have not left you. 

“Yeah you look awesome, I think you should get it” he speaks reassuringly. 

“Holy fuck!” you exclaim then quickly cover your mouth, you didn't mean to be that loud. The man laughs and steps closer to you as you look at the price tag hanging from the hem of the dress. 

“This fuckin thing is 400$?! Jesus christ , I could make my own dress for 50$” you joke. Your shoulders sink, you really wanted this dress. The man laughs loudly.

“You're funny,” he chimes. He looks at your face, painted with disappointment. 

“Hey I could - I could buy it for you” he offers. You look at him in awe. 

“Its…….400 dollars….Why would you do that for me? You dont have to do that its just a stupid dress im sure I can find a cheaper one” You respond waving his idea away with your hand. 

“It's ok , I can afford it, I want you to have it” he insists. You don't know what to say , you just look at him. 

“On one condition though” he adds with a smile. 

“Yeah what?” you ask. 

“You have to take me as your date” he says shyly

———————————————————————

Jake:

Ok just breathe, you're fine , everythings fine. You tell yourself as your heart pounds in your chest. You were at an amusement park and about to go on the biggest roller coaster they had due to a dare from your friends, who were watching safely from the ground. Some random man is sitting in the seat beside you as two people had to share a cart. He didn't seem nervous and you wished you could be as relaxed as him. 

“Hey are you alright?” he asks , as if he knew you were thinking about him. 

“Oh um yeah im-im ok” you lied your mouth going dry. He smiles at you and watches you for a moment. 

“Are you though? Cuz your leg is shaking pretty vigorously there” he points out, his eyes falling to your body. You hadn't even noticed you were bouncing your leg anxiously. 

You stop.

“I'm sorry , I'm just a bit nervous I suppose, I'm kind of scared of roller coasters” you explain with a sheepish smile. 

“Kinda weird to go on the biggest one here then right?” he responds you chuckle at his remark. 

“Yeah my friends dared me, they are down there” you say pointing in their direction. He looks down and sees a small group of people looking up at you. The wind blew and you looked up at the clouds in search of comfort and solace. 

“Well My Name is Jake, and i've been on this ride a million times, you're going to be ok” He says with a reassuring tone of voice. He could sense how scared you actually were even though you tried your hardest to shrug it off. 

“Thanks Jake…..that helps. I’m (y/n) by the way its nice to meet you.” you reply smiling, feeling slightly better. Jake was a good distraction, he was gorgeous, chestnut brown hair that fell to his broad shoulders. Enticing eyes that made you wanna know more about him and his voice was sweet and soothing. You couldn't help but wonder what he thought about you. The feeling of the ride jolting under you ripped you from your daydream like state. 

“Oh fuck” you mutter , feeling your heart rate rise again. Jake smiles and grabs your hand gently. 

“It's gonna be ok” he smiles

———————————————————————

Sam:

Finally it was time to go to study hall, your last class of the day. You used this class to get your assignments from the day done. You headed to your desk but something catches your eye on your way. You look down at another student , you wracked your brain trying to remember his name. He was reading one of your all time favorite books, which surprised you , most people hadn’t even heard of the book before. You had to say something.

“Hey! I love that book” you say with a smile. The guy looks up at you with an equally excited facial expression.

“Oh yeah , it’s a great book, this is like the third time I’ve read it” he replies. You laugh, and nod.

“Yeah it’s such an awesome book, I’ve never met another person that likes it” you say.

“Sorry what was your name again?” You add.

“I’m Sam” he smiles.

“I’m (y/n)” you introduce , you both look in each other’s eyes and appreciate that moment. His eyes glinted with interest making you blush.

“Uh well maybe we could get together some time and talk about the book” he says stuttering slightly, moving his hair from his face gracefully, you watched it as it fell to his sides like a curtain.

“That would be awesome, here I’ll give you my number” you say quickly fishing for a piece of paper from your back pack. You jot your number down in neat hand writing and handed it to him. He looked so happy, he thanks you as he takes the paper.

“Alright class sit down” the teacher announces as she enters the room. You look to her and then back down to Sam before gesturing towards your seat, Sam nods and winks at you before you take your seat.

———————————————————————-

Josh:

Your eyes scanned the shelves looking for Almond flour, you were going to try your hand at making home made macarons. You loved to bake , you did it whenever you had free time and you never made the same thing twice. You smile when your eyes land on the last bag of almond flour , you happily pluck it from the shelf until you see the ridiculous price tag. Why is healthy shit so expensive? You shook your head at the thought and made your way down the aisle. You looked up seconds before a man was about to bump into you, neither of you saw each other.

“Oh sorry” you say taking a step to your right , you laugh as he takes a step to his left thus getting in your way again.

“Oops” he chimes stepping to the other side the same time as you.

“I’ll go left you go right” you giggle , he thinks to himself , eyes looking up to the ceiling before taking a step in the wrong direction.

“No your other right” you laugh. He smiles “sorry” he says palming his forehead.

“No worries” you reply stepping around him.

“Oh hey!” He calls a second later.

“I think you dropped this” he adds holding out a package of frosting bags.

“Oh thanks” you smile grabbing them from him, his eyes fall to your basket of items.

“Oh thanks” you smile grabbing them from him, his eyes fall to your basket of items. You tuck your hair behind your ears and look down at your basket as well.

“Uh well I like to bake yeah - I- I don’t know if I would go as far as to say I’m a baker” you chuckle.

“Do you bake a lot?” He asks simply.

You nod.

“Well that sounds like a baker to me” he smiles with a curt nod.

“Yeah good point , you got me there” you reply , you could feel your cheeks warming , you were blushing but you weren’t sure why.

“Are you a baker as well?” You ask.

“Oh no I should not be allowed near an oven” he jokes “I’m just lost, you wouldn’t happen to know where the Oreos are would you?” He asks gesturing towards the store.

“Oh yeah they’re in Aisle 12” you chime pointing in the general direction.

“Cool thanks” he smiles.

“Ya know I actually have an event coming up for a friend, I don’t know if maybe you’d wanna bake a cake for him? It’s for his birthday , we’re having a surprise party ” he explains somewhat haphazardly.

“I’d pay you” he adds.

Sold.

“Sure I’d love to!-“ you begin.

“Ok cool, so should we like exchange info?” He asks , his pointer finger gesturing from him to you.

“Yeah that’s a good idea , that way we can over specific details like size and flavor of the cake” you nod as he pulls his phone out. You recite your number to him and his eyes flicker up to you

“What’s your name?” He asks softly.

“Oh sorry! I’m (y/n)” you answer.

“(Y/n) cool ,I’m Josh” he smiles.

Josh.

Later you’re in your apartment, the delicate scent of raspberry macarons fills the air as they cool on your counter.

Your phone beeps in your pocket and you slip it out.

“Hey it’s Josh from the baking aisle, there is no event. I think you’re super pretty...and that’s why I wanted your number but I wasn’t sure how to ask. I hope you aren’t mad , I just didn’t know how to ask” You read the message and smile, and honestly you were kind of relived he was fibbing. Catering events made you nervous.

“Thanks Josh! Of course I��m not mad, I totally understand being nervous about stuff like that” you reply.

“Oh good, if I ever do need a cake you’ll be the first person I ask” he texts back , you smile.

“Ya know I actually just took some macarons out of the oven, wanna come over and be my taste tester?” You send back. Your heart warms at the thought of making a new friend , and a cute one at that.

[copias-thrall]

Hulloooooo! Do you have any headcanons about how Copia and Papa 3 would be in bed with each other?

These idiots.

Thirst below

*m/m, really rough sex*

What you have to understand is these two are basically a walking Enemies to Lovers tag.

Copia shows up on the scene and Papa III is hella suspicious. Why is this man here at this Church. There are so many senior clergy members here, why add another? And to add insult to injury the guy isn’t even flaunting his favor. He’s just. Always in his office working or attending to the education of the Siblings. They guy’s just such a square. He’d been expecting to hear poor performance reviews of The Cardinal’s Sibling initiations, but on the contrary—he seems to have … groupies. It’s beyond maddening. He’s determined to show this man how unwelcome he is here at any opportunity. 

Copia himself is wondering how he ended up here. He’s not really the political type, and that’s maybe what landed him in this predicament—he’s pretty much a neutral party who is devoted to the Church and does excellent paperwork. He wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome from Papa III, but the level of disdain and vitriol the man directs at him is beyond unwarranted. That man is a spoiled brat, surrounded by yes men, and he wouldn’t know what a Form 38a § G was if it slapped him in the face. Which is what Copia would love to do every time he goes to III’s office to find him there with a Sibling under his desk.

And then the pranks start.

Stupid, little things. Surprising in how juvenile they are. A whoopee cushion placed under his seat pillow in Chapel. A tack on his office chair. Sugar in his salt shaker and salt in his sugar bowl (and ok: after finding the sugar in his salt shaker he really should have checked his sugar bowl, so that one’s on him).

Honestly, Copia had assumed it was the Ghouls or bored first-years. But then one day he has to double back to his office to retrieve a file he overlooked, and he catches III in the act of—well he’s not sure, but there were pulleys involved. Copia saw that his door was ajar—unusual, but not immediately suspicious. The sounds, though, were. Copia had slowly swung open the door—his palm flush on the wood—to reveal III, slightly bent over, fiddling with ropes, the clunk of the metal pulley loud in the relative silence. Perhaps sensing a shift in the air around him, or a change in light, III had turned to look at the doorway and froze. Copia looked at him. Papa III had looked back. They has stood like that—a cursed tableau—until III at least had the indecency to look ashamed. He’d quickly gathered up his … contraption … and scuttled down the hallway, Copia just standing there, motionless and mute throughout the whole.

And maybe that could have been that. The prank war could have ended with Papa III’s embarrassment and the two of them continuing to have a quiet, but markéd, distaste for each other. But Copia did not rise through the ranks on his studiousness alone. You have to be somewhat dangerous if you want to ascend and you’re not of the Emeritus line.

Copia lets III fall into a false sense of security. He barely shows any acknowledgement that he caught him red handed. And Papa III seems begrudgingly grateful that Copia didn’t report him to Sister Imperator; he thinks there’s an uneasy truce. 

But Copia is a patient man. 

The dark solstice is upon them. The shortest day of the year. The time where it is more night than day. It’s not one of their High Unholy Days, but it is a time for new sins and wanton revelry—so one could say it’s an important holiday to the Church. It’s a service III can perform by rote—a few updates to the Latin sermon every year, but basically it’s a boilerplate by now. So he doesn’t really practice it. Just sends it off with his few notes to have it rewritten cleanly.

The service is usually excruciating—the Ghouls and Siblings are counting down the minutes til they can fuck and drink all night; many of the permanent clergy members have heard this sermon for years; Papa III himself is bored with it. Only Nihil, Papa I, and Sister Imperator seem to actually be enjoying the pageantry of it.

This year though, as soon as Papa III gets a few lines in, there’s a hushed tittering in the crowd. III ignores it because: it’s probably just some tomfoolery. He’s more or less spaced out, his brain on autopilot as he sings out the words to the verse. It’s when the murmurings turn into stifled giggles, and he tunes in enough to see Imperator glaring at him, does what he’s actually saying dawn on him.

Oops, I did it again / I played with your heart, got lost in the game / Oh baby, baby / Oops, you think I’m in love / That I’m sent from above / I’m not that innocent /

He stutters and pauses; he picks up the sheaf in front of him, squinting.

Yes.

Oh yes.

His solstice sermon has been replaced with the lyrics to “Oops, I Did It Again.”

He chances a look over to the pew with the Higher Clergy—to gauge from his father and Sister how bad it is—but instead he catches the eyes of an expressionless Cardinal Copia looking deadass back at him. Papa III narrows his eyes and meets The Cardinal’s steady gaze, their white eyes at war. He proceeds to finish his altered sermon with as much pomp and severity that he can lend to an outdated pop song.

His eyes don’t once leave The Cardinal’s.

Afterwards, Papa III is on his way to having a full on hairy conniption. He manages to make it back to his office before he tears off his ceremonial robes in a rage. The Ghouls attending him are surprised and concerned at his uncharacteristic carelessness with his vestments. He hurriedly shoos them out, and then sits down at his desk, panting in ire. He’s not one that angers easily, so he’s unused to the pounding adrenaline. Taking out his aged Scotch—the bottle he really keeps in his desk just for show—he pours himself two fingers (if “two fingers” means the space between his index and pinky fingers) and swallows it down in two gulps, coughing and sputtering at the burn.

It’s enough to take him out of his snit a bit to consider why he’s so angry; it’s not like this particular holiday is of great importance to him, and it’s not like in general he doesn’t find the services tedious. Lucifer, it’s not like doing a dramatic reading of a pop song is out of character for him.

But he would never, never, be so ostensibly irreverent during an important occasion. The heavy eyes of the Church—of his father, of the Sister—are ever on him, watching, waiting. Cardinal Copia made him look like an asshole in front of the whole congregation—and because it’s so on brand, no one probably even thinks it was a joke on him.

And that’s what’s making him incensed: at a time when his tenure as Papa is so precarious, The Cardinal made him look like a buffoon. 

Papa III’s blood boils all over again and his fists tighten. Cardinal Copia crossed a line, may have even done it with malicious intent, and he needs to pay, that Rat.

He takes a generous swig from the bottle before making his way to The Cardinal’s quarters. Unlike III, Cardinal Copia’s office and personal chambers are in the same suite, so he knows there’s a good chance of catching him as he’s changing out of his cassock and into one of those ridiculously tight suits he owns.

Copia has to admit to himself that maybe he took his revenge too far. He was only trying to show Papa III that he’s not a pushover. Given the man’s reputation, Copia didn’t even consider how thrown that man would be at his little switcheroo prank. But there had been a—a what? A sudden slight paleness to the unpainted skin around his face; a moment of panic in his mismatched eyes. He’d continued on with gusto, but there was none of the humor in it that Copia had come to associate with the man. In all honesty, Copia hadn’t expected III to continue (or honestly get so far)—he’d had the correct sermon under his own seat ready to hand over.

This was a Papa he’d expected to linger and joke with his parishioners—instead, III had hustled out of the chapel in a flurry of swirling robes, hardly paying any heed to the Siblings that batted their eyelashes at him in hopes of being one of his chosen revelers. Copia is at war with himself between wanting to apologize and scoffing that the man had brought it on himself, even if Copia had miscalculated.

Everyone knows how pranks can escalate.  

Copia is halfway through the ties and clasps and buttons to get out of his dress cassock when his door bangs open (he hadn’t thought to lock it because he’d assumed everyone was already out on the grounds celebrating). Papa III stands there, panting, with murderous intent in his eyes.

As expected, Papa III finds The Cardinal in a state of half undress (his shapely legs bare and exposed) in his outer office. He’s stopped his ministrations, as if caught in a freeze frame, and staring wide-eyed at Papa. III had come here to really lay into the man, but something about seeing him so caught off guard—like he’s more concerned about changing into his party clothes than how he’s ruined this night for Papa—sets something off on him. Before his brain catches up to his impulses, Papa III is launching himself at The Cardinal, fist drawn back and ready to strike.

But III is a lover, not a fighter. He throws a punch like he’s launching a paper airplane, and The Cardinal easily deflects his attack and—in what can only be a practiced movement—uses his momentum to pin his arm behind his back. He struggles and The Cardinal instantly releases him, hands palm up in appeasement.

“Your Unholiness, please—” starts Copia, but III isn’t here to talk. He goes for Cardinal Copia again, and Copia—expecting another fist—is startled when the palm of III’s hand lands a slap across his cheek. He looks at III, incredulous.

“Did you? Did you just slap me?”

Papa III huffs and raises his chin at The Cardinal.

“Come at me. Bro,” he says in his accented English.

The Cardinal’s mouth drops open, and—before Papa III can relish what he thinks is his victory—Cardinal Copia slaps him hard, right on his cheekbone. Papa is momentarily startled, reflexive tears threatening to spill. When he catches his breath he sees that Cardinal Copia’s eyes are smoldering at him in obvious challenge, so he launches himself at The Cardinal once again.

They both raise their hands to each other, each strike being batted away by the other, until they are both embroiled in very involved, very mature slap fight.

“Stop that!”

“No, you stop that!”

Suddenly Papa III gains the upper, err, hand by gaining a hold on The Cardinal’s wrist; he wrenches it and uses his leverage to push Cardinal Copia on his back onto his desk. The Cardinal goes sprawling, his half undone cassock spreading and exposing his bare legs again. Is he wearing nothing on at all under his ceremonial dress!?

“I see you like to go nude. Let me help you further, dear Cardinal.”

Before The Cardinal has a chance to push him away, III grabs at each side and rips his robes down the middle, belts tearing and buttons popping to scatter every which way, the sound of them skittering across his desk and plinking of the floor now filling the room. The Cardinal grasps frantically at the material, in a vain attempt to keep himself somewhat covered.

Papa III is now panting over The Cardinal, between his legs, and suddenly very aware of the miles of naked skin. Copia is looking up at him with … an unreadable expression. III leans down, gets right into The Cardinal’s face, and says lowly:

“To think I thought of you so chaste. But look at you. Does it give you a thrill? The knowing you could be caught in a compromising position? Or is it the sensation you like, hmm?”

He runs a gloved finger down the sliver of bare chest to where Cardinal Copia is clenching the ends of fabric together with one fist over his crotch. He continues his trail over The Cardinal’s knuckles. His dick gives an interested twitch.

“Even here?”

Copia’s heart is beating fast from the adrenaline; it was foolish of him to forget that he was dealing with a dangerous predator. And now here he is, under him, literally showing his vulnerable belly. Papa III is well within his rights to do anything, take anything, from him. It sets off a tingle of butterflies in his chest.  

While III is distracted with his nethers, Copia uses his other hand to grasp Papa III by the hair. Copia yanks his head down, hard, til their lips meet in a painful smack. He opens his mouth to suck Papa’s plump bottom lip into his mouth, then bites down hard, drawing blood.

III makes an indignant noise, his hand suddenly coming up to grab at Copia’s jaw to hold it firmly in place from further injury. His eyes glare a warning.

“Is that how it is to be, Rat?”

Copia just snarls against the grip.

Papa’s hand slithers from Copia’s jaw to lightly clench around his neck. Copia gasps as much as he can with the restriction, his hands coming up to grab at Papa III’s arm. His ruined cassock falls open completely to reveal that the only thing beneath it is a black g-string. III looks down at it and chuckles.

“What a surprising Rat you are.”

His other hand snakes down between their bodies to yank and pull at the g-string until Copia’s half-hard cock bounces free, betraying his interest in the proceedings. Papa III’s eyes widen as he takes in the girth and size of Copia’s member. Looking back up at Copia with a smirk he says:

“It is no wonder then. Why you are so popular for Initiates.”

“Shall … I  …” wheezes Copia, “Initiate … you too?”

Papa III is studying his face intently.

“No. No, as leader of Church I feel I have been … remiss in my, ah, duties.”

He runs a light finger up the vein in Copia’s cock, which only plumps it into further hardness. With all the blood rushing into either his head or his throbbing dick, Copia is beginning to feel a bit light-headed.

“As high-ranking official, you must be seen to myself. Forgive my negligence, yes?”

Papa III finally lets go of Copia’s neck only to insinuate himself further into the V of his open legs. Copia is momentarily distracted as the air flows freely into his lungs again, and it’s enough for III to start manhandling him onto his stomach. Copia isn’t going to make it easy for the bastard, so he starts to struggle against Papa, who only makes a tetching noise before slapping him across the face.

“Learn your place, Cardinal,” he growls. “This is what is lacking with you, no? You must learn this anew. I am in charge still. You follow my command.”

“When you do any actual leading, I’ll be sure to follow,” hisses Copia.

Papa III snarls at his insolence, and is suddenly on Copia, turning him over in a burst of rage while also tugging his tattered garments free. He pulls the shreds of the cassock away just enough to not be a hindrance, but not enough that Copia has free use of his arms—they’re still caught in his sleeves and now firmly behind his back. Copia has no leverage, but he starts bucking and struggling anyway; Papa just lays a firm hand on the middle of his back and commands him to settle.

Copia huffs; his cheek is squashed into the desk, all his papers are scattered—some crinkling under him—and the edge of the wood is digging into the pudge of his belly. His cock dangles heavy between legs. Copia wishes he had something to rut against—he’s half turned on and III is being a goddamned tease, as usual.

There’s a rustling and movement behind him before he feels the poke of Papa’s hardness against his ass cheek. He tenses.

Papa III isn’t really sure when his anger turned into lust. Or was it always lust—or is it still anger? All he knows is that he has to have this man beneath him. Has to subdue him and assert his authority in some meaningful way. And he’s not immune to the miles of freckles stark on pale skin or the prominent flesh of which he can take handfuls.

He’s been hard ever since he saw The Cardinal’s cock on its way to full mast. So The Rat likes a little dominance, eh? He’s more than happy to show him who’s boss here. He works his cock and balls free through the slit in his pants. He’s going to fuck The Cardinal with his clothes on. He rubs his cockhead into the meat of The Cardinal’s ass, delighting in the jolts of pleasure from the pressure and the visible trail of precum he’s leaving. The Cardinal is trembling and breathing hard beneath him as his takes his pleasure, and it gives him sudden pause, causing him to stop. He’s about to ask Cardinal Copia if he should cease, when The Cardinal looks over his shoulder at him and huffs impatiently,

“Are you waiting for an invitation?!”

Papa III slowly drags his cock from the meat of Copia’s ass to the cleft.

“I was, actually.”

The Cardinal snorts, “Get the fuck on with it, you brat. Is this how you lead, Your Unholiness?”

III growls in frustration at this infuriating man.

“Shall I take you dry, then?”

He spreads The Cardinal’s cheeks and presses the tip of his cock against his hole. Cardinal Copia hisses.

“Ai! If you can’t use spit then there is lube in the top drawer.”

Papa III scoffs. Spit is so … uncouth. Only to be used when absolutely necessary—he is not an animal. He flounders for the drawer and fumbles for the bottle.

“Lonely nights, eh Cardi?”

The Cardinal leers back over his shoulder. “As you say—I am not unpopular with our Siblings.”

“I see. You are like that trike you ride around, except everybody has a go, no?”

“Just what the pot would say to the kettle.”

After removing his gloves, Papa III haphazardly dribbles some lube on his cock and down Copia’s crack—making sure to rub it into his hole. The Cardinal jolts forward—either at the sensation of Papa’s fingers or the coolness of the lube.

“I would not be so mouthy If I be you, Cardinal. I will show you your place and then things between us will be settled, yes?”

“Shall I say yes and appease you?” quips The Cardinal. 

How a man nude and about to be fucked stupid can be so flippant is past Papa. Unceremoniously, he pushes into Copia’s snug ring, exhaling forcefully at his tightness. The Cardinal lets out a punched breath.

“I should very much like your attempts to appease me, Rat,” Papa III says through clenched teeth.

He slides in to the hilt, leans over The Cardinal’s back, and hisses in his ear:

“Will you be a good Rat and appease your Papa?”

The Cardinal lets out a rumbling moan.

Copia is so very full and stretched. He’s no stranger to bottoming, but the Siblings tend to prefer him on top, so it’s been a while. Papa III’s cock feels amazing—just enough to fill him without being obtrusive. Now if only the man will get to it and pound into him hard enough to stimulate his prostate.

“So much … talk. Very little action—just like your leadership,” he says hoping to goad his superior.

Papa III growls and begins to snap his hips into him roughly

“Let’s see if you can handle my big game, hmm?”

Fucking finally.

III drapes himself over Copia’s back, crushing his arms uncomfortably, and boxing him on either side with his arms. Copia hears the man’s panting in his ear and feels the drag of his waistcoat on his uncovered skin. The fill and drag of his cock inside Copia has him shuddering and wishing for some attention on his own dick. Papa is pumping into him fast and hard, but is only really hitting his prostate every several thrusts, which is only a teasing pleasure. With his motion restricted by his own cassock and Papa’s weight, he can’t do much more than grunt out a tempo to each greedy thrust.

“Is this how it is then?” wheezes Copia. “A supple body to masturbate into? No wonder the Siblings come to me.”

Admittedly Papa III is initially enjoying the tight feel of The Cardinal’s body around his dick too much to think of the man underneath him. He’s not one to be rough with his lovers unless they ask him to be, and even then that’s just a game. But The Cardinal is not his lover, this is not a game, and he feels a thrill at the freedom to take out his frustrations on Copia’s body. 

Still. He prides himself on being attentive in the sack, so he slows his thrusts, making sure to pull almost all the way out before sliding back in, though his dick is throbbing with need. He positions his mouth at The Cardinal’s ear to ask:

“Do you think you’ve earned my attentions? Have you learned who here is in charge?”

“If I say ‘yes’ will you touch my cock?”

Papa III is thoughtful for a second.

“No. For that you are to beg. Repent and I will bring you to such lustful heights that you will pray to our Master.”

Despite the lip of the man, The Cardinal is quivering under him. Papa III leans up so he can adjust the angle of Copia’s hips and his thrusts. He does this until he hits the angle that makes the man below him moan wantonly. Now that he knows where the sweet spot is, III starts punching into The Cardinal again, his hands on his hips to drag him back forcefully.

“Is. This. What. You. Want?” asks Papa, making sure to punctuate each word with a hard thrust. The Cardinal lets out a gasping Uhn at each hard jolt. “Shall. I. Make. You. Cum. Just. Like. This? On. My. Cock? Or. Will. You. Beg?”

Papa lets himself luxuriate in the tight feel of the slow drag up and down his cock. He could cum very easily just like this if he wanted—but he’s had years of practice on holding off until his sexual partners cum. The Cardinal is in for a long night if he thinks he can wait him out.

Fuck

If Copia thought the tease of his prostate was bad, this concentrated assault is worse. He can climax readily from a good prostate massage, but this is not that. It’s enough to have his desire flowing and his blood pooling south, but the hill of his orgasm remains frustratingly out of reach. He’s truly at Papa III’s mercy. He can occasionally feel his dick throb inside him, but other than that III shows no signs of getting close. 

Copia squeezes his eyes tighter as he’s jolted against his desk, papers crumpling further. How much longer can he go on like this? He tries for as long as he can, his world narrowing down to the drag of Papa’s cockhead on his prostate and the grip of his hands on his hips. He’s so lost, floating in a haze of near pleasure, that he doesn’t realize his grunts have turned into whimpers of distress. Not until III stops to pet a hand down his head.

“Dear Cardinal. Pride is not the correct sin to indulge here. Will you not let me absolve you?”

His dick is hard and pulsing, and his need to cum is excruciating. And that’s before Papa III begins pounding into him once more. Copia lets out a moaning whine as the white-hot bursts start up again. Before he realizes what it’ll mean, he’s gasping out a pained Please. There’s a slight pause in the man above him—as if he too is surprised at Copia’s entreaty—then a hand snakes under him to give his flushed dick a hard squeeze. Copia gasps at both the pleasure and the pain in the action.

Papa III leans over him again to snarl in his ear, “Now you will pray.”

And pray Copia does as Papa pounds into him and as his clever fingers stroke and manipulate weeping cock.

“Oh sweet, Unholy Lucifer below!”

Papa III had really thought he’d have to torture The Cardinal until the man couldn’t help but cum on his cock, so he was startled when the man gasped out his supplication. He really was appeased.

He’s entranced with show beneath him: The Cardinal is twitching and thrashing and clenching—and it’s making his own cock throb with need. He wonders how hard he can make Copia cum and a sudden burst of desire from his own gut has him purring out a moan. He strokes the man’s cock, making sure to switch it up enough—a slow stroke, then a thumb across his slit, now a squeeze before speeding up—that each change makes The Cardinal jerk in a new crest of pleasure.

III hopes The Cardinal will cum very soon because he would very much like to let himself climax already. As if in answer, Papa feels the dick in his hand get rock hard a second before he feels Copia’s hole tighten vice-like around his own dick (and he subsequently has to breathe out hard so he’s not cumming before he rides out The Cardinal’s climax).

Then The Cardinal is jittering and spasming while yelling, “Ah ah ah—oh fuck! OH FUCK!” The cock in his fist kicks and Papa III can feel the pulsing waves as his cum shoots out and onto the rug; he tries to keep a steady pace through it, but he’s only a man. The Cardinal spends his whole orgasm jerking and twitching, only coming to rest once he’s good and truly milked empty.

Papa releases The Cardinal’s cock quickly so he can grip back onto his hips for the leverage to finally take his own pleasure. He closes his eyes and fucks hard into The Cardinal’s body as he allows his checked desire to wash over him.

“Ah—yes, Unholy Father.”

He lets the pulse and spasm of his orgasm guide his movements as he empties himself in the warmth of The Cardinal’s hole. He allows himself to stay like that for a moment—hands on Copia’s love handles, slightly bent over him, and panting—while he catches his breath and comes back to himself. Beneath him The Cardinal is a mess: he’s covered in sweat that’s dripping down his sides; the black makeup around his eyes is streaked down his face; there’s some torn paper, now moist, sticking to his cheek.

“Good talk, eh?” he pants as he pats Copia’s sweaty flank.

The Cardinal’s head lolls to the side as he attempts to look him in the eyes.

“Fuck you.”

Papa III chuckles. “Maybe next time.”

Copia doesn’t know if Papa III was kidding, or if he was expecting Their Thing to happen again, but it takes Copia by surprise when it does.

Repeatedly.

If III was thinking that he’d cowed Copia, he was wildly mistaken. Their rivalry only intensifies and if you saw them glaring at each other during sermons or Church rituals, you enter their offices at your own risk lest you get an eyefull. (Some impetuous Siblings and Ghouls will try their hand at joining in, but a dual glare from both their mismatched eyes is enough to send anyone straight to Hell preemptively.)

Not even the confessionals are safe. You don’t even have to get far into the Chapel before you can hear their grunts and barbed words.

The Clergy isn’t really surprised by this turn of events. The two men have been eye fucking since day one. Papa Nihil is resigned that even the promising Cardinal has fallen under his youngest’s spell. Sister Imperator just rolls her eyes and hopes they’ll eventually grow tired of each other and work can get back to being done. She’s only one woman.

It’s one day months into their—ok yes—tryst, that Copia realizes that they haven’t been hate fucking in weeks.

He’s lying in Papa III’s bed as the man himself draws nonsense patterns in the sweat on his chest. Copia had come to him after a frustrating day of first-years who seemed to only have two brain cells amongst them all. He’d vehemently expressed his vexation at their almost willful refusal to retain Latin, knowing Papa would take him in hand and fuck the annoyance out of him. What had started as his attempt to berate Papa III for allowing the new Siblings to be so lazy and a good hate fuck to shut him up, had turned into a genuine arrangement.

Copia’s come to appreciate the care Papa III takes with him, even if it is with mock irritation as he calls him “Rat.” He’s realized that III cares about the Church as much as he does, his verbal sparring with the man enough to prove that he knows his stuff. It’s not that the lackadaisical playboy is an act—it’s not—it’s just hiding deeper waters. He’s shocked to find that he cares for this intemperate man.

He turns his head to look at him.

Papa III stills his hand to return his gaze.

“What is it, my Rat?”

“I think I like you, Papa.”

III’s whole face brightens and he sits up, puffing out his chest.

“Of course you do! Everyone likes Papa. I am the bomb dot com.”

Copia scoffs and pushes at his chest.

“I hate it when you purposefully use slang half your age.”

But III just clucks and wags a finger at him. 

“No you don’t! You like me, remember? You said it not 2 minutes past!”

Copia huffs, turning his back on him and crossing his arms across his chest.

“I was perhaps hasty.”

“Aww, dear Cardinal,” Papa coos as he drapes himself over Copia’s back to rest his chin on Copia’s shoulder, arms encircling his middle, “don’t be fussy. I like you too.”

Then, because he’s a little shit, Papa III presses a loud smacking kiss into Copia’s ear.

That night Papa III will go to Copia’s chambers. Copia will be surprised, but pleased to see him. He’ll tell Copia he wants to bottom for him, making the man tremble with nerves and anticipation. The Cardinal will be overly solicitous with his kisses and soft caresses until III has to yell at him to get a move on. 

Papa will have already prepped himself with a plug Copia will enjoy teasing out of him. Copia is a reverent, gentle top—no shocker there—and he will fuck Papa firmly and slowly, taking special care that his dick is not neglected. Also not surprising is that Papa III is a pretty bossy bottom—he’ll direct Copia on when to speed up or slow down, until he’ll take matters into his own hands by manhandling Copia onto his back so he can ride his cock. Copia will cum first—Papa is good with his muscles—but III will follow soon after, thrilled as always at the way his lover twitches and thrashes in the throes of orgasm.

Afterward Papa III will ask if he can stay the night—they don’t spend the night together often, but when they do The Cardinal always spends it in Papa’s sumptuous bed chambers—and Copia will reply that he is always welcome.

Papa will joke that it’s only because no one will be able to find him and he can sleep in, but when the Ghouls see that III is not in his bed chambers, the next place they look is in The Cardinal’s.

Bonus: Post-Coitus That First Time

“Papa, what are you doing?”

“Is it not obvious? I am cuddling.”

“Yes, but why?”

“Is it not customary to cuddle after a good fuck?”

“Stop calling it cuddling!”

“Why? What would you have me call it? A good snuggle, then?”

“Ai, that is worse.”

“… is it because I am the big spoon?”

“It is not—whatever! Why are you doing it?”

“I meant it, Cardinal. This unholy parish is mine. I take care of all my black sheep. Especially when they are good rats.”

*nose boop*

“You are mine now. Stop being so grumpy. Enjoy the serotonin.”

[damonsbitchx]

Florida Burn pt.2

Summary: This is based on New Moon, but instead of staying in Forks and hanging out with Jacob, Bella moves to Florida with Renee and Phil. During this chapter, we follow Bella on her journey to Florida and her battle with the broken heart Edward left her with. I did get a little carried away with this chapter and couldn’t fit my prompt in there so there’s no prompt for this chapter! Oops :) 

Characters: Bella, Charlie, Renee, Phil, and Rosie briefly 

Warnings: There’s just a bunch of angst but that’s all. It’s sweet too.

Word Count: 4,193

Read pt.1 here.

Disclaimer: This was not beta’d so all mistakes are mine!

If you’d like to be tagged in my future works please send me an ask, I’d be happy to add you to the list!

Requests are also open!

    Charlie came back from his fishing trip that night in a better mood than usual. He gobbled down his dinner a little too quickly and rushed to get his old clunky laptop, plopping it down on the dinner table and turning it on. He turned to look at me, gauging my enthusiasm I assumed and noticed I wasn’t even half finished with my dinner yet. He grinned innocently making me huff a low chuckle at him and then he began googling plane tickets. 

“If you wanted me to leave that bad you could’ve just said so,” I teased him between bites of spaghetti.

“I don’t want you to leave Bells, I just want you to be okay,” he sighed, looking visibly upset by the thought.

Charlie was frowning now and suddenly my chest was burning with guilt.

“I don’t have to go, you know,” I offered quickly.

“Yes, you do, Bella,” he insisted, scrolling through the ticket options now, furrowing his eyebrows in deep concentration.

“I could wait until the school year is over. I’d rather not join a new school in the middle of the school year again,” I smiled sheepishly.

    I really was worried about leaving. I was worried about trying and failing to be normal again, fit in with a new but ordinary crowd. I was worried about being a burden on Renee and Phil’s perfect life. I’d learned to fit in here, Charlie and I were two halves made whole by each other. We worked together like a well-oiled machine and I was worried about Charlie functioning if I left. When I left Renee I knew I was leaving her in capable hands with Phil, she had someone to take my place so she didn’t need me anymore. Charlie doesn’t have anyone, and I know he survived before I came but even he would agree his life was better with me here. I was worried about myself, too. What if I needed Charlie? What if going back to live with Renee and Phil was going to crush me further if that was even possible? What if the hole in my chest swallowed them too and Florida didn’t help like I hoped it would? I worried about the Florida Sun not shining bright enough to illuminate the dark hole in my life. All of these things were valid, and to an extent, real reasons I worried about moving to Florida, but perhaps above all, I was still worried about them. I was worried he would come looking for me. What would happen if he didn’t find me? What if he still wants me? If he came back I was worried Charlie would tell him off in my honor, but wouldn’t that be the best thing to do? He didn’t want me, that was clear, so if he came back it wouldn’t be for anything good. Maybe it would be best that I wasn’t here if he came looking. 

    I was jolted from my train of thought when I felt Charlie’s hand touch my face and his thumb wiped my cheek, leaving a wet trail. I didn’t realize I was crying.

“Bella, honey, I only want you to go if you want to. I just want you to heal, baby,” he breathed, cradling my face.

I nodded, pushing my face into his hand gently and smiling. 

“Thank you, Dad.”

    He smiled back, lovingly. Then, we picked out a flight for two days from now. I called my mom to let her know when I’d be flying in and she assured me that she and Phil would be there waiting for me. I’d made my decision, just like he did, there’s no going back now.

_______________________________________________________________

    When the day finally came I found myself restless and unable to sleep that night. I laid in my bed for possibly the last time, thinking about everything that had happened in this small, irrelevant town. It was irrelevant and small but it was a part of me. So, I took care to memorize how it felt and what it smelled like. Then, I tried to memorize the shapes on the ceiling and the dark silhouettes of the trees outside of the window he used to climb through every night that belonged to the forest where I saw him for the last time. I tried to visualize everywhere he had been in this room. Our first kiss was here on this bed, and he’d come and hold me while I slept here nearly every night too. It all hurt to remember but if I forgot then it would’ve all been for nothing. I would’ve risked my life and inevitably let him shatter it for nothing. I would’ve hurt the people I love the most for nothing. 

    So, after months of denial and depression, I allowed myself to picture his face in my mind. I let myself say his name. I laid there in the dark whispering it over and over as if it were like some bloody mary curse and he’d magically appear, but he didn’t. Some part of me hoped he would because I knew I would drop everything and stay with him if he asked me to. That was the killer part. After everything that happened, everything I put Charlie and Renee through, everything I put myself through, and if he appeared one day and asked me to forgive him I would in a heartbeat. How ironic. I knew it was wrong, I knew I shouldn’t feel that way but I had no idea how to stop. I also knew I needed to figure it out because I couldn’t just abandon everything I was doing to heal what he broke at the drop of a hat. So I decided tonight was a free for all. I was going to think about him, picture him, and just face everything I’d been dreading all at once to rip the bandaid off. I needed to get it out of the way if I was going to live with Renee because she would worry and I knew he wasn’t coming back so I didn’t need to hold it all with me anymore. 

    I sighed heavily, mentally preparing myself for the pain. It had been bad at times, so bad that I didn’t think it could get much worse, but I’ve been wrong before. After a moment I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. The first image was his face, clear and perfect like always. I was shocked at how real the image looked behind my eyelids. My throat tightened, but I did my best to will my body to stay calm and relaxed. I watched his stunning face twist into a dazzling smile, looking at me with admiration and love. My heart beat faster with each of his movements and my chest began to ache mildly. This was okay, it wasn’t as nearly bad as I thought. At least it wasn’t until he spoke. His ice-cold, honey-smooth voice pierced through the night silence. 

“Bella, I love you, don’t go,” he spoke clearly, in his gorgeous voice. 

    It sounded like he was whispering right in my ear, I could’ve sworn I felt his cool breath brush my cheek. Suddenly, my heart skipped and then launched 10 beats ahead of itself. His mesmerizing sound set my entire body ablaze, burning hotter than ever before. I knew the words of my made-up Edward weren’t true, but that only made it worse. My burning lungs clued me in to the lack of air I was using. They sucked in a desperate gasp of air as my arms shot across my body and squeezed tight to hold it together. The searing and aching made me clench my teeth as tight as I could to muffle any strangled sounds that might escape and my lips clamped shut over them for extra protection. The last thing I wanted was to wake Charlie, but it just hurt so much. Like this Tsunami of red hot pain came down and crushed every ounce of what was left of me. I wanted to open my eyes, but they were locked shut because I knew when I did open them he wouldn’t be there and I wanted him to be. I wanted to be saved from this never-ending nightmare. 

    Then, the anger came. My chest was aching on top of the burning empty hole he left, it was all so much I could barely handle it. It felt like every muscle in my body was clenched so hard some of my limbs and appendages were going numb, but that didn’t soothe the burn away from them either. How was I ever going to get better? I pulled one of my arms up to my face sp I could shove my mouth into my elbow to muffle the yelps I’d been shoving back. My body started convulsing with silent, angry sobs at the release of pressure but all I could do was whine into my arm and wait it out. 

    After a while, I was able to shove everything out of my mind and force my eyes open but I laid there motionless and numb. This feeling was the closest to that night I’d felt yet. Like I had just been dumped off by everything I ever really loved, the roots of my heart aching at the absence of it’s home. It was just numb, like the feeling you’d get right after you’d fight with your best friend and you take a break from being friends. You’d just lost the one person that allowed you to be yourself and without that you were nothing, back to the drawing board, starting from scratch. There really isn’t a worse feeling than losing who you are, but above that, giving someone all the pieces of yourself that you hate the most, trusting them completely, and in the end, watching it blow up in your face. Hopefully, Florida was going to change that for me. Hopefully, Florida would fix me. 

    I noticed the black draining from the night sky now, dim light replacing the shadows of the empty walls and furniture around my room instead. There was a soft knock on the door and it clicked so Charlie could push it open. 

“Good morning, honey, today’s the day,” he spoke gently, beaming with excitement. I smiled in return and nodded. “We’ve got about thirty minutes before we should leave, I already packed your bags into your truck.”

My truck. My face fell, I’d forgotten about that old unit. I was gonna miss that truck more than everything except Charlie. I hadn’t thought about the fact that I was going to have to leave her behind.

“I forgot about my truck,” I relayed my thoughts to him to ease his confusion at my dropped expression.

“Aw, baby.”

“You’ll take care of her until I come back, right, Dad?”

“Yes, of course, you know I will,” he frowned. I nodded and smiled again. “This is gonna be great, Bells,” he said, smiling again.

“I know. I’ll see you downstairs, Dad,” I whispered, brightening my smile.

    He nodded in response and closed my door. With a heavy sigh, I let my face drop again and I floated back into numbness. It didn’t make me feel all better about leaving her, but at least I knew she was in good hands until I came back for her. I wonder what Alice thinks about me leaving. The twinge of pain in my chest made me wince. My decision had been made, I was leaving so it didn’t matter what Alice thought. 

    Once I was able to pull myself up and out of my bed for the last time, I fixed it so it was neat and shut the window. The last two things I had to do before there was nothing left here for me. I swept up the carry-on bag I’d already had prepared and with one last look around that empty room highlighted by the soft, golden, early-morning rays of the sun I slipped out the door, shutting it behind me. I trotted down the stairs in time to greet Charlie at the bottom who was about to come up and retrieve me. It was time to go I guess. He smiled affectionately at me, turning back around and heading to the front door. He swiped the keys to my truck off the hanging hooks as he passed them and I followed close behind him trying to take in every element of that house. I had no idea when I would see it next, but I wanted to remember everything. Charlie held the door open for me and locked it behind us. With the close of that door, I was closing the door on my life here in Forks too. Some parts of me felt grief for that but I couldn’t think about that now. If I thought about it too much I would talk myself out of it and it’s too late for that. Some parts of me felt hope for Florida and those were the parts I focused on.

“Can I drive?” I turned to ask Charlie.

“Of course you can,” he answered with a smile and tossed me the keys.

    I shoved the key into the lock and twisted hard to unlock my stubborn truck. She gave in easily today probably because of the abnormally warm weather considering it was Forks. I smiled to myself, opening the door and unlocking the passenger for Charlie while I climbed inside. I stuck the key in the ignition and felt her roar to life under me, sighing at the familiar feeling. 

“I’m going to miss this truck,” I breathed.

“It’ll be here waiting for you to come back, Bells,” Charlie comforted me. 

    I gave him an appreciative look, then began down the road on my way out of Forks. As much as I hated to admit it, I was going to miss this terrarium of a town, my town. It was about a 45-minute drive to the airport which we rode mostly in silence, occasionally exchanging a few questions and answers. 

“Are you sure your mother knows where to meet you?” Charlie pressed for the fourth time. 

“Yes, Dad, I told her exactly where to go. I even have my cellphone in case I need to call her, I’ll be fine,” I responded, huffing a quiet giggle. 

    In reality, I wasn’t sure Renee would know where to go, but she said she was bringing Phil and he was competent enough when it came to airports. If anything, I’d just end up being stuck there for a longer time than I expected. It was better than anything I would be doing back in Forks. As difficult as it was for me to admit, I knew this was going to be better than staying in Forks, if not for me, then at least for my parents. I needed to do something with my life other than pine for Edward. I knew that but it was just harder to admit than I thought.

    We pulled up to the airport and Charlie had me park so he could escort me in to make sure I got on my plane and to help me carry my bags because everyone knows how notorious I am for accidents. So, I got all checked in and situated, he waited with me until my plane started boarding and when he was seeing me off at the last gate he could go to he handed me a folded up piece of paper. I stared up at him in confusion.

“Jacob asked me to give you his number so the two of you can keep in touch,” he smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. 

    I huffed a little chuckle and shook my head, shoving it in my pocket and then throwing my arms around him for one last goodbye hug. Charlie and I weren’t ones for showing emotion, but I decided to make an exception because I didn’t know when I’d see him again.

“I love you, Dad,” I whispered into his shoulder and he squeezed tighter in response.

“Now go, before you miss your plane,” he demanded once we’d broke away from our hug. He was doing his best to hold back tears and the guilt returned in my gut. 

“I’ll be okay, Dad. I’ll come back, I promise,” I reassured him with an affectionate smile as I made my way towards the gate. 

    He nodded, wiping his face to erase the evidence and waving at me as I backed down the hall, waving back until I rounded the corner and could no longer see him. My face fell as I turned around and continued forward. My chest began to feel tight at the realization that it was real this time. A tear escaped onto my face but I wiped it away aggressively. I was done crying, there was no way I still had tears left in me. Silently, I boarded the plane, taking my seat in very back by the window, shoving earphones into my ears and closing my eyes. This was it.

_______________________________________________________________

When I made it to Florida and had secured my bags I called Renee to see where she was.

“Hi, honey! Where are you?”

“I just left baggage claim, Mom, where ar-” “Phil says he sees you, we are outside!!” she was shouting into the phone.

    I spun around to the glass doors revealing the bright Florida sun touching everything in sight and immediately saw Phil, his height set him apart from the crowd for the most part. He was wearing sunglasses on top of his head which reminded me that I’d need to get a pair. I smiled when I met his gaze and hung up to phone. He met me at the door, taking two of my bags. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he grinned wider at me.

“Hey,” I breathed, nodding at him. 

    Lucky for me, he wasn’t really a talkative guy either. I guess Renee had a type. She was waiting out by the car practically running in place with excitement and anticipation, a huge grin painted on her face. 

“Eeeeeeeeeee!!” she squealed running up to me as soon as I was out the door, throwing herself at me.

    I instinctively dropped the bags I was holding so I could catch her, trying to keep my balance. I rolled my eyes at her and hugged her back.

“Hey, Mom,” I greeted her affectionately. She was sobbing into my shoulder now.

“Bella, I’m so glad you’re here,” she gushed. Then, she pushed me back by my shoulders.

“Look at you, you look so beautiful,” she whined sweetly. Renee was always so dramatic.

“Okay, mom,” I huffed a laugh, dragging her on one arm and my bags in the other towards the car. 

    Phil met me halfway taking the last of the bags and situating them in the car, briefly admiring my mom who was still stuck to my elbow. I smiled at him gratefully and steered her towards the back seat. I climbed in and she finally let go to climb in the front seat, grabbing my hand again once she was buckled. Maybe this was going to be a bit harder than I thought. Phil climbed into the driver’s seat and got situated, then started the drive to my new home. I’d never actually seen their house in Florida so this should be interesting.

“So, Bella, how was your flight from Washington?” Phil asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

“It was good, kind of long,” I smiled in response.

“Oh honey, you’re gonna love the house,” Renee exclaimed. 

    The entire twenty-minute car trip Renee talked non-stop. Phil would glance over at her to admire her rambling face because she made many different expressions, I thought that was cute. I was glad my mom found someone who loved every part of her colorful personality. I would just sit in the back seat nodding and giving “mhm’s” when it was necessary, Renee could keep going on for hours. She was telling me about her hobbies, getting into writing, moving into the new house, and then she told me they got a puppy. My eyes grew wide and my mouth hung open.

“You got a Puppy?” I frowned. Renee definitely didn’t like pets. 

“Yes!” she beamed, vibrating with excitement as we pulled into the driveway of the house. 

    The house was not too big, but it was homey. A bit smaller than Charlie’s, it was painted a soft pastel yellow with white trim and plenty of windows. The front yard was nice and green, there also seemed to be a pretty big backyard. All in all, it was nice and bright and happy. This was going to be good. I climbed out of the car, walking around to help Phil grab my bags and then I followed Renee in. As I approached the door I heard a high-pitched yelping coming from inside making me cringe. She glanced back at me grinning with excitement, reaching to open the door. Suddenly, a little white ball of fluff bolted out the door yelping and whining, running circles around mine and my mom’s feet. I huffed quietly, watching the little dog prance around. Then, I shot Phil a disbelieving look, but he just shrugged with an affectionate smile for Renee. She was bent down greeting this puppy and sweeping it into her arms.

“Bella, this is Rosie,” she beamed, looking down at the little white puffball in her arms.

My stomach twisted wildly at the name, but I smiled for my mom and patted the dog on the head. 

“That’s great mom, I never thought you’d ever want a dog.”

“You know, neither did I, but Lelani told me her daughter was selling puppies and I just went to look, but I fell in love,” she laughed, kissing the dog on its little head. I huffed and shook my head, following her inside. 

“I’ll take you up to your room, Bella,” Phil smiled. I nodded in response, following him up the stairs.

    He took me down the hall to where my room was and left me to my unpacking, promising me he’d keep Renee busy for a while so I could settle in. I responded with an appreciative smile. I loved her but there was nothing I wanted more than some time to settle. I shut the door behind him and turned to take in everything about this new room. It felt brighter and more open than my room at Charlie’s. The walls, bedding, dresser, and desk were all white. The floor was a walnut hardwood flooring, complementing the greys and pastel colors of the decor nicely with the white. There were various small pots of cacti and succulents, decorative pillows arranged neatly on my bed, pastel blue hangers lined my closet. It was all very sophisticated and pretty, almost too pretty to live in. It was definitely a change from my cramped, dark room I had in Forks which ironically was a small, dark town compared to this big, sunny one. Florida and Forks are the most polar opposite places to live, it was only ideal that my rooms in each place were opposite as well. The farther away from my former small-town life I could get the better off I would be. 

    I decided I would put my clothes away after dinner. Instead, I flopped down onto my new bed and closed my eyes. Renee and Phil were downstairs making dinner, clunking pans around, humming and talking with each other. I was happy they were so happy together, it made me worry about Renee less when I was gone. I sighed, pinpointing different smells like the laundry soap Renee has been using since I was little radiating off my bedding, the dry and warm Florida air wafting into the room from my cracked window, and there’s a faint but distinct smell of dust because I’m sure they’d never touched this room until now. The inevitable feeling of doom looming over my head had a harder time reaching me now, the Florida sun doing its job by outshining my darkness. Hopefully, it would keep it away permanently. For now, I just wanted to adjust to this change. 

“Bella, dinners ready!” I heard Renee call. 

    I let out a content sigh and pushed myself up but before I could head for the door I heard a small bonk on the wood floor beneath me. I looked down and to my surprise, it was the piece of paper Charlie had given me with Jacob Black’s phone number on it. I raised my eyebrows, lost in thought for a moment. Maybe Jacob was exactly what I needed to stay connected to the good part of Forks that I enjoyed, that didn’t debilitate me. I smirked to myself and picked up the paper, setting it on my desk for after dinner. Then, I spun around and headed down for my first dinner with Renee and Phil since before I left for Forks. Here we go.

Tag list: @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce, @xmysec0ndself

[tsubaki3192]

Luck. 1

[Various Ikesen x ??! MC/Reader]

Chapter 1: Nope.

Masterlist (TBA)

Notes: .... Should I keep Yoshimoto in? IDK how to write him, tbh. Pronoun (Y/N) will be used. IDK if Kennyo will be a love interest... Yet.

Tagging: @unstoppablelinda, @otome--fantasy.... 

(Let me know if you want to be tagged!)

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

Nope, nope, nope.

There was absolutely no way this was happening to you. 

Absolutely not. 

You were dreaming. You had to be dreaming. It was simply impossible for you to have fallen through some strange space-time continuum (a black and streaky grey, you recall) into some strange 500-years-ago dimension where the famous figures of the Sengoku Period were the same age, if not slightly older than you were.

Then again maybe it wasn’t impossible. Then again you had forgotten who you were; what you are. 

And then again- “Hey!”

And you fled, feet pounding against the mossy (unevenly paved?) ground beneath her. And it was only right you had done so, given-

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

“Hey, wake up! It’s dangerous to be sleeping during a fire!”

Following that strange warp you had passed through (and you stand by the black and streaky grey), you had been brought to a temple blaze with a man (laid in full Japanese medieval armour, might you add) at the centre of the room.Though your instincts told you to flee, your rather sensitive ears had heard the subtle yet distinct sound of geta against the somewhat crumbling tatami mats (or was it wood? There was too much ash to see clearly).

And then the sharp, metallic sound of a blade drawn. 

“Come on! We need to get out of here!”

The sword-wielding figure froze, unexpectedly finding another within the room- You. And if luck hadn’t given you it’s control, then you and the armoured man would’ve been killed- slaughtered- with no evidence of family. But no. Your curse (hex?), now applied to the supposed assassin, caused the beam to fall from above him. 

But he managed to step backwards in time, away from the crashes above. 

And if you needed to sigh exasperatedly, now was the time to do so. Apparently, just apparently, heat from a rather heavy (and uncontrolled) fire wasn’t something to wake from, but the crashes from a falling wooden beam was?

And though he was still disoriented, you grabbed the hand of the now-standing, once-sleeping male and tugged him towards the open doorway, forcing him to leap from the balcony. And you could only hope your bad luck tendencies wouldn’t appear during such a precarious deed.

Then, just moments after you landed on the ground and strode away from the building-

“Someone tried to do me away as I slept? How audacious. You there, woman. Release my hand.”

It took you several moments to realise exactly who he was speaking to, and exactly what he said. It wasn’t a request, but an order and certainly one you would’ve absolutely despised, if it weren’t for the fact his eyes glowed just as red as your own would, under some rather specific circumstances. 

“Who are you?”

Your narrowed eyes watched him skeptically, watching for any signs of danger (to yourself or he?). But your instincts informed you otherwise and your shoulders partially relaxed under his rather intense gaze. 

Yet your question floated through the air, undeniably stubborn.

“Do you mean to say you saved me without expecting a reward of some kind? I am-”

“You know what? I’m not interested after all. I believe I’ll dislike whatever I hear from you.”

You had decided he was someone you exhaustedly didn’t want to deal with (too loud with far too much ego), shrugging off his hand before he could say much else to you. But he only stared at you incredulously and continued speaking as if you hadn’t interrupted him with your unnecessarily rude comment. 

It had taken you several moments of ignorance before you realised just who you had impudently spoken to.

“You’re… who?!”

“Oda Nobunaga,” the man replied, watching your expression change amusedly, “The man who will unite this country under one flag.”

But you just silently eyed him from top to bottom shamelessly, blinking unamused. And you sighed. Of course he was. It wasn’t as if you didn’t recognise the name, nor the nameplate nailed to the wall of the crumbling temple behind you. Honnōji. Oda Nobunaga. They were both names you well and truly recognised from your high school history textbook.

But he was much younger than your textbook had mentioned he was when he supposedly died, and... Oh wait. ‘Honnōji’ and ‘Oda Nobunaga’ were two names that went hand-in-hand with ‘death’.

…. Did you… just… prevent the death of the so-called ‘Devil King’?

Oh shit.

And it was ‘oh shit’ indeed when another voice on horseback- the undeniable clops of a horse’s hooves rang through the crackling of the nighttime blaze- called the man now standing beside you almost hurriedly.

“My lord!”

If you had thought the so-called Nobunaga’s voice was far too low and almost didn’t match his face, then this newcomer’s voice was like a cool breeze on a hot Summer's day - that was, refreshing and sweet to the ears. 

The Oda-claimed man standing beside you had also been muttering something about, to quote him, “impudence”, but you had blocked out the sounds favouring your thoughts over his shockingly deep voice. And it wasn’t until moments lated that the late-teen, early-twenties-looking male with the surprisingly silver hair and lavender eyes had introduced himself as “Ishida Mitsunari”, to which you accidentally blurted a quick “You’re the tactician” before slamming your hand over your mouth.

Oops…? 

You peered at the indigo-kimono-clad male standing in front of you, slowly but steadily, relieving your lips the pressure of your hands. And if you had thought the damn man with the crimson eye and limitless ego had been attractive, then this guy was an angel.

“It’s, um, nice to meet you, Ishida… -san?”

And true to your word, you sounded unsure of yourself, unable to deny the fact that you were unsure of what to call him. Your head cocked itself slightly towards your right shoulder; your expression scrutinising your word choice. The said ‘Ishida-san’ just smiled at your expense, uttering a quick “Mitsunari is fine,” with that naturally angelic smile of his.

And if your impudence hadn’t already amused the one called Nobunaga, then your unease, indecisiveness and knowledge did. 

“How interesting to know-”

“Milord, if you don’t mind, I’ll retrieve a new set of clothes for her. ”

For the first time that night, you took a glance towards your clothing eyeing the char, grime and ashes caught in between the pleats of your plain drawstring tee and up the leg the casual deep-blue jeans you wore. Perhaps you really did need a change of clothes. And though you couldn’t say you hadn’t worn kimonos before, it truly wouldn’t your first preference of clothing. 

Then again it was the Sengoku Period, and all they wore were kimonos, much to your irritation.

(You had also ignored the fact that the ‘Nobunaga’ had began speaking simultaneously with Mitsunari and that he was now staring, again incredulously, at the said tactician.)

“Listen!” you sighed exasperatedly, sighing as you gazed into the distant mountains, “I’m not really from around here… As in this time period. I’m from approximately 500 years in the future, if I’m not wrong.”

And as if you had uttered something completely absurd (for the record, your words did sound rather strange after they left your lips), the two warlords, as far as you could identify, blankly stared at you. And-

You deadpanned. A storyteller, the raven-haired one had called you and ‘a storyteller’ was what the other man believed, though you weren’t sure if he really was gullible or bound by obligation (most likely the latter, but who were you to judge?). And despite your protests, you were whisked off to a nearby tent and handed an indigo kimono, no doubt belonging to the gentle male (given both colour and scent) who had brought you there, to change into.

When you exited, having finally managed to shake most of the ash from your hair, Nobunaga had been waiting for you outside. And much to your chagrin, he eyed you from head to toe and hummed almost contentedly. 

“You clean up well.”

With a roll of your eyes, you turned your head away but followed him into the supposed main tent (the largest of them all) anyway, still disliking the whole scenario you had unwillingly been tossed into. But it wasn’t long after you were handed a glass of water that the tent flap opened again. And your eyebrows furrowed in increased discomfort as you realised you had not heard his footsteps-

“Milord, I see that you are well.”

“Mitsuhide.”

Your head shot up as you narrowed your eyes for a split second, analysing the male for any sign that he was the one who had planned the murder (history said it was him, after all) and sighed, not in relief but for the curious glance he had given her. If anything, he couldn’t have been the one who had planned the murder of the Nobunaga you had save (or ‘rescued’, as you smugly preferred to put it). If he had taken a bath between the time you had disappeared with the said lord, how on Earth did he have the time to dry it? Hair dryers certainly didn’t exist in this period, so on that basis, he was ‘innocent’.

But this once again new guy… If you had thought Mitsunari was an angel, then this man’s white hair, tantalising golden eyes and overall aura reminded you of your kind- A kitsune. You closed your eyes and leant your head back against the tent wall and a quiet sigh escaped your lips in an attempt to calm yourself down. 

And you almost lost the gratifying sensation a split moment later when Mitsuhide parted his lips, apparently wanting to say something to you.

But-

“Nobunaga-sama!”

At the sound of the suffix, your face near-blanched and paled in disgust, though you couldn’t deny that the new voice was far more attractive than you had anticipated it to be and you somehow figured- no, knew- he was a charmer, whether intentionally or unintentionally. The voice, however, had sounded rather flustered and you had heard the sound of hooves from perhaps a 100 metres away. 

But the sight of his ruffled caramel-blond locks and the sweat dripping from his face when he entered was a set for sore eyes.

Damn, why are all these guys so good looking?!

“Hideyoshi,” Nobunaga greeted, although somewhat curtly and you gasped quietly, mentally punching yourself in the face almost immediately after. You really shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the Sengoku period after all, and Hideyoshi was Nobunaga’s right-hand-man, or so to speak.

“Oh great. Here comes ‘Toyotomi Hideyoshi’...”

It had been uttered from beneath your breath as you sighed now uninterested, but apparently even mentioning his name had been enough to capture his attention. His eyebrows furrowed as he took in your appearance, frowning even further at the sight of your displeased expression.

“Outspoken, are we? Have we met?”

And with a scowl, you couldn’t help retorting a quick “Oh, buzz off,” as irritated as you already were. You turned away from him, as in back facing him and all, huffing quietly as Mitsunari giggled at your expense. The kitsune-male only raised an eyebrow are your snark, finding you as amusing as his banter with Hideyoshi.

“Leave her be, Hideyoshi. She is the one who saved my life.”

Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide eyed you over - something you hated by now, but couldn’t do anything about - and glanced back at Nobunaga in interest.

“Such a slender thing! But it appears your courage makes up for it…”

If you had a choice, you would have cursed Mitsuhide with all of your ability, before baring your bite in his arm and disappearing in a flash of blue-white fox fire. ‘Slender thing’ or not, you were well and truly able to obliterate him on the spot if you really wanted to, though you were pretty sure you had a higher likelihood of dying from these other warlords standing ahead of you. And your history knowledge told you that you had not yet met all from Nobunaga’s end of the war.

Just how many vassals and retainers he have exactly?

But then again, as you watched Hideyoshi supposedly opting to argue with the said kitsune-like man there was just something very specific you knew of. And if you had the chance to interfere, you would’ve, save for the fact that they were so adamantly yelling at one another to the point you almost wished for some kind of headache relief.

(Did you even have a box of painkillers with you? You really weren’t sure-)

Glancing around your feet for distraction, you spied your leather-brown satchel laid at your feet and sighed. You had unconsciously clung onto the said bag (perhaps in fear? Then again your kind didn’t exactly fear fire) and only released the item when you had rested beside you. 

But you were thankful for that fact, for multiple reasons. First-

“Give us some time alone. There is something I’d like to speak to her about.”

...Nevermind the ‘first’, you had more ‘threatening’ things to deal with. From memory, ‘time alone’ with a warlord, let alone any male during Imperial Japan, was essentially agreeing to something you’d rather not think about (definitely not, considering what your occupation had been- a police officer-cross-detective).

As Nobunaga excused his fellow warlords from the tent, your hand reached towards your bag, pulled out a pen and a piece of paper and scribbled a short note. And before the Oda lord could face you, you crushed your bag against your chest and fled through the same entrance, hoping to never see them again, no matter how impossible you knew it was.

But the piece of paper flittered to the ground, folded and addressed to a single man she had met that night.

‘Akechi Mitsuhide’.

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

-and as much as you’d like to say your endeavour was successful, there was just this one thing: It was the centre of town and there were people about (the whole ‘temple on fire’ thing, remember?). It wasn’t as if you could just POOF! into a fox and expect to get away, right?

And so here you were, geta pounding loudly against the dirt floor as you ran towards the forest where you ironically felt most safe. But your thoughts were preoccupied with a host of strange thoughts and analysis of the people you met earlier. They appeared much different from how your history books stated, though there wasn’t much you could say considering how frantic you thought you were.

Nobunaga, the man you had rescued, was… Much younger than you thought. You had sworn your history book had stated he was nearing, or at, 45 years of age when his death came around. But here he looked to be in his mid-twenties, if not slightly early-twenties. His crimson eyes and raven hair seemed to stand out most amongst his equally black, ruby and white clothing. 

Hideyoshi, on the other hand, appeared to be skeptical of you and frankly, you couldn’t complain. His lean figure was something you had exactly expected, though his caramel locks had been somewhat surprising for the time period. He appeared to be just as protective (and loyal) as the history books stated he was. However-

-You hadn’t even ran 200 metres into the forest when you came across a clearing, occupied by a rather scarred monk with an attitude, might you add.

“My name is Kennyo,” he had introduced, staff jangling as he moved, “A travelling monk. May I be of assistance?”

Your almost imperceivable shake of the head torments you even further as your intruding thoughts (ones of doubt, anxiety and mental discussion) abruptly ceased. His hardened expression... appeared to be almost forced, as if he wasn’t used to being cruel; as if he was forced to hurt you. And if your kimono had been shorter, you’d probably kick his normal expression back to his face. Literally.

He had stopped in front of you, eyeing you carefully before continuing his words.

“You should return home quickly, Demons lurk in these woods at night.”

If the whole ‘travelling monk’ attribute hadn’t made you skeptical of him, then his last statement had. Demons? How could he possibly know about them? You, for one, could be classified as one if you weren’t careful but for he to address the demons would mean he-

...Oh yeah. He’s a monk...

Hurriedly, you rushed a rather flustered-yet-sarcastic, “Thanks for the warning!” before delving deeper and deeper into the darkness that enshrouded them. And you had to thank him- mentally- for not following you as you travelled further away from him.

But your feet (or rather, you in general) had come to a sudden stop as you were tackled unwillingly to the ground by someone far heavier than you were (and was that muscles you felt?). You groaned at the impact, before rapidly finding your will to sit upright; shoving the man from your chest. And unfortunately for you, it earned you a rather heavy glare from the chocolate-haired boy… Dare you say. 

(The truth was, he looked to be your age, but you refused to acknowledge the fact.)

“I save you, and this is what I get?”

Your head whipped around at his exasperated words, unsure of how to respond to his exasperated question. And you blinked blankly at the sight just behind you- A wide expanse of a forest, beyond the clifftop you now sat upon. 

Oh.

Not that it really mattered to you (you wouldn't have died anyway), but it seemed to terrify(?) the crimson-clad male that you would so willingly leap off a cliff, despite how unaware you were. Despite your nature to tease the soul out of the male, it was perhaps better courtesy to thank him for saving you the trek back up-cliff (though you wouldn’t let him know that. Ever.) So you did, though he, for some reason or another, seemed to doubt your gratitude for several seconds before nodding and shifting away from you with a blush on his face.

Oh. OHHH.

For sure, you would be teasing him the next time you met, that is, if you ever did. After all, he appeared to be blushing because of your proximity rather than his actions, and if anything, he reminded you of a shy, athletic, college boy. And just as you were about to ask for his name, you were interrupted by a rather amused (more mature and somewhat sultry), “Yuki, we leave you for ten minutes and you’ve found yourself a girl?”

And for once, you stared; anger, amusement and irritation suddenly drained from your thoughts. If the other warlords you had met that night were ‘good looking’, this guy was hot. Frat boy hot. 

If your jaw hadn’t dropped before, then it would now. 

How the hell were you supposed to handle all these good-looking men?

Something told you that even if you ran away now, they would find their way back to you no matter how far you fled. But you just stared at the newcomer (or rather, you were the newcomer, but screw logic for the moment-), from the smirkingly egoistic smile on his face to the crimson-maroon colour of his kimono. And his open chest. You didn’t deny that. 

And given your initial impression of him (a flirt, and you were sure you were correct), it was easier to just turn around and leap off the cliff. But again, you didn’t want to insult this so-called ‘Yuki’ for saving your life, so you just huffed, crossing your arms indignantly.

There was, after all, no room to flee (unless you wanted to scare the shit out of the men in front of you by leaping backwards… Something you were tempted to do-).

And as you contemplated, he muttered something about “Honnōji” and “ghosts” and something- something- “seen?”. He was probably flirting with you, if you knew him well enough (and for the record, you didn’t). But your ears had caught onto something else, directing your attention elsewhere for the moment: Another rustle in the bushes, and a flash of white-

Oh. This guy… seemed cold, to say the least, which somehow had become a rather fresh change for you given how warm the other men you had met seemed to be. From top to bottom, his aura and style alluded loneliness and the freezing temperatures of blue. And he was heterochromatic, simply an aspect of him that added to his mysteriousness.

“Your ability to spew cheap pick-up lines never ceases to amaze me.”

…And you were right. Which was rare, considering your luck, or lack thereof, you usually had. 

“You there, could you step into the light? Thank you.”

Amusedly, you hadn’t even shifted (or spoken, but whatever), but you complied out of curiosity rather than obedience. The raven-haired man standing beside the freezing-looking male was pretty, you didn’t- couldn’t- deny it. His braided hair, completed with a stunningly pink kimono, was nothing to laugh at either. He was one of those… ‘art appreciation’ people. Not that there was anything ultimately wrong, you’ve just had several pretty interesting run-ins with people of his kind, that was all. And-

“Would you be willing to exchange your kimono with one in my collection?”

Your eyebrows furrowed themselves, mind immediately either leaping to a single question (rare, for someone of your profession): Was he… flirting with you? To exchange a kimono to one from his collection… Didn’t that mean he was claiming you? Maybe? Maybe not? It was difficult to tell with this guy. 

But all you did was give him a gentle smile, refusing politely with a shake of your head. And before you could take a step backwards (and off the cliff), a large hand, though heavy, clasped itself over your shoulder, drawing you close to a very warm wall.

“Sorry Yoshimoto, I saw this angel first.”

Okay, that was the final straw- you really were going to leap off the cliff, accidental or not. There was no way you were going to spend the night warming their bed, as their words implied. And perhaps it was because of your exhaustion, or perhaps not, but your irritation originating from the interaction with Nobunaga’s men had once again risen. You slipped from his arm and backed towards the edge of the cliff. 

“What are you doing?!”

Your heels hung off the precariously crumbling edge as the athlete yelled at you with eyes wide. And you just stared at ‘Yuki’s’ concern (which, you had to admit, did touch you slightly), before whispering a quiet ‘sorry’ at him and tilting your entire body backwards.

And in a split second, the men rushed to the edge of the cliff, unable to do much save for watch you fall without so much of a scream. And as if to spite you, the one who had clasped his hand over his shoulder, peered over the edge of the cliff and waved at you (winking, might you add), though a clear sign of worry and doubt was evident on his handsome face. 

“Takeda Shingen! Remember it!”

But you had disappeared within a blink of an eye, leaving almost nothing behind (a faint blue tinge, maybe, but it was far too faint to be considered much else than a trick of the eye). And for several seconds, the men blinked confused at your sudden ability to fade. And then-

“Why-? How-?”

The questions fell from Yuki’s lips almost innocently as he gaped in surprise at his lord’s strange actions. But the lord just smiled almost nervously in response, as if doubting his eyes, and responded to his question somewhat smugly.

“-Did I know that she would be alive? There’s no way a person would so confidently fall from a cliff- suicidal or not- unless they knew they were going to survive.”

[cadcnce-archived]

Pros and Cons of dating the Wy-boy

PROS

Variety of interests and hobbies to keep things fresh. He’ll add to his repertoire on a whim and is more than willing to indulge the interests of others out of curiosity and seeing others enjoy themselves. He’s willing to indulge in pretty much everything at least once.

Athletic and more than physically capable providing his partner with a variety of bonuses! He’ll carry you. He’ll protect you if shit goes south. He’ll attack if shit goes north. And you get to bask in the glory that is his dancing skills. Perhaps the most romantic thing you can get out of him in droves is dancing with the boy. All sorts of dances.

Even with all his emotional hang ups and issues, when that heart shines through it’s a great time for his partner. He doesn’t love easily but when he does truly love he loves hard. And the fact he doesn’t know what to do with it or how to properly do it can be pretty endearing.

His work has him pretty much set for cash. Money isn’t likely to be an issue if you’re with him. Not that you can tell since he lives pretty modestly and gives the bulk of it (after cleaning) to charity. If you ask him he’ll try and set you up with pretty much anything.

Continuing off the above. He’s super spontaneous with how he sets up things or shows his affection. Even holidays and dates aren’t always going to be what they seem. If he hears you like fish and aquariums? He’ll sneak you both into a tank for a feeding so you can swim with them. You wanna go to space? Ok. Well. He can’t do everything...

CONS

Regardless of how much he trusts his partner, he’s guaranteed to stalk them in some way with some regularity. It’s not done out of suspicion, but part of the way he learns about people from all the way back when he was young was following people and watching them. Is it still creepy? You betcha. Does he feel bad about it? Nope!

Prone to disappearing for a variety of reasons for a variable amount of time. Sometimes he just leaves and wanders for a day without contact. Other times he’ll drop off the face of the planet whether it be for work or he got hit too hard with the Feelings(tm). That can vary from a couple weeks to oops he gone.

Definitely not the most faithful. Depending on the "severity” of relationship and how it started he may keep a few cards he’s playing in the back pocket or he’s vulnerable to slipping new ones into the deck if you catch my drift. Sometimes he get the feelings he get drinky and oh hey.

Questionable amount of guilt over his actions. There’s a jumble of Stuff up in his head that will grind at him just as much as it will validate. He’s very self-preservation whether it be emotional or physical. Tying his heart down for reals is work and time and there’s no promising he’ll ever adapt fully to giving himself to another person.

Similar to the above he’s very bad at taking relationships and other social things seriously. He’s not the type to set up fancy dinners on special dates or ravish his sigo with special gifts. Spontaneity is great and all, but people expecting passionate romance are gonna be disappointed. More often than not his relationships are without labels. He’ll have the whole thing going but calling it as dating or love remains unsaid. That’s a dirty word!

Tagged by: @crownedqueen​ (thanks nerd I have a bunch from you) Tagging: Steal it! Though @teniras​ should do it for Drea.

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (17)

A/N: WELCOME TO SHIP Y’ALL !!!!

WARNINGS: disassociation/descriptions of zoning out — i think that's it, but! as always, let me know!

Words: 4203

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing! i dont think i’m gonna be adding remus to the masterpost tags though because like. in full honesty? hes not actually a character. he’ll just be alluded to from time to time :^)

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil​​​ @forrestwyrm​​​ @daflangstlairde​​​ @marshmallow-the-panda​​​ @askthesnake​​​ @k9cat​​​ @patromlogil​​​ @theobsessor1​​​ @ninja-wizard101​​ @fandomsofrandom

general tag: @jemthebookworm​​​

enjoy !!! ilu !

“So it’s clearly a trap.”

They were all sitting in the other room, the Thief’s head resting on the Bard’s leg as he laid across the couch, Patton lounging in the Artist’s lap on the ground, Deceit on the coffee table. Logan was the only one sitting in a chair, reading over the invitation with his legs crossed on the seat.

It was finally time to broach the topic of a rescue mission and everyone was fairly apprehensive. Patton was starring at the ceiling, glasses sitting on the Artist’s head, who in turn was gently running his hand through Patton’s hair.

Deceit was flipping a coin around in his hand absentmindedly, watching Patton. He had been quieter as of late. If Logan had a headache, he hazarded a guess that Patton was similarly affected, even if he wasn’t disclosing those afflictions. 

“Definitely. Dragon knows we, uh, well,” the Thief’s eyes flicked over to the Artist, who shook his head. 

“We can’t let the Child get hurt,” the Bard said, “He was….well, not to be rude, the kiddo’s an idiot, but he’s the Prince’s favorite.”

There was a pause as Logan crunched the numbers. Child, Damsel, Dragon, Artist, Thief, Bard, Playwright — they were originally told that there were only seven Romans, right? 

It didn’t add up. He wasn’t going to voice THAT pun in front of Patton, though.

“The Prince? Is there another Roman? Or are you talking about the previous rendering of Roman as Prince Roman,” Logan handed the invitation to Deceit, who nodded and looked it over again. 

“I think he’s another figment, right?” the Bard looked down at the Thief with a raised eyebrow, “He was there on the first day?”

The Thief nodded. “He brought Child to me. Said he couldn’t take care of him, then he disappeared. Probably died, if we’re being honest.”

“Sounds like him. Flaking on responsibilities,” the Artist rolled his eyes.

Patton shifted, turning over so he could look at the Artist’s face. His hand reached up and patted his cheek.

Roman was so pretty. A pretty pretty prince. 

Wasn’t that the whole point, that he wasn’t a prince? Wait, why he wearing Patton’s glasses? Ah, goodness. He needed a Pat-nap, he couldn’t believe he forgot the Artist. 

He didn’t notice the Artist’s slight blush as he ran his hand through Patton’s hair again. “You’re okay, Patt,” he mumbled. 

Deceit raised an eyebrow at them, then looked back at Logan.

“I….don’t think that the Roman we are most familiar with would be so careless, though he has been heedless in the past,” Logan said, “We can hold discussions about the Prince for a different time, though. As for a plan, do any of you know what the castles interior looks like?”

“Why should we? We can figure it out once we’re there!” the Bard said. 

“No, we cannot,” Deceit shook his head in agreement with Logan. “If we are to create an infallible plan, we cannot be lackadaisical.”

The Bard laughed, wagging his finger at Logan. “I can assure you that I lack no daisies, thank you very much.” 

He snapped his fingers and a flower crown appeared on his head. The Thief made a face and Deceit sighed, both already exasperated. Logan, however, ignored his shenanigans and leaned forward to explain.

“Lackadaisical. We cannot be too,” he thought for a suitable synonym, “Laid back.”

The Bard blinked, then grinned in understanding. “Okay, Captain Cogitation, whatever you say.”

“I agree with Logan,” Deceit nodded to Logan, “If we want to pull this off, we’ve got to know everything.”

“Isn’t that your specialty, mister pants on fire,” the Artist asked, still running his hand through Patton’s hair. “You always seem to know more about everything than anyone else.”

Deceit turned to him, eyes quickly flicking to Patton before he raised an eyebrow at the Artist. The Artist stiffened. 

Slowly, he retracted his hand from Patton’s hair. It didn’t feel very welcome anymore.

“Sneaking and knowing are two of my talents, yes, but this is your world. I’ve never been inside that castle. I have to admit ignorance,” Deceit tilted his head to the side, toward the window, ignoring the Artist’s hurt expression, “You’ve been inside though, right?”

“The Prince has,” the Thief corrected, “I’ve been in and out in a few places. Know where Dragon’s hoard room is. I don’t think any of us actually know how to navigate it.”

The Bard not nodded in agreement, lips pursed in disappointment. Truth be told, he really wanted to see the inside of the castle. Interesting to note, in Logan’s mind, that they didn’t share the Prince’s source of knowledge.

“Surely if Roman has been inside the castle, then all of you would qualify as having been inside?”

“Well, yeah. But as the Prince. We,” the Thief pointed around at himself, then the Bard, then the Artist, “Don’t all have his memories in that detail.”

So the Prince had a different connection to Roman, the concept. That was Logan’s understanding. 

Then again, did Logan understand ANY of what was going on in here?

Now, now, don’t be too hasty. He rubbed his forehead, trying to ignore the increased throbbing in the back of his skull. Maybe the optimal strategy would have been to assume that anything goes in the Imagination, but you couldn’t fault him for trying to apply logic to the nonsensical. Perhaps there was some logic to it, with a rationale he didn’t anticipate.

All of the Romans bore some similarities and abilities to the original Prince Roman, but because the Prince was missing in action, dissolved, what have you, then those characteristics were divided amongst the remaining seven Romans. 

He had to understand the range of abilities. “Deceit, can you take notes?” Logan asked, and Deceit wordlessly conjured his notepad as Logan turned back to the Thief. “So, if you do not have exact likenesses to Roman, then what do you all have in common? We must understand the skillset we are working with.”

The three Roman parts all shared a look — apprehension, perhaps? — and the Thief broke off first. “A few of Roman’s strongest feelings and convictions, and some of his mannerisms,” he said, looking back at Logan, “That’s all that carries over to all seven.”

“And who decided that?”

“Who decided what we would take from Roman?” the Thief rubbed the back of his head and looked at the Artist, who shrugged, then the Bard, who….also shrugged. He sighed and continued speaking, though he didn’t exactly want to be the sole voice. “Well, us, I think? Or him. It kinda just happened when we were one.”

“The him that doesn’t exist?” Deceit raised an eyebrow at the Thief, who rolled his eyes and looked pointedly away. 

Yeah, he was done speaking. 

The tensions were heating up again. Patton sighed, scooting closer to the Artist’s chest and snuggling his head into his hoodie. It was soft. And it smelt like Roman.

Smelt like home. Patton closed his eyes. Had it really only been one day? He missed the common room so much, missed sitting on the couch and gluing photos and stickers into the scrap book he was working on. Missed listening to Roman rehearse lines and the flipping of Logan’s pages and the faint music wafting from Virgil’s headphones.

He was excited to see what Deceit’s routine would be when they got back. Maybe he’d want to join breakfasts?

Focus, Patton. He rubbed his face with the butt of his palm. Focusing was difficult, like trying to stand steady on a boat. Earlier, he’d been easy sailing, but right now it felt like they’d hit the currents.

“This is all confusing,” Patton mumbled.

He had to pull himself together! 

The Artist hummed sympathetically, hand reaching up and patting his hair, stopping short of running through. He tutted, then shook his head. “Look, usually there isn’t a rhyme or reason to what we do, we just…” he gestured vaguely into the air, “Do!”

There was a beat of silence as Logan, Deceit, and the Thief all squinted at him, for slightly differing reasons.

The Bard, however, just leaned in and said “A-scoodly-boo! Oop, maybe there is a rhyme?”

Logan and Deceit were surprised, watching the Bard. The Bard missed it, however, and winked at the Thief. Who smiled a tiny bit back. Even the Artist was smiling, clearly pleased.

Were they….was Roman that unaware?

No matter. Logan cleared his throat and the Thief opened an eye. “Can you please elaborate on the differences between each of you, then. There is a clear thematic or, rather, trope distinction between you all, but what are the Roman-esque traits that each of you individually have?”

That was a pretty clear place to start, Logan thought. He, Patton, and Deceit had been forming their own opinions and had their own hypothesis, but it’d be worthwhile to confirm their theories before jumping to conclusions. 

The Thief shifted, pushing himself up and out of the Bard’s lap. He sat upright and pulled his legs up to sit criss-cross. “In terms of what abilities we have, it’s been determined mostly by what we value. I….can fight. I can think calmly for the most part. I’m a lot of what Roman is when he’s alone,” the Thief waved his hand, then drummed his fingers against his thumb in thought, “I guess that’s why I’m so, uh….not-Roman?”

“Same with me,” the Artist said, raising his hand and tapping Patton’s back, signalling to him to sit up himself, “Bard and I, we create. Playwright, too. But because we all have different work ethics, different ideas on what should and-uh, on what to create, because of that we’re split. And our attitudes.”

Logan nodded. “Understandable.” 

Patton sat up and leaned against Logan’s knee. So they were talking about the different Romans. Alright. He was caught up, yeah! They were all different, different in their own ways, but they also clearly came together to be….Roman.

What ever they discussed here, because in truth he knew very little about what they were talking about, he knew they’d have to talk to the Damsel and the Dragon. Were they considering that? 

Deceit shut his notebook and looked up, remembrance written across his face. “That reminds me. Regarding your ability to create,” he pointed his pen at the Artist, “Are you aware of how….dense your creations have gotten?”

They were absolutely not considering that, apparently. Patton winced, turning toward the Artist. The tension returned as his expression flatted, becoming more guarded. The concept of creation seemed to be a touchy subject indeed, if the incident with the palette knife and threats were anything to go off of.

Behind him, Patton was gesturing to Deceit to cut out whatever line of questioning he was entering, waving his hands frantically. He had an icky feeling. The kind that was usually accompanied with nervousness, when he and Virgil would both be worried about something or another, but Virgil wasn’t here right now and this was more of the ball dropping into his stomach than the hair standing on the back of his neck.

It was awkward. That’s what it was, that’s the word. An incredibly awkward situation. Did Deceit know how the Artist was sensitive about his art? Oh, golly, they should have told him.

On the other side, Logan was simply watching Deceit with a raised eyebrow. Surely Deceit could have deduced that the Roman figment named ‘The Artist’ would be, well, unreceptive to critiques?

“Dense?” the Artist asked.

The Bard winced, and the Thief whistled lowly. “Don’t tread on me,” he murmured, looking up at Deceit. 

Deceit looked at him for only the briefest second, lip quirking up into a sly smile. 

He knew what he was doing. Logan had realized earlier and they had to make sure at least SOME of the Romans understood the toll that the Imagination was taking. 

“Dense, yes. Layered. Very well crafted,” his eyes trailed back up to the Artist, whose hand slowly unclenched from his pants fabric.

Ah. Yes, well. He preened a little, straightening his shoulders.

Ah, but this was Deceit. Who knew how honest he was being? The Artist froze, and then leaned down  over on one of his hands, gesturing for him to continue. He should see it out.

Deceit inhaled slowly. Logan glanced at him again, noting how he tensed so much. He couldn’t have been the only one physically affected by their circumstances. 

He reached a hand out and rested it on Deceit’s clenched fist, giving him a soft squeeze. 

Deceit’s eyes flew open. For a second, it seemed like he was going to combust, eyes flicking between Logan’s hand and face. 

Then, he exhaled, features relaxing. It was okay. It was okay!

No tricks. 

“Have you considered,” Deceit turned back to the Artist, who was still watching expectantly, “That the Imagination is too intricate for us?”

The Artist leaned back just an inch. He reached his hands up and ran them through his hair. “Care to explain?” 

Deceit nodded. The most obvious way he could explain it was thusly. “You all mentioned earlier that the passage of time was illogical earlier.”

And that was all he had to say. The Thief swore, smacking himself in the head. The Bard groaned, burying his face in his hands as he leaned forward. The Artist blanched, expression dropping as his eyes widened at Deceit. 

See? Explaining that wasn’t so hard. 

Deceit bit his lip and took off his hat, running his hand through his hair and shaking his head. At this point, his words were burning the back of his throat like bile. 

No more tricks. He didn’t need to hide.

Patton reached over and rubbed Deceit’s knee. “Good job,” he said, a smile playing on his lips

“Ah, fuck,” the Thief turned to Logan, “You.”

The Bard pointed at Logan.

Logan slowly put his hands up. “This seems more accusatory than was intended.”

“No, no, no,” the Thief slapped the Bard’s hand and then pointed his own finger at Logan, “Are you okay? You must be tired. Fuck.”

“Wait, wait, that’d apply to ALL of you,” the Bard snapped in front of the Thief’s face and gestured to Patton, who was watching everything with a confused expression (why were they all so snappish with this?) , “Wow. We knew this would happen! We knew!”

“I’m a fucking moron,” the Artist snapped, taking off his glasses.

“Why?” Patton asked, now turning to him. 

The Artist clicked his tongue and waved his hand in front of the Bard’s face, cutting him off with his mouth open. “By being in the Imagination, especially for so long, you’re subconsciously affecting the world. We built everything in here without your input, so it’s illogical, without morals, without honest emotion or depth. It’s a bunch of drafts that’ve never interacted with another Side. You all being in here means you’re fixing it without knowing.”

Deceit smiled. Sweet, sweet victory.

“But I’ve been in the Imagination before,” Patton asked, brow furrowing, was that what Deceit was talking about earlier, “There wasn’t a problem then.”

“Yes,” all of them looked up at Logan, who took up the helm of explanation, “But that was because there was a unified Roman who could control what we experienced in the Imagination, correct?”

“Mhm, right on the money,” the Thief said, “The city you saw yesterday, Deceit? That sort of stuff would usually be hidden. That’s also why you’ve never seen this town, Padre, nor the characters.”

“It’s like subconscious editing, and you’re all trying to edit everything that’s ever been created,” the Bard covered his mouth, brows pinching in mortification, “Oh, goodness, my darling stars, are you sure you are alright?”

Deceit loved being right. He looked at Logan, who nodded. “A mild headache,” he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, “But beyond that, nothing.”

“Are you sure?” the Artist asked. 

He looked at Patton, who was swaying slightly beside him, eyes fixated on the wall directly ahead. That couldn’t be good.

Carefully, the Artist picked up his glasses and slid them onto his face, turned him towards himself. Patton blinked, stare now focusing in on the Artist’s tired but relieved smile. “You’re stretching yourself thin, Patt,” he murmured. 

Patton smiled back, forcing the excited and positively positive expression back out. He was so tired; it was difficult to understand what was happening, as always, but the Romans had verbalized it so well. He was feeling everything. Intensifying every feeling, and then extrapolating the moral repercussions onto every action that every character was making.

No wonder he had been so exhausted. The Artist ran a hand through his hair and Patton’s smile immediately fell again. He let his head lean into the Artist’s hand, eyes closed. 

On the other hand, the Bard stood up and took one stride to stand directly in front of Logan. He gently cupped Logan’s cheek, feeling his head with the back of his hand. “You don’t have a fever. There’s a lot in here — we have a superhero world, that’s been expanded upon after the cartoon episode, but we have a lot of medieval worlds and quite a few fantasy rules that simply don’t abide by laws. Not to mention—”

He continued talking about the worlds they’d made and checking on Logan’s well being, seemingly unaware of how the logical side was frozen stiff in his hands. 

Deceit thought it was hilarious. Logan seemed so flustered with the Bard rushing around him, smoothing out his tense shoulder muscles without any real understanding of why they were tense. 

At least, he thought it was hilarious until the Bard hurried over to him. He immediately took off Deceit’s hat and ran his hands through his hair, tilting his head up. “You, too, Loki, you’ve got to be tired from helping with our storylines. Here,” he moved to go around Deceit, also not noticing how bright red he was, but the Thief finally stopped him.

“Look, let’s….let’s be up front,” the Thief clapped, drawing attention wearily back to himself, “We told Deceit this, but we need to tell the two of you as well.”

“....Wait, what did you say?” the Artist asked.

The Bard grinned at him, then looked down at Patton. Of course! They had to tell everyone. They wanted to share this!

“I love you.”

Patton blinked, then grinned. 

Warmth.

Butterflies. 

The Artist opened his mouth, but only a choked “oh” escaped. The Bard didn’t wait for his approval, though, turning to Logan as well and saying, “And I love you, too! And I love Deceit! And I love Virgil! I love all of you! So, so much!”

Logan nodded slowly. 

That was

Quite a bit to process. He only just accepted that he loved Patton last night, please give Logan up to 5 business days to acknowledge his emotions. He nodded curtly, though his bright red visage betrayed how flustered he was. 

It was Deceit’s turn to hold his hand. Not too much, but just enough of a firm grip to let Logan know that they were okay. That it was okay.

The Bard didn’t seem to mind the lack of immediate validation, as he continued to bounce in place, positively buzzing with happiness. With LOVE! With ROMANCE! 

He was so GOSH DARN ENDEARING. Patton looked back at the Artist, who was still a blushed statue. 

Patton loved them, too. He loved them!

“I love you, too,” he said, turning to look at the Bard, a honest smile splitting his face.

The Bard’s hands shot up as he patted his own face. “Patton! I love you, too, too!”

“I love you, too, too, too!” Patton laughed, reaching up a hand.

The Bard took his hand and pulled him up in one fluid spin, and they hugged, arms wrapped around each other’s waists. 

This made sense, to the other two Romans. Leave it to the Bard to be able to channel Roman’s romance; he housed most of it, after all. 

They watched the Bard and Patton laugh and sway, chirping about love together. 

And then Patton leaned forward and kissed him. 

Roman froze. 

Slowly, he reached a hand up and ran it through Patton’s hair, cupping his head and pulling him closer. 

I love you, my dearheart.

The Thief and the Artist were frozen, from what Logan and Deceit could see, and it even looked like the Bard was frozen. Their forms shimmered of the deepest red and the brightest gold, for a moment.

DONTTOUCHMEDONT

The Bard pulled back. 

The Artist fell backwards, then scrambled up to his feet. He looked around at the Thief, who was sitting on the couch, eyes wide at the ceiling, then at Logan and Deceit, who were watching him with expressions of intrigue and horror. 

“I’m — I — Kitchen,” the Artist bolted out immediately.

Logan watched the Bard untangle himself from Patton, only to immediately lean forward and hug him again. That was certainly a surprise to witness. It served as more evidence that the figments of Roman were less tangible as Sides than any of them were, made from the Imagination rather than as new Sides. 

His thought process couldn’t ignore the tight fear that he’d felt when all of them disappeared, however. It was….that was terror. This was what terror felt like.

“I guess his theory was right.”

Deceit was watching the Thief, still frozen, with a frown. Logan wasn’t sure what he was referring to, as they hadn’t theorized that thus far. “Whose?” 

Deceit nodded to the Bard, whose hands were tenderly wrapped around Patton’s waist, kiss broken and face buried into his chest. “True love’s kiss. The Bard thought that that may be the answer to bringing Roman back.”

Ah, of course. Logan let out a suffering sigh. He wasn’t opposed to the idea, but they had all been going so fast. It was already a large realization that he loved the others, compounded with their surprising and enthusiastic reciprocation. Plus, the notion of expecting such a romantic and fantastical gesture was certainly far enough up Roman’s figurative alley that he would include that as a failsafe.

Then, there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” Patton called, hands still gently drumming against the Bard’s back. He still felt giddy. Roman loved him, Logan loved him, Deceit loved him — he just needed to tell Virgil! 

The Playwright opened the door, a thick stack of papers in one hand, hair mussed and tousled, glasses slightly askew. He didn’t seem to mind, though, as he fixed them carefully and let out one quick laugh. “That felt amazing,” he was breathlessly pleased.

“What did?”

“The kiss,” the Playwright said, a soft smile landing on his lips as he set the papers down beside Deceit on the table.

Deceit nodded and looked at the top one. It was a sketch, from multiple angles, of a suit and mask. Octopus?

The Artist peeked his head in through the open door and slowly shuffled in again. He looked at the Playwright, who slung an arm around his shoulders and hugged him tight quickly before letting go fast. 

“You felt it?” Logan asked, rubbing his chin in thought.

More fodder to the figurative Roman figment fire.

The Playwright grinned, but the Artist just let out a humored breath. Even he was feeling warm and fuzzy, despite the shock of being….touched. It felt weird still, and it felt weird for it to feel weird. “We’re all Roman, dearest, we all felt it,” the Artist exhaled, letting the nickname simmer. 

They slowly looked up at the Bard, nestled into Patton’s chest, who had the most serene expression. His hands were intertwined behind Patton’s back, swaying on his feet slowly as though dancing to music none of them could hear. Ecstatic.

The Thief finally relaxed, blinking up at the Playwright and the Artist. Best to….not acknowledge what had just happened. “Playwright? You brought some outfits?” he asked.

The Bard did not leave Patton’s hold, but for some reason, the hold was stabilizing Patton’s mentality enough that he turned to the Playwright with everyone else. 

The Playwright nodded, professional tension returning to his demeanor. He gestured to the stack of papers. “I’ve got some outfits,” some was an understatement, as the stack was almost as large as Logan’s 300 page Christmas gift. “If you aren’t opposed, I’ll conjure them up.”

A small bead of silence. 

They were going to reassemble Roman. It was going to work. And they were going to do it with love and determination. 

“....Thank you, Playwright,” said figment turned to the Artist, who was giving him a kind smile. “Thank you for your work. Always appreciated.

The Playwright blinked in confusion. “I…Thank you, Artist,” he slowly smiled back, feeling self-respect well in his chest. “That’s good to hear.”

He looked around to everyone else and pushed up his glasses. He could do this. He was Roman! He was. They were all Roman, and they were going to reassemble themselves. 

They could do this. The Playwright motioned for the first design. “Let’s get down to business.”

[zaxal]

here's the thing about your thing: Lambs is literally one of the best fanfictions ive ever read period, and numbers aren't everything/write for yourself/blah blah BUT I'm genuinely mystified as to why it doesn't have more kudos and comments. Perhaps add the "hurt aziraphale" tag to make it easier for likeminded angstmongers to find?

;o; thank you so much!! i’m so immensely flattered.

numbers aren’t everything at all, i agree! but they’re very nice for having an objective statistic. it’s hard to say to myself ‘nobody cares if we work on this / if i write anything at all’ when i can nyoom over to my statistics page and have concrete numbers staring me in the face.

i’ll definitely add the hurt aziraphale tag. i didn’t think of that. :x oops. thank you! if yall think of anything else i should add, lmk.

ngl i expected lambs to be a hard sell from the beginning. 

reverse aus are a divisive topic to begin with esp in this fandom because everyone has their own ideas for who crowley and aziraphale were pre-canon and what that would shape them into if they swapped sides.

the aziraphale/lucifer tag becomes a question of whether people want to make room to learn about this other relationship that happens within the story rather than having the one that is the main and primary focus. a lot of ship-exclusive readers drop out for that. 

the rape/non-con archive warning. there are non-con fics that are popular in the fandom, but people who were already wary about either of the two previous points might find that to be their breaking point.

some folks don’t like to read long-form wips. there’s a chance that the author will run out of steam and abandon the story, or that the reader will forget what was happening when it updates and have to get a reminder, or because they’d rather read it all in one go.

long-form angst in general can be hard to commit to especially if you aren’t already familiar with the author. i can say “there will be a happy ending” until i’m blue in the face, but that doesn’t mean a reader is going to be able to trust me to follow through on that in a way that’s both true and satisfying. reading long-form angst is a trust exercise that the ending will be Worth It.

the more of those conditions you add, the more a reader has to decide if trying to get invested, remaining invested, etc is worth their time and energy, and the more conditions there are to clear, the fewer people will attempt it, and that’s not counting folks who click through, decide my writing isn’t for them or that they don’t like the story after all, and yeet themselves off somewhere else.

so like. I Understand Why on a lot of levels, but it can get disheartening to feel overlooked especially when i’m writing the best thing i’ve ever written. (granted, almost every new story is guaranteed to be the best thing a writer has written bc they’re bringing their experience from previous stories into this one But i’ve put. so much work into this AU. it’s an intense labor of love.)

[lavalampelfchild]

Snippet Sunday

Tagged by @dalish-ish , though I didn’t see this tag until Monday... D: Oops!  I... am not sure if there are any rules other than “post a bit of a thing you’re working on”, so that’s what I’m operating under.  Here we go: 

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Hana was assigned a role, as all Tranquil were.  But when she received it, she disputed it.  Aide to one of the lesser Sisters of Val Royeaux.  Carrying books, delivering messages, ensuring the appropriate vestments were adorned for the appropriate occasions.  

In such a role as this, Hana’s skills would be wasted, and therefore she would be without sufficient purpose.  The Chantry, as well, would not benefit nearly so much as they could.

Hana told them as much. As a resource, she should be used properly.  As a being possessed of a sense of self-autonomy, she would ensure that none used her to any lesser extent.

Silence met her pronouncement, telling of their shock, and Hana was unsurprised to find the delegation process stalled.  

It had not, after all, been intended to be a conversation.

One of the elder Sisters – Sister Flore – recovered herself and turned urgently to the others in attendance, “Are we sure the rite was successful!?”  She made no effort to soften her tone, nor quiet her voice. Nevertheless, Hana politely said nothing, as the words had not been directed at her.

“Yes, Sister, the rite was performed appropriately, and there was no misconduct,” another, Sister Camille, replied firmly. “She is… as she should be.”  Sister Camille waved a hand, as though brushing her companion aside, and locked a steady scrutinizing gaze upon Hana.

She had been one of the attending Sisters at Hana’s undergoing of the rite.  Hana remembered her for her rather inflated sense of self-importance. Her confidence, if she recalled correctly, outstripped her competence.

Sister Flore—there really was no better word for this particular motion than “fluttered.”  Her hands shook and she waved them again at Hana.

“But this—she shouldn’t be—how—!”

It was then that the third Sister in attendance – Sister Mary – stepped forward.  Her features were smooth, her expression unruffled, and she spoke with a calm and unassuming cadence.

“Revered Mother, if I may,” she began, bowing slightly and waiting for the Revered Mother to allow her interruption. “Perhaps it would be well to assign her to me?”  She looked around the room, head inclined with what Hana supposed should have been respectful deference.  The Sisters, seeming not to think so, fell to discontent grumbling, but the Revered Mother listened in silence.  

Sister Mary continued.

“As a scholar, I believe it would be a great benefit to have an aide on my travels, and one with a firm temperament besides.”  The Sister smiled, polite.  “She could keep my research focused, and help ensure that I’m quick to gather necessary resources.  Of course…” Her smile grew politer still.  “If the Chantry wishes to put her to better use elsewhere, that is entirely its prerogative.”  

There was tension to the silence that followed, and Hana took the opportunity to consider the possibility.

It would suit her skills better, she thought, to be always applying her mind actively.  To be an aide to a traveling scholar of the Chantry would most certainly allow her to do so.

The traveling itself would keep her active as well, and ensure her exposure to those things of which she was ignorant, allowing her to expand her knowledge and experience.  

A much more suitable purpose to her skills than being an errand girl.

“Revered Mother, this proposal is agreeable to me, if I may offer my input,” Hana offered into the silence. Sister Flore’s eyes widened. Sister Camille’s narrowed.  The Revered Mother said nothing, gaze moving first over Hana, then over Sister Mary.  When she took in a breath to speak, all eyes snapped to her. 

“You believe having a Tranquil with you wouldn’t hinder you, Sister, nor affect your travel adversely?”

Sister Mary inclined her head in the negative.  

“Not at all, Revered Mother. Anything she doesn’t know which she needs to know we can teach her.”

At this, the Revered Mother raised an elegant eyebrow.

“You are neither templar nor chevalier, Sister,” she said harshly. “What makes you think you can defend her in moments of peril, should she be transferred to your charge?”

The Sister bowed again at the waist—deference for the sake of earning capitulation.  “I can defend her well enough, Revered Mother.”

No.  This was the wrong answer.  Again, Hana turned to her masters.  

“I can be taught to defend myself,” she posited. “Additionally, I have some familiarity with bows from before my time in the Circle.  I am confident in my ability to relearn and add to this skill.”

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

This is a long snippet, but eh, I wanted to post it because I am excited!  Have more of my blatant twisting of Tranquil lore rules, and have the introduction of my scholar-Tranquil duo, Mary and Hana!  I hope to do more with them later (like actually finish this mini-fic...) but I figure this is as good a start as any.

For tagging, I.... am going to be a little lazy today and do the “I tag anyone who wants to participate” thing!  But also, I will tag @celeritassagittae, @trulycertain, and @withthebreezesblown if they haven’t done this yet, and if they would like!